Backslider

Chapter 4

Tumbling Down

"Was it loneliness that brought you here?

Broken and weak

Was it tiredness that made you sleep?

Have you lost your will to speak?

Was the earth spinning round?

Were you falling through the ground?

As the world came tumbling down

You prayed to God what have we done..."

-Zero 7

As Jonathan Mercier stepped briskly out of the jazz bar, clouds of smoke and terrible music in tow, he loudly and quite inappropriately resolved to destroy the sun... or at least write a strongly worded letter. At that very moment, Sam's orders fell into their places within Jonathan's cranium. "No apparating or magic," he had said. That shouldn't be too hard to get around... Ten long years in this business hadn't taught Mercier nothing. In fact, less than a dozen people knew that among Jonathan Mercier's numerous talents was a dangerous understanding of the more... icky spells. He also understood, like all of its employees, that the Department of Mysteries was a lot like every other department in the Ministry of Magic with some numerous... differences.

Firstly, it had no static location. That had been decided at the Third International Magical Cooperation Initiative's Organization of Administrative Groupings of Ambassadors League in 1959 after Arkazior Splinktorfeld defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald. "And it is further decided that any and all buildings of magical/occult purposes as defined by Article 194B of the Magical People's Constitution must be protected from the knowledge of Muggles by either Sight Shield Runes, Dimensional Geometry Redefining Artifacts, or Physical Barriers able to be disabled by suitable Passwords."[*1] Diagon Alley, for instance, was protected by the last option (a brick wall opened by three taps of a wand on a specific brick). The entrance to Platform 9 and ¾ could only be accessed through bypassing the illusion of a wall and possessing knowledge of what lay beyond, created by a classic Forncurian Runic Sight Shield. Certain magical delis in London require patrons to recite the password "Imartsap!"

If one needed to, the various Ministry entrances could be found by wandering around London long enough. In fact, magically sealed Secret Entrances tended to be found by not looking for them. Jonathan smiled as he remembered the time the entrance to the Department of Oddities Most People Excepting Our Employees Of Course Would Find Particularly Interesting (OMPEOEOCWFPI for short) had shifted into one of the shower stalls in a woman's bathroom at a popular muggle gym. However, no one had ever figured out how Jonathan knew about the "accident" if he had never even heard of the Department of OMPEOEOCWFPI.

The second nugget of interest, and the most important, was that the Department of Mysteries itself could not be reached by any magical means for security reasons. Due to the highly sensitive nature of everything and everyone in the Department, its designers had been allowed some "exceptions." Although the building would be shielded and protected by the most powerful Warding Charms in existence, the only way to ensure security would be to force visitors to walk in through the front door... so to speak.

Thankfully, the Department of Mysteries was the only department with a stable entrance, though it wasn't in a very pleasant location. London, like most other major cities had huge districts reserved entirely for the magical community. In New York, for example, most buildings had an invisible extra dozen floors that could only be seen and accessed by magical people. London had miles of magical land that appeared nonexistent to muggle onlookers. It was to this area, known as Felle City, that Mercier would now go. Of course, trying to access a magical area using no magic would be difficult for most, but not so for someone who had done it hundreds of times before.

The first thing, of course, would be to get as close to Felle City's boundaries as quickly and discreetly as possible.

There were some flaws in that plan, however. The most glaring was that he had no idea where he was. Sam's Propylon charm had totally disoriented him. He distinctly remembered having been on Oxford Street back at the Gap, but the proplaeum charm had thrown him across the city to some terrible pub-which, of course, meant the East End... So, that meant the fastest way to Felle City would be to get to be to the fringe of all human civilization... Epping. Yuck, he thought to himself. Mercier had some uncomfortable memories about that place. Five years after joining the Department of Mysteries, the gang had played a prank on him in the middle of the road involving 17 tons of coffee beans, 3 gift certificates to various places Jonathan Mercier would never, ever, be caught in (unless dead, or doing a fine impression of it), a mallet, a few gypsies covered in thick custard, and, among other things, 110 of those muggle ceiling fans. It was not a pleasant memory. He still had the same lower back pain and aversion to pickles.

If memory served, it would be relatively straightforward to get to Epping. Just hop onto the Central Line and get off a few dozen stops later, he thought confidently. So, secret agent man, you've got to sneak yerself onto a public transit system most consider bothersome and degrading and crowded, without not get spotted by Darks, no less. Then what? If Sam were right, as Sam tended to be about security issues, then he, Sam, and everyone from his Department would be targets for any Dark wizards in the entire city. The course was clear, and off he went.

The walk to the metro and subsequent ride and on "the tube" [*2] was rather uneventful. Aside from the usual groping by scary old men, pushing, muggings of old ladies (excuse me... by old ladies), and disturbing noises from nearby bathrooms, that is. After way too long of a time, Jonathan emerged from the depths feeling rather... floopy (if you take my meaning---if not: GET OFF MY LAWN!). Nonetheless, there he was, so that had to count for something. Looking around him, he saw that it really didn't. Shuddering as he passed the very spot of his earlier assault, he recalled the pygmy tribesman and custard covered gypsies who had sung 70's disco music with accompanying music, lights, and dance floor. That was before it got bad.

Jonathan rarely visited Felle City; although it had some nice and pleasant bits to it, like any city, it had many more nasty and... unlikable bits. Nonetheless, it was work. He strolled looking positively unlikely to be a secret agent for the Ministry of Magic and more like a rather mad git. He was whistling. Poorly.

Before long, the muggles around him dwindled and went back to their little muggle homes suddenly remembering they had pressing business that simply could not wait another interesting. The reason was that Felle City had some really powerful Muggle Repelling Charms placed over every inch of it. Looking down from a plane, one would see a perfectly normal stretch of the outskirts of London. But, if you happened to know what was actually there, you'd be able to see through the illusion and into the world's largest all-magic community.

The city itself looked quite a bit like London, actually. Architects of magic buildings had a strange love of the old muggle constructs. Of course, like most magical structures, there were quite a lot of buildings that tended to switch places, or be a different color on different days. Flodo Krighak, the famous wizard engineer designed the famous Promentrak building, which, during rainstorms, angrily shouted obscenities and liked to become ice cream out of spite.

However, Jonathan would be heading to the far side of the city, to Hope Street, the oldest, most dangerous area in the entire country. Rapture addicts and gang members had overwhelmed the police force and taken control of the city years ago. However, since they mostly kept to themselves, and rarely left the confines of that area of the city, the police were content to let them continue. (A/N: I'm assuming that the magical community has it's own subcultures, drugs, and issues that are quite similar to our own. Rapture is a fictional drug I heard about somewhere that I'm adapting for my story. I've decided that Rapture is just one of many dangerous and powerful injected drugs that are part of the magical community, at least for the purposes of this fic. Rapture is a hallucinogen and stimulant that, like most drugs, is chemically addictive. Side effects include: death, severe bodily harm, mortal peril, temporary insanity, and total loss of control over magical abilities. Moving on:). Discussion of why the Ministry had decided to stick the Department of Mysteries in such a nasty place always left Mercier aghast, bewildered, dizzy, and strangely hungry. As he strolled, Mercier tended to keep darting in and out of alleyways, peering around the corner, and, deciding that he wasn't about to be stabbed in the throat, continued to shuffle through Felle City's crowded streets. This central area wasn't that bad though. There were pleasant restaurants, bars, and musicals playing in nearby buildings (Bats! The Longest Running Musical Featuring Airborne Small Mammals Whose Name Rhymes With That of Another Musical Clearly Inferior to This One!). Abruptly, however, Mercier's tall, dark, musically challenged figure that looked positively unlikely to be a secret agent for the Ministry of Magic but still like a rather mad git would leap back into the shadows and into the sewer for cover from absolutely no attack. Nonetheless, he resolved to stay in the sewer, although what lives in magical sewers is best not to be though about. The things people throw away... Mercier thought to himself. I mean, here's a perfectly good pair of gloves lying around. A bit tight, though. Hey... GAHH! Those... aren't gloves... He now decided never to touch anything ever again without proper lighting. Speaking of which, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thimble-sized vial of watery goo. Don't worry, Sam. No magic... but no one said *anything* about potions..." Mercier prided himself on his extensive collection of odd mixtures stashed neatly in his pants. Carefully loosening the cap, Jonathan tipped the vial onto the ground in front of him. With a fizz, wobblerflate (a type of whirr), and flash, the entire sewer glowed brightly, though not with the glow of decaying nuclear waste, but of a bright, clear-skied day. Cautious to avoid anything alive, hungry, and green, Jonathan rushed down the fetid (but well-lit!) sewer.

An hour of jogging later, he pulled himself out of the sewer, brushed himself off (though what that would accomplish, he was not sure), and got his bearings.

Towers of brick and stone billowed out of the neglected and crumbling street. A weaving mesh of "colorful" spray paint covered every surface within sight. It was, of course, magical. This meant that it could not be removed and got progressively more offensive as time went on. In the distance, a few minutes walk away, Mercier could see an ancient cathedral, the only building on the street that seemed untouched by the local gangs, as if an intractable barrier protected it from harm. The beautiful stained glass window at it's peak had miraculously survived any rocks thrown at it, as if it was actually made of some kind of muggle plastic, but he doubted it, though it was a funny thought. Father Laurislair was a terribly traditional man. In fact, he actually used normal muggle candles to light the Cathedral, not the everlasting ones you can buy anywhere these days. Well, anywhere, if you're a wizard. He said that even though it's not as cost-effective, some things should "be "left for tradition, and atmosphere."

Tradition was something the Hope Street Cathedral most definitely had. It was one of the few buildings in the city older than any other in London. For a thousand years, this cathedral had stood, used by a few interested wizards and witches, who thought it quite an oddity. It was ancient as the most powerful magic, but untouched by time or change. About 200 years earlier, there had been a massive storm system, which wiped all of the original buildings of Felle City off the face of the Earth. The only building to survive the disaster was the Cathedral. Eventually, the city was rebuilt-- on top of the remains, oddly enough. Survivors hadn't bothered to clear away the scraps of the original village, and simply covered them up. Hope Street was eventually created as a residence for Ministry employees, built around the cathedral. Quickly, however, Hope Street lost its hope and was left with the Cathedral: the last remaining beacon in this dark region of the city.

Mercier pulled his coat closer to his body to fight the suddenly icy air, which he thought quite unusual for an afternoon in the summer. Wouldn't a magical city have warming charms put on when it gets cold? He felt quite uncomfortable all of a sudden, but reassured himself that he was only a couple of minutes from the Department of Mysteries.

It was ten seconds later that Mercier had "a moment." These "moments," little bursts of sudden understanding, or revelations, are odd little things, and even weirder to have in middle of a sudden winter localized totally in the middle of a single street. In fact, the entire "moment" has been transcribed below, broken into even littler bits and pieces for the reader's convenience. Please chew thoroughly:

1. Felle City is a nice place

2. But it has nasty bits to it

3. Particularly Hope Street

4. Mercier was walking down the middle of a gang-infested and graffiti-covered street in a sudden winter bubble

5. Wintry bubbles don't happen in the middle of open streets unless it's winter

6. It's summer right now

7. So... this shouldn't be happening...

8. Unless they're magic bubbles or something...

9. MAGIC BUBBLES!

At that moment, the moment burst. On a side note, so did someone's brain, such is the price of having a sudden revelation---though the deceased victim does not relate to the plot of this story at all... so never mind.

And so, with lightning quick reflexes (or at least really, really fast), Jonathan Mercier spun around backwards, drawing his wand. Seeing the total absence of attackers, Mercier had another "moment" (somewhere, a skull exploded with a "FWAM!" and a "Spatter, spatter..."). He now had an inkling of what was going on. He applied a puzzled look to his face and began to slowly turn again. Halfway through, however, he made his move.

With a sweep of his wand, he cried, "OBSTINATUS!" At that moment, cold blue-green flames erupted from the tip and curled outward. The slithering cloud of flame dispersed into a dozen little pockets dotting the street. Disturbingly, the pockets became what could be described as "people-shaped." They then proceeded to be aptly called "people." Furthermore, they were people wearing featureless white masks and long black velvet cloaks. Carrying wands... scratch that, brandishing wands. All around him.

"Oh," Jonathan whispered. "Hullo guys..."

The leader, who Jonathan identified by a long black staff of coiled wood capped with a glowing red stone that screamed "Hello! This guy's the leader! Over here! Hello!!" as loudly as "Tacky!" stepped forward. He proceeded to say nothing followed by a pause.

"Um, yes... hello?" Jonathan was now waving his free hand (his left) in front of the leader's masked face. He stopped. "Are you dead?"

No reply.

"Okay..." Jonathan said peering curiously at the man's masked face. "You know... maybe you could help me with something." It was here that Jonathan scratched his chin curiously. "I've always wondered... what's the deal with the masks? I mean, they're pretty silly, don't you think?"

No reply.

"Do you have, like, grotesque facial scarring or something?"

No reply.

"Oh... that's it! I knew it! Oh, tomorrow at the water cooler, we'll certainly have something to talk about! I thank you! One more day of discussing Torurian Sqellinkers and their mating habits... have you ever seen a pair on a warm day? Oh, if you had, you'd want to cover your face!" He cast his eyes downward and feigned great sadness and regret. He added his hand to the leader's shoulder. "I'm so sorry! I totally forgot..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, "...your problem." He grinned.

No reply.

"How about a kiss, then?" Jonathan asked thoughtfully.

With a speed that rivaled Jonathan's own, the man grasped the top of the staff and pointed it at the now grinning figure. "Torpidus!" he exclaimed before Mercier even noticed what was happening.

Jonathan was, therefore, unexpectedly hurled backward with the force of a brick wall... a wall... that could... um... move... fast. He was now unable to move at all! In fact, to verify this conclusion he tried. He still couldn't move. He was right. He grinned, or made a mental note to do so as soon as his face began working again.

The leader pulled off his mask and cast it aside. He grinned, because he was able to.

"Thank you for joining us, Mister Mercier."

Jonathan tried to reply, but managed to blink something quite rude.

"Oh, what's the matter, Mister Mercier? Cat got your tongue?"

The rest of the Death Eaters laughed a forced laugh (for that is what they were, if you hadn't guessed). Jonathan knew for a fact that the Death Eaters were always a tough crowd, but would always laugh at any joke their leaders made no matter how terribly terrible they were. In fact, for effect, the man, who was still outside of Mercier's realm of sight waved his wand lazily towards Jonathan's prone figure, and conjured a few dozen tabby kittens, who fell on his face and scampered down the street.

Jonathan blinked his reply.

"Now, Mister Mercier... what brings you to this part of town? Oh! Oh, wait... I forgot!" he leaned closer and whispered, "your problem..."

Jonathan had to admit it was kind of funny, but it seemed the Death Eaters had no grasping of ironic comedy. Alas...

"You've been hard to track down, Mister Mercier. Our little... group... has spent quite a but of our time, in fact, just to track you down after your visit to... that place," he finished with a ghastly grimace.

Jonathan, quite the detective, correctly assumed that he meant The-Gap-That-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"However, our... fun time is over. Thank you for dropping by." he whispered while circling Jonathan in the street with a loud stomping. "Arctus! Draw the circle!"

With that command, a man stumbled through the eerily static ranks of Death Eaters, assumedly Arctus, who reached into his robes and produced a long, thin piece of chalk. With fingers as long and thin as his implement, he began to etch a circle around Jonathan while mumbling in some strange language, probably hoping that he wouldn't realize what he was doing. Jonathan, however, knew precisely what was going on. He was temporarily paralyzed, not an idiot (though some might debate this). Arctus was drawing an Apparating Circle, which are complex things used only to safely amplify an apparition (the most common form of magical transport) for those incapable of performing the task themselves, such as for young children or, occasionally, paralyzed Death Eater victims trying to make a getaway.

Jonathan had been thinking about the curse since it happened. The... Torpidus Curse? He thought he'd been taught it back in school, years ago... it was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor... Flinvork? No, he was Charms... Gugnam? Right! So... Gugnam taught us about the Torpidus Curse just before Winter Break. They'd been playing around with it in the Hufflepuff Common Room, and Rubnil Gaffer had been hit by accident... then that smart ass... Yuri Proox came flouncing in and cast the counter curse... what had it been? It was at that moment that he had another one--a moment, that is, though not as profound as before and a lot less organized but just as much of a cranial hemorrhage somewhere (still not his own, and still relatively unrelated to this story). The counter curse was...

"Ennervus Kindauram Selfne!" He said with sudden clarity of voice. Remarkably, he shouted. And grinned. And stood up. And used the famous Grin of Swiftly Descending Mania, the same he repeatedly flashed Dr. Tucker that morning. He was quite proud of himself as half a dozen Death Eaters recoiled in sweeping fear. He turned to face a cowering Arctus and an enraged... erm... leader (no name had yet been mentioned). Mercier squinted, but did not recognize the face. It seemed good-natured enough, excepting the scar on the left cheekbone and gaze so incising, a freshly sharpened lathe would have broken down and cried for death to come. Nonetheless, Jonathan continued his grin. The-Guy-Who-Apparently-Didn't-Feel-it-Necessary-to-Introduce-Himself faltered in his Death Gaze. Judging by what occurred next, he thought change of plans would be fun.

With the same speedy movement as before, he pointed his scepter at Jonathan and screamed with 1/3 hate, 1/4 loathing, and the remaining fraction of unmitigated malice, "Camarilla!" At that, a hundred knives were conjured and flew through the air directly towards Jonathan.

At the last moment, Jonathan carelessly waved his wand and mumbled, "Bagata!"

With that, the knives did one of two things. Either they exploded in midair or decided to simply bend around his body, happening to perforate a few four of the Death Eaters, leaving eight withdrawing Death Eaters to deal with. Jonathan, of course, wasn't an Unspeakable (and a Backslider, no less) for nothing at all. Therefore, he seriously decided to give these people a run for their money.

"Adhesio Emplastron!" he intoned pointing his wand at his free hand (still his left). With a stream of bright green light spraying from the tip of his wand, he leapt with almost superhuman (magical) force to the very top of an archway at least 20 feet in the air, narrowly avoiding being set aflame. But, alarmingly, there he stayed suspended by a gluey green goo dripping from his left hand. Suddenly, the remaining solemn but recoiling Death Eater troops snapped out of their shock and began firing a stream of curses. However, he loosened himself in time and began scouring the side of the ugly brick building with great speed. The stream of hexes and charms following him ranged from the popular Splorchgard Splint (that covered the target in a skintight, unbendable shell) to the Townsend Blinkler (that temporarily trapped the victim several seconds ahead of the rest of the universe). He even suspected someone had used the Weinstein Greingrel (that irreversibly transfigured the target into the plant of the caster's choice) as a despondent palm tree now sprouted out the side of the wall. As the searing current of hexes and charms licked at his shoes, he halted abruptly, turned around, and hurled himself from the wall, flinging the glop in the eyes of several remaining Death Eaters.

With surprising nimbleness, he landed with a flop! on his feet, where he proceeded to spin his wand half a foot above his hand grinning at the Fellow-With-a-Career-Most-People-Would-Find-to-be-in-Poor-Taste and the six black robed men flanking him.

"So... you guys wanna quit? Seriously, I'd probably find a few years in Azkaban preferable to getting... skewered like these fellows." He pointed to the four motionless Death Eaters. "Or getting your eyes sealed shut with foul smelling goo..." He waved at the two men scrambling on the ground for something to remove the hardening slime from their eyes. "But each to his own I suppose."

At this, a few of the remaining Death Eaters backed away.

"Oh look... I'm scaring away your Death Eaters!" Jonathan said.

"Actually, I'm afraid the jury's still out on that one," their leader replied.

"Actually, I'm afraid you still haven't introduced yourself..."

"Actually, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you," the leader added.

"Odd... I was thinking the same thing about you," Jonathan countered thoughtfully.

"Good. Shall we?"

"Sure..." Jonathan answered. His wand fell into his hand as he bellowed, "PREPARE TO HAVE YOUR HAIR STYLED!"

The few seconds of confusion this bought him was all he needed. As one of the Death Eaters forgot he was wearing a hood and started to feel insecure, Jonathan Mercier cursed him with Exegestai! Suddenly, the Death Eater went all bug-eyed, threw off his mask and began prancing around the street shouting:

"There is no woman's sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much. They lack retention.
Alas, their love may be called appetite,
No motion of the liver, but the palate,
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt.
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much!"

--The Twelfth Night (II.iv.91-101)

With another wave of his wand, another Death Eater became preoccupied with a spirited recitation of a poem called The Bridge of Tay! by William Topaz McGonagall who is widely renowned as the world's least talented poet... ever:

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!

Alas! I am very sorry to say

That ninety lives have been taken away

On the last Sabbath day of 1879,

Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,

And the wind it blew with all its might,

And the rain came pouring down,

And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,

And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-

"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."

When the train left Edinburgh

The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,

But Boreas blew a terrific gale,

Which made their hearts for to quail,

And many of the passengers with fear did say-

"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."

--McGonagall, The Bridge of Tay

Mercier had successfully bewitched four more Death Eaters, who were now taking every other line of various terrible poems from centuries earlier. He giggled as all four erupted into the climactic scene of Bats! with accompanying hand motions.

"Remarkable, Mister Mercier. It's too bad that you chose the wrong side."

"Look, Mister Mysterious, do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

"Excuse me?" Mister Mysterious winced and sneered.

"Oh... no... I bet you're going to start going into this longwinded speech like 'mark my words I'll destroy all the kittens in the world!' or 'soon... (bwa ha ha) all the laughter and starlight and good intentions of the all the Ages shall at last be mine!' For goodness' sake..."

"Actually, I was planning to go out with a bang."

"Yes, but can you back your little plan up?"

"Sure."

"Right, then. Let's try this one last time. On three, ok? One... two..."

"Snakas!" Mister Mysterious shouted. Green wisps of smoke emerged from the tip of his scepter and twisted their way towards Jonathan. They pulled together to form the huge body of an enormous hissing ghost-snake.

At the same time, Jonathan had cast his attack, "Avis!" From his wand issued a volley of flames that quickly resolved themselves into a huge flock of flame-birds. Although the flock was able to distract the ghostly snake, Jonathan had to leap into the air to scarcely evade the beast's fangs. By this time, the ghost snake had solidified, and managed to connect his swishing tail to his chest, throwing him at least thirty feet into the solid wall. He pulled himself to his feet, though bricks were still cascading from the crumbling face of the old factory. The remaining Death Eaters had moved out of the snake's path and were now gathering the dead or wounded into Arctus' finished circle.

He knew what to do. He stomped right over to the leader of the team, stuck out his arm with fists clenched, and finished, "Accio face!" Needless to say, Mister Mysterious was quite surprised to find his nose seemed to have fallen in love with Mercier's left hand and decided to fling itself with great speed in it's direction.

The man fell backward, and slumped to the floor. Before he tipped over, he managed to lift his staff slightly, and mumble, "Dreinen!"

The remaining two Death Eaters stood in stunned disbelief, trying to understand what had happened. One Summoned their master into the circle, and the other had enough prescience to step into the very center and exclaim triumphantly, "We shall be avenged! Mark my words, Wizard, we'll get you for this!"

"And my little dog too?" Jonathan threw a knife at the Wizard of Oz enthusiast, who surprisingly didn't turn into a tearful bundle of black robes, and cast the Apparition. With a shimmer and faint pop! the entire group was gone.

"That was pointless..." he said to no one in particular.

Still, he continued his trek. Jonathan Mercier, limping towards the Hope Street Cathedral, made a mental note to chalk up four more Death Eaters on his List o' Kills he'd received for his last birthday (inappropriate puns about the way they died would appear from time to time). He also made a mental note to stab Sam in the eye with his own wand the next time he mentioned policy.