Ending Maker: Fate Wizardry
Chapter Intro:
This fic's premise is inspired by the webtoon titled Ending Maker/엔딩메이커 by Chwiryong and their illustrator chyan. Please check them out.
Story Starts
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Ch. 6.1 - Marauder?
I Hardly Knew Her
(1 out of 4)
2:30 AM, Friday, December 15, 2017
Knock, knock. The cab door banged open, and in strolled a wiry young lad. "Oi, Bob—the ward's buggered again. Pretty sure some vermin wriggled past the barrier."
Bob, who'd been at the helm of the Hogwarts Express for four years, let out a long sigh. "Ian, grab Hayden and give the place a once-over. If not, bet it's some sad train-spotter or a few pissed-up Hogwarts grads thinking it's funny to sneak aboard—couple of right berks, if you ask me."
"Oh, Ian, good—you're here. Bob, I've already swept the first half of the train. I'll continue on to the baggage carriage," said the new recruit, Hayden, as he turned to continue his patrol.
"Argh, whatever—it's probably just a rat or bird," Ian grumbled. "Why don't they just bloody ward the entrance against anything that isn't a witch or wizard?"
He glanced over his shoulder at Hayden, who was diligently sweeping through to the next carriage, double-checking everything.
"Oi, Hayden—shut that carriage door," Ian barked as the lad jogged back. "And give the tracks a once-over! I'll sort the platform." Hayden gave a thumbs-up in reply.
"You may as well do the last checks—we're off in half an hour," Bob called, striking his wand to light the pipe that dangled from his mouth.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it," Ian replied, ambling off.
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Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding as one of the workers left the rear carriage of the Hogwarts Express. At present, he relied on two tools to remain unseen: first, Carnwennan—Arturia's dagger glimpsed during one of the countless dream cycles he experienced back when they were sustaining her presence after the Holy Grail War.
The blade cloaked him in an enchantment akin to Invisible Air, bending light around his form. His second safeguard was a recently purchased invisibility cloak woven from demiguise hair.
He'd requested the cloak through Arcturus, with Ted Tonks arranging the purchase via a goblin contact. Arturia's forgotten Noble Phantasm would likely have been sufficient on its own, its concealment so absolute that even magical detection failed. Still, Harry preferred a fallback in case something unforeseen arose.
Seated on the floor, he felt the low rumble that signalled the train's departure, vibrations running through the frame. Beyond, the drab station blurred into a stretch of rare blue sky, clouds drifting lazily in the chill air.
Another sigh slipped out. This was going to drag. Still, he'd planned ahead: bottles of water and a few homemade onigiri. No crumbs to give him away—well, except for the nori. Hopefully, no one would notice that.
He stretched out his arms, still clutching Arturia's dagger to maintain its concealment in case anyone barged in. It was still early, and he figured he might as well rest for a while.
Harry spread the cloak over himself in case he drifted off and stopped feeding the dagger with prana—or rather, magical energy, as they ought to adapt to the nomenclature of wizarding society.
Harry eased back, letting his thoughts drift. Might as well, he reflected. Two and a half months had passed—enough time for him to perfect the folding technique he'd devised after watching a video on Damascus steel, and another on origami.
With liberal use of structural analysis, he had refined the process into a precise choreography, one he could now perform unaided, leaving the blades magically neutral.
That was what he needed: magically neutral sword-arrows, weapons he could deploy in tandem to break out Sirius without leaving a trace of his own signature. When he had first raised the idea, Andromeda had been firmly against it—after all, infiltrating a dementor-infested island was near-suicidal.
Harry privately thought it might be simpler to rely on Carnwennan and liberal use of Rule Breaker. Still, he knew if things went pear-shaped—due to some unforeseen mishap—he had no desire for his mug to be plastered across the Daily Prophet for breaking into one of the Ministry's most heavily fortified prisons.
Harry amused himself with imagined headlines—'The-Boy-Who-Broke-In', 'The-Boy-Who-Really-Shouldn't-Have', 'The-Boy-Who-Used-'I-Was-Looking-For-The-Loo'-As-An-Excuse'.
Speaking of amusing things, Arcturus's attitude had taken a curious turn for the better regarding Hermione, even extending invitations for tea at his current estate, Blackrock Cottage on the Devon coast. Yet Harry could not shake the sense of some quiet scheme brewing between them, and the prospect gave him sudden goosebumps.
'As long as it doesn't give me any headaches later—out of sight, out of mind,' Harry put that thought on the back burner, making it future Harry's problem.
On another note, instead of leasing a flat, Andromeda—with Hermione's help—was able to convince Arcturus to let them use Grimmauld Place instead.
Fortunately, the next-door neighbour had been planning to sell. Through Gringotts, they arranged a payment scheme, tying it into their ongoing venture with the goblins.
Now it was easier: they had a Muggle house directly beside one linked to the Floo. In the meantime, Ted and Andromeda had moved into Grimmauld Place, the house far too spacious for just Harry and Hermione.
Moreover, Andromeda, now restored under the Black name—and with the recognition of Tonks as a cadet branch—was entitled to a stipend, resources she promptly directed into renovating their home, which led them to stay at the Black family home.
Though Andromeda's return to the Blacks had not yet been publicly announced—everything still needed arranging—it would likely be declared official by the end of their first year at Hogwarts. With luck, that timing would provide the necessary trigger to keep certain events on course.
Anyway, with luck, today would prove the turning point: they might at last secure Moody's support. Yet doubts lingered; he had never been comfortable withholding information from Dumbledore.
His stomach began rumbling as he sat up, opening the mokeskin pouch he had procured through Gorkk—or was it Morkk? He fished out the wrapped rice ball, a packet of toasted nori, and a bottle of water, making certain each item touched his body so the dagger's invisibility would cloak it as well.
It could clearly differentiate what it cloaked with its enchantment; after all, if the effect extends to everything that touches his body, then why doesn't it extend to the train's carriage as well?
'Maybe it works on intent?' Harry mused.
A sudden and rather mortifying question halted his musings. 'How, precisely, was he supposed to bloody relieve himself?' His gaze slid, unbidden, to the bottle of water on his lap.
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With a start, Harry jolted at the flare of magic. Still cloaked, he began feeding magical energy into the dagger as well.
The carriage groaned and stretched, tripling in size. Harry pressed himself against the wall, half-expecting the baggage to follow. He had no desire to end up as a statistic in the annals of 'death by luggage.'
As if on cue, luggage, bags, and trunks tumbled into place, filling the room halfway. Harry already knew the process—house-elves handled the logistics, while the expansion enchantments and all supporting magic had initially been a goblin 'goodwill'—quite the oxymoron—gesture after one of their wars.
In Harry's estimation, the design was quite modern in a way few wizarding systems managed. Rather than requesting vague outcomes, the goblins had asked for a detailed sequence—embarkations, sorting, luggage delivery to dormitories, holiday retrievals, up until the end of the year—and then constructed their enchantments to accommodate and optimise that order of operations. The result was a process that was both elegant and efficient, and well-documented.
Something that could be exploited if the Gringotts branch manager readily provided said document.
And again, like clockwork, the room filled with the rest of the students' take-home luggage. Carry-ons were, of course, excluded—a potential problem if Percy Weasley chose to keep his pet rat with him.
And finally, the menagerie of pets arrived—silent, each one lulled into enchanted sleep for transport.
Taking a moment to check that nothing else would be popping in, Harry approached the magical menagerie of sleeping cats, rats, toads, and owls. Not so magical from a first glance, but they did have some magic within them, being magically adapted pets; otherwise, they would not have survived the myriad of magical transfigurations and charms they would be subjected to.
Of course—one rat was wide awake, scurrying in circles while every other beast in the carriage slumbered. 'Typical.'
'Huh. Makes sense—it's technically human, so it's bound to be more resistant,' Harry mused. 'But how does it cope when that Weasley kid uses spells on it? And more importantly, how am I supposed to tackle this?'
The original plan was simple: snatch the rat, sprint to an unwarded zone, call the less insufferable Kreacher, and Apparate straight back to Grimmauld via elf-express.
He might as well stick with the plan. Revealing himself now would only agitate the Animagus—or worse, panic it into transforming and causing chaos in the carriage.
While contingencies for preventing Apparition had been devised, he lacked any method to forestall transformations. Their circle contained no Animagus of its own. McGonagall could have helped, but involving her meant risk—she was too close to Dumbledore. It was a minor miracle she had even agreed to keep quiet about Harry, already knowing of magic and leaving the Dursleys' most 'tender' care.
'Ah, sod it! Hopefully it'll stay dazed and stupefied long enough for me to shove Hermione's gem down its throat and leg it—just an invisible bloke carting a caged rat,' Harry thought, slipping Carnwennan into his pocket.
From his mokeskin pouch, he fished out a ruby no larger than a grain of rice. It resembled the sort of gem used to jump-start a child's circuits when no natural trigger could be found, forcing them to sense the flow as it pulsed on and off.
The principle was the same, except Hermione had altered the rhythm—irregular pulses of connection and disconnection to magic, impossible to predict or consciously time. Of course, the rat might still get lucky.
Confirming Carnwennan's enchantment still held, Harry folded the cloak—placing it within his mokeskin pouch. He edged toward the Animagus, first pulling open the carriage door to leave a clear escape route. The rat twitched at the movement, glanced at the door, then ignored it and went back to its restless scurrying.
Harry snatched up the cage and bolted for the door, swinging it open as he reached inside to grab the startled rat. It squealed and thrashed wildly against the bars.
He leapt from the train, landing lightly on the tracks, rat in hand. "Trace on." With circuits aflame, his skin hardened and his limbs strengthened with reinforcement, propelling him in a single bound toward the shadowed fringe of the Forbidden Forest. The rat writhed furiously against his invisible grasp.
He hooked the cage bars onto his little finger, freeing his grip to hold the rat belly-up in his left hand. Its beady eyes seemed to seek his unseen gaze, its fur buffeted by the cold December Scottish wind, tail limp.
With a sharp press of his thumb, Harry forced the tiny ruby into its throat. The creature gagged, choking, but he held it firm.
He landed in a crouch, still within the ward-line, and he crouched, then surged forward into the depths of the Forbidden Forest.
Harry felt the rat's throat convulse as it swallowed the gem. But as they neared the ground, the rat's body began to twist, flesh already warping, as it started to transform. Anticipating this, he spoke aloud: "I am the bone of my sword. Steel is my body, fire is my blood!"
He let Carnwennan vanish into motes of light as its enchantment dispersed, making Harry visible for the first time. A plump, thinning-haired man materialised in Harry's arms—his face disturbingly rodent-like as he thrashed violently, kicking until Harry lost hold and dropped him.
"James?" Pettigrew wheezed, his voice harsh from disuse, clutching the ground as his tumbling came to a stop.
"No, you're not James," Petteigrew said, still seated on the ground, reflexively backing up. A flicker of steel—Hrunting manifested in his grip, and he hurled it at the dazed man. The blade ripped a gash across Pettigrew's thigh.
"Argh—wait! Wait! Wait! I can uh—" Pettigrew spluttered.
"Kreacher," Harry's voice cut him short.. The house-elf arrived with a resounding crack of displaced air.
"Yes, filthy half-blood master," Kreacher intoned. He was more agreeable these days—still barbed in tongue, but obedient now that promises had been kept.
"Not now, Kreacher, I need you to—"
The words died. From the canopy descended a monstrous arachnid, tall as his chest, its fangs plunging into Pettigrew before smothering him in silk. Others followed, launching themselves at Harry.
Harry drew his twin blades—Kanshou and Bakuya—and split the spider that leapt at him, cleaving thorax from abdomen. Its death-screech set the other chittering, legs raised in threat, fangs glistening with venom as their pedipalps trembled in rage.
"Kreacher, go back, but please be on standby," Harry barked as he lunged. Ahead of the Acromantula that had seized Pettigrew was scuttling off with its bundled prize.
"Yes, master Acromantula food," was what Harry heard from behind, followed by a pop.
Hurling Bakuya at the spider leaping from branch to branch beside him, Harry drew Hrunting into his right hand. He twisted aside from the spinning buzz-saw return, tugging its path with the pull of its paired partner.
Hrunting locked onto Pettigrew's scent, guiding Harry sharply to the right as the forest thrummed with the chorus of hundreds of chittering spiders. He ducked past Bakuya's return, letting it swing forward again, penduluming around him in lethal arcs that sheared limbs from the acromantula trying to close in.
He swapped the blades between hands—cautious not to nick a spider with Hrunting and risk losing Pettigrew's scent—before enlarging Kanshou and carving down another that launched itself at him.
Harry followed this up with a burst of nameless blades, burying them in the bodies of countless monstrous spiders, as he ran faster and faster with his reinforced limbs.
The grim dance lasted for about half an hour as he endured the deadly waltz. Harry unleashed nameless blades in relentless bursts, hacking down every acromantula bold enough to close in.
Around him, dozens of Kanshou and Bakuya pushed and pulled in their penduluming rhythm, a buzz of steel carving swathes through the horde and felling scores upon scores of acromantulas. Yet curiously, the tide of limbs and fangs began to ebb—the swarm thinning.
It became apparent, with relief, that the creatures were not steering him toward their nest. Yet he had been driven far into the Forbidden Forest, where the canopy's density reduced daylight to a perpetual twilight gloom.
Through reinforced sight, he picked out the spider clutching his target and surged towards it. Kanshou left his hand again, while Hrunting stayed firm in his grip. He projected Archer's bow, holding both bow and blade in his left hand, then conjured another nameless sword—as he fashioned it to be more aerodynamic. Still running, he nocked the weapon, drew back, and loosed.
The blade pierced the acromantula's abdomen. Instead of dropping its package or trying to escape, the acromantula leapt toward a large boulder with a flat top, laying its package above as it quickly scuttled away.
Though curious, he dismissed the odd behaviour and sprang atop the seven-foot boulder. There, he traced a razor-edged knife and began cutting into the cocooned form. Bit by bit, the webbing parted, revealing the pallid face within, until his fingers pressed against the throat to confirm a pulse.
"Looks like they only hit him with a paralytic—bloody hell, why didn't we think of that?" Harry muttered. For all the times Rin—or Hermione, rather—mocked him for being sword-brained, she was just as guilty—her solution to everything was always another jewel, when a quick paralytic would have done the trick.
He chuckled at the thought, already planning to tease her la—ter…
"..."
Something was wrong. The horde of acromantula had vanished. The Forbidden Forest lay unnervingly still, its silence broken only by the trickle of a distant brook and the faint stir of leaves. It was silent—too silent, in fact.
"Oh, look at what we have here—live prey." The words, spoken in a voice both guttural and regal, issued from directly behind him.
He turned—and found himself face-to-chest with a wall of thick red hair. From his high perch, he saw that the chest belonged to a gigantic feline body, bristling with scattered quills. Its frame was lean but muscled. The beast's breath rose and fell with equal rhythm. Instead of a normal tail, an insect-like appendage jutted out—armoured in chitin and tipped with a deadly-looking stinger.
The chitinous tail swayed with disconcerting levity as his eyes rose to the visage above—a human face crowned by a flowing mane of crimson hair.
"I was but a cub since the last time I tasted human flesh. Centuries it has been—centaur fowl, the odd deer or bear—and I've grown sick of it. I must thank my kind neighbours for delivering me such a treat."
The beast sat tall, then lowered its face until its vast countenance loomed level with Harry's gaze; the face itself was almost equal to his full stature.
"Now, I do like to play with my prey—for fear sweetens the flesh. Won't you entertain me a while, little one?" The creature's human visage contorted into a grotesque, inhuman grin.
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END