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That Terrifying Momentum
By Caleb Nova

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Category: Post-OotP, Alternate Universe
Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Other, Ron Weasley
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Humor, Romance
Warnings: Disturbing Imagery, Extreme Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 24
Summary: To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction: or the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts. An AU sixth year.
Hitcount: Story Total: 89321; Chapter Total: 3513







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16

Die Abschließendste Gleichheit

(The Most Final Equality)


Köln, Deutschland

Fünftel des März, 1945


The city was made of dust.

It filtered through every crack, every gap and crevice. It stirred in small puffs when touched by the breeze, or stormed about in clouds when pushed by the wind. It settled across tables and dressers, chair tops and sofas. It sifted through hair and teeth — it filled lungs and nostrils.

The world was being blown back into the powder from whence it had been formed, ground beneath the mortar and pestle of the bomb and the gun.

An apartment building stood on a street as cratered and wreckage strewn as all the rest in the city, a monument to an attack that was now only a memory written in burns and broken walls. It sat as a skeletal form against the horizon, a hollowed out shell of its former self, the flesh stripped from its stone and steel bones.

A man sat on a pile of rubble framed by the fading sunlight, and contemplated the remains of his adversary.

The corpse's face did not show the agony that might be expected. The hands were not curled in a last, mute supplication. There were no gouts of fluid staining the surrounds. If one ignored the thin, whip-like slash that ran down the throat of the corpse into its chest, and the sticky, dark blood soaking the front of the robes, the body might have been sleeping.

But he was dead. He had died alone, without honour and without dignity, in the ruins of a town he had never called home. A Dark Wizard, dead on a floor made filthy by ruthless Muggle bombings. No last speech. No fanfare. Nothing but a moment of surprise, a short desperate struggle, and then sudden death.

Albus Dumbledore had killed him. And given the choice, he'd do it again.

It was a hard thing to accept about himself, but there it was. He felt little regret for the deed — that could come later in life, given the years to ruminate. For the present he found only an understanding of the great equalisation which death represented. Power was a giant's elixir. People like himself were often referred as 'larger than life'.

No one was larger than life. And all the Dark magic his opponent had possessed had not kept him from becoming just another rapidly cooling corpse lying on its back in a dead city.

Dumbledore sighed. He could only hope that after the day he met that same equality, they would bury him beneath green earth and a blue sky.

"Who is he?"

Almost quicker than the eye could follow Dumbledore leapt from his seat and raised his wand to face the voice that had startled him.

The owner of the voice made no attempt to hide. A man stood in the corner to the right of where Dumbledore had been sitting, leaning against what was left of a windowsill. He was wearing an olive drab uniform with a rounded steel helmet of the same colour. A pair of intent grey eyes looked out from beneath the brim. He held a Muggle weapon casually in his right hand, the stock tucked in his armpit.

The man was a Muggle soldier, an American if Dumbledore had identified his uniform correctly. A simple Memory Charm would wipe this encounter from the man's mind, but Dumbledore hadn't missed the way that the soldier had shifted the barrel of his firearm until it was pointing in a dangerous direction. Though a gun wasn't nearly as versatile as a wand, it was no less deadly. The situation warranted caution.

"Or rather, who was he," the soldier amended. "I'd ask him myself, but I don't think I'd be likely to get an answer." The man looked critically at the still body. "Right in the throat, and deep, too. You should have done a horizontal slice, through the jugular. The last thing you want is your knife stuck in someone's clavicle in the middle of a fight."

Dumbledore wasn't sure what to make of this one-sided conversation, but still made no move to Obliviate the stranger.

The man looked back up at Dumbledore, his eyes still searching. He continued, "You didn't use a knife, though, did you Albus." He shrugged and settled back into the windowsill. "Is that Grindelwald?"

That gained Dumbledore's full attention. He immediately reassessed the man. "No," he answered carefully. "But he was a follower of Grindelwald."

"Er ist nicht der erste Mann in Deutschland, um für sein Fuhrer zu sterben," the man said darkly. He looked past Dumbledore towards the crumbling cityscape. "Und kaum der Letzte."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. "Aber anders als den Soldaten, suchte dieser Mann die Dunkelheit aus, damit er zu folgen."

The grey-eyed soldier inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. "True. Choice defines a great deal. In this case his demise, when he chose not to come quietly."

This seemingly random encounter was becoming increasingly bizarre. Dumbledore decided to cut to the chase. "I'm afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I regret to say I don't recognise you."

The man grinned. "Scott Kharan. I'd shake your hand, but I think we're on nervous ground at the moment."

"Indeed we are," Dumbledore replied genially, glad to have had at least one of his questions answered. "You'll forgive me then if I do not lower my wand."

"Are you going to leave this here for the Third to find?" It took Dumbledore a moment to realise that Kharan was talking about the corpse. "I could get rid of it for you."

The offer put a new twist on this puzzle. Dumbledore wondered if this man was here intending to retrieve the body — perhaps his master's body? There were any number of uses for the remains of Dark wizard, all of them blasphemous.

Kharan seemed to read his mind. "But I'm sure you'd want to handle this personally. Sometimes you need to trade convenience for peace of mind. Speaking of which-" Turning towards the body, he raised his rifle and fired a shot. The bullet entered the corpse's temple and exited at an angle through the top of its head, leaving a gaping exit wound and spraying that side of the floor with a mixture of brain matter, blood and hair. "It's a cautionary measure," he said. "I may not know much about magic, but I'd assume it would be difficult to resurrect a man with no brain."

Dumbledore was not brutal by nature. The rather casual violation of a corpse by Kharan only served to enhance his suspicions. He decided to be blunt. "What is it that you want from me?" Dumbledore asked, his voice calm and even. "Surely you did not track me here in order to ensure he was fully deceased."

Kharan shook his head. "It's very simple. I want you to remember me."

Dumbledore blinked. "I hardly think I could forget this meeting."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Kharan slung his weapon onto his back and approached Dumbledore while holding up his hands to show that he meant no harm. He stopped just a few feet away, so that they stood eye to eye. "I want you to remember me because someday in the future, I'm going to need a favour from you."

"What sort of favour?" Dumbledore inquired carefully. "There are many things not in within my power to give." There were many more things he was unwilling to give.

"Nothing difficult, if that's what you're worried about," Kharan said. "Just an admission for a transfer student."

Dumbledore wondered if he had misheard. "I beg your pardon?"

Kharan grew very serious. "I have something to do. I can do it without your help-" He held up a finger. "-but I'd much rather have you on my side. You're going to see me again, but not for a long time, so it's important that you remember my name and what I look like."

"I don't understand."

"You will." Kharan backed away. "I won't look quite the same in the future, though."

"You'd be older, I expect," Dumbledore said with some humour. "I've heard that happens."

Kharan shook his head. "No, I'll be younger. At least, I will sometimes." Before Dumbledore could attempt to puzzle that out Kharan was already talking again. "Just in case your future self is less accommodating, I also have another means of identification so you'll be able to tell it's really me."

Dumbledore was finding more and more that he did not like the feeling of not knowing what was going on. He was above all a scholar, and to be confronted by so many things he didn't comprehend chafed at his mind. "Is this secrecy necessary? If you could be more specific as to what it is that you're doing, I might be of more help."

"No. Foreknowledge can be dangerous in specifics. It doesn't matter if you believe me. The most important thing right now is that you must remember everything I say. Understand?"

This encounter would already stick firmly in his mind. Dumbledore reluctantly nodded his understanding.

"All right then. Who I am and what I'm doing is irrelevant right now. Don't worry about it — you've got other things to do. So memorise these generalities," Kharan said firmly. "In the future, there will be a war. You will win this war. Near the end of the war there will be a Prophecy. You'll know what to do. Eventually a second war will start — and that's when I'll show up, and ask for that favour from you."

Dumbledore started to speak but Kharan held up a hand to stop him. "You don't have to believe me. Just remember." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. "This is insurance. Inside something is written on a piece of paper. Do not ever open this envelope, until the next time you meet me — that way, only I'll know what it says." He shrugged a little self-consciously. "I know that's somewhat extreme, but I was encouraged to implement backup measures."

Running his wand across the envelope, Dumbledore checked it for any spells before sliding it into an inner pocket in his robes. Almost despite himself he found that he was drawn into the partial picture Kharan had painted for him. What was this mission, and why did it require such actions?

"The Third Armoured will occupy this city by tomorrow," Kharan told him, "so I suggest you make yourself scarce before then."

With that, Kharan jumped out the shattered window.

Dumbledore rushed over to the opening, but upon looking out and down into the alleyway which it overlooked there was no sign of the man. Of course, he could simply have Disapparated... but somehow, Dumbledore didn't think so.

He had been given much to think about, although he doubted any real answers could be gleaned from what little information he had. Had Kharan been a Dark wizard, attempting to trick him? Or was he merely insane, and if he was, how had he known where to find Dumbledore?

If Kharan truly was aware of future events, well... there would be only one way to confirm that.

Time would prove Kharan wrong or right.

Sighing, Dumbledore turned back to the body and raised his wand.

"Incendio!"

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