Mortal Quandary

'Now what mess did I get myself into?', Galen thought as he looked around the white space. Colours bled into the white void- red and green and blue, merging to form other colours, painting the blank canvass. 

He was standing in middle of a sparsely decorated room. The room had no windows or doors and there was barely any furniture. His eyes focused on the large round table in the centre and a couple of chairs made from exotic wood. The wood was black as ebony but had irregular purple ripples. It was not a mundane piece of furniture. He ran his finger across the smooth table surface but he pulled his hand back in shock as he felt a jolt of electricity latch on his finger.

"Wood from the trunk of a Thunder Oak," he heard someone say. He looked up and saw a man of nearly the same age as him, although he had much sharper features. He was dressed in a black suit with a plain dark crimson shirt. He had a black silk tie on and wore leather shoes of the same colour. 

It was odd that he had completely forgotten about the silhouette of the man when he had found himself transported to the white abyss. But then again, he was not accustomed to not being in constant pain. Breathing in did not hurt, so did moving around. It was as if a bird that has only known cage it is whole life, suddenly found itself free. His senses were excited, even more so after the enhancement. He found focusing even on a single thing harder than it should have been.

"One of the rarer types of wood one can acquire. The tree needs to be at least half a century old and has to be on the peak of a mountain known to house perennial thunderstorms." The man continued his explanation as if he had not just kidnapped him and were good friends for a long while.

Oh, make no mistake, he was kidnapped. What else do you call when someone invites you to their.... whatever this place is called, without your consent?

The man motioned Galen to an unoccupied chair, "Please have a seat. We do have quite a lot to talk about, don't we?" 

'Do we?' Galen thought. He really did not have a lot to talk about. He only wanted the directions to exit the anti-apparition wards. You better believe it, the moment the white flash hit him, he tried to apparate away. Clearly some sort of sorcery was blocking him from leaving and the man in front of him was responsible. He glanced at the table made of Thunder Oak, and then looked up to the calmly smiling man. He did not want to indulge the man, but something about his voice and the way he spoke wanted him to listen to it more.

He shook his head and momentarily realized that he was being charmed. He powered his occlumency to strengthen his mind and will. The man had to be magical; and powerful one at that.

And Thunder Oak?

What the heck is that?

He had been around the world, he had researched a lot of alchemy, and he still did not know of such a reactive reagent! He did not even know if there were any mountain peaks that suffered year-round thunder storms.

'Maybe... just maybe, it was a good idea to sit and listen to the man. Maybe he could even get something out of this?' a voice from the corner of his mind whispered.

Galen pulled back the chair and sat down. The man in front did the same, sitting right across of him.

"Where are we, mister...?" Galen asked, trying to pry out the man's name.

The man merely waved his had dismissively, "Ah this old place, it's just my home away from home, if you know what I mean." 

Galen grumbled. He neither received information on where he was, nor who the man in front of him. He gritted his teeth and prodded further, "Oh yes, I know exactly what you mean. I have few of my own. For discreet meetings and confidential rendezvous. I do not suppose this is one of those, is it?"

The man merely smiled. 

"Whatever this is, let's just get it over with... I've got a lot of rewards to collect back home." Galen sighed.

The man's smile stilled. 

"You cannot receive those rewards," said the man remorsefully. 

Galen looked at the changing face of the man and it looked extremely exaggerated and not entirely genuine. 

"I can and I will. The world owes me much and I have much to give back." Galen replied with force. 

'Maybe he's from ministry,' he thought. Only those leeches would put me in front to save their hide, and when I did succeed, they would meddle incessantly and try to take some of the reward for themselves.

No, if the ministry had a wizard of this calibre, they might not have even struggled this much against Voldemort.

'Or maybe he's after my philosopher's stone,' Galen thought grimly. He started looking around to see weak points in the room and started channelling his magic.

If push comes to shove, he will shove... and he will shove hard.

"I am afraid that's not possible anymore," completely ignoring the swirling magic around Galen. Then the man waved his hand in a dismissive motion again and all his magic was gone.

Galen paled when he noticed he could not pull magic to him any longer. 

'Definitely magical and much more powerful than either Dumbledore or Voldemort. He is no ministry stooge,' he thought. It was his conjecture that the man in front of him was magical and stronger than him. How else can someone forcefully apparate someone else without being in contact? That is, if you can even call it an apparition. There was no pull towards his navel and he did not feel that he was being squeezed through a straw. There was only a flash of light. Whatever this was, it was advanced, much more than anything he has ever practiced. He was correct in his assumption, but there was no joy for being right this time.

'Alright, force was not an option, diplomacy it is,' he powered his occlumency yet again to reel in his emotions. It did not go unnoticed that in a short while he had to use his occlumency shields twice. Either his emotions were also enhanced after - well enhancing himself, or his occlumency was not that great as he had believed. 

'Or it was the man in front of him,' the voice of reason whispered in his mind. 

Galen cleared his throat and said, "My apologies for my uncouth behaviour earlier. I should introduce myself. Galen. Galen Greyhaven, at your service...," yet again he tried to pry the name of his captor. 

The man in front on him only laughed in return. It was not a mocking laugh, but a genuine and joyous, and just like before he did not introduce himself.

"Can I at least know the reason why I cannot return home?" he sighed.

"Sure," the man was still smiling when he replied.

"Where do I begin... well, you see," the man paused for a bit to think, "Ah, simply put, you're quite dead, Galen Greyhaven."

"Dead?" he asked incredulously. 

"Yes," the man replied with an innocent smile.

"Me?" he asked again with some exasperation.

The man in front looked around to see if there was anyone else. His response was clear. 

'Is this man playing a jape on me,' he wondered.

"That cannot be," Galen said defiantly. Either his captor was mocking his intelligence by playing this tasteless jape or the man did not know of his enhancement with Philosopher's stone.

'Or he's telling the truth and you are indeed dead, Galen,' another voice whispered from the corner of his mind. Leave it to his mind to at least consider all possible options and outcomes. He was an alchemist after all. A learned man, and no erudite would dismiss a possibility just because he did not like it. Usually, men of his intellect would scoff at him for even entertaining the thought, but he was not like other men. He was Galen who rediscovered the recipe of Philosopher's Stone.

 "You don't believe me," the man in front stated. "It is understandable. Then let me show you what happened after you passed, Light Lord."

Galen gritted his teeth at the mention of another of his title, Light Lord. He knew why he was given that title. It was not because he was leading the Light side of Wizengamot, no - it was a target. The Dark Lord would seek out the Light Lord first if he had to make any headway into conquering Magical Britain, which allowed others to either prepare or find refuge with other magical communities. 

'Rats, the lot of them,' he thought in distaste. 

Galen turned right to see where the man motioned him, where he saw a pair of plain double doors made of same wood as the table he was sitting at. They opened to a balcony that overlooked the same white expanse he had found himself earlier.

"If you will," the man stood up and bid him to follow to the balcony. Galen quietly followed him. When he was in the balcony, he had tried to apparate once more, only for the man to turn to him and smile at him. A smile that did not reach his eyes. He knew the anti-apparition wards usually covered a large area, but he still had to give it a try.

With a flourish of the man's hands, colours started bleeding from the edges of the white expanse. As the colours merged and melded, it formed a painting. 

There he was, with his wand drawn at a collapsed Voldemort. All around him was absolute destruction. It would seem, he had not realized just how much their duel had sundered the hallowed school of wizards. The courtyard where they fought was once bubbling with life. Students in groups sitting on the grass, happily chatting and having fun. Some discussing magic, some gossiping about affairs. The fountain that stood in the middle was now gone, in its place were broken stones. The earth was gouged out, and the once bustling courtyard was silent and littered with odd corpses of both students and death eaters. Deep gashes across the floors and walls, some of the pillars were completely obliterated. This was coincidently just before the white flash. 

"You valiantly defeated the Dark Lord, but it came at great cost," he said.

The man swiped his hand, as if to turn the page of a book, and the scene changed. 

"Galen the Great, succumbs to his injuries. Ministry to award him with Order of Merlin - First Class!" the man narrated as if he was reading a newspaper headline.

The colours bled out, re-arranging and forming another image. It was of a grave. Wizard graves were different from muggle ones. For instance, there was no headstone. The grave itself was covered with a giant stone slab. It was on this slab, there were inscriptions. It said, 'Here lies Galen Greyhaven.'

'A Hero.'

'A Leader.'

'An Alchemist.'

'Light Lord.'

'A Friend.'

'Gone, but not forgotten.'

The more Galen read, the more he gritted his teeth. A jape - this must be. He glares at the man on his side. 

'Succumbs to injuries?' Galen thought. 'As if!'

He was sure he was not that heavily injured to just keel over and perish after the duel. While the Philosopher's stone enhancement was painful, and the surging magic was damaging him, it was also the same stone that was keeping him alive.

Reason and observation were key to any researcher and alchemist. Decisions based on emotions were a folly. The more he thought of this... charade, the more he became vary of the man beside him. 

What did he want? 

Why was he spinning such an elaborate tale?

Words were wind, and with magic, even he could conjure such images. 

The man swiped again and the colours re-arranged again to form another picture. One of his friends desecrating his 'resting place'. He had broken the stone slab over his grave and mutilated his corpse. His hand inside the chest clutching what it seemed like a calcified crimson heart. The only difference, the intruder was completely made of gold.

"Lord Greengrass found desecrating Hero's grave. Turned to Gold!" the man commented, no doubt another news headline. He could imagine headlines like these penned by the infamous Rita Skeeter. She always was on the prowl to seek out ridiculous gossips and scandalous affairs. She was a parasite that thrived on the misery of others.

Galen winced as until now he had thought the man did not know about the Philosopher's stone. Well, he clearly did. Not only that - the man somehow also knew who he had shared the information about stone with. One of them was Florian Greengrass.

The Greengrass' were one of the families that dealt with illegal alchemy reagents, something that was frowned upon by the Light side of the Wizengamot. Interestingly though, they were not part of the Dark side of Wizengamot as well. They led a coalition of families in the council that had business with both the Light and Dark.

It was from Florian he had acquired some of the materials for the synthesis of the Philosopher's Stone. Florian also waved all the cost of the ingredients if he was allowed to borrow the stone to treat his youngest daughter, Astoria's illness. She suffered from a magical curse, blood malediction. He was not sure if the stone could heal her, but he had agreed to lend Florian the stone when Astoria graduated from Hogwarts.

'The war happened before that,' he thought remorsefully. 

He wanted to help his friend's daughter. He understood quite intimately how an incurable magical ailment can wreak havoc in one's body. After that was the reason, he had sought out alchemy in the first place.

If he could, he would go back and see to his friend's daughter's illness right now, but there was no fighting this monster of a man beside him. He would wait for this charade to end, though still could not understand what this man beside him wanted from him.

The image changed again; this time it was his corpse inside a room being surrounded by other people as they examined it. Oh, he knew some of those people.

'Department of Mysteries,' he thought with a grimace. Even though he did not believe what he was being shown was true, it was one of his conjectures that when he did die, those in the Department of Mysteries would steal his corpse and try to pry out his secrets.

This time the man did not narrate.

"That's why you cannot go back," the man said in a gentle tone. He led them back inside to the table. The double doors made of Thunder Oak wood closed behind them and vanished into the wall itself.

"Now that's out of the way, let's get to business," the man continued with quite a bit of excitement.

"You see, I am a manager of sorts, and I have come across a problem. And you my friend, are the only solution. I have a task for you to complete and should you accomplish it, you will be rewarded generously." the man said imperiously. 

Galen stared at him blankly for what was few moments, but in that time multitude of thoughts went through his mind. The man in front of him did not desire the stone. Whatever this task was, clearly mattered more to this man than whatever he owned. 

But then another question came to his mind - why go through all this trouble. The man had abducted him, there was no doubt about it. He was also a possibility that the man had tried to muddle his mind with his charming voice. And then there was the whole farce about his death.

'Unless, it's not a farce,' a voice whispered in his mind as a cold shiver ran through his spine.

"Who even are you?" he managed to ask as he now entertained the possibility that he was in fact dead.

The man in front of him was stunned for a moment but began laughing out loud.

"God in heaven! Where are my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar," the man replied with a devilish grin.