Uprooted and Upheld Part Three (Inception/HP, Arthur/Eames, Big Bang)
Uprooted and Upheld - Part Three
Part One
Part Two
The next day at eight, Eames and the others prop up one of the dusty tables and sit down. Light filters barely through the dusty windows, but it’s just enough that they can see each other in the dark pub. Hannah is up before them, already ready with bacon and eggs.
“There’s orange juice and whatnot in the fridge,” Hannah says, “Eames should know where they are, seeing as he’s been taking without paying for quite a while now.”
“What’re a few eggs between friends?”
“It’s twenty galleons worth of eggs!”
After Hannah leaves with Neville, they finally start to talk about the inception.
Trying to incept Ambrose Darkholme is like trying incept an orange that has a peel too thick to even penetrate. It’s like trying to crack a coconut - impossible unless you smash it against the floor. It’s like - it’s hard, okay? It becomes apparent after about three minutes of reading detailed notes and a map to realize that Darkholme moves around a lot and he has about a hundred vampires with him.
“Vampire coven,” Ariadne repeats, “we’re working with a moving blimp.” Ambrose’s coven covers England from east to west coast in its movements every year. In the beginning of the year, they start in the east, and as the weather and seasons change, they move to the west.
“We don’t even know where they are right now.”
“Nah, I know,” Eames says, waving a hand. “Don’t ask how because I can’t tell you, but he is definitely somewhere around here.” Eames draws a circle on the map with his fingers. Arthur’s absence is tangible, but with nearly seven billion lives (Eames says that once the magical creatures are done with the wizards, they’ll start with the muggles - every muggle has the potential to spawn a wizard, after all) on their hands, there isn’t much room for worrying.
“How do we even get to him?” Yusuf asks. “And how much of this,” he says, taking his briefcase and shaking it lightly so that all the little bottles inside clatter together and make tiny clinking sounds, “does he need to sleep? Do vampires even sleep?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Eames says, “there’s something called the Draught of Living Death here that can put anything to sleep.”
“But doesn’t the Draught of Living Death -“ Cobb starts.
“Yes, it would put a normal person into a state of perpetual sleep, but it would work like a normal sleeping draught to vampires.”
“Well give me a sample, man! I need to test it and adapt it for -“
“We’ll do it later. I have a friend flying in who can handle the Draught without much harm.”
“Alright,” Cobb says, “then all we have to do now is find out what makes Ambrose tick.”
“That’s where it gets tricky,” Eames says, “there’s not much we can go on - in terms of paper history, at least. Vampire histories span hundred of years, anything that happened in his early life is pretty much destroyed by now. All his loved ones are dead, and anyone who knows anything about it has been silenced as well, probably.”
“Then what can we do?” Ariadne asks.
“What we can do is,” Eames pauses for dramatic effect, “time-travel.”
“Okay,” Yusuf says, “now he’s got to be shitting us, yes?”
“No,” Eames says, pulling a set of keys from his pocket, “but we do have to go somewhere else in order to do it.”
“Oh my God,” Yusuf says.
=====
Ariadne looks around, trying to see something in the dark murkiness of wherever the hell they are.
“What is this place?” She asks. The entire room is almost pitch-black, illuminated by blue-flamed branches of candles. There is nothing but the sound of their own feet walking across the marble floors.
“Entrance Room,” Eames says distractedly, looking around himself. “Keep with me.” He peers around the room for a while, before finally stalking towards a door.
“We all have to enter together,” Eames says when they’re all standing right before the door. “And if the door shuts before all of us make it through, you have to wait for me to come back.”
Then he pushes the door open, shoves everyone in while he uses his back to prop open the door to a room lit by what seems to be tiny, naked, diamond babies, each glowing with light and dancing a waltz in pairs.
“Don’t touch anything,” he warns, before walking forward.
“Eames, are you -“ Cobb starts.
“I’m going to have to get rid of this particular segment, yes,” Eames says. “Aha! Found it!” His hand is on the handle of a small, brown door that is barely tall enough to fit Eames. He does something with the dials on front, setting it to 1854. Then he pulls a strand of what seems to be hair out of his pockets and stuffs into a small compartment, muttering, “can’t believe it was so easy to get this. What in the world is Knockturn alley’s target audience these days?”
After that, the door unlocks. Eames ushers them through.
“Step in, keep your hands to yourselves, and we’ll be just fine with no lost arms,” Eames mutters when they’re all inside a small compartment.
Then he pulls something, mutters something else, and everything dissolves into a misty haze.
=====
“This is strange,” Ariadne says. All of them are huddled in the corner of an alley, just watching people pass by on the main streets.
“Not so strange,” Yusuf says, “I imagine about the same when I’m hooked up to the PASIV.”
“Really?”
“Well, mine usually has raging elephants, so-“
“There he is,” Cobb says, inclining his head towards a short, dark-haired boy walking briskly.
“Age five,” Eames says. He squints. “A bit tiny for his age.”
“Malnutrition?”
“We’re losing him,” Ariadne warns. They walk out of the alley, very out of place in their normal clothes, and stop a few meters behind Ambrose.
“We aren’t even going to talk about how weird this is?” Ariadne asks.
“We passed ‘weird’ over two hours ago when Arthur was kidnapped, dear,” Eames says. He frowns and turns to Cobb. “You are sure that Saito is -“
“Saito will find him,” Cobb says, “or God help him.”
“Good,” Eames says. “I’ve left a message back at headquarters, and I’ll go after this to check again -“
“Someone’s joining him,” Yusuf says, cutting into the conversation. “Seriously, if we’re doing this instead of chasing after Arthur, let’s at least do it right.”
“Mother?”
“Seems like it.” They follow closely as Ambrose and his mother walk down the main street, and then veer off to a smaller alley.
“Didn’t his mother die at this age?” Ariadne asks.
“That’s what our basic information told us,” Cobb says. “Stuck with his alcoholic and abusive father for three years - could be useful.”
“Or not,” Eames muses. “He could feel strong attachment to them, but then again he’s been alive for nearly a hundred and fifty-five years. Maybe he can’t even remember them.” Their targets enter a small, shabby house, Darkholme’s mother stepping forwards to swing open the thin, white, wooden door first. It strikes them that the process of opening the door is longer than it would usually take.
Not a sound is emitted from the door or the two who are standing near it. Everyone’s heart seems to tense in anticipation as the door slowly opens.
“Mum, I,” they hear Darkholme say, voice clear in the silence. His mother silences him.
“No, dear, you know I always go first,” she says. They step through the doorway, one following another, and then quickly shut the door behind them just as slowly and quietly as before.
“Must be the father,” Cobb says. Just then, there is a loud crash and a harsh male voice begins cursing and yelling. A female voice pleads for the man to calm down, but to no avail.
“No need to see what follows next,” Eames says quickly, looking at the sudden pallor of Ariadne’s face and the quietness held in Yusuf’s. Cobb looks like his very own children are witnessing what Darkholme must be. “Inception work better on positive emotions. No positive emotions here. Let’s skip forward two years.”
No one voices any objections, so Eames takes out his wand and waves it in the air, muttering a garbled spell.
“Permoveo porro,” Eames says, and then their world dissolves into haze and they experience the disconcerting sense that their stomachs were being pulled on.
When they come to their senses, they’re inside a house.
“Shit,” Eames says, “we can’t be seen by them.” All of them then feel something cold trickling down their back.
“Eames,” Ariadne whispers, scandalized, “did you just pour cold water on me?”
“Of course not. But don’t talk so loudly. They can’t see us, but they can still hear us.”
“Seven,” Cobb says, “his mother’s dead.”
“Stuck with his father,” Yusuf says quietly, “a drunk, abusive father.” There’s a whole other story in his voice.
It’s the same house. Everything that they can see out of the window is the same as it was when they were looking from outside of the house. But houses couldn’t possibly smell so intoxicated. The windows are cracked and dusty, and the air is stagnant like no one has bothered to open any windows in a couple of years. There are footprints on the ground, some muddy, and other a deep, dusky red color that speak of blood. On the walls, there are also streaks of that same color.
"No one's here," Ariadne says, peering out of the window at the driveway. There is no car.
"It's two right now," Eames says. "He should be at school."
"You said on our last inception," Cobb says, "that we should build off of positive emotions, not negative ones."
"I did."
"There is no way we can spin anything positive out of this," Ariadne says, gesturing broadly at the room.
"The effects of abuse are too risky to guess at," Yusuf says, "some come out strong, others come out weak."
"Right," Eames says, "then let’s skip forward two more -“ Something hot bursts in Eames’ left pocket. He reaches in - it’s a piece of paper.
“Eames?” Cobb says. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Eames says, feeling something waxy. By the indentations, he can tell it’s the ministry’s official seal. “Wait.” He takes the slip of paper out of his pocket and reads:
“Eames,
Check his teen years.
- Syb.T.”
“Eames?” Ariadne says this time.
"Permoveo porro.”
====
They are dropped out of the sky onto hard ground.
"My tailbone!" Ariande groans, rubbing at it. They are on a green, healthy lawn, framed by a white picket fence and nicely trimmed shrubs.
“He’s fifteen now,” Eames informs.
“What happened to two year increments?” Cobb asks.
“Got a tip to check this age. Don’t worry - the source is reliable.”
A teenaged boy walks up the stairs of the house. He has dark hair, neatly pressed down onto his head. He wears a uniform, dark navy, with polished shoes and a Windsor tie.
"There's he is," Eames whispers.
"Looks a lot better this time 'round," Yusuf says.
"Keep your voice down," Cobb hisses, "disillusionment charms don't hide volume."
The door swings open before Darkholme gets to it, and a tall, red-haired woman steps out with a bright smile.
"Ambrose!" She says, walking forward to hug said boy tightly. "How was school?" Darkholme hugs her back for a moment, teen angst and rebellion completely absent, before he pulls his head back to speak.
"Fine, mom."
"Just fine? Tell me one thing that was interesting."
"I learned about game theory?" Darkholme offers before he struggles out of the hug. "Is William feeling better, or is he still sleeping?”
A high-pitched yell of “Muuuuuum, can I have a cookie” comes out of the house. The woman smiles.
"Well, if he wants a cookie, he should be feeling better! I gave him chicken soup for his cold, but he must have sensed that you were coming home to be awake." She pinches Darkholme on the nose affectionately. "Come on, he's waiting for his big brother." They turn together and walk into the house, the woman's arm wrapped around Darkholme's shoulder.
"We can use the younger brother," Ariadne says. They all look at her. "I mean, if his younger brother looks up to him, and he loves his little brother, then Darkholme would want to do the right thing, which is not allowing billions of people to die, right?"
“That,” Eames says, “was like twenty different false conclusions in a sentence.”
“Well, excuse me-“
“We’ll skip forward a few years and see if the siblings even love each other then. Permoveo porro.”
They land on their feet at a funeral.
"Did you send us back in time or something?" Yusuf asks. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but are we at his mother's funeral?"
“We should be three years into the future,” Eames says, pulling a device out of his pockets and checking it. “It’s right - 1872.”
"No," Ariadne says. "I think, I think this is his younger brother's." The little picture above the casket is of a young boy, looking sweetly out to the crowd. Darkholme and his family are near the front of the crowd, looking down into the casket. Darkholme’s mother sobs uncontrollably into the shoulder of her husband. Darkholme stands between them, face set in stone, as if he can't believe that his little brother is dead.
“Oh my God, that’s so sad.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Eames says. He knows he’s being insensitive, but he’s seen so many deaths and funerals during his Auror years that he’s become desensitized to them. “We need to find out how his younger brother died,” Eames says. He checks the headstone, peering at it over the multitude dressed in black.
“Oh good, they’re the type of family to write exact dates. Alright, hold onto me. It’s harder when we’re going to a specific date instead of year. Permoveo tergum!”
They end up on the side of a dark road in what is definitely the bad part of town, judging by the drops of blood smeared on the brick walls and the trashcans that are overflowing and all knocked over. In the middle of the road, illuminated by only the moon, stand Darkholme, his younger brother, and three older boys. More precisely, Darkholme's younger brother, William, is on the ground, and Darkholme is facing off against the three older boys.
"I'll say this again," one of the older boys says with a sneer, one hand waving a large bat in the air. "Give us the money, and maybe we'll let you keep your legs."
"Or do you want to end up like him?" Another boy asks, kicking at the ground and sending a wave of dust at William. Darkholme lunges forward.
"Ambrose, stop!" William yells,. Ambrose freezes, catching a fist to his face and falling back to the ground next to William.
"Just give us all your money," they repeat. "And we'll let you go."
"We don't have any money," Ambrose hisses to William. "They're not going to let us go. We have to fight!"
"No we don't," William says. "Fighting is bad - you heard mom! Last wednesday, Billy, from my class --"
"Hey!" A boy says loudly. "Are you gonna give us the money or not?" Slowly, William stands up.
"We don't have any money," William repeats, having said the same thing four times already. "Honestly."
"Yeah, right." Ambrose stands up.
"Really, we don't," he says, fists clenched. There's something brewing in the eyes of the other boys that he feels on the edge.
"Search us if you want," William adds. "You won't find anything of value - not even a pence." The other three boys exchange looks with one another.
"Oh we're going to search you two," one of them says. "But it's so much easier to search when no one moves." He raises the baseball bat, right above William's head.
"William!" Ambrose cries when his brother doesn't make any attempt to protect himself. The bat swings down with a loud crack. William crumples to the ground. Ambrose immediately rushes over.
"Not so fast," one of the boys says. "We've still got to introduce --"
"You fuckers," Ambrose says, cutting the other boy off. There's something dark in his voice, and the other boy doesn't speak again. "He's not fucking breathing!" The boy with the bat looks at his two companions.
"No way," the boy says, raising the bat again. Ambrose stands up slowly, his fists clenched tightly together.
"You killed my brother!" He lunges forward at them, kicking and punching whatever he can get his hands on.
"Shit," one of the other boys curses. "Shit! Run!" The three boys turn, running as fast as they can away from the scene of the crime, taking the bat with them. Once they leave, Darkholme returns to his brother's side.
"H-hah," his brother rasps out. "Nice acting."
"You idiot," Ambrose hisses. "Why didn't you fight back?"
"Violence only begets violence," William says.
"I don't know what the bloody hell they're teaching you in school, but -"
"I didn't learn it in school," William says. "I just - it's what I - rasp - what I believe."
"Save your breath. Come on, we need to get you home!"
"It's," William breathes out, "too late. I - I can feel the crack in my skull. Mum says these types of things never end well."
"No," Ambrose says. "No!" He grabs William's had with two hands, turning it. There is a large crack at the top of it, split neatly to show what's inside. When Ambrose pulls a hand away, it's covered with blood. "You can't die here!" He tries to pick his brother up, but his brother tenses his body. "William, what are --"
"I'm already losing consciousness," William says pointedly. "Mark got kicked in the head last summer by a horse - he ended up just like me, and I'm going to end up just like him: dead."
"No, you aren't," Ambrose says. "I won't let you." Ambrose pulls out his wand, racking his mind frantically for any spell he’s learned that could possibly help. He’s not trained to be a Healer - far from it - but he has to do something.
“Episkey,” Ambrose says, pointing at his brother’s head. For several devastating moments, WIlliam doesn't do anything - doesn't speak or breathe. Then, he takes a gasping breath.
“Thank Merlin,” Ambrose says, cradling his brother close to him. “Just take a few breaths okay? Let me go and get help, and -“
"Big brother," William says, grabbing onto Ambrose’s shirt to prevent him from leaving. He looks up at Ambrose. "Please don't go find those guys later."
"What?" Ambrose asks, taking his brother's hands in his. "Of course I'm --"
"How are you going to find them?"
“I’m going to go to every house in the slums and knock on their doors until -“
“What, you’re going to terrorize a whole group a people because of the actions of a few?”
“Well,” Ambrose starts, but he’s cut off when his brother takes a huge breath. “Are you okay? I should go and get --”
“Y-yeah,” William says. “D-doing that is just like killing all the Indians because one of them tripped over your foot.”
“You dying,” Ambrose says, “is not the same as tripping over my foot!”
“Sentiments the same,” William says, eyes crinkling. “I don’t want you to be someone like that - someone who hates a whole group for something someone’s done. It’s -“ William sighs. “Ask mom, okay? I never told you about what happened in school, and -“
But that’s all the life William has left in him, and his eyes start to flutter shut.
“Wait, William!” Ambrose shouts. “Wait, I’ll get help! Episkey, episkey, damn it!”
The scene dissolves into mist. Eames, Yusuf, Ariadne, and Cobb find themselves surrounded by complete darkness.
----
“Alright,” Cobb says when they’re out of the ministry, still disillusioned, and walking through Diagon Alley. They’ve spent an entire day in the Department of Mysteries, and are out past the curfew. “So we know what we can do for the inception. Everyone rest up for tonight.”
“We’ll be going to Glen Shiel tomorrow,” Eames says. “A glen in the Northwest Highlands of Scotland.” Nods all around signify that they know what’s going on. Once he escorts Cobb, Ariadne, and Yusuf to the Leaky Cauldron, he heads to the ministry.
“Auror Eames, with an update on the Ambrose Darkholme mission,” Eames says to Harry.
“And I have an update on Arthur Black. Which one do you want to discuss first-“
“Arthur,” Eames says automatically. Harry gives him a little amused smile.
“Draco says that he’s fine. They’re teaching him charms and hexes - basic Year One to Seven things. Your friend is picking things up quickly.”
“They won’t let him come back?” Eames asks.
“He doesn’t want to,” Harry says.
“What? Are - are you sure they aren’t using Imperio?”
“Draco made it clear that he wasn’t under it.”
“What? Can’t I talk to him?”
“They said no visits,” Harry says apologetically. “He says good luck to you on the mission, and that he will see you all soon.”
“But that’s -“
“Auror Potter,” a light female voice says from the doorway. “The Minister requests your presence.” Harry nods at her, and she leaves.
“I have to go,” Harry says. “Let me show you to the door.” But he doesn’t stand up. Instead, he casts a spell at the door, slamming it shut. Then, he presses the same bauble on his desk that he did before. “Listen to me, Eames. I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do, and I trust the Illiads as far as I can throw them - physically, that is. So if you’re going to do anything about it, don’t get caught, and don’t tell me about any of it.”
“Uh,” Eames says. Harry gives him a look. “Oh. Oh. Okay.”
“Don’t tell Hermione - and disapparate instead of going through the door.”
Someone knocks at the door.
“Auror Potter!” The same female voice says again. “The Minister is waiting!” Harry jerks his head to the right, telling Eames to go. He does, silently and quickly. Harry presses the bauble on his desk, which does not make any sound as the silencing charms on the room are lifted.
=====
The next day, Eames and the others head out to Glen Shiel on a train, seated comfortably two facing two.
“Any news on Arthur?” Ariadne asks.
“Where he is remains a mystery,” he says, wishing he had more to offer when he sees the disappointed looks around him, “but I know he’s definitely with the Illiads.”
“And how is he?”
“He’s fine, apparently, “ Eames says. “He doesn’t want to come back.”
“Doesn’t want to come back?” Ariadne explodes. “Are you kidding me? Can we talk to him?”
“I can’t believe it, either,” Eames says. “They’re not letting him take calls - or maybe he doesn’t want to talk to us.”
“I’m calling bullshit,” Yusuf says. “That’s not Arthur. Arthur would talk to us and tell us -“
“He passed a message along: good luck and that he’ll see us in a few days,” Eames says. Cobb squints.
“Something’s wrong,” Cobb says. He leans forward, a hand cupping his chin. “Arthur doesn’t believe in luck.”
“But at least we do know he’s unharmed,” Eames says. “Because our inside-man in the Illiads is trustworthy - he’d say if Arthur was off.”
“He’s already off.”
Suddenly, there is a small explosion of flames in front of Eames, and a single sheet of parchment paper floats down.
“What the hell?” Yusuf asks.
“Make it work. - A,” Eames reads off.
“Is that Arthur?” Ariadne asks, grabbing the paper from Eames’ hands. “Oh my God, it’s his handwriting!”
“This means -“
“This means that he has the means to contact us,” Eames says, heart sinking. “But he’s choosing not to.” He’s choosing not to contact me.
“Saito said he’d be back with information by tomorrow,” Cobb says. “When we get that location, we’ll pay a visit.” And figure out what the fuck is going on, he doesn’t say.
-----
It turns out that incepting Ambrose Darkholme is almost laughably easy. The coven is already tilted in their favor, with at least two dozen turned vampires instead of born vampires. In addition, the coven isn’t secluded in the forest, but instead all renting out rooms at inns in the small village near Glen Shiel. Not only is the wizarding community - and it is a wizarding community because there are flying broomsticks and owls everywhere - hospitable, but there is also a large blood bank, proudly declaring what it is and offering ‘low rates’ to thirsty vampires.
There are also humans traveling with the vampires, human witches and wizards who have willingly given up their blood to the vampires. They discover that Darkholme has not joined the war, and has no inclination to do so, because there is no incentive to. He prefers to stay out of it as long as possible, perhaps even avoiding it to the end.
In the evening, they follow Darkholme to his inn room when he excuses himself from the entire coven to take a nap. They take it as a chance to incept him. The first level is re-establishing the relationship between him and his little brother. Eames forges into the little brother, playing up the innocence and the good deeds, being perfect little brother and angel.
In the second level, they recreate the scene of William’s death. Darkholme’s image of his brother is exactly what they want it to be, and the setup is still in the middle of the street, beginning with Darkholme’s little brother taking a punch to the ground, refusing to fight back. However, this time instead of three robbers, Eames, Cobb, and Ariadne act as the aggressors. This time, it’s a hate crime.
“We don’t need your sort around here,” Eames says.
“W-what?” William asks.
“Unnatural freaks,” Ariadne spits out. Eames brings the bat down on William’s head, and Darkholme reacts as he did in real life, back in 1872. They run off, turn a corner, and Eames casts a disillusionment spell so they can go back and watch what happens next.
“Sentiments the same,” William says again. “I don’t want you to be someone like that - someone who hates a whole group for something someone’s done. It’s -“ William sighs. “It’s unfair. It’s unfair to me and my life if you end up like that.“
After that, they stick around to watch Ambrose wake up, converge his whole coven, and take a general vote on participation on the war after a rousing speech in favor of action. Satisfied with the result, they head back to London.
=====
They arrive in London at night, and head to the Leaky Cauldron. Eames turns to Cobb.
“Have you heard from Saito?”
“Why are you asking me?” Cobb asks. Eames gives him a look.
“No,” Cobb sighs. “He’s sent a couple one-worded texts saying he’s still alive.”
“Alright, then,” Eames says. “Go to bed. And make sure to stay inside. We’ll find out everything tomorrow.”
Part Four
Part One
Part Two
The next day at eight, Eames and the others prop up one of the dusty tables and sit down. Light filters barely through the dusty windows, but it’s just enough that they can see each other in the dark pub. Hannah is up before them, already ready with bacon and eggs.
“There’s orange juice and whatnot in the fridge,” Hannah says, “Eames should know where they are, seeing as he’s been taking without paying for quite a while now.”
“What’re a few eggs between friends?”
“It’s twenty galleons worth of eggs!”
After Hannah leaves with Neville, they finally start to talk about the inception.
Trying to incept Ambrose Darkholme is like trying incept an orange that has a peel too thick to even penetrate. It’s like trying to crack a coconut - impossible unless you smash it against the floor. It’s like - it’s hard, okay? It becomes apparent after about three minutes of reading detailed notes and a map to realize that Darkholme moves around a lot and he has about a hundred vampires with him.
“Vampire coven,” Ariadne repeats, “we’re working with a moving blimp.” Ambrose’s coven covers England from east to west coast in its movements every year. In the beginning of the year, they start in the east, and as the weather and seasons change, they move to the west.
“We don’t even know where they are right now.”
“Nah, I know,” Eames says, waving a hand. “Don’t ask how because I can’t tell you, but he is definitely somewhere around here.” Eames draws a circle on the map with his fingers. Arthur’s absence is tangible, but with nearly seven billion lives (Eames says that once the magical creatures are done with the wizards, they’ll start with the muggles - every muggle has the potential to spawn a wizard, after all) on their hands, there isn’t much room for worrying.
“How do we even get to him?” Yusuf asks. “And how much of this,” he says, taking his briefcase and shaking it lightly so that all the little bottles inside clatter together and make tiny clinking sounds, “does he need to sleep? Do vampires even sleep?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Eames says, “there’s something called the Draught of Living Death here that can put anything to sleep.”
“But doesn’t the Draught of Living Death -“ Cobb starts.
“Yes, it would put a normal person into a state of perpetual sleep, but it would work like a normal sleeping draught to vampires.”
“Well give me a sample, man! I need to test it and adapt it for -“
“We’ll do it later. I have a friend flying in who can handle the Draught without much harm.”
“Alright,” Cobb says, “then all we have to do now is find out what makes Ambrose tick.”
“That’s where it gets tricky,” Eames says, “there’s not much we can go on - in terms of paper history, at least. Vampire histories span hundred of years, anything that happened in his early life is pretty much destroyed by now. All his loved ones are dead, and anyone who knows anything about it has been silenced as well, probably.”
“Then what can we do?” Ariadne asks.
“What we can do is,” Eames pauses for dramatic effect, “time-travel.”
“Okay,” Yusuf says, “now he’s got to be shitting us, yes?”
“No,” Eames says, pulling a set of keys from his pocket, “but we do have to go somewhere else in order to do it.”
“Oh my God,” Yusuf says.
=====
Ariadne looks around, trying to see something in the dark murkiness of wherever the hell they are.
“What is this place?” She asks. The entire room is almost pitch-black, illuminated by blue-flamed branches of candles. There is nothing but the sound of their own feet walking across the marble floors.
“Entrance Room,” Eames says distractedly, looking around himself. “Keep with me.” He peers around the room for a while, before finally stalking towards a door.
“We all have to enter together,” Eames says when they’re all standing right before the door. “And if the door shuts before all of us make it through, you have to wait for me to come back.”
Then he pushes the door open, shoves everyone in while he uses his back to prop open the door to a room lit by what seems to be tiny, naked, diamond babies, each glowing with light and dancing a waltz in pairs.
“Don’t touch anything,” he warns, before walking forward.
“Eames, are you -“ Cobb starts.
“I’m going to have to get rid of this particular segment, yes,” Eames says. “Aha! Found it!” His hand is on the handle of a small, brown door that is barely tall enough to fit Eames. He does something with the dials on front, setting it to 1854. Then he pulls a strand of what seems to be hair out of his pockets and stuffs into a small compartment, muttering, “can’t believe it was so easy to get this. What in the world is Knockturn alley’s target audience these days?”
After that, the door unlocks. Eames ushers them through.
“Step in, keep your hands to yourselves, and we’ll be just fine with no lost arms,” Eames mutters when they’re all inside a small compartment.
Then he pulls something, mutters something else, and everything dissolves into a misty haze.
=====
“This is strange,” Ariadne says. All of them are huddled in the corner of an alley, just watching people pass by on the main streets.
“Not so strange,” Yusuf says, “I imagine about the same when I’m hooked up to the PASIV.”
“Really?”
“Well, mine usually has raging elephants, so-“
“There he is,” Cobb says, inclining his head towards a short, dark-haired boy walking briskly.
“Age five,” Eames says. He squints. “A bit tiny for his age.”
“Malnutrition?”
“We’re losing him,” Ariadne warns. They walk out of the alley, very out of place in their normal clothes, and stop a few meters behind Ambrose.
“We aren’t even going to talk about how weird this is?” Ariadne asks.
“We passed ‘weird’ over two hours ago when Arthur was kidnapped, dear,” Eames says. He frowns and turns to Cobb. “You are sure that Saito is -“
“Saito will find him,” Cobb says, “or God help him.”
“Good,” Eames says. “I’ve left a message back at headquarters, and I’ll go after this to check again -“
“Someone’s joining him,” Yusuf says, cutting into the conversation. “Seriously, if we’re doing this instead of chasing after Arthur, let’s at least do it right.”
“Mother?”
“Seems like it.” They follow closely as Ambrose and his mother walk down the main street, and then veer off to a smaller alley.
“Didn’t his mother die at this age?” Ariadne asks.
“That’s what our basic information told us,” Cobb says. “Stuck with his alcoholic and abusive father for three years - could be useful.”
“Or not,” Eames muses. “He could feel strong attachment to them, but then again he’s been alive for nearly a hundred and fifty-five years. Maybe he can’t even remember them.” Their targets enter a small, shabby house, Darkholme’s mother stepping forwards to swing open the thin, white, wooden door first. It strikes them that the process of opening the door is longer than it would usually take.
Not a sound is emitted from the door or the two who are standing near it. Everyone’s heart seems to tense in anticipation as the door slowly opens.
“Mum, I,” they hear Darkholme say, voice clear in the silence. His mother silences him.
“No, dear, you know I always go first,” she says. They step through the doorway, one following another, and then quickly shut the door behind them just as slowly and quietly as before.
“Must be the father,” Cobb says. Just then, there is a loud crash and a harsh male voice begins cursing and yelling. A female voice pleads for the man to calm down, but to no avail.
“No need to see what follows next,” Eames says quickly, looking at the sudden pallor of Ariadne’s face and the quietness held in Yusuf’s. Cobb looks like his very own children are witnessing what Darkholme must be. “Inception work better on positive emotions. No positive emotions here. Let’s skip forward two years.”
No one voices any objections, so Eames takes out his wand and waves it in the air, muttering a garbled spell.
“Permoveo porro,” Eames says, and then their world dissolves into haze and they experience the disconcerting sense that their stomachs were being pulled on.
When they come to their senses, they’re inside a house.
“Shit,” Eames says, “we can’t be seen by them.” All of them then feel something cold trickling down their back.
“Eames,” Ariadne whispers, scandalized, “did you just pour cold water on me?”
“Of course not. But don’t talk so loudly. They can’t see us, but they can still hear us.”
“Seven,” Cobb says, “his mother’s dead.”
“Stuck with his father,” Yusuf says quietly, “a drunk, abusive father.” There’s a whole other story in his voice.
It’s the same house. Everything that they can see out of the window is the same as it was when they were looking from outside of the house. But houses couldn’t possibly smell so intoxicated. The windows are cracked and dusty, and the air is stagnant like no one has bothered to open any windows in a couple of years. There are footprints on the ground, some muddy, and other a deep, dusky red color that speak of blood. On the walls, there are also streaks of that same color.
"No one's here," Ariadne says, peering out of the window at the driveway. There is no car.
"It's two right now," Eames says. "He should be at school."
"You said on our last inception," Cobb says, "that we should build off of positive emotions, not negative ones."
"I did."
"There is no way we can spin anything positive out of this," Ariadne says, gesturing broadly at the room.
"The effects of abuse are too risky to guess at," Yusuf says, "some come out strong, others come out weak."
"Right," Eames says, "then let’s skip forward two more -“ Something hot bursts in Eames’ left pocket. He reaches in - it’s a piece of paper.
“Eames?” Cobb says. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Eames says, feeling something waxy. By the indentations, he can tell it’s the ministry’s official seal. “Wait.” He takes the slip of paper out of his pocket and reads:
“Eames,
Check his teen years.
- Syb.T.”
“Eames?” Ariadne says this time.
"Permoveo porro.”
====
They are dropped out of the sky onto hard ground.
"My tailbone!" Ariande groans, rubbing at it. They are on a green, healthy lawn, framed by a white picket fence and nicely trimmed shrubs.
“He’s fifteen now,” Eames informs.
“What happened to two year increments?” Cobb asks.
“Got a tip to check this age. Don’t worry - the source is reliable.”
A teenaged boy walks up the stairs of the house. He has dark hair, neatly pressed down onto his head. He wears a uniform, dark navy, with polished shoes and a Windsor tie.
"There's he is," Eames whispers.
"Looks a lot better this time 'round," Yusuf says.
"Keep your voice down," Cobb hisses, "disillusionment charms don't hide volume."
The door swings open before Darkholme gets to it, and a tall, red-haired woman steps out with a bright smile.
"Ambrose!" She says, walking forward to hug said boy tightly. "How was school?" Darkholme hugs her back for a moment, teen angst and rebellion completely absent, before he pulls his head back to speak.
"Fine, mom."
"Just fine? Tell me one thing that was interesting."
"I learned about game theory?" Darkholme offers before he struggles out of the hug. "Is William feeling better, or is he still sleeping?”
A high-pitched yell of “Muuuuuum, can I have a cookie” comes out of the house. The woman smiles.
"Well, if he wants a cookie, he should be feeling better! I gave him chicken soup for his cold, but he must have sensed that you were coming home to be awake." She pinches Darkholme on the nose affectionately. "Come on, he's waiting for his big brother." They turn together and walk into the house, the woman's arm wrapped around Darkholme's shoulder.
"We can use the younger brother," Ariadne says. They all look at her. "I mean, if his younger brother looks up to him, and he loves his little brother, then Darkholme would want to do the right thing, which is not allowing billions of people to die, right?"
“That,” Eames says, “was like twenty different false conclusions in a sentence.”
“Well, excuse me-“
“We’ll skip forward a few years and see if the siblings even love each other then. Permoveo porro.”
They land on their feet at a funeral.
"Did you send us back in time or something?" Yusuf asks. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but are we at his mother's funeral?"
“We should be three years into the future,” Eames says, pulling a device out of his pockets and checking it. “It’s right - 1872.”
"No," Ariadne says. "I think, I think this is his younger brother's." The little picture above the casket is of a young boy, looking sweetly out to the crowd. Darkholme and his family are near the front of the crowd, looking down into the casket. Darkholme’s mother sobs uncontrollably into the shoulder of her husband. Darkholme stands between them, face set in stone, as if he can't believe that his little brother is dead.
“Oh my God, that’s so sad.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Eames says. He knows he’s being insensitive, but he’s seen so many deaths and funerals during his Auror years that he’s become desensitized to them. “We need to find out how his younger brother died,” Eames says. He checks the headstone, peering at it over the multitude dressed in black.
“Oh good, they’re the type of family to write exact dates. Alright, hold onto me. It’s harder when we’re going to a specific date instead of year. Permoveo tergum!”
They end up on the side of a dark road in what is definitely the bad part of town, judging by the drops of blood smeared on the brick walls and the trashcans that are overflowing and all knocked over. In the middle of the road, illuminated by only the moon, stand Darkholme, his younger brother, and three older boys. More precisely, Darkholme's younger brother, William, is on the ground, and Darkholme is facing off against the three older boys.
"I'll say this again," one of the older boys says with a sneer, one hand waving a large bat in the air. "Give us the money, and maybe we'll let you keep your legs."
"Or do you want to end up like him?" Another boy asks, kicking at the ground and sending a wave of dust at William. Darkholme lunges forward.
"Ambrose, stop!" William yells,. Ambrose freezes, catching a fist to his face and falling back to the ground next to William.
"Just give us all your money," they repeat. "And we'll let you go."
"We don't have any money," Ambrose hisses to William. "They're not going to let us go. We have to fight!"
"No we don't," William says. "Fighting is bad - you heard mom! Last wednesday, Billy, from my class --"
"Hey!" A boy says loudly. "Are you gonna give us the money or not?" Slowly, William stands up.
"We don't have any money," William repeats, having said the same thing four times already. "Honestly."
"Yeah, right." Ambrose stands up.
"Really, we don't," he says, fists clenched. There's something brewing in the eyes of the other boys that he feels on the edge.
"Search us if you want," William adds. "You won't find anything of value - not even a pence." The other three boys exchange looks with one another.
"Oh we're going to search you two," one of them says. "But it's so much easier to search when no one moves." He raises the baseball bat, right above William's head.
"William!" Ambrose cries when his brother doesn't make any attempt to protect himself. The bat swings down with a loud crack. William crumples to the ground. Ambrose immediately rushes over.
"Not so fast," one of the boys says. "We've still got to introduce --"
"You fuckers," Ambrose says, cutting the other boy off. There's something dark in his voice, and the other boy doesn't speak again. "He's not fucking breathing!" The boy with the bat looks at his two companions.
"No way," the boy says, raising the bat again. Ambrose stands up slowly, his fists clenched tightly together.
"You killed my brother!" He lunges forward at them, kicking and punching whatever he can get his hands on.
"Shit," one of the other boys curses. "Shit! Run!" The three boys turn, running as fast as they can away from the scene of the crime, taking the bat with them. Once they leave, Darkholme returns to his brother's side.
"H-hah," his brother rasps out. "Nice acting."
"You idiot," Ambrose hisses. "Why didn't you fight back?"
"Violence only begets violence," William says.
"I don't know what the bloody hell they're teaching you in school, but -"
"I didn't learn it in school," William says. "I just - it's what I - rasp - what I believe."
"Save your breath. Come on, we need to get you home!"
"It's," William breathes out, "too late. I - I can feel the crack in my skull. Mum says these types of things never end well."
"No," Ambrose says. "No!" He grabs William's had with two hands, turning it. There is a large crack at the top of it, split neatly to show what's inside. When Ambrose pulls a hand away, it's covered with blood. "You can't die here!" He tries to pick his brother up, but his brother tenses his body. "William, what are --"
"I'm already losing consciousness," William says pointedly. "Mark got kicked in the head last summer by a horse - he ended up just like me, and I'm going to end up just like him: dead."
"No, you aren't," Ambrose says. "I won't let you." Ambrose pulls out his wand, racking his mind frantically for any spell he’s learned that could possibly help. He’s not trained to be a Healer - far from it - but he has to do something.
“Episkey,” Ambrose says, pointing at his brother’s head. For several devastating moments, WIlliam doesn't do anything - doesn't speak or breathe. Then, he takes a gasping breath.
“Thank Merlin,” Ambrose says, cradling his brother close to him. “Just take a few breaths okay? Let me go and get help, and -“
"Big brother," William says, grabbing onto Ambrose’s shirt to prevent him from leaving. He looks up at Ambrose. "Please don't go find those guys later."
"What?" Ambrose asks, taking his brother's hands in his. "Of course I'm --"
"How are you going to find them?"
“I’m going to go to every house in the slums and knock on their doors until -“
“What, you’re going to terrorize a whole group a people because of the actions of a few?”
“Well,” Ambrose starts, but he’s cut off when his brother takes a huge breath. “Are you okay? I should go and get --”
“Y-yeah,” William says. “D-doing that is just like killing all the Indians because one of them tripped over your foot.”
“You dying,” Ambrose says, “is not the same as tripping over my foot!”
“Sentiments the same,” William says, eyes crinkling. “I don’t want you to be someone like that - someone who hates a whole group for something someone’s done. It’s -“ William sighs. “Ask mom, okay? I never told you about what happened in school, and -“
But that’s all the life William has left in him, and his eyes start to flutter shut.
“Wait, William!” Ambrose shouts. “Wait, I’ll get help! Episkey, episkey, damn it!”
The scene dissolves into mist. Eames, Yusuf, Ariadne, and Cobb find themselves surrounded by complete darkness.
----
“Alright,” Cobb says when they’re out of the ministry, still disillusioned, and walking through Diagon Alley. They’ve spent an entire day in the Department of Mysteries, and are out past the curfew. “So we know what we can do for the inception. Everyone rest up for tonight.”
“We’ll be going to Glen Shiel tomorrow,” Eames says. “A glen in the Northwest Highlands of Scotland.” Nods all around signify that they know what’s going on. Once he escorts Cobb, Ariadne, and Yusuf to the Leaky Cauldron, he heads to the ministry.
“Auror Eames, with an update on the Ambrose Darkholme mission,” Eames says to Harry.
“And I have an update on Arthur Black. Which one do you want to discuss first-“
“Arthur,” Eames says automatically. Harry gives him a little amused smile.
“Draco says that he’s fine. They’re teaching him charms and hexes - basic Year One to Seven things. Your friend is picking things up quickly.”
“They won’t let him come back?” Eames asks.
“He doesn’t want to,” Harry says.
“What? Are - are you sure they aren’t using Imperio?”
“Draco made it clear that he wasn’t under it.”
“What? Can’t I talk to him?”
“They said no visits,” Harry says apologetically. “He says good luck to you on the mission, and that he will see you all soon.”
“But that’s -“
“Auror Potter,” a light female voice says from the doorway. “The Minister requests your presence.” Harry nods at her, and she leaves.
“I have to go,” Harry says. “Let me show you to the door.” But he doesn’t stand up. Instead, he casts a spell at the door, slamming it shut. Then, he presses the same bauble on his desk that he did before. “Listen to me, Eames. I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do, and I trust the Illiads as far as I can throw them - physically, that is. So if you’re going to do anything about it, don’t get caught, and don’t tell me about any of it.”
“Uh,” Eames says. Harry gives him a look. “Oh. Oh. Okay.”
“Don’t tell Hermione - and disapparate instead of going through the door.”
Someone knocks at the door.
“Auror Potter!” The same female voice says again. “The Minister is waiting!” Harry jerks his head to the right, telling Eames to go. He does, silently and quickly. Harry presses the bauble on his desk, which does not make any sound as the silencing charms on the room are lifted.
=====
The next day, Eames and the others head out to Glen Shiel on a train, seated comfortably two facing two.
“Any news on Arthur?” Ariadne asks.
“Where he is remains a mystery,” he says, wishing he had more to offer when he sees the disappointed looks around him, “but I know he’s definitely with the Illiads.”
“And how is he?”
“He’s fine, apparently, “ Eames says. “He doesn’t want to come back.”
“Doesn’t want to come back?” Ariadne explodes. “Are you kidding me? Can we talk to him?”
“I can’t believe it, either,” Eames says. “They’re not letting him take calls - or maybe he doesn’t want to talk to us.”
“I’m calling bullshit,” Yusuf says. “That’s not Arthur. Arthur would talk to us and tell us -“
“He passed a message along: good luck and that he’ll see us in a few days,” Eames says. Cobb squints.
“Something’s wrong,” Cobb says. He leans forward, a hand cupping his chin. “Arthur doesn’t believe in luck.”
“But at least we do know he’s unharmed,” Eames says. “Because our inside-man in the Illiads is trustworthy - he’d say if Arthur was off.”
“He’s already off.”
Suddenly, there is a small explosion of flames in front of Eames, and a single sheet of parchment paper floats down.
“What the hell?” Yusuf asks.
“Make it work. - A,” Eames reads off.
“Is that Arthur?” Ariadne asks, grabbing the paper from Eames’ hands. “Oh my God, it’s his handwriting!”
“This means -“
“This means that he has the means to contact us,” Eames says, heart sinking. “But he’s choosing not to.” He’s choosing not to contact me.
“Saito said he’d be back with information by tomorrow,” Cobb says. “When we get that location, we’ll pay a visit.” And figure out what the fuck is going on, he doesn’t say.
-----
It turns out that incepting Ambrose Darkholme is almost laughably easy. The coven is already tilted in their favor, with at least two dozen turned vampires instead of born vampires. In addition, the coven isn’t secluded in the forest, but instead all renting out rooms at inns in the small village near Glen Shiel. Not only is the wizarding community - and it is a wizarding community because there are flying broomsticks and owls everywhere - hospitable, but there is also a large blood bank, proudly declaring what it is and offering ‘low rates’ to thirsty vampires.
There are also humans traveling with the vampires, human witches and wizards who have willingly given up their blood to the vampires. They discover that Darkholme has not joined the war, and has no inclination to do so, because there is no incentive to. He prefers to stay out of it as long as possible, perhaps even avoiding it to the end.
In the evening, they follow Darkholme to his inn room when he excuses himself from the entire coven to take a nap. They take it as a chance to incept him. The first level is re-establishing the relationship between him and his little brother. Eames forges into the little brother, playing up the innocence and the good deeds, being perfect little brother and angel.
In the second level, they recreate the scene of William’s death. Darkholme’s image of his brother is exactly what they want it to be, and the setup is still in the middle of the street, beginning with Darkholme’s little brother taking a punch to the ground, refusing to fight back. However, this time instead of three robbers, Eames, Cobb, and Ariadne act as the aggressors. This time, it’s a hate crime.
“We don’t need your sort around here,” Eames says.
“W-what?” William asks.
“Unnatural freaks,” Ariadne spits out. Eames brings the bat down on William’s head, and Darkholme reacts as he did in real life, back in 1872. They run off, turn a corner, and Eames casts a disillusionment spell so they can go back and watch what happens next.
“Sentiments the same,” William says again. “I don’t want you to be someone like that - someone who hates a whole group for something someone’s done. It’s -“ William sighs. “It’s unfair. It’s unfair to me and my life if you end up like that.“
After that, they stick around to watch Ambrose wake up, converge his whole coven, and take a general vote on participation on the war after a rousing speech in favor of action. Satisfied with the result, they head back to London.
=====
They arrive in London at night, and head to the Leaky Cauldron. Eames turns to Cobb.
“Have you heard from Saito?”
“Why are you asking me?” Cobb asks. Eames gives him a look.
“No,” Cobb sighs. “He’s sent a couple one-worded texts saying he’s still alive.”
“Alright, then,” Eames says. “Go to bed. And make sure to stay inside. We’ll find out everything tomorrow.”
Part Four