Chapter 222: 3
V. Transport
A villain needs a way to get around. Sure, apparition and brooms will work, but there's something to be said for more unique options. Of course, these options are highly dependent on your base of operations- camelry is comical in forests the same way a boat in a desert is laughable. Ideally, your mode of transport should either be extremely stealthy, or so distinctive its arrival drives a stake of pure terror into the heart of your foe.
Thankfully for Harry's exploration efforts, the Americans had something of a broom culture- he managed to buy a couple of American brooms for fairly cheap- American models called the Red Bullet, made of (shockingly) red maple painted a deep, rich crimson. Thankfully, Margaret knew how to use a broom, even if she rode it in an odd, side-saddle sort of fashion.
From there, it was a matter of trying to see the sights- Savannah at night was nice enough, Harry supposed, and he might have been able to spot a ghost if he prowled the streets or looked into one of those horribly kitsch ghost tours, but he decided against it. He could do better than that- he hoped.
Their first trace of something supernatural was while flying over some little fort, glowing figures marching in the yard. Of course, Harry's interest was majorly piqued, and as he descended he couldn't help but notice that the walls of the fort were in… less than stellar shape, with massive gaps and chips in the masonry.
The door was closed, so Harry cautiously landed his broom on the grass on top of the outer wall; afterwards he dismounted, headed down the nearest stairwell, and walked over to the ghostly soldiers. Now that Harry was on the ground, he could see there were far fewer than he had expected- only around a dozen.
"Who're you?" One of the soldiers, one with a particularly magnificent beard, asked Harry gruffly.
"I'm Harry Potter, and I'm visiting from Britain-"
The soldier signed in relief. "You may be be a wizard, but at least you're not a Yankee. Welcome to Fort Pulaski, limey."
"What do you mean, not a Yankee? I mean, aren't all you Americans Yanks?" Harry had never seen a ghost turn so vividly, opaquely red in his entire life, and he realized he might have made a mistake as the few cannons still left in the fort audibly shook in their carriages.
"Me? A Yank? I'll have you know my family has-" one of the man's comrades dragged him away as he launched into a rant about the Yankees and where exactly they could stick their rifled cannons.
"Sorry 'bout that." One of the others chuckled. "The war ended more than a century ago and he still won't forget it."
"The American Civil War?" Harry asked.
"Yessir, yessir. I've got a sinking feeling that the only thing keeping us around is spite on the Sergeant's part."
"This is going to be an odd question, but are there any more ghosts around? I figured I'd try and see some."
The ghost stroked his chin. "If you're interested in seeing some fellow Brits, I think some of the boys on the Defiance are still hanging around."
"The Defiance?" Harry asked.
"British ship, sunk during the revolution. They'd probably be happy to see you."
Finding the Defiance was a trick, Harry would admit. "Off the Savannah River" was an extremely broad descriptor, after all, and trying to find a wooden boat that that had been under water for approximately 200 years was… difficult, at least for anyone who was trying to search without magic.
With magic (and his new and improved glasses) Harry found the shipwreck without days of searching- even if he wished he had some sort of magical night vision. From there it was a simple matter of skimming as close to the river as he dared and talking to the ghosts who occasionally surfaced.
"So what you're telling me is that you're willing to haunt another boat?" Harry clarified.
"If you can get one big enough for all of us…" the ghost looked down towards the water below, which shimmered blue gray with the light of ghosts skulking about. "Are you certain you can't fix the Defiance?"
"The pieces are too far gone, I think." Harry had certainly tried, but with no luck. What other wrecks the ghosts had pointed him to were typically too small for the crew, who refused to separate, too broken up to repair, or both. Harry was still a little bitter that he couldn't recover the USS Water Witch, just for that stellar name. "No other ideas?"
"I heard that there were some ships sunk out at sea to make coral reefs… but those are probably too far gone as well. You can leave us, Mr. Potter. We've survived two centuries- we can wait."
The night after his visit to the Defiance, Harry devoted himself to finding the ships- it was a little easier because they were famed diving spots, even if that presented its own bouquet of problems.
The Bubblehead Charm made observing the wrecks of the ships relatively easy, although that only served to show just how damaged the ships were. They were covered in coral (intentionally) and in the case of one unfortunate ship, split in twain down the middle (unintentionally, Harry presumed).
Still, Harry was intrigued by the ship and perhaps more than a little confident in his skills, given his recent successes with raising an entire island from the sea
So as Margaret waited on a broomstick above, Harry began to work- the ship was in a poor state, the engine little more than atrophying metal. But Harry Potter was a wizard, and where a normal person might have balked at lifting a ship from the sea… well, at the very least Harry was going to give it a try.
The next thing Harry knew, he was waking up in Margaret's lap. "At last, thou awake."
"What happened?" Harry groaned, feeling unbelievably tired, not to mention slightly queasy, not helped by the swaying of wherever he was.
"In a bout of exceptional foolhardiness, thou lifted the boat from the sea, repaired it, and transfigured a suitable replacement, as to not arouse suspicion."
Harry grinned. "So I succeeded."
"Succeeded in passing out for two days, yes."
"Woops." Harry chuckled. "How are the ghosts?" Harry attempted to rise to his feet before he was pushed down with a shocking amount of strength.
"I prithee, master, do not exert thyself any further. I fear thou could not bear it." Harry reluctantly settled down as she continued talking. "The ghosts are still adapting to the ship's engine."
"Do they need help?
"If they need it, I shall provide it. Stay."
"Wait, do you need more blood?"
"I can manage without. Rest."
Once Harry was back on his feet, he got to take a tour of ship. It wasn't quite in perfect state- apparently the superstructure was removed before it was sunk, meaning all the stuff above the hull was removed- no rooms above the ship's sides, no guns, no cranes, no antenna, no lifeboats… The last item wasn't really a deal breaker, considering Harry and Margaret had brooms and the ghosts were ghosts, but Harry supposed that meant they had lots of room to modify it.
Just about the only things that were non-negotiable were the hull and the engine. Just about everything else was up in the air- even if the engine seemed a little… off.
As Margaret led him by it, it roared- and not in a some prick revving his motorbike or sportscar way- it roared like a savage animal.
"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Margaret replied innocently.
"That roar. It sounded like a lion."
"Thou seem to be hearing things- perhaps more rest is in order?" As Harry was escorted away, he could have sworn he heard a barking, hyena-like laugh come from the engine.
Harry's rest was a little fitful, mainly because sharing a boat with ghosts was pretty weird. They had a disconcerting tendency to poke their heads through solid objects to hold conversations, but eventually they learned not to do that unless absolutely necessary.
Meanwhile, Harry got back to using old reliable: space expansion spells. In particular, he tried to use the sort that Hermione used for her handbag, the ones that increased space while also ignoring the mass of the stuff inside the ship, just so it didn't sink immediately. They did a few other touches like that- making the ship as unbreakable as they could and reducing friction on the hull, for better speed. Whether or not they'd try to make it submersible was kind of up in the air at the moment. Of course, they also applied spells which keep the ship from getting noticed by muggles.
They stuck close to the coast as the crew put this entirely new (to them) type of ship through its paces, learning the idiosyncrasies of the craft, which had not yet earned a name. Harry had heard that it was bad luck to rename a ship, and the men seemed to agree, so they just referred to it as the ship until he could eventually research the names of ships sunk as part of reefing projects in the US (there couldn't be that many, right?).
They passed by Charleston with haste, trying to stay out of the way of too many ships in any one place, but they eventually came to a halt a little while later, when the ship was passing a coastline- one with a ghost clearly visible on it.
Of course, Harry couldn't help but want to meet the ghost, so he mounted his broom and approached the figure. The ghost was grey, as most ghosts tended to be, although this one seemed a little less… cohesive than other ghosts Harry had met, seeming to blur at the edges. The face was completely unrecognizable, shifting like smoke.
The ghostly figured tipped his cap- did he always have that?- as Margaret landed behind Harry, and then gestured for them to follow. It eventually led them to a patch of mud, which it tapped carefully with its foot, before speaking in an odd voice- if the sound wasn't all coming from one person, Harry would have sworn three people were talking. "There's a box buried here. Summon it."
Deciding to indulge the ghost (more) Harry pulled out his wand and said, "Accio Box!" Sure enough, a box wriggled itself out of the mud, and Harry caught it- it was a heavy, dense thing, made of wood and seemingly sealed with magic that protected the contents from both mud and the rigors of time.
The ghost's face clarified for a single moment into a smile. "Now I'd recommend you and your crew leave with haste- a storm is coming." He vanished into smoke.
Deciding to follow the advice of the ghost, Harry ordered the crew to go for Nova Scotia, full steam ahead- from there, they would cross the Atlantic, swing around Britain, and return home. America wasn't going to disappear (at least Harry hoped not) meaning a return trip was always possible, but Harry wanted to keep an eye on the castle. Harry already knew that building a harbor or dock for this ship would be a tremendous pain, but he had to admit it would definitely make the island more interesting.
The ghost's prediction seemed to be right, as there were storm clouds and thunder behind them as they steamed away from the Carolinas- much of the trip afterwards was uneventful, even if they occasionally veered closer to the shore in an attempt to spot American landmarks. Margaret had gotten somewhat used to big cities by now, but Harry was courteous enough to pretend not to notice how much time she spent staring, slack-jawed, at the cities of the eastern American coast.
The actual trip over the Atlantic was spent, in large part, reading. Both the books that Harry had already bought, and the ones that were hidden inside the box that the ghost had led them to. Those had to be handled with extreme care thanks to their age, but they were definitely interesting- most of them were devoted to weather magic. On the minor end, you had stuff that let you predict the weather in advance, or summon a stiff wind at your back to propel a ship… but of course, Harry was most interested in the spells that claimed to manipulate weather entirely.
For obvious reasons, he didn't try to generate a storm cloud directly above their heads or anything like that, but he did have some successes with creating great banks of fog around the ship- not the greatest for vision, but notable in case they needed to escape from someone. Harry also looked into just creating dense cloud cover- he wasn't sure if it would save vampires caught outdoors, but if it did some clouds were absolutely tolerable.
They swung around Scotland and eventually reached home on the Dogger Bank- it looked as if some progress had been made on the castle, complements of Kreacher. Docking was definitely an issue, though- they had no harbor (as Harry never really planned around guests) and Harry was also trying to be mindful of the Mermen- Harry certainly wouldn't want an anchor dropped on his house.
The ghosts were a little spooked by the mermen (and vice versa) but Harry managed to keep both parties mostly calm. The mermen laid out an area for ships to be moored and Harry added wharves to his long, long to do list. He also gave the ghosts permission to sail around a little, if they wanted to- it was clear that they were glad to be on the sea again, and it wasn't like Harry planned on travelling immediately- he wanted to get more work done on the castle before then, or at the very least a dock.
Around this point, the Quibbler began publishing articles about a ghost ship that prowled the North Sea, great banks of fog following in its wake. The Prophet would take much longer to even mention the ship in passing, preferring to focus on the rumors swirling around Harry Potter.
VI. Appearance
A villain should look the part, the main question is just what part they play. The guile villain, master of cunning and deceit, looks different from the sort of villain who leaves the thinking to his followers. If your potential base is traditionalist, dress traditionally. If they're radical, use unusual, distinctive, and above all else, attractive fashion- fashion which will inevitably be associated with you. A distinctive look- eyes, haircut, scars, tattoos- can also help. All of this builds on how people perceive you: in person, in newspapers, through the actions and appearances of your subordinates... Shaping the you that lives in the public's mind is crucial.
Afterwards, things settled back into a somewhat regular pace. Harry worked on a wharf for mooring the ship, Kreacher worked on the castle itself, Hermione stopped by when she wasn't too busy to read in the library and have dinner… She also helped introduce the vampires to the modern world, when she wasn't busy grilling them about daily life in the past.
Of course, Harry took the opportunity to pile on the wards while he was at it- those Americans loved their home security and wrote quite a lot about it- to keep the island hard to detect and much harder to sneak onto. He was sorely tempted to surround the island with a constant thunderstorm, but realized that would probably cause problems for the Mermen and muggle shipping alike.
The Mermen seemed to be doing exceedingly well for themselves, especially with Harry's donation of goods that would otherwise be impossible to make underwater. Of course, this led to the worrying concern that Harry would just grow tired of seafood… At the very least, they were still dragging up sunken treasures, which garnished the halls of the growing castle.
The library grew as well- Mary had taken one look at the state of the old books on weather magic and declared her intent to make copies. She managed to press-gang some of the other vampires into helping, and they were hard at work copying damaged books (Hermione nearly had a fit right there, out of joy or relief).
"Sir, you said you had trouble seeing at night during your trip, correct?" Mary asked Harry as he entered the library.
"Yes…?" The 'so what' was left unsaid
"I believe I've found something that might be able to help with that problem. A… a ritual."
Harry did not like the way she said that. "A legal ritual?"
"Is it really illegal if the Ministry never hears of it, Sir?"
"You didn't answer my question."
She gulped. "Not strictly speaking… but do you think the ministry would smile upon any of what you're doing right now?"
"Fair enough." Harry shrugged. "If it won't kill or horribly injure me, I'll give it a shot."
"Great. Wait here, I'll grab the owl and the viper."
The what?
Thankfully, the ritual did not involve killing either of the creatures- Harry wasn't sure he could stomach killing a snake of the non giant and uber-fatal variety, much less an owl. Harry managed to smooth talk the snake into cooperating in exchange for a den to call it's own on the island and fat mice. The owl settled for a similar deal with mice, although it had to be shown the mice and not just promised them.
The process of the ritual was gross and frankly a little humiliating, but when he walked into a dark room afterwards his vision seemed no different than before. "Did it work?"
"Try… well, the books suggest different things here. Willing yourself to see in the dark, 'directing magic to your eyes', whatever that means…"
She yelped as Harry activated his night vision, mostly because it looked like his eyes caught fire. He seemed fine, but his irises seemed to be glowing with a brilliant green flame.
Mary managed to calm herself down while Harry was still marvelling at the night vision and oddest feeling of warmth in his eyes.
"The ritual was also supposed to give you vision like a snake's…" she fell quiet as the fires stopped, only for Harry's eye to rapidly become snake like, the pupil narrowing to a slit.
Harry thought infrared was weird. It let him see heat, including himself, but there wasn't anything else hot in the room. No lights, not to mention the fact that Mary's vampirism kept her a little colder than the average person…
Out of curiosity, Harry tried to activate both at the same time- only for his knees to buckle under him as a jolt of pain hit him.
"Sir!"
"I think I'm alright," Harry said, "just not a good idea to activate both types of vision at the same time." He got back up to his feet and looked down at her with slightly tapered pupils. No where near the slit like eye of an actual snake, but just elliptical enough to be off-putting when compared to a normal person.
"What's the matter?" He asked, starting to feel concerned
"Nothing, sir!" Was it possible he'd just never notice?
With a bit of practice, Harry could manage to get each eye seeing differently- one in infrared and one in night vision. It usually caused a killer headache, just trying to process it, but Harry could manage. He also swore that the ritual made him more light sensitive- he enchanted his glasses to have a sort of sunglasses effect, which seemed to work. He thought they looked rather slick, honestly.
Of course, now that he was no longer obligated by Hogwarts to wear robes, he just didn't- he was used to muggle fashion, and much preferred blending in among muggles than with wizards- he'd always stick out in a wizarding crowd anyways, why not look half decent according to the standards of the vast majority of the planet?
Harry was also beginning to receive letters. A lot of letters, which typically followed a trend. Sure, he got the occasional letter of congratulations or ones that went "nice, mate" and the odd promotion from businesses providing blood to vampires… but the real bulk of the letters were something Harry was used to. Hate mail.
He just shredded the howlers- no need to spook the girls or disturb the Mermen by throwing it into the drink- but he enjoyed the normal ones greatly. Lots of letters from biddies and harridans who complained quite verbosely about how Harry was corrupting public morals, abandoning proud traditions, and setting a bad example for wizarding children… Harry had his favorites framed in the room that had become his sort of office.
He got the distinct impression that this entire mess was brought about by the Daily Prophet, which was predictable, if disappointing. If the people of wizarding Britain decided to read it instead of using it to hold fish and chips, that was their problem, and Harry would disregard them accordingly.
Still, not everyone in wizarding Britain was bad- he still tried to have lunch with Ron, talking about the latest in Defense Against the Dark Arts and how life was going… but somebody tended to recognize them eventually.
"Don't look now mate, but you've got a fan."
"Prophet?
"Looks like it."
Normally, Harry would have just tried to ignore the press- but some part of him wanted more letters to frame. The Prophet was guaranteed to spin whatever he said somehow, but it could be good for a laugh… plus, the people who actually mattered to Harry wouldn't care or didn't read it.
"Tell me if the article's any good, will you?" Harry stood up and approached the journalist.
"Mr. Potter, I was wondering if I could get a quick interview-"
"Sure."
The reporter blinked, then grinned for a moment before starting to dig in their bag.
"If you pull out a Quick Quotes Quill I will snap it in half." Harry said. "Quote me verbatim or not at all."
The reporter gulped and then pulled out a normal quill. "Well, I figure we'll start with wizarding Britain's number one question: who are those vampires you're involved with?"
Harry thought for a second. "Friends of mine, who I'm introducing to the muggle world."
"Just friends?"
Oh dammit. Harry could respond with something like 'yes, just friends'... But something told Harry the people would never be happy with that. He grinned. "No comment." That would get them talking.
"No comment, huh. Well, going from one sensitive topic to another… is this a political statement, Mr. Potter?"
"I suppose? I think that any vampire- any sufficiently intelligent magical creature, even- that can control itself and not harm people deserves dignity."
"Any creature?"
"Yes."
"Even were-"
"Yes, even werewolves." Harry said, starting to feel a bit annoyed.
"But didn't many werewolves fight alongside You-Know-Who?"
"Maybe Voldemort could recruit so many specifically because they were outcasts. Where else could they turn to when 'proper' society treated them like garbage?" Harry knew he was getting heated but couldn't really care enough to stop. "Remus Lupin was a hero and he died bravely at Hogwarts despite the way wizarding Britain treated him.
"Are you saying that vampires and other monsters are good?"
"I'm saying they have potential, just like anyone else." Harry shrugged. "At the very least the vampires I know have the decency to be honest about being blood sucking parasites." For a single moment Harry Potter's eyes seemed to be aflame, and the intrepid reporter scampered before he could even finish asking his questions.
"No comment? Really, Harry?"
"I thought it would be funny." Harry shrugged and continued working on the ship- making floodable compartments wasn't too hard but he was trying to be very careful. He did not want to raise a ship from the depths again.
"The press is going wild, half of wizarding Britain thinks you're a philanderer with a thing for dark creatures, and you think it's funny?"
"Extremely." Harry responded.
"But…"
"I don't care about my reputation, Hermione. I don't care what they think about me. That's why I'm here and not trying to make a living in the Ministry."
"You're really going to stay here, then?"
"Yes. I mean, I'll be travelling a lot too, I hope, but I think I've had myself more than enough of wizarding Britain. I'm thinking Normandy, or maybe the Riviera."
"Harry, you don't speak French."
"So? I'll figure it out."
Hermione sighed.
Once Harry was done with the ship (for now), it was a very different beast from its initial state when Harry first pulled it out of the sea. Other than obvious things like a better paint job, there were now rooms and the like on the inside- Harry was personally very proud of the bit that could hold Mermen. They were much better at finding stuff on the bottom of the seabed than Harry would ever be, and a few seemed the adventurous type…
Did Harry feel bad about leaving Kreacher to build the castle mostly by himself? Of course. But part of Harry wondered if all he really needed was some 'magical exercise' so to speak- Kreacher seemed so much more hale and hearty than he usually did, and Harry liked to think the fresh air and prevalence of jobs to do on the island helped.
Harry gave Kreacher some instructions about building a few gardens (to house non fatal plants and hopefully to wean themselves off buying ingredients for Blood Replenishment Potions) and an indoor Quidditch arena. Harry wasn't sure if that had ever been done before, but he was certainly going to try- at the very least it would keep the Snitch contained.
With that handled there was little else to do other than prepare the ship for an expedition and cast off. He had no idea if he'd find anything of interest around France, but the trip itself sounded fun, and it wasn't like Harry really needed a reason other than that now. Some of the ghosts were a little wary, holding tightly to that classic Britain-France enmity.
Still, worse decisions had been made than sailing to France with a Francophobic crew (at least Harry presumed) so they cast off.
Omake/Scene I didn't write until now: At the Human-Vampire Coexistence Society Party
While Harry was slowly coming to the realization that he was surrounded by dudes with vampire kinks, Margaret found herself sitting down with a vampire, one who seemed to be in a relationship with the host, if she wasn't the actual host- she wore an elegant ball gown and carried herself with a definite confidence.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, darling- it's always a joy to see new vampires around these parts. You can call me Florence." She passed Margaret a shimmering decanter of a dark red liquid.
"Well met, Florence- and I am Margaret, your humble servant." She took a sip of the offered drink and nearly choked on it- who spiced blood?
"Well met indeed- you've the most interesting way of talking. British, I presume, given that you accompanied Mr. Potter?"
"Yes, I was born in England. Then…" she shrugged. "Good fortune brought Sir Potter to me, and your letter brought us here."
"How sweet." Florence smiled, showing off her fangs. "If you wish to know, I was born in Terminus- the city now called Atlanta."
Margaret smiled and pretended to know where Atlanta was. "Truly, it is vexing how names change. 'Tis the United Kingdom, now."
Florence blinked. "You're… you're older than the United Kingdom?"
She could have sworn that a smirk played on Margaret's lips for a single moment. "Older still. I remember the King and Martyr."
"The King and Martyr…?"
"Charles- the first, of course." Florence narrowly managed to avoid falling from her chair.
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