"For Wizardkind.
"For Progress.
"For the Natural Order.
"For the GREATER GOOD."
James stared at the diary's last phrase, too stunned to move. Albus stirred next to him. Tentatively, he reached forward and turned the page. It was blank.
"You were right, James," Rose said, awed. "Avior is Dumbledore's magical twin."
James shook his head. "He's not a twin at all," he said, stepping back from the diary. "He's… something else. Something worse."
"He's a golem," Nastasia said soberly.
Albus glanced at her. "A what?"
"A golem. We just learned about them in Professor Bunyon's History of Magic. It's a clay statue brought to life by a magical scroll in its head. The words on the scroll give it its personality and drive its every action."
"Except the words on Avior's scroll are all the worst things about Albus Dumbledore," Rose nodded, her eyes wide and grave. "It's all of his faults, but without any of his virtues. He's… he's evil Dumbledore!"
The words hung in the air sounding simultaneously preposterous and chilling.
And in the main chamber of Avior's office, the hearth flared bright green, illuminating the room and throwing shadows up onto the flimsy curtains of the diary alcove.
"He's coming!" Albus declared, slamming the diary shut. "Quick, hide!"
Instinctively, James jerked the alcove curtains shut and threw himself against the wall next to them, dragging Nastasia alongside. Albus and Rose disappeared in a flurry of vanishing fabric. At precisely the same moment, a pair of footsteps clunked onto the stone floor of the main chamber. A shadowy silhouette appeared against the alcove curtains as the green light died away, replaced with flickering yellow.
For nearly a minute, the shadowy figure did not move. James struggled to hold his breath. He realized he was still clutching Nastasia to him. Silently, he let go of her and pushed her backwards into the alcove. She sidled up next to him.
And then, startling James severely, the shadowy figure spoke his name.
"James Potter. I knew we would meet again. Do come out. There is no need to hide."
James couldn't move. His eyes bulged in the darkness. It wasn't just that he was caught. It was that the voice was all wrong. He had expected Professor Avior. But this voice was different. It was deeper, more vicious, with a hint of a teasing growl in it. He recognized it.
The last time he had heard it, he'd been in New Amsterdam.
He turned to Nastasia, his eyes wide and shocked. "The Collector?!" he mouthed. She frowned at him in the darkness.
Finally, the silhouette on the curtains moved. "You've been reading my diary, Mr. Potter," the voice chided. "You should not be surprised that I know this. The warnings at the beginning were quite clear: as you read my words, I read you. Be grateful that I waited for you to finish before interrupting you."
Nastasia was still frowning at James in the dark. She shook her head. "Avior," she mouthed. She was right. Despite how the voice had initially sounded, it was now unmistakably that of Avior Dorchascathan.
Behind James, the curtains jerked back, opening fully and admitting the yellow flicker of the hearth, as well as a long, tall shadow on the back wall.
"There is no need to fear, Mr. Potter," the shadow said. "And good evening to you as well, Ms. Hendrix. Tea?"
Nastasia smiled and shrugged. "Why not? When in Rome. Lots of sugar, lots of cream if you don't mind."
"Of course," the figure sighed.
James turned and looked up, studying the tall figure. It was Professor Avior, right down to the halfmoon spectacles, crooked, blade-like nose, and rakish peaked hat. He smiled coolly at James, then, with a welcoming sweep of his arm, beckoned them into the office proper.
"You now know all of my secrets, Mr. Potter," he said, noticing James' hesitance. "Please, let us not stand on formality. We are like the closest of friends and the deepest of confidantes. You need not hesitate in my presence."
Nastasia tugged at James' arm, drawing him out of the alcove. He followed her to a large, low sofa near the hearth. She plopped onto it easily but James remained standing.
"Ask what you will, Mr. Potter," Avior called as he flicked his wand, summoning a silver tea set from across the room. It lofted effortlessly, glinting in the darkness, and followed him to the sofa. "It does not take an expert at divination to know that you are simply bursting with questions."
James' lips remained clamped shut. The truth was that he was so full of questions-- and no small amount of fear-- that he felt completely stymied. Finally, as Avior used his wand to levitate the teapot and fill a steaming cup, one question pushed to the forefront of his curiosity.
"Why did you let us read your diary?"
Avior smiled as he poured a second cup. "Straight to the root of the matter," he nodded, "Your forthrightness is one of your strongest traits, Mr. Potter. It's a gift, really."
He finished pouring the tea, and then settled himself into a large armchair opposite the sofa. He stared at James over his raised teacup, smiling faintly.
"I allowed you to read my diary, Mr. Potter," he answered slowly, "because I wished you to. I knew you were curious about me. That is why I invited you to my quarters, if you'll recall. I knew that if we were to be friends… and perhaps even compatriots… then we needed to start with a foundation of trust and honesty. I already knew your story, James. I have been quite a student of your exploits, albeit secretly. It was only fair, then, that you should know mine."
James shook his head, confused. "But… why? What's the point? I mean, I feel sort of bad for what happened to you and all--"
"Tut," Avior said, closing his eyes and raising a thin hand. "You misunderstand me, James. You really might try being a bit more like Ms. Hendricks here. She understands these things very well, I suspect. Am I correct, young lady?"
Nastasia bobbed her head and swirled her tea. "You wanted James to know your story because it makes you both even. It's fair that way. No secrets."
"Precisely," Avior nodded. "I do not require your sympathy, James. Nor anyone else's. I do not begrudge my fate any longer. No, in fact, I embrace it. The simple fact is that I do not suffer from my 'benefactor's' greatest flaw: Albus Dumbledore, you see, was a legendary keeper of secrets. He hid them away from those who most deserved his trust. Your father, James, suffered for this. For months at a stretch, Albus Dumbledore kept him deliberately in the dark, starved of information and trust. Even today, this torments your father, although I doubt he is fully aware of it himself. Had Dumbledore been fully honest with Harry, things might have been different. Why, Dumbledore might even still be alive." Avior paused, his face clouding slightly at this idea. After a moment, he shook himself. "My point is this: Albus Dumbledore spent a lifetime hiding much and revealing little. I do not suffer from that error. I have laid bare my complete past to you, James. As a sign of trust. Of balance."
James finally sank onto the couch next to Nastasia. "But… I still don't understand. Why?"
Avior turned from James to Nastasia, his eyebrows rising inquisitively. "Have you read the books based on the famed Harry Potter, Ms. Hendricks? The ones by the talented Ms. Revalvier?"
Nastasia nodded and grinned. "Who didn't? When I was a kid, we devoured them like candy."
"Tell me," Avior went on, gazing thoughtfully into the darkness overhead. "Why do you believe it is important to me that I undo the mistakes of my unwitting twin?"
Nastasia drew a deep breath and seemed to give the question a moment's thought. James watched her, both impressed and annoyed at her apparent ease.
"I suppose because just as old Dumbledore needed Harry, you need James," she finally suggested, shrugging. "Wheels within wheels, history repeating itself and all that."
"Well," Avior hedged, "'need' is a rather strong word. But I do believe you have hit upon the crux of the matter nonetheless, Ms. Hendricks, and I am not surprised. Time, James, is a circle. You are too young to know this, but the
past does repeat itself all the time, endlessly. Even the Muggles understand this. They have a saying: those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it. But this is a flawed idea. The wisest of us do not shy away from repeating history. The wisest of us seek to recognize the patterns and not just repeat them, but improve upon them. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were the first cycle. You and I, James, are the second. We must not make the mistakes they did. I have done my part by not withholding my past from you, as Dumbledore did with your father. Similarly, I have hopes that you will make an effort not to repeat your father's… miscalculations."
James' mind was reeling. The frown on his face felt permanently plastered there. "I…" he shook his head worriedly. "I don't know what you mean. What am I supposed to do?"
"It's simple, James," Avior answered easily. "You have begun to oppose me. You do not know it, but it is true. You followed me in the Forbidden Forest, uncovered some small corner of my plan, and attempted to reveal it to the powers that be, for all the good that it will do. This is not the way it is supposed to happen, my young friend. Destiny has a different plan for you." He glanced toward his desk, toward the oversized chess board with its arranged pieces. "We all have our parts to play. We must improve upon history, not thwart it. We must not make the same errors as Dumbledore and your legendary father."
James shook his head again, more firmly this time. "But they didn't make any mistakes. They won, didn't they? I mean, sure Dumbledore died. Maybe that could have been prevented somehow. But together with a load of friends and helpers they beat Voldemort."
"And under the circumstances," Avior nodded, setting his teacup aside on a small table. "That was, somewhat regrettably, necessary. The Dark Lord suffered from delusions of crippling grandeur. He had become a caricature, a megalomaniac. He had forgotten his true purpose, and therefore become a liability. I watched all of this, knew how it must end, even without the aid of my divinations. The cycle was not ready to be complete. But now, the cycle is begun anew. Now, it will be accomplished as it should have been then. The strategy of visionary, if misunderstood, wizards since Salazar Slytherin himself will finally be brought to fruition."
A cold chill ran down James' back, settling in his feet and turning them to blocks of ice. Not for the first time, he longed for the steadying counsel of Headmaster Merlin, whose worldview had always seemed so comfortingly simple, if frustratingly black and white. "But… you're talking about destroying the Vow of Secrecy and taking over the Muggle world."
Avior shook his head and chuckled. "My dear James, the Vow of Secrecy is already destroyed. It was shattered by the hand of your own friend and soul-mate, Petra Morganstern. Like it or not, you were instrumental in that act. You see, you have already begun to fulfil the role destiny has determined for you. Just as Harry Potter was instrumental to Albus Dumbledore, so are you destined to walk beside me, to help bring the wizarding world into its long-awaited golden age."
James wanted to leave, to run, to find himself anywhere other than this room, surrounded by these mad, impossible words and that knowing, all-too-familiar face. Helplessly, he glanced aside at Nastasia. She sipped her tea and looked back at him mildly. Seeing no help there, James returned his attention to the Professor.
"This isn't really you talking," he said, trying to make sense of what was happening. "It's the bits of Dumbledore he put into your head when you were a baby. The parts he knew were bad. You're just… you're just a golem."
Avior's face darkened as James spoke. "I'll thank you not to use my generosity against me, Mr. Potter," he said coolly. "I shared my history with you to prove my honesty. Not to provide you the illusion of leverage. Has it ever occurred to you that Albus Dumbledore was, in fact, right? Not the old man that befriended and used your father, but the young man that was my uncle? The friend and co-revolutionary of Gellert Grindelwald? It was Albus Dumbledore himself who coined the phrase 'for the greater good'. The man you revere once knew that wizardkind's true destiny was to rule. To rise to a rightful position of superiority over the Muggle world, not as a tyrant-- such was Lord Voldemort's mistake-- but as a shepherd. A guardian. And yes, a warden. This is both the burden and the glory of wizardkind. For the Muggles' benefit as well as ours. They need us, after all. We have thus far failed them. Young Dumbledore was right. Surely you must see this."
James was shaking his head slowly as Avior spoke, his brow furrowing. "Dumbledore changed his mind. He got older, wiser. He knew that if the wizarding world ever rose to power over Muggles, that power would become corrupted. Tyrants would take over. Nobody can handle that much control without abusing it."
"This is what you are taught," Avior nodded. "And as a rule, it is true. But there are a select few of us for whom such axioms do not apply. For this unique handful, it is our duty to prove the rule… by being its exception."
Nastasia nodded blithely. "Makes sense to me."
James turned toward her in disbelief, his eyes wide. She grinned at him and James saw the mean glint in her eye of her other-- Nasti. She winked at him.
"So it really is you, then," James said, speaking to Avior and standing once again, shoving a hand into his pocket for his wand. "You really are planning to set off some sort of magical super weapon at Hogwarts at the end of the year, attacking and killing a bunch of Muggle world leaders."
"Revolutions are simple math, Mr. Potter," Avior bowed his head sadly. "The winner is always the one willing to provide the right number of casualties. The Morrigan Web is a mysterious, dastardly weapon-- of that there is no doubt. But its black grandiosity is what makes it so effective. Better a single strike, cutting down all opposition at once, than an interminable war, rife with unintended victims, innocent bystanders, and unfortunate human shields. This, after all, is how human leaders maintain the illusion of superiority: not by being the most powerful, but by hiding behind the most soldiers. If you think about it, my plan-- targeting the leaders themselves, surgically, like the cancers that they are-- is more than humane. It is our moral responsibility."
"You're completely bloody mad," James shook his head slowly. "You're not just planning to kill Muggle world leaders. You'll kill wizard leaders as well. The Minister of Magic himself will be there, as well as loads of other wizard presidents and kings and chancellors."
Avior nodded, grimacing. "Alas, the cancer has spread to the ranks of wizardkind as well, James. But even amongst wizards, government leaders are simply the tools in the hands of the populace. If a tool ceases performing its function, it must be destroyed, and replaced."
James backed away slightly, slowly, his right hand still buried in his robes, fisted on his wand. "The Morrigan Web," he said slowly. "Sure. All right, then. So tell me, if I am going to join you, work with you… what does it do? How does it work?"
Avior chuckled breezily. "There is a reason I had to destroy Mr. Worlick," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Even my greatest allies can become liabilities simply by knowing too much. Worlick knew very, very much. It was a shame to kill him, for he was an effective tool, but it was prudent and necessary. Had he been captured-- say, by your father James, as he already was once-- he might have revealed the very secrets you ask. Believe me, I am doing you a favour by not revealing to you the mysteries and secrets of the Morrigan Web. Besides, you do me a disservice. You do not mean to assist me, even now, but to find a weakness, to take advantage of me, to thwart me. I do not blame you for this. Alliances such as ours take time."
A thought occurred to James, creasing his brow as he looked directly at Avior. "How do you know all this? The Morrigan Web was created by some bloke in the United States-- some daft American wizard, using a bunch of Muggle slaves to gather his supplies. He's got to know all of your secrets, too, doesn't he? Are you planning on killing him as well? We've met him, and I've got a pretty good idea that killing him would be a lot harder than killing Worlick."
He'd expected Avior to be angry at this, or shocked and surprised. Instead, the old professor simply shook his head and
laughed softly, closing his eyes again. "James, my boy, I admit I expected more from you. You are smart. I provided you with all of the necessary pieces. All you had to do was put them together. But perhaps I should not blame your wit. It takes more than mere intelligence to comprehend such cunning. In time, you may develop the proper skills, as Ms. Hendricks has done."
Avior leaned forward now, meeting James' gaze, his own eyes piercingly blue above his half-moon glasses. "Look closely at me, James. What do you see?"
James did look closely, squinting. As usual, he hadn't brought his glasses. He shook his head vaguely.
"It is not unusual for witches and wizards to learn the art of the animagus," Avior said, lowering his voice to a low rumble. "Your own Professor McGonagall has mastered this skill. She transforms herself into a common feline at will. I have simply taken this technique to the next level."
He stood, removing his spectacles and tucking them into his robe. Still smiling, he withdrew his pointed hat from his head and dropped it unceremoniously to the chair behind him. "I have mastered the art of transfiguring myself into the most dangerous animal of them all…" His smile widened, showing all of his teeth. He spread his arms slowly. "The human animal."
As he spoke, he changed. His narrow shoulders expanded. His thin arms grew round with muscle beneath his robes. His beard shortened, darkened, and shrank away to no more than a grey shadow on his cheeks and chin. But worst of all was his face. The kindly, wizened visage of Albus Dumbledore grew cold, chiselled, with cruel, sneering lips and eyes black as tar.
"I need not fear what my compatriot in the United States knows," the Professor's new face said with its deeper, gloating voice. "Because I am he. The Collector is my alter ego. My mask. It is the face I shall wear as I ascend to power in the United States, and soon after, the world."
James nearly fell backwards onto the sofa. He steadied himself clumsily, unable to take his eyes away from the professor's new, dark visage. "But…" he stammered, his voice suddenly very dry. "But, you sent monsters after us! You tried to kill us!"
James Potter and the Morrigan Web Page 55
