Project Beta (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 26)
Title: Project Beta (After the Flaw: Oligarchy, Chapter 26)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language and violence
Summary: The Oligarchy make a statement
Notes: I'll be the first to admit that I'm playing fast and loose with the facts and figures in this next chapter. For all that I was able to write about Duluth, I can say that I have never been to London. Meanwhile, I have a cousin in the USAF, yet my actual knowledge of military life and conduct is limited to Wikipedia and Jerry Bruckheimer movies. Life in the RAF's even more foreign to me. My excuse? It's 2020! The future! Thank you! Good night!
I own all of the characters in this chapter, but they are inspired by JK Rowling.
Zero Hour / Previous Chapters / Standing Offers
Flight Lieutenant Benjamin Allen came back to the smell of burning popcorn.
"Bloody--" he heard a cry from behind him as Joshua Ziegler, his fellow flight lieuy, shut off the mess common room's microwave.
"I thought you were watching that," said Ben from the couch.
"I was," said Josh, hissing as he pulled out the smoking bag. "I, like, zoned out or something."
"You, too, huh?" said Ben, rubbing his eyes. "I didn't think I was that tired."
"You and me both."
Ben shook his head and returned his attention to the telly, where a BluRay of some monster movie from ten years ago was playing. Josh had been the one to put it in, and Ben really hadn't been paying much attention to it. His mind had been elsewhere, thinking about the girl he had met at the pub last night. After a long day, and a long week, he had wanted nothing more than to sit down with his squadron and down a few pints. Then there was a girl, of course. He didn't know her name (or if she had told it to him, he had forgotten it in his hangover), and he had unfortunately not gotten a phone number from her. Didn't get taken back to her place, either, which was a right shame. Would have loved to have seen what she had been carrying underneath that blouse.
But he knew her face now. Knew that she came to the pub every now and again. Next time. Next time, he'd get her name.
So, yeah, he hadn't been paying attention to the movie. His mind had been elsewhere. Then he fell asleep.
Weird dream, too. Some guy in a black mask, talking about wizards and magic and whatever. Ben had no idea where that came from. He hated that D&D, sword-and-sorcery shite. Definitely not anything he'd ever think he'd be dreaming about.
It was weird, though, he thought as Josh sat down beside him on the common room couch. The bag of popcorn was tossed in the rubbish bin, and he had resorted to a chocolate bar from the vending machine to satisfy his snack craving. He had fallen asleep and had some odd dream about some guy straight out of some horror movie about Satanic cults. But he didn't feel tired. Like, at all. He had been wide awake since this morning. Ran ten miles and everything. His eyelids weren't even heavy.
So why did he fall asleep?
"Oh, man, I missed my favorite scene," Josh groaned. "The bit in the Underground with the parasite things coming after them. How'd I miss that?"
"You missed it thanks to the hypnotic trance of the spinning microwave," Ben said. "Hell if I know how you missed it."
"Was I zoned for that long?" Josh said. "No way. I must have, like, fallen asleep, or something."
"Fallen asleep standing up?"
"It can happen," Josh said defensively. "Besides, I had this weird dream..."
"So you're either falling asleep and dreaming standing up or having some wacky hallucinations," said Ben. "Either way, I don't want a share of what you drank last night."
"Some guy talking about magic being real and taking over the world," Josh said, shaking his head to clear it.
Ben sat up sharply. "What?"
"No kidding, right?" Josh said with a snort. "Weird shit."
"But I--"
BREET BREET BREET
"A drill?" Josh groaned, stuffing the rest of his chocolate bar into his mouth. "Dmmt..."
"Come on," said Ben, slapping Josh's leg and standing up. "Squadron Leader's going to be pissed if we don't suit up faster than last time."
"Right," said Josh, throwing the wrapper in the bin as the two left the mess.
Crazy coincidence that we had the same type of dream, Ben thought. But that's just it, right? We're in the same mess, same room, we must have heard the same conversation or film or whatever to trigger something.
Still... weird...
"What's the situation?" asked David Perkins, coming out of his own room to join the two as they moved down the hallway.
"Probably just another drill," said Ben. "You know Squad, she's been on our arses since the exercise last week. Why not pull a Saturday afternoon on us?"
"God, I hope so," said David as the three walked down the hall, other members of their squadron joining up behind them, muttering to themselves. "I have a bad feeling all of a sudden."
"Why's that?"
"Just a weird dream I had before the klaxon went off," said Perkins. "Dark magic and robed guys. It was really... intense."
Ben stopped in his tracks and spun on David. "You... You had a dream about a... a wizard?"
"Yeah," said Perkins. "Bad mojo, I guess."
"I had one, too," said Ben, his eyes widening in shock.
"No, you didn't," said David with a snort.
"Yeah, I did," said Ben. "Josh did, too. Didn't you, Josh? Josh?"
But Josh wasn't paying attention to the conversation. Instead, he was staring up at one of the monitors hanging from the ceiling. Normally, those monitors showed off your basic station information: flight schedules, daily menus, announcements from the Station Commander or his subordinate officers.
Those rotating texts weren't there anymore. Instead, there was footage: video being shot from a helicopter above a city.
"Why are they playing Cloverfield on the announcement board?" David asked.
"This isn't Cloverfield," said Josh, his voice slurred with shock. "This is a news broadcast."
Ben took a step forward, hoping that even those six inches would help him see what he was seeing better. Make him comprehend what he was seeing. Maybe talk himself out of what was now being shown on the television.
"Oh my God," he breathed.
"Well," said Josh, swallowing hard, "at least we know it's not a drill."
---------
The message had just been delivered and already Atrytone, Mask of Athens, could see the beginnings of the coming chaos.
Muggles and their machines, she thought. Take their drivers away for a split-second and see the damage that is wrought.
All along the banks of the Thames she could see the hints of smoke. Automobiles crashed into each other. Automobiles crashed into trees and electrical poles and buildings and Merlin knew what else. Automobiles driven off the road and into the river as their drivers' senses vanished for a minute and a half as they received Prospero's news of a new world.
To her right, Atrytone saw a ferry smashed into a pier, the driver taken by the message as he was supposed to slow down. She wondered how many airplanes had not landed as they should have around the world. How many Muggles had died so far. And the Oligarchy hadn't even begun to deliver.
More chaos. More fear. More anger. They would see what witches and wizards were capable of. And when they did, they would strike back. And when those useless attempts at vengeance were batted away like an annoying fly buzzing in your ear, then they would know. Then they would bow.
To Atrytone's left flew Dola, Mask of Kiev. Like Atrytone, her hood had fallen back in the wind; her long brown hair trailed behind her and the black and orange fur of her mask fluttering in the cold wind. Behind them flew three lesser members of the Oligarchy, clad in their uniform black robes and heads of darkness.
And below them, eighty feet long, twelve feet wide, moving at speeds considered unthinkable for non-magical aquatic life, sped the package.
Atrytone had made the move before Prospero's order. The Circle would understand, of course. Even if the package had been able to travel at one hundred miles an hour, leaving the North Sea and swimming (upstream, no less) to London would have taken far too much time. Atrytone understood the necessity for immediate impact.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how Atrytone looked at it), there hadn't been a lot of disturbances since the Estuary. Not a lot of bridges in this part of the river. Just lots and lots of tunnels, lots and lots of ferries. They had taken one or two of those ferries out as they blasted towards England's capitol, actually. That was amusing, watching the Muggle-filled boats tear in half, or simply explode, as they were hit by something they could barely comprehend.
Then there had been the Queen Elizabeth Bridge. And the Thames Barrier. Both could have easily been taken out on their journey, and would have caused more than a few headaches for the Ministry if they hadn't already been so occupied with a Quidditch disaster and a new Minister. But in the end, Atrytone relented. The message needed to be delivered before the package. Sinking ferries were inconsequential. Sinking bridges, not so much.
But there was the target up ahead. The two large towers, and the bridges between them, loomed close. That was where the package was to be delivered.
"Release the restraints on my order!" Atrytone called out to the others, knowing that they could still hear her well through the slipstream. The small crystals in each of their ears allowed easy communication. "Release on my orders, and protect the package until you are told otherwise!"
"Yes, ma'am!" the three handlers called in unison.
"It's a pleasure to be here for this moment," said Dola. "I am surprised that you chose me rather than Gungnir."
"Gungnir doesn't have the stomach for this," Atrytone said with disgust. "He doesn't realize that the message is simply words if we do not back up our claims. This, however... NOW!"
Atrytone and Dola split away from each other. At the same time, the three handlers all lowered their wands and peeled away, allowing the creature held below the river to spring to the surface. With one mighty leap, it latched onto the side of the Tower Bridge and pulled itself onto the roadway and let loose with a ear-piercing screech.
Tires squealed. Metal crunched. The panic began.
To say the typhon was an imposing magical creature would be like saying Grindelwald was a mere wizard. From the moment Atrytone joined the Circle of Thirteen, from the moment she had been told of Project Beta, she knew that this beast was destined to play a key role. Standing half as tall as the bridge's towers, the typhon was a brownish-green tree trunk of a creature. Instead of feet, it had twenty-five tentacles. Instead of arms, it had ten more tentacles sprouting from each shoulder. Its face was eyeless and noseless, but its mouth, twelve feet wide by itself, housed one hundred teeth, layered two deep like a shark's, each tooth one foot long and capable of tearing solid rock.
Or an automobile, Atrytone thought with pride as the typhon picked up a Mini with its tentacles and tore a chunk from its front end.
"Muggles of London!" she boomed as the typhon tore through the cars like they were toys. "We are the Oligarchy! Welcome to the new world!"
"So what say you?" she asked Dola as Muggles scattered screaming to both ends of the shore. The typhon, not satisfied with the tear of metal, plucked one of them, a middle-aged man in a business suit, with one of its many long tentacles.
"I don't know," said Dola, her cat's mouth twitching with a smile as the typhon dropped the Muggle into its mouth and closed it with a satisfying crunch. "It's frightening, yes. But it's not the kind of frightening that brings a man to question his sanity."
"You're right," Atrytone said as the typhon reached up and wrapped one tentacle around the upper walkway. She could hear the metal straining beneath the beast's weight. "We could make a bigger statement."
"We could," said Dola, raising her wand. "On three?"
"One, two, three! Megalono!"
"Uvelichi!"
The beast was hanging from the walkway now by two tentacles, but as the spells connected with it, it began to change. Within moments, the typhon's lower tentacles were touching the bridge, expanding until they filled the entire width of the roadway. Meanwhile, the walkway began to bulge upwards as quickly-growing typhon pressed up beneath it, eventually just simply breaking it in half over its shoulders.
As the typhon reached twice, three times, almost four times its original size, the old bridge couldn't take any more weight. With an apocalyptic groan, the bridge gave way, sending stone, steel, and Muggles into the Thames.
"Now that is more like it," said Dola, watching with deep satisfaction as the now-thirty story typhon slammed its tentacles through the bridge's two famous towers. From below, Atrytone could hear the snap of the suspension bridge cables as the rest of the structure collapsed into the river.
"Stay back!" Atrytone called to the handlers. "Let it travel its natural course! We're here to protect it, and that is all! Keep clear of its appendages!"
After a few minutes of tearing apart the Tower Bridge, the typhon slithered out of the Thames, now no more than a shallow stream to its girth. It started to move in a southwesternly direction, enjoying the carnage that it was causing as it moved its way over buildings, roads, and people, who were stampeding through the streets in terror.
From the north, Atrytone heard them. She turned to face the north, and saw numerous small dots on the horizon, growing fast.
"Looks like we have the military's attention," she said to Dola, pointing to the squadron.
"They're fast," said Dola. "I approve of their response rate. They're ultimately useless, but I approve nonetheless."
"Shield spells!" Atrytone called out. "They should deflect any bullets! We should not expect any missles or bombs on this first pass, not when they do not know what they are facing! Attack as you see fit!"
"I have just the spell," said Dola, now grinning freely.
---------
"We're ready to go to you, Patton."
"Sooner the better, Jane," said BBC reporter Frank Patton. "Can't you keep this thing from jiggling?"
"I'm doing my best, Frank," said the helicopter's pilot (Frank hadn't learned his name; he never really cared to pay much attention to any of the tech crew). "It's a little windy up here."
"Well, do better," Frank snapped, using the joystick to keep his RTS-winning footage centered in the monitor. He pulled his eyes away long enough to scan the skies. They were amazingly clear. No ITV yet. No Sky News. They were either really slow to the punch, or else they got a jump on Frank and whats-his-name on the sinking ferry.
Either way, their loss.
"Ten seconds, Patton," said Jane in his headphones. "We've been picked up on the AP feed. Congratulations, you're going global."
Frank's heart stopped. The AP feed. In a few seconds, his voice would be carried to CNN, Al Jazeera, Euronews... Screw the RTS. A story like this, they'll make a whole new Pulitzer category just for him...
"In four, three, two, one."
"And now, for continuing coverage," the voice of Jane the producer was replaced by that of weekend presenter Mike Alberts, "is our own Frank Patton, live from the News helicopter for a BBC exclusive. Frank, what are you seeing?"
"Well, Mike," said Frank into the headpiece's microphone. "Total devastation would only scratch the surface of what I'm seeing. While en route to Gravesend, we were the first news organization to come upon this scene. And I can assure the audience at home, this is not a hoax, not a special effect, not a publicity stunt for the new season of Jimmy Porter. This is simply a living nightmare come to life."
Living nightmare come to life? Idiot.
"Since we arrived on the scene," he pressed on, "the creature has destroyed both Tower Bridge and the Shard. More horrifying still, it seems to have grown. I would estimate its size now at ninety, possibly one hundred meters tall. At this size, it has easily torn a path through Bermondsey and Walworth, leaving untold numbers of dead and injured in its wake."
"Thanks, Frank," said Mike. "And the Ministry of Defence has ordered immediate evacutations of Bermondsey and Walworth, as well as the surrounding areas. In addition, the areas of Oval, Stockwell, and Clapham have been placed on high alert. The Ministry of Defence requests that you vacate the area immediately. If this is not possible, evacuate to the nearest underground shelter. Now, as for the question of what this creature is, we turn now to herpetologist--"
"You're off, Frank," Jane interrupted.
"What?" Frank yelled. "That's all? I'm on the bloody scene!"
"And we're still airing your footage," said Jane. "So keep on it. We'll come back to you if anything new happens."
"Anything new? Giant fucking monster's not new enough?"
But Jane was gone. "Unbelievable," Frank said to the pilot. "We're here, we're here, and all of a sudden I'm just a fucking aerial photographer."
"That's tough."
"Quite," Frank said with a curled lip, hoping for a little more outrage from this guy. In the end, though, he decided he had better make the best of the situation. He put all of his attention on the work at hand, adjusting the camera to get the clearest, most detailed video possible of what was easily the biggest news story of 2020.
"There's something around it," said the pilot, pointing towards the giant creature.
"You mean besides the smoke and fire and lots and lots of tentacles?"
"No, like little black things circling around it. Don't you see them?"
"Probably birds, or something," said Frank, keeping his eyes on the big picture. The big picture with big fucking teeth.
"You said one hundred meters," said the pilot. "Those things are too big to be birds. Zoom in on them."
"Don't tell me what to--"
But the pilot was right. Against his better judgment, Frank spun the joystick's thumb wheel to zoom up to, indeed, black things flying around the monster's midsection. And they were bigger than birds.
"Those are people," he gasped. "Flying people..."
"Frank, what's going on?" asked Jane from the other side. "You're losing the thing."
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing, Jane?" asked Frank. "I only have the tiny viewfinder, you have HD in the production room."
"You're going back on the air," Jane said quickly. "In five, four, three, two, one."
"And returning to Frank Patton in the skies over London," said Mike from the studio. "Frank, what are you seeing?"
"I'm not quite sure," said Frank, squinting at the small digital viewer. "But there appear to be four, possibly five black shapes circling the animal. I'm not sure how it's possible. They might be attached by wires, or possibly utilizing some heretofore unknown flying devices. Jet packs, perhaps."
Okay, that sounded crazy.
"Maybe they're wizards?" the pilot said quietly. "Like... Like in the visions?"
Scratch that. That sounded crazy.
Frank glanced at the pilot with frustration, reaching for the killswitch on his microphone. "They aren't wizards," he said shortly. "Those were just... just..."
But what were they? What had he seen when he had been on his way to the helicopter to report on the ferry accident? Was it sleep deprivation? Some sort of mickey that had been slipped into his afternoon coffee as a joke by the production staff? Maybe post-traumatic flashbacks from the Iranian Revolution, his first major battlefield reporting duty almost ten years ago?
It had to be something like that. And it had to be something so completely coincidental to whatever whats-his-name saw.
Because, although he was staring at a giant monster straight out of a Godzilla movie, he simply wouldn't allow his brain to accept the alternative...
"Frank?" Mike said into his ear. "Frank, are you still with us?"
"I'm still... damn," Frank said, flipping his microphone back on, "I'm still here, Mike. Again, it's unclear what exactly we're looking at, but they do appear human in shape. I can try to zoom in closer, keep the helicopter steady!"
"I'm trying!" the pilot responded. "Oh, shit..."
Frank hit the killswitch again. "Not on the air!"
"Sorry!" said the pilot, one hand now grasping his own headphones. His face was white. "We're being ordered to land."
"What?"
"Radio transmission from the military," he said. "A squadron of Typhoons are on their way. We need to be out of the way."
"Oh, hell no!" Frank said. "No way am I leaving, not now!"
"They already ordered Sky and ITV out of the area," said the pilot, his voice shaking. "That's why we're the only ones up here. They're saying this is restricted airspace."
"Frank? Frank?"
"You even try landing this thing and I'm cracking you with the fire extinguisher and flying myself!"
"We land or they shoot us down!"
"They wouldn't!" Frank said. "There's a giant monster tearing through London, and they're threatening to use weapons on us?"
"Frank, are you there?" "Patton?" Now both Mike and Jane were summoning him. He reached up to turn his microphone back on.
"I'm here," he said. "We're being ordered by the RAF to land our aircraft. It's a request that we are refusing."
"Patton, don't be a hero," said Jane. "Land the helicopter."
I'm not being a hero, Frank thought. I'm just taking advantage of my Murrow Moment.
"Ask them what altitude they're flying," said Frank to the pilot. "Then get above it."
"Frank, no way," said the pilot. "No way am I dying for this."
"They're not going to shoot us down," said Frank to the pilot and to the studio. "The whole world is watching. Anything they do to us will bring down a firestorm. Get up higher, they'll have to be flying in low to hit that thing."
"That's Frank Patton live from the skies of London," said Mike, and Frank felt his ego swell at the hint of pride he could hear in the newsreader's voice.
"Jane, keep us on the air," Frank said. "No matter what, you don't turn away from my footage. As long as we're on the air, they won't touch us."
"We're not going anywhere."
"Here they come," said the pilot, pulling back on his stick. At once, the helicopter launched into the air, well clear of the incoming jets. Frank turned the camera, trying his best to keep up with the Typhoons. A dozen strong, they were practically hugging the rooftops below.
"Are you seeing this in the studio?"
"We are," said Mike. "And we would advise anyone watching at home without strong stomachs to turn away. This is going to be graphic."
Frank's heart pounded. This footage was just getting better and better. He was here for the beginning, and he'd be here for the end. And how many journalists had footage of an aerial assault from above? This was going into the archives! This footage, his footage, was going to be played, and replayed, and studied, and used as an example for generations to come.
I'd better get a fucking raise.
"They wouldn't use rockets, would they?" asked the pilot. "Not in a residential area?"
"Who knows?" said Frank. "Technology like they have nowadays, they shouldn't have a difficult time aiming. They--OH GOD!"
One by one, the jets began to lose control. Some smashed into the streets below, others into each other before crashing. One or two crumpled like they had slammed into a brick wall, and a few simply froze in mid-air.
And then there was the jet in the lead. From the tail wing, Frank could tell that it was the Wing Commander's jet.
At least, it used to be a jet.
"I didn't see that," the pilot muttered. "I didn't see that I didn't see that I didn't..."
"Frank?" Mike called out from the studio. "Frank, what just happened?"
"I... I don't know," said Frank, not believing his own eyes. He was afraid to speak for fear that he'd be locked up in a mental ward for the next decade. He absolutely did not see what he thought he saw.
"The jet..." the pilot said, his voice echoing the shock that Frank was feeling. "Did... Did it just turn into a whale?"
---------
"Nice transfiguration," said Atrytone as the two watched the big fish plummet from the sky.
"I feel it is a political statement," said Dola. "About the bloated state of politics today."
"That is a bit of a stretch," said Atrytone. "But I think that helicopter caught it on camera, so your statement has been made."
"And what of you?" asked Dola. "Was that a Zkran?"
"Aspida, Shield Charm, yes," said Atrytone with a satisfied nod. "I've never seen anything collide with one at such speed, though. That was impressive."
"Wish the ryba would have landed on City Hall," said Dola. "Ugly building."
"I wonder if the pilot transfigured along with the plane."
"The world will never know," said Dola as they followed the typhon into Lambeth. "Well, I suppose they will know. I'm sure it exploded when it hit the ground. Whether there's a Muggle inside or simply intestines, it will draw attention."
---------
Hermione Caroline Lupin did fall asleep after all.
It was a short, restless sleep. The dream of the man in the robe gave way to dreams of Ted. Dreams of Ted with her, dreams of Ted with Victoire. When Hermione awoke, her heart was pounding in her chest, her mouth was dry, and her eyes felt puffy.
She wanted to move. Wanted to get out of this bed, out of this house, far away from the memories that it held. She wanted her Mum.
But she was just so tired. Every joint seemed to ache from the energy that had been spent sobbing not an hour ago. The pillow was warm and comforting
(and smelled like him)
and she wished she could just drift off into a dreamless sleep for the next week and prayed that it was she'd wake up to find that this was all some nightmare.
Her brain wanted to race. Wanted to plan what to do. How to end it. How to fix it. What sorts of nasty things she could do to Victoire Weasley.
She concentrated hard on her plotting.
I have to pee.
Higher brain functions not a priority right now.
In a haze, Hermione dragged herself out of bed and slumped to the bathroom. Pulled down her pants, sat down, zoned out. Allowing her mind to just shut down for who knew how long.
After a while she stood up again. Forgot if she even did anything until she looked in the bowl. Flushed. Pulled her pants up.
Heard noises outside.
Horns blaring. Doors slamming.
People yelling.
She shuffled to the window and looked outside. The street in front of her house was packed tight with automobiles. The sidewalks were swarming with people, all moving to her left. They kept looking over their shoulder and pointing.
An enormous roar overhead. Engines.
Why were they flying so low?
Hermione walked over to another window, one that allowed her to look at where everyone was looking, pointing, and running away from.
Most of the horizon was blocked by a giant mass of green and brown something. Said green and brown something was coming closer. Fast. Too fast.
Hermione screamed, stumbling backwards, tripping and falling to her back as her feet tangled in Ted's Quidditch robes.
Her instinct was telling her to run. Get out to the street with everyone else. Fucking move. Her body, on the other hand, was paralyzed with fear. Were those tentacles? Was one of them holding a car?
runrunrunrunrunrun
She pushed herself backwards by her heels, scooting on her rear. Her right hand landed on something hard, and she fell back once again as the thing rolled our beneath it.
My broom...
Hermione rolled onto her stomach, staring at the Cleansweep as it rolled away from her. Her brain started working, maybe for the first time since she had arrived home from the convention.
What you're thinking is crazy.
Giant monster coming my way? And this is crazy?
You can't be seen! You'll get in trouble! Just run away
Running's too slow. You'll trip, you'll get trampled, you'll get hurt, then you'll die.
But--
As her shoulder slammed into the front door, Hermione realized her body had decided which way to go before she had even finished that little internal argument.
That answers that question.
Hermione leapt onto the broomstick at running speed, flipping her leg over it like it was a bicycle, and felt a shiver run through her that had nothing to do with the cold as she passed over her fence. Must be the spell Mr. Thomas put up, she thought. As she gained altitude, now floating just over her roof, she got her first look at the thing that was attacking her neighborhood.
It was green, it was ugly, and it was big. Victoira Tower big. Its waist was just a little wider than a bus, but the tentacles splayed out beneath it let it cover four times that much area in all directions, all the time wrapping and grabbing and squeezing as it moved forward far too fast for the people below it. In all reality, its head reminded Hermione of the Malboro from her old Final Fantasy games: huge, haloed by more tentacles, and all mouth.
Are the tentacles used to smell? To hear? To see? I bet you Victoire would know.
If she were here, I could feed her to it.
Not the time...
The screams below became more pronounced as the beast came closer, now no more than two blocks away. Hermione looked down at them to see far too many of them looking up and pointing at her.
"It's one of them!" she heard from below.
"It's a witch!"
"Run! She'll kill us!"
"Just like my dream!"
"We're trapped!"
Just like my dream?
She thought back through the haze, past the dreams/nightmares she had about Ted, remembering the man in the cloak speaking to her.
Did everyone have that dream? Was it real? Was this the taste of their power that Prospero was talking about? The symbol of what the wizards and witches harness?
Oh, God...
Does London know? Does the world know?
"Run!" she yelled to the crowd below. "Run, I'm not going to hurt you!"
But she could have been singing Neil Diamond for all the good it was doing to the crowd of Muggles below, who were now scrambling in all directions. Most were still, wisely, running from the Malboro-looking monster, but others were pushing in the other direction, away from her. Amazingly, when confronted with the choice between one unknown and the other, a woman on a broomstick was apparently more freshly horrifying than a giant green thing.
"No!" she yelled hopelessly. "Keep running! Get away from it!"
It was getting closer. A block away now. Less. Cars and people were falling to the ground, enveloped by the mass of tentacles. People were running, but slowly. Far too slowly.
I wish I had a wand, Hermione Caroline thought. I wish I could do something.
Can't you?
She thought back to the day on the Holyhead pitch, the day she had first learned to fly the broomstick that was now humming beneath her. To holding Ted after he learned about Antaeus Carrow. The memory of that day, despite everything that had happened in the last few hours, was still clear and dear to her. She remembered thinking about how every witch and wizard, Jean, Ron, Kingsley, Luna, everyone, were trained to fight for what was right. Would gladly put their lives on the line to protect their friends, their family, their way of life.
He still would, you know. Even after all of this, he'd still die for you.
Hermione Caroline knew that. Whether that was enough or not was a question for another time.
And where was he? You kicked him out of the house. Where did he go? Is he safe?
Another question that would have to wait. Because Hermione knew what she had to do. She always wanted to be a witch. She didn't have a wand, but she didn't need one.
She had the skills to protect her fellow Muggles.
"Oh, please God," she whispered, clutching the broomstick tight, "please Merlin, let all those hours on X-Wing Fighter and Star Fox pay off..."
You're going to die, you know that.
And, amazingly enough, she was fine with that.
And she was off, blasting towards the Malboro at a speed that Harry had never let her reach in her lessons. The January wind numbed her face and her blond hair, still in a ponytail from her cosplay outfit, whipped across her back as she leaned forward on the stick.
Distract it, she thought. Keep away from its tentacles, scream your head off, hope that it can see/smell/hear you flying around it. Give the people below time to escape. And did I mention keep away from its tentacles?
Hermione's arms began to shake with adrenaline. And fear. You said Star Fox and X-Wing. Just think of it as a game. Get into game mode. You blasted through those games like they were nothing.
Blasted being the operative word, she thought as she zoomed past the monster, well clear of its reach. What she wouldn't give for a laser cannon. Or a shotgun. Or a snowball. Anything.
Maybe you do have something, she thought as she passed by. In the monster's trail, through the smoke and the dust, were piles of rubble: torn up houses, shredded cars, and--
Just mannequins, she thought desperately. Please God just think of them as mannequins if you don't you'll break completely.
She swooped down and, avoiding even looking at the
(mannequins)
and scooped up a piece of cement roughly the size of a tennis ball. Now armed, at least temporarily, she flew up, towards the back of the monster's head.
"Hey, ugly!" she screamed. "Muggle behind you!" Making sure she held tight to the broomstick with her left hand, she reared back with her right and chucked the piece with all her might.
She connected. It was easy to do, as the head was roughly the size of a barn. Even so, Hermione was afraid that the Malboro wouldn't notice it.
"Yeah, that's right!" she howled. "I got more where that came from, big guy!"
The head rotated slightly. Three of the tentacles circling the head seemed to point at her.
She heard a loud whistling from her right.
"Protego!"
The Shield Charm saved Hermione Caroline's life, the Malboro's unseen tentacle smashing into it hard, but otherwise harmlessly. Hermione barely recognized how close she had come to death, instead looking around for whoever it was that cast the spell.
"What are you doing?" yelled a black-cloaked witch, also on a broomstick, flying up to join her. As she drew near, Hermione Caroline could see that the witch was wearing a helmet that covered her face.
"Are you with the Ministry?" Hermione asked. "Where did this thing come from?"
"What are you doing?" the witch repeated.
"Trying to distract it," Hermione replied. "I don't have a wand."
The witch looked ready to respond, but flinched as the Malboro released an ear-shattering screech. Hermione could feel her eardrums straining, and almost fell from her broom as both of her hands flew to the sides of her head, saving herself only by clutching with her elbows and clamping down with her thighs.
As she fell forward onto her broom, she saw what was causing the monster to scream. Many of its tentacles had become severed from its body, now flopping uselessly on the ground. Reddish-black blood poured from the wounds. Hermione's eyes widened as she saw what was now sitting between the monster and the sliced tentacles, what had caused such an injury.
"Impressive!" the witch yelled over the monster's screams. "I always wondered what would happen if an organic object was forced against so many protective barriers. Excellent work. That is your house, correct?"
Hermione nodded dumbly, staring at her home, sitting right in the middle of the pool of monster blood. Mr. Thomas had done a good job before he had left. If she had known how effective his spells would be, she wouldn't have left in the first place.
"We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you," said the witch. "We understand that any damage caused to magical residents and their property is an unfortunate, but necessary, consequence. But surely you understand that we needed to show the Muggles a fraction of our capabilities."
Hermione's eyes widened. This witch wasn't Ministry. She had actually sicced this thing on the Muggles below?
"Atrytone!" yelled another witch that flew towards them. Hermione's heart stopped as she saw her.
Cat face, cat woman, Ted's dream, it was real, Oh God
"Who is this?" the cat-faced asked the helmeted one.
"She's a witch who lives around here," the helmeted witch (Atrytone, apparently) replied. "That is her home below."
"Hm," said the cat, looking down at the Lupins' residence. "Nice protection spells. What should we do now? Heal it?"
"No," said Atrytone. "The Muggles will be here with their second wave of attack soon. And this time we will not use any creative spellwork."
"We will not defend it? But -- Hey!"
The two witches (Oligarchy, oh God they're Oligarchy, just like the ones that killed Carrow) distracted, Hermione made her escape. It was one thing to distract a monster, but not with two full witches wanting to stop her. Especially if they found out that she was a Muggle. There was a time for fight, and there was a time for flight.
Hermione Caroline Lupin flew. And flew. And flew.
---------
"Let her go," said Atrytone to Dola as they watched the woman on the broomstick fly off into the distance.
"But she knows of us!"
"They all know of us now," said Atrytone. "Besides, she was wearing a Muggle Charm."
"All the more reason--"
"One of the Protected lives near here," Atrytone explained. "I forgot it until now, but I recall from the profiles that Prospero gave us. Theodore Lupin, the werewolf metamorph, lives in Clapham."
"The one married to a Muggle?" Dola said, her cat brow arched as she looked off to the horizon. "That may very well have been her. But where is he?"
"Not our concern," said Atrytone. "Prepare the handlers for our escape. More military should be here soon with more weaponry. We will allow them to finish the mission."
"Finish the mission?" Dola asked.
Atrytone pointed to the horizon with her wand. Sure enough, more jets were flying their way. "The mission ends with the death of the typhon. Come, the Ministry may still be a ways off, but we cannot trust in that. We do not want to be here when they arrive."
"Shouldn't we be fighting them?"
"Of course not," said Atrytone, waving the handlers to her as, in the distance, the F35s lined up their target. "We will escape, and they will not pursue us. They will be too busy dealing with the body."
Dola grinned. "I'd love to see the cowards try to explain this away."
And as the five flew off into the distance, the missiles fired and the typhon died, falling to the ground with an earth-shaking boom. As the jet fighters flew overhead, the first of many Muggles circled. Cameras flashed. Phone calls were made. Stories were exchanged of broomsticks and witches and dreams of magicians. All the while, Frank Patton hovered in the BBC helicopter, broadcasting to all corners of the globe.
The truth spread like Fiendfyre.
Zero Hour / Previous Chapters / Standing Offers
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Previous Chapters
Rating: R for language and violence
Summary: The Oligarchy make a statement
Notes: I'll be the first to admit that I'm playing fast and loose with the facts and figures in this next chapter. For all that I was able to write about Duluth, I can say that I have never been to London. Meanwhile, I have a cousin in the USAF, yet my actual knowledge of military life and conduct is limited to Wikipedia and Jerry Bruckheimer movies. Life in the RAF's even more foreign to me. My excuse? It's 2020! The future! Thank you! Good night!
I own all of the characters in this chapter, but they are inspired by JK Rowling.
Zero Hour / Previous Chapters / Standing Offers
Flight Lieutenant Benjamin Allen came back to the smell of burning popcorn.
"Bloody--" he heard a cry from behind him as Joshua Ziegler, his fellow flight lieuy, shut off the mess common room's microwave.
"I thought you were watching that," said Ben from the couch.
"I was," said Josh, hissing as he pulled out the smoking bag. "I, like, zoned out or something."
"You, too, huh?" said Ben, rubbing his eyes. "I didn't think I was that tired."
"You and me both."
Ben shook his head and returned his attention to the telly, where a BluRay of some monster movie from ten years ago was playing. Josh had been the one to put it in, and Ben really hadn't been paying much attention to it. His mind had been elsewhere, thinking about the girl he had met at the pub last night. After a long day, and a long week, he had wanted nothing more than to sit down with his squadron and down a few pints. Then there was a girl, of course. He didn't know her name (or if she had told it to him, he had forgotten it in his hangover), and he had unfortunately not gotten a phone number from her. Didn't get taken back to her place, either, which was a right shame. Would have loved to have seen what she had been carrying underneath that blouse.
But he knew her face now. Knew that she came to the pub every now and again. Next time. Next time, he'd get her name.
So, yeah, he hadn't been paying attention to the movie. His mind had been elsewhere. Then he fell asleep.
Weird dream, too. Some guy in a black mask, talking about wizards and magic and whatever. Ben had no idea where that came from. He hated that D&D, sword-and-sorcery shite. Definitely not anything he'd ever think he'd be dreaming about.
It was weird, though, he thought as Josh sat down beside him on the common room couch. The bag of popcorn was tossed in the rubbish bin, and he had resorted to a chocolate bar from the vending machine to satisfy his snack craving. He had fallen asleep and had some odd dream about some guy straight out of some horror movie about Satanic cults. But he didn't feel tired. Like, at all. He had been wide awake since this morning. Ran ten miles and everything. His eyelids weren't even heavy.
So why did he fall asleep?
"Oh, man, I missed my favorite scene," Josh groaned. "The bit in the Underground with the parasite things coming after them. How'd I miss that?"
"You missed it thanks to the hypnotic trance of the spinning microwave," Ben said. "Hell if I know how you missed it."
"Was I zoned for that long?" Josh said. "No way. I must have, like, fallen asleep, or something."
"Fallen asleep standing up?"
"It can happen," Josh said defensively. "Besides, I had this weird dream..."
"So you're either falling asleep and dreaming standing up or having some wacky hallucinations," said Ben. "Either way, I don't want a share of what you drank last night."
"Some guy talking about magic being real and taking over the world," Josh said, shaking his head to clear it.
Ben sat up sharply. "What?"
"No kidding, right?" Josh said with a snort. "Weird shit."
"But I--"
BREET BREET BREET
"A drill?" Josh groaned, stuffing the rest of his chocolate bar into his mouth. "Dmmt..."
"Come on," said Ben, slapping Josh's leg and standing up. "Squadron Leader's going to be pissed if we don't suit up faster than last time."
"Right," said Josh, throwing the wrapper in the bin as the two left the mess.
Crazy coincidence that we had the same type of dream, Ben thought. But that's just it, right? We're in the same mess, same room, we must have heard the same conversation or film or whatever to trigger something.
Still... weird...
"What's the situation?" asked David Perkins, coming out of his own room to join the two as they moved down the hallway.
"Probably just another drill," said Ben. "You know Squad, she's been on our arses since the exercise last week. Why not pull a Saturday afternoon on us?"
"God, I hope so," said David as the three walked down the hall, other members of their squadron joining up behind them, muttering to themselves. "I have a bad feeling all of a sudden."
"Why's that?"
"Just a weird dream I had before the klaxon went off," said Perkins. "Dark magic and robed guys. It was really... intense."
Ben stopped in his tracks and spun on David. "You... You had a dream about a... a wizard?"
"Yeah," said Perkins. "Bad mojo, I guess."
"I had one, too," said Ben, his eyes widening in shock.
"No, you didn't," said David with a snort.
"Yeah, I did," said Ben. "Josh did, too. Didn't you, Josh? Josh?"
But Josh wasn't paying attention to the conversation. Instead, he was staring up at one of the monitors hanging from the ceiling. Normally, those monitors showed off your basic station information: flight schedules, daily menus, announcements from the Station Commander or his subordinate officers.
Those rotating texts weren't there anymore. Instead, there was footage: video being shot from a helicopter above a city.
"Why are they playing Cloverfield on the announcement board?" David asked.
"This isn't Cloverfield," said Josh, his voice slurred with shock. "This is a news broadcast."
Ben took a step forward, hoping that even those six inches would help him see what he was seeing better. Make him comprehend what he was seeing. Maybe talk himself out of what was now being shown on the television.
"Oh my God," he breathed.
"Well," said Josh, swallowing hard, "at least we know it's not a drill."
---------
The message had just been delivered and already Atrytone, Mask of Athens, could see the beginnings of the coming chaos.
Muggles and their machines, she thought. Take their drivers away for a split-second and see the damage that is wrought.
All along the banks of the Thames she could see the hints of smoke. Automobiles crashed into each other. Automobiles crashed into trees and electrical poles and buildings and Merlin knew what else. Automobiles driven off the road and into the river as their drivers' senses vanished for a minute and a half as they received Prospero's news of a new world.
To her right, Atrytone saw a ferry smashed into a pier, the driver taken by the message as he was supposed to slow down. She wondered how many airplanes had not landed as they should have around the world. How many Muggles had died so far. And the Oligarchy hadn't even begun to deliver.
More chaos. More fear. More anger. They would see what witches and wizards were capable of. And when they did, they would strike back. And when those useless attempts at vengeance were batted away like an annoying fly buzzing in your ear, then they would know. Then they would bow.
To Atrytone's left flew Dola, Mask of Kiev. Like Atrytone, her hood had fallen back in the wind; her long brown hair trailed behind her and the black and orange fur of her mask fluttering in the cold wind. Behind them flew three lesser members of the Oligarchy, clad in their uniform black robes and heads of darkness.
And below them, eighty feet long, twelve feet wide, moving at speeds considered unthinkable for non-magical aquatic life, sped the package.
Atrytone had made the move before Prospero's order. The Circle would understand, of course. Even if the package had been able to travel at one hundred miles an hour, leaving the North Sea and swimming (upstream, no less) to London would have taken far too much time. Atrytone understood the necessity for immediate impact.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how Atrytone looked at it), there hadn't been a lot of disturbances since the Estuary. Not a lot of bridges in this part of the river. Just lots and lots of tunnels, lots and lots of ferries. They had taken one or two of those ferries out as they blasted towards England's capitol, actually. That was amusing, watching the Muggle-filled boats tear in half, or simply explode, as they were hit by something they could barely comprehend.
Then there had been the Queen Elizabeth Bridge. And the Thames Barrier. Both could have easily been taken out on their journey, and would have caused more than a few headaches for the Ministry if they hadn't already been so occupied with a Quidditch disaster and a new Minister. But in the end, Atrytone relented. The message needed to be delivered before the package. Sinking ferries were inconsequential. Sinking bridges, not so much.
But there was the target up ahead. The two large towers, and the bridges between them, loomed close. That was where the package was to be delivered.
"Release the restraints on my order!" Atrytone called out to the others, knowing that they could still hear her well through the slipstream. The small crystals in each of their ears allowed easy communication. "Release on my orders, and protect the package until you are told otherwise!"
"Yes, ma'am!" the three handlers called in unison.
"It's a pleasure to be here for this moment," said Dola. "I am surprised that you chose me rather than Gungnir."
"Gungnir doesn't have the stomach for this," Atrytone said with disgust. "He doesn't realize that the message is simply words if we do not back up our claims. This, however... NOW!"
Atrytone and Dola split away from each other. At the same time, the three handlers all lowered their wands and peeled away, allowing the creature held below the river to spring to the surface. With one mighty leap, it latched onto the side of the Tower Bridge and pulled itself onto the roadway and let loose with a ear-piercing screech.
Tires squealed. Metal crunched. The panic began.
To say the typhon was an imposing magical creature would be like saying Grindelwald was a mere wizard. From the moment Atrytone joined the Circle of Thirteen, from the moment she had been told of Project Beta, she knew that this beast was destined to play a key role. Standing half as tall as the bridge's towers, the typhon was a brownish-green tree trunk of a creature. Instead of feet, it had twenty-five tentacles. Instead of arms, it had ten more tentacles sprouting from each shoulder. Its face was eyeless and noseless, but its mouth, twelve feet wide by itself, housed one hundred teeth, layered two deep like a shark's, each tooth one foot long and capable of tearing solid rock.
Or an automobile, Atrytone thought with pride as the typhon picked up a Mini with its tentacles and tore a chunk from its front end.
"Muggles of London!" she boomed as the typhon tore through the cars like they were toys. "We are the Oligarchy! Welcome to the new world!"
"So what say you?" she asked Dola as Muggles scattered screaming to both ends of the shore. The typhon, not satisfied with the tear of metal, plucked one of them, a middle-aged man in a business suit, with one of its many long tentacles.
"I don't know," said Dola, her cat's mouth twitching with a smile as the typhon dropped the Muggle into its mouth and closed it with a satisfying crunch. "It's frightening, yes. But it's not the kind of frightening that brings a man to question his sanity."
"You're right," Atrytone said as the typhon reached up and wrapped one tentacle around the upper walkway. She could hear the metal straining beneath the beast's weight. "We could make a bigger statement."
"We could," said Dola, raising her wand. "On three?"
"One, two, three! Megalono!"
"Uvelichi!"
The beast was hanging from the walkway now by two tentacles, but as the spells connected with it, it began to change. Within moments, the typhon's lower tentacles were touching the bridge, expanding until they filled the entire width of the roadway. Meanwhile, the walkway began to bulge upwards as quickly-growing typhon pressed up beneath it, eventually just simply breaking it in half over its shoulders.
As the typhon reached twice, three times, almost four times its original size, the old bridge couldn't take any more weight. With an apocalyptic groan, the bridge gave way, sending stone, steel, and Muggles into the Thames.
"Now that is more like it," said Dola, watching with deep satisfaction as the now-thirty story typhon slammed its tentacles through the bridge's two famous towers. From below, Atrytone could hear the snap of the suspension bridge cables as the rest of the structure collapsed into the river.
"Stay back!" Atrytone called to the handlers. "Let it travel its natural course! We're here to protect it, and that is all! Keep clear of its appendages!"
After a few minutes of tearing apart the Tower Bridge, the typhon slithered out of the Thames, now no more than a shallow stream to its girth. It started to move in a southwesternly direction, enjoying the carnage that it was causing as it moved its way over buildings, roads, and people, who were stampeding through the streets in terror.
From the north, Atrytone heard them. She turned to face the north, and saw numerous small dots on the horizon, growing fast.
"Looks like we have the military's attention," she said to Dola, pointing to the squadron.
"They're fast," said Dola. "I approve of their response rate. They're ultimately useless, but I approve nonetheless."
"Shield spells!" Atrytone called out. "They should deflect any bullets! We should not expect any missles or bombs on this first pass, not when they do not know what they are facing! Attack as you see fit!"
"I have just the spell," said Dola, now grinning freely.
---------
"We're ready to go to you, Patton."
"Sooner the better, Jane," said BBC reporter Frank Patton. "Can't you keep this thing from jiggling?"
"I'm doing my best, Frank," said the helicopter's pilot (Frank hadn't learned his name; he never really cared to pay much attention to any of the tech crew). "It's a little windy up here."
"Well, do better," Frank snapped, using the joystick to keep his RTS-winning footage centered in the monitor. He pulled his eyes away long enough to scan the skies. They were amazingly clear. No ITV yet. No Sky News. They were either really slow to the punch, or else they got a jump on Frank and whats-his-name on the sinking ferry.
Either way, their loss.
"Ten seconds, Patton," said Jane in his headphones. "We've been picked up on the AP feed. Congratulations, you're going global."
Frank's heart stopped. The AP feed. In a few seconds, his voice would be carried to CNN, Al Jazeera, Euronews... Screw the RTS. A story like this, they'll make a whole new Pulitzer category just for him...
"In four, three, two, one."
"And now, for continuing coverage," the voice of Jane the producer was replaced by that of weekend presenter Mike Alberts, "is our own Frank Patton, live from the News helicopter for a BBC exclusive. Frank, what are you seeing?"
"Well, Mike," said Frank into the headpiece's microphone. "Total devastation would only scratch the surface of what I'm seeing. While en route to Gravesend, we were the first news organization to come upon this scene. And I can assure the audience at home, this is not a hoax, not a special effect, not a publicity stunt for the new season of Jimmy Porter. This is simply a living nightmare come to life."
Living nightmare come to life? Idiot.
"Since we arrived on the scene," he pressed on, "the creature has destroyed both Tower Bridge and the Shard. More horrifying still, it seems to have grown. I would estimate its size now at ninety, possibly one hundred meters tall. At this size, it has easily torn a path through Bermondsey and Walworth, leaving untold numbers of dead and injured in its wake."
"Thanks, Frank," said Mike. "And the Ministry of Defence has ordered immediate evacutations of Bermondsey and Walworth, as well as the surrounding areas. In addition, the areas of Oval, Stockwell, and Clapham have been placed on high alert. The Ministry of Defence requests that you vacate the area immediately. If this is not possible, evacuate to the nearest underground shelter. Now, as for the question of what this creature is, we turn now to herpetologist--"
"You're off, Frank," Jane interrupted.
"What?" Frank yelled. "That's all? I'm on the bloody scene!"
"And we're still airing your footage," said Jane. "So keep on it. We'll come back to you if anything new happens."
"Anything new? Giant fucking monster's not new enough?"
But Jane was gone. "Unbelievable," Frank said to the pilot. "We're here, we're here, and all of a sudden I'm just a fucking aerial photographer."
"That's tough."
"Quite," Frank said with a curled lip, hoping for a little more outrage from this guy. In the end, though, he decided he had better make the best of the situation. He put all of his attention on the work at hand, adjusting the camera to get the clearest, most detailed video possible of what was easily the biggest news story of 2020.
"There's something around it," said the pilot, pointing towards the giant creature.
"You mean besides the smoke and fire and lots and lots of tentacles?"
"No, like little black things circling around it. Don't you see them?"
"Probably birds, or something," said Frank, keeping his eyes on the big picture. The big picture with big fucking teeth.
"You said one hundred meters," said the pilot. "Those things are too big to be birds. Zoom in on them."
"Don't tell me what to--"
But the pilot was right. Against his better judgment, Frank spun the joystick's thumb wheel to zoom up to, indeed, black things flying around the monster's midsection. And they were bigger than birds.
"Those are people," he gasped. "Flying people..."
"Frank, what's going on?" asked Jane from the other side. "You're losing the thing."
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing, Jane?" asked Frank. "I only have the tiny viewfinder, you have HD in the production room."
"You're going back on the air," Jane said quickly. "In five, four, three, two, one."
"And returning to Frank Patton in the skies over London," said Mike from the studio. "Frank, what are you seeing?"
"I'm not quite sure," said Frank, squinting at the small digital viewer. "But there appear to be four, possibly five black shapes circling the animal. I'm not sure how it's possible. They might be attached by wires, or possibly utilizing some heretofore unknown flying devices. Jet packs, perhaps."
Okay, that sounded crazy.
"Maybe they're wizards?" the pilot said quietly. "Like... Like in the visions?"
Scratch that. That sounded crazy.
Frank glanced at the pilot with frustration, reaching for the killswitch on his microphone. "They aren't wizards," he said shortly. "Those were just... just..."
But what were they? What had he seen when he had been on his way to the helicopter to report on the ferry accident? Was it sleep deprivation? Some sort of mickey that had been slipped into his afternoon coffee as a joke by the production staff? Maybe post-traumatic flashbacks from the Iranian Revolution, his first major battlefield reporting duty almost ten years ago?
It had to be something like that. And it had to be something so completely coincidental to whatever whats-his-name saw.
Because, although he was staring at a giant monster straight out of a Godzilla movie, he simply wouldn't allow his brain to accept the alternative...
"Frank?" Mike said into his ear. "Frank, are you still with us?"
"I'm still... damn," Frank said, flipping his microphone back on, "I'm still here, Mike. Again, it's unclear what exactly we're looking at, but they do appear human in shape. I can try to zoom in closer, keep the helicopter steady!"
"I'm trying!" the pilot responded. "Oh, shit..."
Frank hit the killswitch again. "Not on the air!"
"Sorry!" said the pilot, one hand now grasping his own headphones. His face was white. "We're being ordered to land."
"What?"
"Radio transmission from the military," he said. "A squadron of Typhoons are on their way. We need to be out of the way."
"Oh, hell no!" Frank said. "No way am I leaving, not now!"
"They already ordered Sky and ITV out of the area," said the pilot, his voice shaking. "That's why we're the only ones up here. They're saying this is restricted airspace."
"Frank? Frank?"
"You even try landing this thing and I'm cracking you with the fire extinguisher and flying myself!"
"We land or they shoot us down!"
"They wouldn't!" Frank said. "There's a giant monster tearing through London, and they're threatening to use weapons on us?"
"Frank, are you there?" "Patton?" Now both Mike and Jane were summoning him. He reached up to turn his microphone back on.
"I'm here," he said. "We're being ordered by the RAF to land our aircraft. It's a request that we are refusing."
"Patton, don't be a hero," said Jane. "Land the helicopter."
I'm not being a hero, Frank thought. I'm just taking advantage of my Murrow Moment.
"Ask them what altitude they're flying," said Frank to the pilot. "Then get above it."
"Frank, no way," said the pilot. "No way am I dying for this."
"They're not going to shoot us down," said Frank to the pilot and to the studio. "The whole world is watching. Anything they do to us will bring down a firestorm. Get up higher, they'll have to be flying in low to hit that thing."
"That's Frank Patton live from the skies of London," said Mike, and Frank felt his ego swell at the hint of pride he could hear in the newsreader's voice.
"Jane, keep us on the air," Frank said. "No matter what, you don't turn away from my footage. As long as we're on the air, they won't touch us."
"We're not going anywhere."
"Here they come," said the pilot, pulling back on his stick. At once, the helicopter launched into the air, well clear of the incoming jets. Frank turned the camera, trying his best to keep up with the Typhoons. A dozen strong, they were practically hugging the rooftops below.
"Are you seeing this in the studio?"
"We are," said Mike. "And we would advise anyone watching at home without strong stomachs to turn away. This is going to be graphic."
Frank's heart pounded. This footage was just getting better and better. He was here for the beginning, and he'd be here for the end. And how many journalists had footage of an aerial assault from above? This was going into the archives! This footage, his footage, was going to be played, and replayed, and studied, and used as an example for generations to come.
I'd better get a fucking raise.
"They wouldn't use rockets, would they?" asked the pilot. "Not in a residential area?"
"Who knows?" said Frank. "Technology like they have nowadays, they shouldn't have a difficult time aiming. They--OH GOD!"
One by one, the jets began to lose control. Some smashed into the streets below, others into each other before crashing. One or two crumpled like they had slammed into a brick wall, and a few simply froze in mid-air.
And then there was the jet in the lead. From the tail wing, Frank could tell that it was the Wing Commander's jet.
At least, it used to be a jet.
"I didn't see that," the pilot muttered. "I didn't see that I didn't see that I didn't..."
"Frank?" Mike called out from the studio. "Frank, what just happened?"
"I... I don't know," said Frank, not believing his own eyes. He was afraid to speak for fear that he'd be locked up in a mental ward for the next decade. He absolutely did not see what he thought he saw.
"The jet..." the pilot said, his voice echoing the shock that Frank was feeling. "Did... Did it just turn into a whale?"
---------
"Nice transfiguration," said Atrytone as the two watched the big fish plummet from the sky.
"I feel it is a political statement," said Dola. "About the bloated state of politics today."
"That is a bit of a stretch," said Atrytone. "But I think that helicopter caught it on camera, so your statement has been made."
"And what of you?" asked Dola. "Was that a Zkran?"
"Aspida, Shield Charm, yes," said Atrytone with a satisfied nod. "I've never seen anything collide with one at such speed, though. That was impressive."
"Wish the ryba would have landed on City Hall," said Dola. "Ugly building."
"I wonder if the pilot transfigured along with the plane."
"The world will never know," said Dola as they followed the typhon into Lambeth. "Well, I suppose they will know. I'm sure it exploded when it hit the ground. Whether there's a Muggle inside or simply intestines, it will draw attention."
---------
Hermione Caroline Lupin did fall asleep after all.
It was a short, restless sleep. The dream of the man in the robe gave way to dreams of Ted. Dreams of Ted with her, dreams of Ted with Victoire. When Hermione awoke, her heart was pounding in her chest, her mouth was dry, and her eyes felt puffy.
She wanted to move. Wanted to get out of this bed, out of this house, far away from the memories that it held. She wanted her Mum.
But she was just so tired. Every joint seemed to ache from the energy that had been spent sobbing not an hour ago. The pillow was warm and comforting
(and smelled like him)
and she wished she could just drift off into a dreamless sleep for the next week and prayed that it was she'd wake up to find that this was all some nightmare.
Her brain wanted to race. Wanted to plan what to do. How to end it. How to fix it. What sorts of nasty things she could do to Victoire Weasley.
She concentrated hard on her plotting.
I have to pee.
Higher brain functions not a priority right now.
In a haze, Hermione dragged herself out of bed and slumped to the bathroom. Pulled down her pants, sat down, zoned out. Allowing her mind to just shut down for who knew how long.
After a while she stood up again. Forgot if she even did anything until she looked in the bowl. Flushed. Pulled her pants up.
Heard noises outside.
Horns blaring. Doors slamming.
People yelling.
She shuffled to the window and looked outside. The street in front of her house was packed tight with automobiles. The sidewalks were swarming with people, all moving to her left. They kept looking over their shoulder and pointing.
An enormous roar overhead. Engines.
Why were they flying so low?
Hermione walked over to another window, one that allowed her to look at where everyone was looking, pointing, and running away from.
Most of the horizon was blocked by a giant mass of green and brown something. Said green and brown something was coming closer. Fast. Too fast.
Hermione screamed, stumbling backwards, tripping and falling to her back as her feet tangled in Ted's Quidditch robes.
Her instinct was telling her to run. Get out to the street with everyone else. Fucking move. Her body, on the other hand, was paralyzed with fear. Were those tentacles? Was one of them holding a car?
runrunrunrunrunrun
She pushed herself backwards by her heels, scooting on her rear. Her right hand landed on something hard, and she fell back once again as the thing rolled our beneath it.
My broom...
Hermione rolled onto her stomach, staring at the Cleansweep as it rolled away from her. Her brain started working, maybe for the first time since she had arrived home from the convention.
What you're thinking is crazy.
Giant monster coming my way? And this is crazy?
You can't be seen! You'll get in trouble! Just run away
Running's too slow. You'll trip, you'll get trampled, you'll get hurt, then you'll die.
But--
As her shoulder slammed into the front door, Hermione realized her body had decided which way to go before she had even finished that little internal argument.
That answers that question.
Hermione leapt onto the broomstick at running speed, flipping her leg over it like it was a bicycle, and felt a shiver run through her that had nothing to do with the cold as she passed over her fence. Must be the spell Mr. Thomas put up, she thought. As she gained altitude, now floating just over her roof, she got her first look at the thing that was attacking her neighborhood.
It was green, it was ugly, and it was big. Victoira Tower big. Its waist was just a little wider than a bus, but the tentacles splayed out beneath it let it cover four times that much area in all directions, all the time wrapping and grabbing and squeezing as it moved forward far too fast for the people below it. In all reality, its head reminded Hermione of the Malboro from her old Final Fantasy games: huge, haloed by more tentacles, and all mouth.
Are the tentacles used to smell? To hear? To see? I bet you Victoire would know.
If she were here, I could feed her to it.
Not the time...
The screams below became more pronounced as the beast came closer, now no more than two blocks away. Hermione looked down at them to see far too many of them looking up and pointing at her.
"It's one of them!" she heard from below.
"It's a witch!"
"Run! She'll kill us!"
"Just like my dream!"
"We're trapped!"
Just like my dream?
She thought back through the haze, past the dreams/nightmares she had about Ted, remembering the man in the cloak speaking to her.
Did everyone have that dream? Was it real? Was this the taste of their power that Prospero was talking about? The symbol of what the wizards and witches harness?
Oh, God...
Does London know? Does the world know?
"Run!" she yelled to the crowd below. "Run, I'm not going to hurt you!"
But she could have been singing Neil Diamond for all the good it was doing to the crowd of Muggles below, who were now scrambling in all directions. Most were still, wisely, running from the Malboro-looking monster, but others were pushing in the other direction, away from her. Amazingly, when confronted with the choice between one unknown and the other, a woman on a broomstick was apparently more freshly horrifying than a giant green thing.
"No!" she yelled hopelessly. "Keep running! Get away from it!"
It was getting closer. A block away now. Less. Cars and people were falling to the ground, enveloped by the mass of tentacles. People were running, but slowly. Far too slowly.
I wish I had a wand, Hermione Caroline thought. I wish I could do something.
Can't you?
She thought back to the day on the Holyhead pitch, the day she had first learned to fly the broomstick that was now humming beneath her. To holding Ted after he learned about Antaeus Carrow. The memory of that day, despite everything that had happened in the last few hours, was still clear and dear to her. She remembered thinking about how every witch and wizard, Jean, Ron, Kingsley, Luna, everyone, were trained to fight for what was right. Would gladly put their lives on the line to protect their friends, their family, their way of life.
He still would, you know. Even after all of this, he'd still die for you.
Hermione Caroline knew that. Whether that was enough or not was a question for another time.
And where was he? You kicked him out of the house. Where did he go? Is he safe?
Another question that would have to wait. Because Hermione knew what she had to do. She always wanted to be a witch. She didn't have a wand, but she didn't need one.
She had the skills to protect her fellow Muggles.
"Oh, please God," she whispered, clutching the broomstick tight, "please Merlin, let all those hours on X-Wing Fighter and Star Fox pay off..."
You're going to die, you know that.
And, amazingly enough, she was fine with that.
And she was off, blasting towards the Malboro at a speed that Harry had never let her reach in her lessons. The January wind numbed her face and her blond hair, still in a ponytail from her cosplay outfit, whipped across her back as she leaned forward on the stick.
Distract it, she thought. Keep away from its tentacles, scream your head off, hope that it can see/smell/hear you flying around it. Give the people below time to escape. And did I mention keep away from its tentacles?
Hermione's arms began to shake with adrenaline. And fear. You said Star Fox and X-Wing. Just think of it as a game. Get into game mode. You blasted through those games like they were nothing.
Blasted being the operative word, she thought as she zoomed past the monster, well clear of its reach. What she wouldn't give for a laser cannon. Or a shotgun. Or a snowball. Anything.
Maybe you do have something, she thought as she passed by. In the monster's trail, through the smoke and the dust, were piles of rubble: torn up houses, shredded cars, and--
Just mannequins, she thought desperately. Please God just think of them as mannequins if you don't you'll break completely.
She swooped down and, avoiding even looking at the
(mannequins)
and scooped up a piece of cement roughly the size of a tennis ball. Now armed, at least temporarily, she flew up, towards the back of the monster's head.
"Hey, ugly!" she screamed. "Muggle behind you!" Making sure she held tight to the broomstick with her left hand, she reared back with her right and chucked the piece with all her might.
She connected. It was easy to do, as the head was roughly the size of a barn. Even so, Hermione was afraid that the Malboro wouldn't notice it.
"Yeah, that's right!" she howled. "I got more where that came from, big guy!"
The head rotated slightly. Three of the tentacles circling the head seemed to point at her.
She heard a loud whistling from her right.
"Protego!"
The Shield Charm saved Hermione Caroline's life, the Malboro's unseen tentacle smashing into it hard, but otherwise harmlessly. Hermione barely recognized how close she had come to death, instead looking around for whoever it was that cast the spell.
"What are you doing?" yelled a black-cloaked witch, also on a broomstick, flying up to join her. As she drew near, Hermione Caroline could see that the witch was wearing a helmet that covered her face.
"Are you with the Ministry?" Hermione asked. "Where did this thing come from?"
"What are you doing?" the witch repeated.
"Trying to distract it," Hermione replied. "I don't have a wand."
The witch looked ready to respond, but flinched as the Malboro released an ear-shattering screech. Hermione could feel her eardrums straining, and almost fell from her broom as both of her hands flew to the sides of her head, saving herself only by clutching with her elbows and clamping down with her thighs.
As she fell forward onto her broom, she saw what was causing the monster to scream. Many of its tentacles had become severed from its body, now flopping uselessly on the ground. Reddish-black blood poured from the wounds. Hermione's eyes widened as she saw what was now sitting between the monster and the sliced tentacles, what had caused such an injury.
"Impressive!" the witch yelled over the monster's screams. "I always wondered what would happen if an organic object was forced against so many protective barriers. Excellent work. That is your house, correct?"
Hermione nodded dumbly, staring at her home, sitting right in the middle of the pool of monster blood. Mr. Thomas had done a good job before he had left. If she had known how effective his spells would be, she wouldn't have left in the first place.
"We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you," said the witch. "We understand that any damage caused to magical residents and their property is an unfortunate, but necessary, consequence. But surely you understand that we needed to show the Muggles a fraction of our capabilities."
Hermione's eyes widened. This witch wasn't Ministry. She had actually sicced this thing on the Muggles below?
"Atrytone!" yelled another witch that flew towards them. Hermione's heart stopped as she saw her.
Cat face, cat woman, Ted's dream, it was real, Oh God
"Who is this?" the cat-faced asked the helmeted one.
"She's a witch who lives around here," the helmeted witch (Atrytone, apparently) replied. "That is her home below."
"Hm," said the cat, looking down at the Lupins' residence. "Nice protection spells. What should we do now? Heal it?"
"No," said Atrytone. "The Muggles will be here with their second wave of attack soon. And this time we will not use any creative spellwork."
"We will not defend it? But -- Hey!"
The two witches (Oligarchy, oh God they're Oligarchy, just like the ones that killed Carrow) distracted, Hermione made her escape. It was one thing to distract a monster, but not with two full witches wanting to stop her. Especially if they found out that she was a Muggle. There was a time for fight, and there was a time for flight.
Hermione Caroline Lupin flew. And flew. And flew.
---------
"Let her go," said Atrytone to Dola as they watched the woman on the broomstick fly off into the distance.
"But she knows of us!"
"They all know of us now," said Atrytone. "Besides, she was wearing a Muggle Charm."
"All the more reason--"
"One of the Protected lives near here," Atrytone explained. "I forgot it until now, but I recall from the profiles that Prospero gave us. Theodore Lupin, the werewolf metamorph, lives in Clapham."
"The one married to a Muggle?" Dola said, her cat brow arched as she looked off to the horizon. "That may very well have been her. But where is he?"
"Not our concern," said Atrytone. "Prepare the handlers for our escape. More military should be here soon with more weaponry. We will allow them to finish the mission."
"Finish the mission?" Dola asked.
Atrytone pointed to the horizon with her wand. Sure enough, more jets were flying their way. "The mission ends with the death of the typhon. Come, the Ministry may still be a ways off, but we cannot trust in that. We do not want to be here when they arrive."
"Shouldn't we be fighting them?"
"Of course not," said Atrytone, waving the handlers to her as, in the distance, the F35s lined up their target. "We will escape, and they will not pursue us. They will be too busy dealing with the body."
Dola grinned. "I'd love to see the cowards try to explain this away."
And as the five flew off into the distance, the missiles fired and the typhon died, falling to the ground with an earth-shaking boom. As the jet fighters flew overhead, the first of many Muggles circled. Cameras flashed. Phone calls were made. Stories were exchanged of broomsticks and witches and dreams of magicians. All the while, Frank Patton hovered in the BBC helicopter, broadcasting to all corners of the globe.
The truth spread like Fiendfyre.
Zero Hour / Previous Chapters / Standing Offers