Heavy AU, Mild Nasuverse-Crossover, Picks up in Fifith Year right after the Goblet of Fire. A lot of inspiration was taken from the Soulsborne series. Darker world with a quality over quantity outlook on magic. Realistic pairings. Some basic type-moon series info would be helpful, but you dont need to know anything specific. My attempt at something you don't really see anymore.
Summary: Harry's seat on the Hogwarts Express remained empty, occupied only by a handful of goodies Ron had brought with him for the journey. Ginny sat opposite him, clad in the black robes of the church, her hands and eyes closed in silent prayer. The chill will remain in the compartment throughout the journey. In the silence that follows, Ron gazes out the window and daydreams of the years past. He sees those missing and lost, the poor few for whom his sister prays. A foolish man with dark skin and light hair, and an esurient woman with blood running down her lips.
But reflected in the dim light of the window, he sees that which forces his eyes shut and dreams to an end. Yet in his mind's eye the vision continues, and he sees a burning wheel turn for the first time in nearly three thousand years.
Authors Note: I have no idea how to fit this in but the Protestant Reformation never happened here. No Church of England. Shoo now and don't ask me why.
Authors Note 2: It would be nice if you guys knew what the Bronze Age Collapse was. Or just knew when it happened. You don't have to know but it wouldn't kill you to open a history book sometime.
Prologue Part I: Distressed Instabillity
September, 1995
She couldn't stop blinking. Her vision was blurry with tears, and her throat yelled hoarse and dry. She felt immobilized by invisible tendrils that crept all over her, burrowing into every single crevasse. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as tiny fingers wriggled their way through every open orifice.
Then it was over, and she was annoyed. Scrubbing her hair with a wet brush in front of the bathroom mirror. She blinked, and began to wash out the paint.
Soap and water just couldn't get the rest of the bright white paint out of her grey hair. And she had precious little time to spare as it was. Ringing out her hair and drying it quickly with a towel, she only spared a second to put on a bit of makeup to hide her crows-feet.
With a sigh she made for the bar. Matilda had just about had enough for the day.
In the morning both children had decided to skip out on their chores, leaving her alone to handle the entire breakfast. Then, a guest had vomited all over the best bench in their little garden. While she was fetching cleaning supplies she'd found, to her surprise, a little baggie of some strange white powder. It'd given her a quick scare, but now it was safely stowed under her lamp. She'd thought of calling the police, but if it was David's then she didn't want to get him into too much trouble. She was thankful that her husband hadn't found it. He'd have blown his kettle, and poor David...
"Excuse me, can I get another?"
She snapped back into reality, responding on instinct, "Of course love."
Taking the patron's glass, she noticed the smug look in his green eyes, with a strange quality to it that she didn't particularly care for. They were his only attractive feature, Matilda noticed as she poured from the tap. The boy was rather athletic, or at least looked to be under his strange clothes, but she didn't much like his dark skin and sharp features.
Handing him back his glass of stout, she smiled and said, "Having a nice stay dear?"
Green eyes danced behind oval glasses, "It's great. Don't ask questions though, I don't like it."
Matilda smiled and nodded, with her hand moving on its own. She hadn't stopped cleaning the counter she noticed. The wood was filthy, but as she worked she began to worry about David.
If he had been abusing those things at work, it'd explain his performance lately. Her eyes fluttered back to the lone patron. He seemed to be hard at work writing. No, maybe sketching? She didn't recognize any of the letters. Maybe he was some hoodlum planning out his next 'wall-tag'. He certainly looked the type, she thought as she threw the torn rag in the trash. As she bent down to seal the trash bag, her hand instinctively went up to the burning itch in the crook of her neck. She wiped her damp, red fingers on her apron as she stood.
Matilda turned towards the boy, and for the first time noticed just how plastered he was.
"Don't you think you've had enough dear?" she asked with a slight hint of uncertainty. Her throat felt raw, and she longed for a drink herself.
The boy looked up from his notebook, momentary surprise clouding his thin features, "Why are you-"
He stopped himself and turned to intently stare in her eyes. Abruptly, she recalled David. Poor David, a variety of illicit substances had practically served as his foster parents. How often had he been in this same spot, drunk and wasting away with his head slumped over the table.
Her neck began to burn, and she turned away her gaze as the green in his eyes began to glow. Her head felt cloudy and she steadied herself by gripping the counter. Her breath came out in shallow gasps as she struggled not to heave.
"You ask that a lot, huh?" he asked without pause. He downed the rest of his beer, and stood up.
He began to gather his things, packing them into the side bag he carried, "It's alright, you can breathe. Just try and *relax*."
Her body seemed to relax at his words, and she shakily took her hands of the counter, "Oh goodness, I'm not sure what came over me."
"It's alright," the boy replied, "I'm a doctor, let me have a look."
Without waiting for a response, he took her by the hand. His fingers were far rougher and stronger than they'd first appeared. Matilda blinked, but made no move to resist. She blinked again and the lights of the bar were suddenly cut off. She wasn't in the bar anymore, and the scent of freshly cut grass flooded her nostrils.
In the darkness, she saw the glare of oval glasses and bright green eyes underneath. His hand roamed over her, up to her elbow, where it slipped under her shirt. Gently guiding his hand above her breast, he slipped it onto the center of her chest. His fingers found something hard, and abruptly pulled.
Pain flooded Matilda, but only for a moment. Her eyes slowly began to close as a chilling numbness spread like a web through her body. The last thing she saw were a pair of glowing green eyes.
She woke with a start, never having fallen asleep in the first place. Shaking her head to rid itself of the fog, she turned her attention back to the mug she was cleaning. Spotless! David and the kids never did as good a job. The mug was truly shining, or maybe it was just her eyes itching and tearing up. She put the mug down to gaze at the time. Alright a half hour past last call. She sighed, it was time to wake David.
The short walk to his table felt like an eternity. She shook him gently upon her arrival, already accustomed to the futility of trying to call his name. He woke slowly, but surely. David smiled at her through his last three teeth. The 'three musketeers' he called them, claiming they'd stuck with him through 'hell knows what'.
David would've been a strapping young lad if not for his drinking, this she'd decided long ago. He seemed exceptionally out of it today though, and she was temped to ask him about the bag of white powder she'd found in the closet.
As she helped him up, his bright blue eyes refused to look into hers. She found that rather odd. David knew how much she loved his dreamy eyes, and was well versed at wriggling a free drink out of her every now and then with a look alone.
"How much for tonight," he slurred out as he stood.
Matilda smiled, in what felt like the first time in a long while, "About two hundred quid. You um, really did manage to finish the entire bottle David."
Her tone was a little apprehensive. It was only the other day that David had come in, standing tall and proud and slapped two thousand pounds on her counter. He'd somehow come into quite a bit of money recently, and finally paid off a tab years overdue.
His tip removed any lasting doubts she may have had. They walked in silence to the exit, David knowing that Matilda would be locking up after he left. His drunkenness was obvious for all to see, but Matilda could not help but think something else weight on his mind. As she watched him vanish into the September night, she couldn't help but notice how off he seemed.
Locking up behind her, she made to move toward the back of the Bed and Breakfast, passing by the first floor of guests. But, just as she was about to step into the stairwell a noise from behind stopped her. She whirled about, facing the empty hallway of rooms. The noise came again, filling the entire night with a sharp crack. She silently made for the west wing, coming to a stop at the edge of the hallway. Light streamed into the hallway under the door at the far end. Room 106, she noted. Why were they up so late.
As she waited for the crack to come again, she noticed how the light streaming under the door seemed to fluctuate. Reasoning it was just someone on the tele, she headed back to her own room.
Still, try as she might she could not shake a strange feeling of unease that seemed to permeate the night. A chill was in the air that was unusual for September. Before she headed to her own room, she made sure to check the locks connecting her quarters to the B&B and went to have a look at the boys. Dylan was resting nice and soundly in his bed. His pretty blond locks seemed to glow in the moonlight. Normally the twins would always sleep facing each other, but since it was Steven's night to sleep with the guest, Dylan was curled up away from the window and the empty bed of his brother.
The moonlight seemed to fill the room and illuminate the air. Seeing Steven's bed empty at this time of night, with Dylan curled up facing away just seemed too strange for her to handle. She quickly made to shut the curtains, and drenched the room in a peaceful dark.
She left the room in a hurry.
She was wiping the mug again. She was so tired, and her neck ached terribly.
"Matty?"
Voices didn't seem to interest her too much. Not since Dylan had fallen yesterday.
"Matty?"
She paused to inspect the cup, so clean that it shone an alien reflection back at her. Bright green eyes stared right-
"Oi! Matty, can you hear me?"
She was shaken out of her reverie, "Oh, sorry David. I've been out of sorts since yesterday. Didn't get much sleep". She made to answer in a hurry, as to not look as odd as she felt. When David made no move to respond she tiled her head up to meet his eyes, but could not help but look away from his turquoise gaze. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she forced herself to just try and stand straight.
"Are you feeling all right Matty?" he asked, the concern obvious in his eyes. She'd used to love those eyes.
Before she could answer, the bell on the door hinge rang and they both looked up. It was the newest guest, dressed in his black dress and carrying his strange bag. He deposited it onto the counter and took the seat next to David in an instant.
David turned to look into his drink, and Matilda's strong urge to clean her glass returned to her. Scrubbing away at the glass until the rag was torn and her fingers had polished the surface to a pristine glare. Time began to slow down as Matilda inspected the glass. Carrying it up to her eyes and trying to concentrate on the smallest blemish or flaw. More water, more soap. Some sandpaper maybe, if she had it. Did she? she did. She used it again and again. It turned into a sponge in her hand, as she scrubbed slick soap all over it. The sandpaper sponge hurt as she furiously scrubbed the glass.
The guest yawned and closed his book. He tiredly put his fountain pen down onto a coaster, and leaned back in his chair. As he closed his eyes, Matilda uttered a silent prayer to the Mother Mary.
It was only then that she looked up and noticed the orange light streaming in through the windows. The air had an evening feel carrying the remaining heat upwards from the ground and into a cooling sky. Her eyes moved unconsciously to the clock hanging on the wall behind her. She always used to complain about its incessant ticking, especially at night when she was alone. Now, however, it stood silent. The bar was empty save for David and the green eyed patron.
A stack of empty glasses stood next to either, and as she began to blink tears flooded her vision.
"Look at the time."
She didn't need to look to see who had spoken. The guest's voice had a distinct pressure she'd never encountered before.
"Jeez, can't you two just go about your day with me here?" he asked rhetorically.
She knew it was asked rhetorically. He'd asked her specifically not to talk and ask questions. David didn't even seem to hear him. He'd not looked up from his glass since... She didn't even know. Where'd he even get so many drinks from? She couldn't remember serving him at all. Her brow furrowed as an anxiety she couldn't explain took hold of her.
"Where are the kids," she abruptly blurted out.
The guest seemed surprised by her outburst, but before he could answer David jumped in, "Why's you wearing that dress anyway?"
The guest smiled, his eyes dancing in between them, "You've asked me that so many times David?"
"'Ave I?" David seemed genuinely surprised.
"And it's not a dress, they're *robes*," he added.
David nodded sagely at this, and then returned to his glass. Matilda watched him droop back down, his shoulders hunching over and he seemed to stare into the depths of his drink. Matilda began to hear a strange whirring noise in her head. She blinked and the guest was moving.
She could barely see him move. Her eyes were hazy, and it was as if she was a babe brought newly into the world. She understood nothing. Streams of colour floated past her face. And then, it was over as soon as it had come.
David was gone, and the bar was empty save for the guest and his disturbing green eyes. She returned to her glass with a newfound fervour. She didn't want to meet those eyes under any circumstances. They made her think strange things. But when he spoke, she had no choice but to look up.
"Matilda, did you take Steven to the basement today?" he asked in between sips of his dark beer.
She nodded fearfully, "He's down there right now. You can go see for yourself, or ask Dylan if you want to. I can fetch-"
He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. Continuing to drink his beer, he savoured the drink before putting it down, "Don't worry, I have faith in you. Speaking of Dylan though, how's he doing?"
She was surprised by the question, he'd never asked after one of the boys like that before. Usually he'd have just asked her to send them to his room for the night. She mulled her answer over for a bit, hesitating.
He caught her hesitation, and her gaze. As those emerald eyes burned into her, she felt an unconscious squeak escape her lips, "H-He's a good boy. He's doing good. Just fine, why wouldn't he be?"
She felt sick immediately afterward. Her visions broke and she nearly lost her balance, like a puppet with its strings cut.
The guest's voice intruded, as if from above, "God, not now. I told you not to ask questions". Even with her stomach lurching upwards, she was shocked by the callous nature of his tone. Like one might treat a fly on a humid day.
Leaning forward to grab the counter she was sure she was about to heave her lunch onto the table. But, as the nausea began to subside she steadied herself. Careful with her balance, she slowly inched her head to meet the guest's piercing stare.
She felt his eyes on the back of her neck the moment she saw them in front of her. She saw them in the dark corners in the room. Night had fallen. She and the guest were alone, all the lights had been shut down when the guest had moved in, and a lone tallow candle burnt a slender flame to light the room.
He had started writing, she realized with a start. Some time ago apparently. He was rather enthralled in his notebook. A few odd ink pots lay in front of him. A calligrapher maybe, by the look of the gold and pink ink he seemed to employ liberally. His movements were pained and slow, and not without a healthy dose of apprehension. His brow furrowed in such a way that she had not seen before.
"Five days," he muttered, "Five fucking days is how long it took. Can you believe that Matilda? Five goddamn days... Its no wonder they think I'm some..."
He trailed off, not as interested in Matilda as he was by his work. Matilda could feel his anger. It pulsed through the room like a living thing. She felt the eyes in the corner of the room narrow in anticipation. Something was coming. With moonlight streaming in through the windows, illuminating the room, Matilda could see the guest's journal clearly for the first time. She recognized the page immediately as a rough map of the B&B and the surrounding forest. Her fingers began to twitch, and she balled them into fists.
He noticed her discontent, eyes inclining ever so slightly up from his book. Freed from the glare of his glasses, in between the slit of his hair and spectacles she saw his eyes truly for the first time. Quickly, the room zeroed in on her. Moonlight seemed to grow in intensity as it turned the guest into a deep blue silhouette. His voice changed entirely as he spoke.
Bass plummeting, a deep overture masking his words, "Where are the children Matilda?"
She answered without even thinking of looking up, "Steven's still in the basement. I promise, and Dylan's still cleaning up in your room. I can get them right now if you want, I can go myself and just-"
"No," the voice came from above, and brokered no argument.
Her mind retreated into a fetal state, cradling itself between cold and imaginary knees.
"I need your blood Matilda," the voice cutting through her mind like lightning on a snowy night.
She nodded frantically. This nightmare was going to end soon. And, then she could see her children again. Closing her eyes, she gently held out a trembling hand towards the silhouette. The pain came quickly, eliciting a sharp yelp, but it was gone as soon as it came.
"Sorry about that," it was deeper now, huskier, "Matilda, it's time to get Dylan. David and Steven will be meeting you near the mulberry grove, alright?"
It sent a shudder through her body. She shivered in anticipation, her knees shaking as she ached to obey. She nodded frantically again, this time with renewed vigour. She shyly opened her eyes to seek some newfound comfort in this dark room, but her gaze found only empty air. Before she could so much as utter a word, her eyes glazed and her body began to move on its own.
She headed towards the basement with a spring in her step. The B&B was dark and quiet. Ever since the guest had come, she'd been able to stop worrying about the other guests making a ruckus. She'd hardly even seen one out of their rooms. Before she knew it her hand were grasping for the basement key hidden in her bra. She threw open the door with unmitigated excitement and sped down into the depths.
David was having an awful time. He was cold, shivering, and with the dirty brat on his heels. He never much cared for Matty's kids. Having to watch the pudgy boy was something he'd have given his left nut to avoid.
Even worse, he was playing in the grove like some fairy. Dancing about like some sissy maniac. He popped another cigarette into his mouth. The nicotine was the only thing keeping him calm at the moment and the three packs in his bag were a testament to that. Still, those weren't for him. His brow furrowed in anger. Why carry cigarettes he couldn't smoke? Nothing seemed to amaze him anymore. He looked up and saw a long strand of pale white strewn amongst the clear night sky.
"Bloody chemtrails," he whispered. Shaking his head in disapproval, he called out to Steven, "Oi! Boy! We're supposed to wait, not sing in the woods!"
The boy didn't seem to mind his reproach, "Mommy says I can dance when I want to. There's nothing wrong with it. It's called gymnastics and-"
David cut him off, "Y'er mum's a right cunt! Teaching her sun to bite the pillow that early's just setting him up for some messed up shit". He spit at the ground in disgust.
"If you were my boy, see that'd be a different story," he continued. Steven had already turned away, and was staring into the darkness of the woods. David narrowed his eyes. Boy too good to talk to him now? His anger grew, and he was about to fling his cigarette Steven's way before a figure stepped out of the shadows.
At the very last moment the darkness gave way and a man in a long purple gown appeared. It was as if he'd crossed the horizon in a single step; like he'd moved from a speck in the distance to right before them in a moment. His splendid purple robes obscured his form, but his features shone in the moonlight.
Crescent moon spectacles and piercing blue eyes that retained their glow even in the deepest dark greeted them. A long white beard, braided in a strange fashion, that seemed to camouflage him in the moonlight streamed into their view. He'd appeared so suddenly that David had dropped his cigarette in surprise. The man was taller than any he'd ever seen before. Despite his sudden entrance, he seemed to occupy David's thoughts at once.
"Good evening gentlemen," his voice radiated throughout the entire clearing, "How do you do this fine night?"
David found his courage quickly, "Bugger off! We're waiting for someone".
Steven seemed transfixed on the stranger. David had a quick impulse to go over and grab Steven by the shoulders, but he quashed it ruthlessly.
The newcomer's attention landed on David, and as the pressure of the clearing fell entirely on him, he had the distinct feeling that he'd been judged and found wanting.
"Rather a late hour to be meeting with friends, is it not?" he replied. His voice had grown slightly stern, and his bright blue eyes twinkled sharply like the stars above.
David found himself stunned, "What's it to you anyway?"
"Are you aware of the time, good sir?" the stranger didn't seem to have heard him.
David felt his ire grow. He'd been anxious enough waiting but the strange man was really pushing him. He paused to think on what he said, but his breath hitched in his throat. His head began to hurt. What was the time? He glanced at where his watch would have been, and found a spot that suddenly felt naked.
Turning back to the man, "None of your business is it?"
"Could you please tell me the time, sir?" the reply came quickly, and far more harshly than the last.
David had begun to sweat. He could feel it under his clothes, a slick unease in the cool September air. Instinctively he reached for his iPhone, brining it up and hastily turning it on.
Only, the screen remained black. Again, he frantically pressed the home button. He couldn't see his reflection in the screen anymore. His hands moved to the power button. Was it dead? When was the last time he'd charged it anyway.
He looked up for a moment to see that the stranger had moved closer to him. Only about an arm's length away. His gaze bore into David's hunched figure.
"The time?" he posed again as David turned back to his phone. The apple logo flashed, but only for a moment, the screen turning to static and a foul odour drifting upwards. The stranger crinkled his nose at the smell.
David dropped his phone and the man took another step towards him. David hadn't realized at first just how tall he was, David barely came up to his breast. Hell, his beard might just be taller than Steven.
With a start, David lurched back and scanned the grove for Steven, finding him transfixed, staring at the stranger in purple robes. He was rooted in the very spot he'd been in since he'd last been dancing about the grove.
"Steven! What're you doing! Come here!" he demanded as he stepped back. The bearded man never took his gaze off David.
Steven made no move to reply, but the newcomer did in his stead, "Who compelled you to bring this child here?"
David's outrage outweighed his fear, "What in the- What the hell are you trying to say! This boy's my nephew, I can take him where I damn well please". David's anger was palpable, just who did this man think he was?
"Who compelled you to bring this child here?" the mans tone was different this time. It hit David like a truck, the entire force of the night blowing him off his feet and into an invisible wall behind him. In an instant, he was stripped of his coverings and inspected in all his nakedness.
Eyes wet, David tore his gaze away from the man.
"My, my. Harry's mystic eyes have come a long way indeed," the man seemed despondent. "Now, I'm afraid I have a few more-"
Steven's shouts broke David out of his trance, "Ohhhhh!"
Both of them turned to look at Steven. The boy's face was a macabre horror show of twisted muscles, frozen in a scene of maniacal joy. David looked on in shock as innumerable teeth filled the gaping, smiling abyss that occupied Steven's mouth. His once playful eyes were bulging, veins popping in delirious fervour.
Even the unflappable newcomer was surprised. He took a step back and turned to face Steven, all interest in David forgotten.
The strangers blue eyes widened, pupils dilating as he focused his attention on Steven. David saw his chance, and made to move away from the man and towards Steve. But, before he could so much as move a single step he froze in place. What little momentum he had nearly tipping him over.
"W-What is this?" the man seethed. His questions reminded David of the guest at Matilda's B&B.
Steven did not respond to him, only giggling and skipping from side to side. Instead, he shifted his face directly towards David.
"Don't you see! It's him! The white one!" Steven practically screamed in glee.
Immense joy flooded into David, and he found him self parting his lips in a silent 'Ohh' that seemed to stretch the limits of what he thought his mouth capable. Everything felt numb. Nothing but joy. Even as the tendons in his face tore as his mouth moved beyond human comprehension.
The white one. The one that they were promised would come. Oh merciful God, this bloody nightmare was about to come to an end. David craned his neck as far up as he could and turned to stare at the stranger and the moon simultaneously. Any moment now he'd see the signal.
He caught the stranger by surprise, who took another step back, turning now to maintain both Steven and David in his field of vision.
His voice was quiet, but seemed to reverberate through the clearing, "Oh Harry, what have you done..."
Immediately, the pressure in the clearing rising a hundredfold. Steven and David, previously overtaken with joy, now stood transfixed in fear. The air itself felt like a viscous ocean, every single atom standing still. Whatever breeze there was stopped immediately, and even the moonlight seemed frozen in place.
As Albus Dumbledore descended from his aged counterpart, magic and blood mingled on the battlefield once more.
The explosions were not a good sign. Sighing, Harry moved to secure his trunk. He'd wasted precious time applying a long chain of obscuring, sealing and explosive charms on the box he'd practically been living out of for the last few months. Still, contingency plans were important and if his escape failed then he needed to be sure the Order had as little to go on as possible.
Another explosion rocked the forest and Harry cringed. Was Dumbledore really just trying to blast them to bits? Couldn't he think of a variety of better solutions? He narrowed his eyes in thought.
If Dumbledore was testing them to try and determine exactly what they were, that meant he thought he had the luxury of time. Hopefully Matilda hadn't been late... Or damaged, for that matter. He'd been working on her and David all day, a real rush job. Something had gone wrong two days ago, throwing off the entire system.
Making sure for the final time that the final spatial-inference charm would hold, he quickly shrunk and transfigured the trunk into a small ring. With enough luck, he'd be able to sneak this ring through the floor when he was- *if* he was caught. The defeatist mentality was a little hard to overcome when it had only taken them *five days* to crack his supposed perfect hideout. Shaking his head clear, Harry stepped out of his room and into the deserted hallway.
Pulling out his wand he tapped the nearest wall three times and waited for the response. As his wand throbbed in his hand, he scowled in impatience. Every moment he waited was a moment well spent so long as it slowed Dumbledore an equal amount of time. Somehow Harry doubted this was true.
His wand burned in his hand as harry slowly twisted it, as if adjusting a dial. His breathing was laboured, but this entire building was so heavily saturated with his own blood that renewing the protections didn't ask too much of him. Pointing his want at the ceiling, Harry began to whisper a long incantation.
Letting his unconscious mind take over the chanting, he began to desperately rack his brain for a way out of this.
Dumbledore had shown up. Dumbledore! Of all people that had to come barging in unannounced, Dumbledore just had smash his wards like glass and shoehorn his way in with all the subtlety of a rhino. Whether he'd meant to or not, and Harry had the distinct feeling it was no accident, Dumbledore's entrance had utterly shattered some of Harry's more far reaching protections. Protections that were essential if he was to make his escape.
A voice from within the walls interrupted his thoughts, "*Master, I have come as you have summoned me. I have answered your call*".
Sealing the spell with a bright purple light that seemed to ooze its way into the roof, Harry turned towards the voice, "*Has everyone made it to the grove?*"
"*The white one has come master, as you said he would*," the voice replied back.
Another explosion rocked the ground as Harry's patience began to wear thin, "*I know that. Has everyone made it to their positions?"*.
"*The white one is here. They follow your command*" it said once more.
Harry had just about had it, it was his own fault for plucking a common garden snake and feeding it blood to try and awaken it. Clearly he'd done a piss poor job, "*Where is everyone?"*"
"*The two are with him, and the others remain unseen. I have come to-*"
Harry didn't bother waiting. As he bolted down the corridor he transfigured and charmed his robes into a churning black smoke to propel him off the ground, gaining speed as he barrelled towards the exit. A wave of his wand blasted the doors away, and he rose on a dime to ascend like a rocket into the air above the building.
With a clear view of the forest, illuminated by the moonlight, Harry turned his eyes to the site of the last explosion. He had to time the signal perfectly. Any mistake on his part would ensure that neither David or Matilda would be able to execute their plan. Hovering in the air below the moon, he saw an arc of white lightning light up a spot about a hundred feet from the building.
Harry smiled, Dumbledore clearly hadn't noticed the decoy in the hotel yet. He'd rightly assumed that Harry would choose to fortify and defend rather than fight a running retreat to the edge of Dumbledore's anti-apparition jinxes. Dumbledore believed his senses to be strong enough to mark Harry from miles away, and he'd certainly sense if Harry was trying to flee. No, better to stand and fight and pray for an opening.
Harry snorted. He could imagine Hermione next to him right now, scolding him for trying a plan whose success was dependent on Dumbledore making a mistake. He shook his head and tried to call upon his occlumency to steady himself. If he'd timed it right, Dumbledore should be sensing him about four hundred feet directly below his position in the air. Which just happened to be his heavily fortified room.
Harry licked his lips in anticipation. When Dumbledore would open that door, he'd have but one chance. One shot to make this work. His eyes scanned the forest for any hint of magic. Dumbledore had so nicely decided to explode onto the field like a battering ram, leaving his abilities to pinpoint anyone's location wholly inadequate for the situation. In his vanity he'd hoped that by engineering a complex system of wards and defences, he'd hold an advantage over anyone trying to break them down while inside the affected area. He'd never even considered the idea of blowing the whole thing up and sending magic haywire all over the place.
He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he never noticed the hand reaching out to clasp his shoulder. Turning in the air, Harry lashed out at the hand, his wand shooting up with blue sparks thundering. His mouth opened to begin the incantation to the Midnight Star, but before he could utter a single syllable a second hand lashed out and hit him square in the stomach. The force behind it instantly dispelling the magic on his robes, cancelling his flight and sending him barreling down to Earth.
Only on the way down did the pain from the strike actually hit Harry. Vomiting in midair as he fell, Harry wove his wand in a spiral around him, instantly halting his descent. He would not savour the moment, as an enormous torrent of water hit him, engulfing him completely and throwing him down to the ground once more. As he fell, he screamed. In doing so Harry inadvertently swallowed a lungful of the flood that brought him crashing down to Earth.
Choking and sopping wet, Harry landed with a crash, only surviving the fall due to the water that both cushioned and strangled him on the way down. Opening his eyes a fraction, Harry quickly cast a banishment charm on the ground to his left, the explosion sending biting debris into his face and unprotected hands, but also throwing him away from several spells that impacted the ground in a circle.
Harry landed with a roll and rose unsteadily to his feet. Managing to catch his beath, he turned his gaze up to the moon.
Albus Dumbledore stood on an invisible platform far above him, purple robes contrasting against the night sky and making the moon's light their own. Harry couldn't see his face from so far away, but he could well imagine the disappointment in those eyes.
Fear threatened to take control of him, but conviction and anger quickly took its place. Fine then, if this was how Dumbledore wanted it, then this was how it would be.
Drawing his wand up and pointing it squarely at Dumbledore, Harry gave a short bow.
Dumbledore's surprise was palpable, even from such a distance. It was quickly replaced by shock, slight outrage, and then an utter silence. Dumbledore inclined his head the barest fraction Harry thought was conceivably possible.
The next moment, a sonic boom tore through the air as Dumbledore sped through the air towards Harry like a missile. He noted with alarm that Dumbledore was picking up sped as he came down. Realizing this was the one chance he'd have this entire fight to actually win, Harry narrowed his eyes.
Pointing his want directly at the speeding Dumbledore bullet, Harry reached into his pockets and withdrew a small glass vial. He estimated he had ten seconds until Dumbledore crashed into him. His hands were wet with sweat, and he hadn't realized that his teeth had begun to chatter. Steading his breath, he called upon his entire history of occlumency to steady his hand.
He placed the vial at the tip of his wand, and held it steady. The spell would need to go through the vial's contents to travel the approximate distance, and there'd be no second cast if he missed.
Five seconds. He had to time this perfectly. Dumbledore would land directly in front of him before jumping back, using the newly formed crater to his advantage and taking the high ground. Harry was counting on this. Maybe not the best idea to cede the advantage to a superior-
Dumbledore crashed a whole two seconds before Harry'd thought he would. The noise of thunder lit up the entire forest as a heavy red light broke through glass, intermingling with liquid before shooting off into space.
Dumbledore stood above him. Harry's hasty protego had not held, and he'd taken most of the explosive force of Dumbledore's landing to his face. Harry lay on the ground, in the center of a hole carved ten feet deep into the earth. Dumbledore, magnificent as ever, had not a speck of dusk on him.
As Harry tried to lift himself onto his knees and elbows in the pit, he felt a few of his ribs come loose. His left leg hurt too much to think about, and if his initial examination was accurate then there was a clear break above his ankle. As he struggled to move, he realized what he must've looked like right now.
A chuckle couldn't help but escape him, drawing Dumbledore's notice. He must have looked like he'd all but forfeited any fight there might have been when he choose to face Dumbledore's assault head on...
He turned to look at his former headmaster.
He was immaculate as ever. The true and noble Consort of the Sun as they called him. Harry noticed with twisted glee that Dumbledore's left sideburns were slightly singed. He'd but barely missed then.
As if reading his mind, Dumbledore spoke, "I could have avoided your final spell completely Harry. Do not let pride cloud your analysis. In my anger, I merely choose to let you miss by the minimum distance. I'm afraid my patience has grown rather thin of late".
Harry did not respond. Any moment now...
Behind Dumbledore, thunder lit up the sky once more. Dumbledore whirled about, only to see light and fire dancing through the skies. Hundreds of tiny, bright and harmless explosions lit up the sky in a multitude of colours. The spell had carried the muggle firecracker concentrate slowly, but surely, to a high enough distance.
As the light illuminated Harry and Dumbledore, mad howls rang broke the silence the forest. Dumbledore tore his eyes away from the heavens and towards Harry once more. Kneeling in place, Harry met Dumbledore's gaze with the stubbornness that Albus had long come to expect of him.
And the howls tore through the forest.