The Spectre

Reading Time: 6 Minutes

Title: The Spectre
Author: Keira Marcos
Series: The Master of Death
Series Order: 6
Fandom: Harry Potter
Relationship: NA
Genre: Fantasy, Alternate Universe
Warnings: Discussion-Suicide, Discussion-Murder, Canon-Typical Violence
Word Count: 1,536
Author’s Note: This is the final prelude leading into the main story. Looking forward to April 1^st!
Summary: Harry has a conversation with Armand Deering.

* * * * *

“I could interfere,” Armand offered and Harry shook his head. “I might be retired but there are people all over this planet that will take a knee, if I have a need.”

Harry laughed a little. Armand Deering had recruited him to the Magical Protectorate straight out of the three-year mastery course he’d been taking at the International Academy of Magic. He’d had a lot of offers from all over the world, but none had appealed more than the mission that Protectorate offered. He couldn’t see how it ever could.

“It isn’t like anyone in Britain can make me do anything, Armand,” Harry said quietly. “One day Albus Dumbledore is going to realize his biggest mistake in life was allowing me to live to adulthood.”

“You think him so irredeemable that he would’ve murdered you as a child if he’d known he’d never control you?” Armand questioned.

“Yes.”

The older man exhaled slowly, pulled out his herbal case and tapped a cigarillo against the surface of the table between them before he lit it. Harry took one when it was offered despite the fact that he had his own and preferred the blend he purchased from the dverger versus the one that Armand got from a human apothecary.

“And those sons of bitches in Britain let him around their children,” Armand muttered. “I’ll always be grateful for the fact that Patrice insisted my boys be educated here in France.”

“Where are Walker and Quintin?”

“Carrying Patrice’s stuff,” Armand said and shrugged. “She wanted to go shopping in New York, so I told them go with her and make sure she gets everything she wants.” He frowned and took a long drag off the herbal. “I need to ask them to increase the calming potion in my blend.”

“Patrice decided you were at your max, right?” Harry questioned and grinned when Armand sent him a baleful look.

“My lovely wife has no idea how hard it is not to go on a murder spree,” Armand muttered. “I’m actually due at least one.”

“Maybe two,” Harry said. “Considering.” He waved a hand and slouched his chair to stare at Armand’s garden. “Is the pond bigger?”

“Patrice thinks she wants ducks. She thinks that once or twice a decade then changes her mind because she doesn’t actually like any sort of avian in her space unless they’re on her plate.”

“When do the ducks arrive?”

Armand sighed. “Tomorrow.” He smoked for a few moments then shook his head. “I’ll have my boys on standby to render you any assistance you might need—keep your communication mirror handy.”

“Lucas is going to be there representing the World Court of Magic,” Harry said. “I tried to say no because…well. Dumbledore will look for a weakness. He always has. So, Banner is going to sneak him in undercover, which I guess is better than the alternative.”

“I hope you aren’t going to sit there and tell me that you think you can handle this shite in Britain alone.”

“I think it’s best, for everyone around me, if I never give Dumbledore any room to maneuver,” Harry said mildly. “At the end of the day, everything he wants to happen depends on me doing what he wants. And frankly, I decided the day learned how my parents died that I would never, ever give Dumbledore what he wants.”

“You blame him for their murders.”

“I blame him for practically every fucked-up thing that has happened in Britain for the last forty years,” he paused. “Or more. He’s a festering wound in that country, Armand. In the end, the damage he’s done and allowed to be done will linger far longer than anything than Tom Riddle ever managed.”

Armand nodded. “What’s the source?”

“Of the corruption?” Harry questioned.

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know,” Armand warned. “It’ll just piss me off.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” Harry pointed out in amusement. “Not even when you really wish I had. Riddle’s wraith is the beginning of it and the fact that Dumbledore has let that creature fuck about the country for over twenty years is a crime in itself.”

“Because he’s known all this time and did nothing,” Armand said and frowned. “You’re going to make me go over there and kill that old bastard.”

“It wouldn’t be enough and getting rid of the wraith won’t entirely fix the problem. Riddle maimed his own soul with horcrux magic and invited the worst sort of taint into his magic. When he was disembodied trying to murder me, it was allowed to spread.”

“He created a horcrux and you’re just now telling me?” Armand demanded, eyes dark with fury. “Where is it? How long have you fucking known? I know you hate those bastards, Harry, but that is no goddamned excuse for allowing such a thing to exist.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment then sighed. “I hate Dumbledore, sure, but everyone else in Britain was just…collateral damage. As for the horcruxes, because he made more than one, they were destroyed on November 3, 1981. I imagine any that still existed on this Earth from ancient practices, were also destroyed.”

“Why?”

“Because such magic could’ve never survived on a planet with an embodied Thanatos,” Harry said simply. “I know many people blame Sirius Black for the Death Eaters going insane in Britain—but Riddle did that during what could only be called a temper tantrum when he realized all of his horcruxes had been destroyed at the same time.”

Harry watched Armand absorb that information and smoked because while the blend wasn’t necessarily the one he preferred, the herbal wasn’t bad at all. He blew out a little smoke dragon, and it danced in the air above the table.

“Interesting,” Armand finally said. “Did Dumbledore know about the horcruxes?”

“Unsure,” Harry admitted. “Don’t care either. Eventually, he’s going to cross a line with me and it’ll get him killed.” The herbal extinguished and disappeared in a flutter of minute ashes. “He’s come close several times, but my patron has rules about such things.”

“Patron,” Armand muttered.

“Do you know why Banner hasn’t asked me?” Harry questioned. “I figured he would once he became director of the Protectorate.”

“Thaddeus likes to theorize and talk about people behind their backs,” Armand said and Harry laughed. “I’m sure he’s been gathering theories since the day you joined us, and he’ll probably never ask you directly because he rightly assumes he can’t do a damn thing about it and it’s honestly none of his business regardless.”

“You asked.”

Armand shrugged. “I decided it was my business.”

Harry laughed.

“How is your otherworldly father?”

“He’d rather I not go back to Britain,” Harry said. “But he understands that Dumbledore isn’t going to leave me alone as long as that stupid prophecy is active.”

“Do you know what it says?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said and sighed. “Do you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“It was envisioned by the same person as the first, a witch named Sybill Trelawney. She’s actually extremely gifted with foresight but it’s being largely subdued by her very fragile mental health. I think, but can’t really prove, that she saw entirely too much as a child due to lack of care regarding the gift. Perhaps the family didn’t realize, or they simply didn’t care if visions drove her to the brink of insanity.

“The prophecy is: Death sees his enemies—chained only by the most ancient of laws. A hand has been chosen and the Hallows have been reunited. The spectre walks the Earth, and the dark lord knows not what war he has courted.”

Armand sighed. “I still can’t fucking believe I retired while the goddamned Master of Death was my employ. I should’ve asked before I left the job. It’s my own fault.”

Harry laughed. “You were more than ready.”

“Yes,” Armand said. “More than. The job weighs heavy.” He paused. “You’ll keep an eye on Thaddeus, won’t you? He’ll stay in the job until you’re ready to take his place. We decided, between us, the day you were hired that you were next in line for director after him.”

“I will,” Harry said and looked out over the garden. “You still get notification when my emergency portkey or beacon activates, right?”

“Yes,” Armand admitted. “Thaddeus insisted in case you needed more help than he could provide.”

“If my beacon activates while I’m in Britain—don’t come,” Harry said quietly. “And if my portkey activates, take your lady from Europe immediately. She doesn’t need to be anywhere near that fallout.”

“I’ve been considered a trip to Japan,” Armand said. “Patrice adores our property there.” He paused. “I’m not taking the ducks.”

Harry grinned. “You will, if Patrice wants.”

Armand glared at him briefly then sighed. “I’ll keep whatever contraption they’re delivered in.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

Harry shrugged. “She could’ve imported Canadian geese.” He laughed when Armand crossed himself. “You’re not Catholic.”

“Whatever, fuck you,” Armand muttered.

The End