Harry screamed as the silver light encompassed him, then he was abruptly silenced as he felt the world crushing in on him like a million tons of hot steel being poured on him. Then the sensation was gone, he hadn't gone insane from the pain. Silently, he flexed his magic, summoning a longsword and matching dagger into each hand, looking around.
The time spent within the Room of Requirement over the last academic year had not been wasted. Harry had spent hours outside of D.A meetings exercising and practising with both magic and sword, the latter of which he had purchased through Gringotts from a non-magical swordsmith in Avila, Spain, along with the matching dagger. It had then gone to the Bank's Cursebreaking department who were willing, for a fee, to add a few enchantments to it.
A few weeks after the formation of the D.A and his beginning to use the Room of Requirement in his own time, Harry picked up a few books about sword-fighting and mentally visualised a semi-sentient humanoid ballistic gel training dummy to spar with, putting a few hours a day into blade-work, not just magic. Harry learnt not to ask too many questions about the magic of Hogwarts as the room continued to adapt for him, and frankly if he could get close enough to a wizard and cut them down with a sword... he wouldn't complain at all.
The sword itself had a plain blade of three feet with a double fuller, a grip wrapped in dark green-black basilisk hide he'd scavenged from the Chamber of Secrets, a simple cross-guard without any adornments and a single decoration, a wolf's head pommel. Magically lightened, toughened and sharpened, it felt perfect for him, indeed so was the dagger, an identical weapon in all but size.
Harry felt a tumbling sensation, holding onto the sword and hoping he would have a chance to get a go at the woman who had cursed him. His fall was suddenly halted, causing him to black out before gently being lowered onto the earth by a cushion of air created by his subconscious magic.
Awakening to the smell of burning wood, with flame flickering in the gloomy night, Harry struggled to his feet, checking he had everything. Looking around, he found himself in a woodland clearing, with the faint glow of fire glowing through the trees. His black robe-covered basilisk hide armour meant that he could move through the darkness with great stealth.
However, as he was nearing the edge of the woodland, a young woman came racing past, pursued by a powerfully-built man with a long, braided beard, a metal skull-cap ringed with fur. With an axe raised in one hand and a shield in the other, his purpose was clear.
Stepping out, Harry drew his sword, and in one smooth movement, sliced horizontally across the Norseman's belly. Like a red-hot knife cutting lard, it sliced through the thin leather armour and bit deep into his flesh. Despite having killed before with Quirrel, he was nearly sick as blood spurted out of the Viking's stomach.
He didn't pause as more screams came from beyond the trees. Hitting himself with a wandless translation charm which would allow him to understand and be understood, Harry raced out. Down the hill from the woodland was a small village of a few dozen thatch, wattle and daub huts and a single long hall encompassed by a wooden ring-fence.
It didn't take long for Harry to realise what had happened. Cursing his usual levels of luck, he strode down the hill, to the unguarded gate to the compound. Inside was chaos. The population of the village was being herded into the centre around an elegantly-carved Celtic cross while the Nordic raiders torched everything else.
Racing across the short distance to the nearest group of Vikings, he brought his sword down in a blow that split the helmet and skull of one. Harry brought it up in front of his head, point facing to his left, to block an axe-blow identical to the sword-blow he had just delivered. Then as the Norseman brought his axe back up, he swung the sword down and around, slicing from right to left across the axeman's belly. Warding off a spear-thrust from a third Nord with the side of his blade, he drew his dagger and plunged it into the spear-bearer's stomach before withdrawing it, flipping it around in his hand and plunging it into his opponent's heart.
The last of the group of four fell as Harry once again withdrew the dagger and hurled it with deadly accuracy into his throat. With the small blade returned to him by a wandless summoning charm, he strode onward. Sad to see the last defender cut down, an elderly man wielding an old, chipped sword against the Vikings, Harry continued his fast, brutal counter-attack.
Two blows hacked a V-shaped chunk out of a round wooden shield before his leg snapped up and wrenched it out of his opponent's grip, snapping a bone in the Viking's arm as he did so. Harry winced at the sound of breaking bone, but lunged forward anyway, the lunge dispatching his opponent. Spinning out of the way of a charging Nord, he stuck out his foot and tripped him, plunging his sword into the back of the fallen man. His heart hardened by the sight of a slaughtered family of a young man, a woman and a child lying outside their burning hall house, Harry moved forward.
His blade cut straight through a spear-haft held at head-height in a pathetic attempt to block his blow, continuing down through the thick bone of the skull. Kneeling to avoid a beheading blow, Harry thrust his dagger into the back of the forward leg of the attacker before decapitating him with a savage swing.
He was pleased to see the villagers rise up, wrestling weapons off the remaining Vikings, cutting them down savagely. They were not without loss, but still fought fiercely, rallying around the black-clad warrior who fearlessly fought for them.
Sighing tiredly, Harry leaned back in his great wooden chair. Since the skirmish, twice more the village had been attacked, and it had been but weeks since his arrival. It turned out the elderly man who fell defending them with a chipped blade was the elder of the village. Not a lord, nor a knight, but simply the protector. The local people had decided that he was the best choice to protect them.
Rising from the high-backed chair, he strapped on his sword-belt and picked up an axe. Powerfully-built he may not have been, but with the amount of wood needed, no hand could be spared for long. With only two-dozen residents, they all had to pull their weight.
He'd so-far avoided conspicuous use of magic, and if a bit of his physical strength could bring down a tree, he would be of use.
Four weeks of tree-cutting. Hacking a wedge-shaped cut into the wood with axes and then sawing it down. Harry found that even his long hours of magical and non-magical training weren't as effective at getting him into shape as this was. The ring-fence was strengthened and greatly enlarged as several families joined the small community.
One of them was one Harry was most glad of. Delivering lengths of yew to the family, they were delivered back days later to the hall as longbows. Small hunting parties provided meat while the ash-saturated ground became fertile to grow plants for eating. If wood was too weak for the palisades, the wrong kind for bows or arrow-shafts, it was either stored or burnt, providing warmth and allowing meat to be cooked.
A separate part of the ring-fenced enclosure was set aside for live-stock, a few sheep, cows, pigs and chicken, while much of their food was game meat and fish from the nearby estuary and the sea less than a mile away. They scavenged all of the weapons from the raid and put them to use, while the boats which were easily found a few miles down the coast, were traded with other coastal communities in return for supplies.
Moving quickly and nearly silently, dressed in a simple black tunic, breeches and boots, Harry moved from tree to tree. He'd been tracking a deer for hours. Raising his longbow with an arrow resting on the fist gripping the shaft of the bow, he saw the animal in a woodland clearing.
A sudden noise startled it, though not soon enough to save it from one of Harry's arrows. As soon as the animal had ceased twitching and fallen to the ground, dead, he moved forward. In the centre of the woodland clearing was a small pool. Having removed the arrow from the animal and cleaned it, returning it to his quiver, he carefully moved to where the sound had come from.
Curled into the reeds at the edge of the pool was a child, not much more than a babe with tufts of blond hair, wrapped in swaddling clothes. Laying at the child's side, blood oozing from wounds days old, was an elderly woman... a nurse or a grandmother he assumed.
Sighing sadly, he moved the child further from the pool and dug a shallow grave for the woman, laying her to rest with nothing but a small cairn of stones to mark her resting place. Using a bit of magic to help the child up to sleep, he raised a horn made from bone, a clear note sounding out across the forests and glades.
About half-an-hour later, the rest of the hunting party joined him, sat by the dead deer, nursing the sleeping child.
"Aelfwick, is there any amongst the villagers who might take in a lost child?" he asked.
"I can sir, my wife of three years wishes to be with child, yet cannot." Aelfwick replied.
Making a mental note to see if he could remember or create some magic to assist them, Harry handed the child to him, turning to help the hunters sling the deer from a wooden pole by its cloven hooves.
"Sir?" asked a voice.
Harry turned around from pacing by the fire in the hall, a long, low building of wood and thatch. A few charms made sure that none of the sparks touched the frame of the building or its roof. It was just an hour or two from sunset and he'd continued slaving away, reinforcing the village and making their survival possible.
"Yes?" he replied as one of the men charged with the defence of the small settlement moved forward.
"Lookouts have spotted raiders coming in from the sea." the guardsman answered
"How long?" Harry snapped.
"They should arrive at sundown."
"Excellent, move out any man who can fire an arrow with any accuracy." ordered Harry; "If we can catch them between the sea and the land I would be most glad."
"Sir, I'm not sure that would be well-advised." said the guard hesitantly.
"Explain." he demanded.
"The lookout believes they brought two mages. It is times like this that the people wish we had our own mages." replied the guardsman.
"How do the people feel about mages?" Harry asked, finally having a chance to probe their feelings; "I have heard tales of them being hounded out of their homes simply for the abilities they carry."
"Nothing bad, the old village headsman was the son of a mage and many had good memories of him." said the guard.
"You'll move the archers down to whatever cover overlooks the landing place. I'll see that the mages are dealt with." Harry said coldly.
"If you wish sir." nodded the guardsman doubtfully
"I am no idiot, I shall see that they do us no harm." Harry swore.
There was no doubt in the hearts of the defenders as their leader moved onto the beach, a spear clutched in his right hand and his sword slung at his side. With a simple black robe thrown over his basilisk leather armour and a feral grin on his face, despite the overwhelming odds he was about to face. No, there was no doubt in the minds of the villagers, that despite he was apparently intent on killing himself, that somehow there leader would manage to pull through.
The Nordic longships grounded themselves, two of them. Immediately, a horse leapt from the bow of each, charging at the lone figure on the wave-swept beach. Harry took two paces forward, jabbing the spear at the first rider, grimacing as it vibrated from hitting plate armour. He did succeed in unhorsing the first rider. Pulling his arm back, he flung the spear at the second rider, watching in grim satisfaction as it pierced whatever armour he was wearing, sending him crashing onto the sand with it embedded through his lower neck.
Drawing his sword, he watched a hail of arrows falling on the boats and their occupants, and was nearly distracted when the rider he'd unhorsed, but not killed, attacked him. Blocking a sword-blow aimed at his left side with a point-down parry, Harry retaliated with a slash aimed at his opponent's throat.
His opponent lurched back to avoid having their throat cut open and possibly losing their head. Harry was a bit bemused when a sheet of black hair and a distinctly feminine face emerged from under the helmet that was thrown off by the movement. He did not pause, lunging at her with his sword clutched in two hands, immediately moving back and raising his sword to a horizontal block above his head as she pushed his attack aside and swung at his head.
Harry was wary, but still somewhat unprepared when she launched a lightning bolt at him from just feet away, a wand hidden behind the circular shield on her left arm. However, it did not stop him from rolling under the magical attack, cutting at her feet and springing back to his own. He retaliated by moving in quickly and slamming his shoulder into her to cover the red flash of a wandless stunning spell.
'One-nil, hasta la vista baby.' Harry mentally crowed. Capturing her would be useful, if he could find a way to keep her controlled. He didn't pause, running straight into the advancing raiders. The first fell to a cut across the stomach, the second was killed as Harry tripped him and stabbed him in the back as he fell. For ten minutes, he rampaged as archers picked off the raiders one by one.
However, the whole time, he mused, finding it strange that every raider was male, except the one mage. There was the possibility that witches and wizards were so few and far between that any with magic had to come, or that she was accompanying a member of a family on the attack.
Harry paced around his shackled prisoner, feeling a bit sick at what he was about to do. His first masterwork of magic would be used for what he saw as a sickening purpose. Slowly, he sank into his high-backed chair, not even looking at her, his face half-hidden in the shadow. A twinge from his magic sensed her awakening and trying to escape the chains, yet they were magic resistant and she wouldn't be getting out. Suppressing his distinctly negative feelings about what he saw as his only course of action, he decided to begin his little game of manipulation.
"Don't bother." he said softly, using a translation charm; "You can't escape."
"And what do you want." she hissed.
"An offer." Harry replied coldly, removing a small chest from under his high-backed chair; "My people have lost much to raiders such as you, but here is my offer."
"Get on with it." she spat.
"You can fight me for your freedom. We know how your last fight went with me, and if you defeat me, there are my men stood around outside. I can let you go, you run and my men outside will catch you, use you and dispose of you as they see fit. Then there are two more options. In this chest is a lethal poison, I'm told it's a very painful death but it was all I could create with such short notice. Finally, there is a choker, enchanted to bind the wearer to me, unable to do me harm and if I give an order with the intent that it be followed as I say, it will be followed, also, it binds you to my life-force, I live, you live, I die, you die."
He kept an eye on her facial expressions, deciding that a final hammer-blow was needed to drive the nail in.
"That is the one way you survive. I'll repeat, there's almost certainly die at my hand or kill me and die at the hands of my men in whatever fashion they see fit. Then there is the being let go, only to die at their hands in whatever fashion they see fit. Then there is the painful death from the poison. Finally, there is subservience and continued life."
"Your choice." Harry added emotionlessly.
