"Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win."
- Sun-tzu
"You know," Wilson mused, as we trudged away from the Death Eater camp, "you could argue we just won that little skirmish." He was supported in between Solberry and me, barely able to function. His energy had been sapped and his body abused.
Solberry snorted derisively.
"No, think about it," Wilson said. "We traded Brand's finger for the lives of four Death Eaters. If we can keep this ratio up, we can cleanse Britain of the Dark Mark by Christmas. No offense meant, Brand, and of course Morty and I will chip in a finger or two..."
Solberry started giggling, hard. It made it difficult to keep Wilson propped up, but I don't think Solberry could help it. All of the terror that had been swirling around in his head for the last hour had to escape somehow, I suppose.
"Shut your fucking mouth, Wilson," I heard myself snarl. "Not now. Don't fucking joke about it now."
Solberry's laughter choked off, and for a while all was silent. We stumbled through the dark, with Solberry's wand illuminating the path before us as I struggled not to cry and Wilson struggled to stay conscious.
"If I may open a nonfinger related topic of discussion?" Solberry asked.
I nodded, then realized that he probably couldn't see me since his wand was pointed ahead. "Yes."
"The, ah, defenders of Starbury Row..."
"I hope they give the Dark Mark hell. I hope their last stand enters the realm of myth and legend. Hell, I even hope they fight their way out to safety. But they'll be doing it without us."
"That's right," Wilson slurred. He sounded like he was drunk, or more likely concussed. We needed to find somewhere nearby to rest and recharge, as none of us except perhaps Solberry were in any shape to Apparate anywhere. "We gave it our best shot. Fuck 'em."
"So where do we go from here?" Solberry asked. We were past the Anti-Disapparation field, and still had 57 minutes left until hostilities resumed. "What's the plan?"
"Find an abandoned building, Muggle or otherwise, and spend the night. In the morning, we plan properly."
"I know a place, I think," Wilson volunteered. "We're in Wessex, yeah? I heard about a place in Wessex that would be great for hiding out. It's got a-" Wilson stopped, looking dizzy. His eyes refocused and he continued. "Sorry. You two know where Little Hangleton is?"
I was a city boy, so I didn't know much about the country, but Solberry said he knew the town.
"I heard about a place up there. It's like the Shrieking Shack, but haunted by human Dark Magic and not ghosts. The old Gaunt residence. That family had a reputation as going as Dark as you can go, and rumor has it there are still traces of their power hanging about the place. You can sense the evil that occurred inside just by walking by the front door, and other shite of that stripe. It's been uninhabited for decades, but all the wizarding folk still avoid it, and of course the Muggles don't have a clue about it. I was intending to use it as a drop point for transporting contraband into the area, but the need never arose."
"Sounds good," I said. "Do you know where Little Hangleton is?"
"If we are where I think we are," Wilson replied, "it should be about three miles up the road."
"Hey, Wilson," Solberry interrupted. "Tell us, who was that Death Eater? The one that you knew?"
"Fucking hell," Wilson said. "Can't it wait till morning?"
Between hauling a semi catatonic Wilson three miles in the dark, the pain still radiating from my left hand, and Solberry's complaining, and hoping to be able to spend the night in a haunted hovel, it was destined to be a long, horrifically bad night.