Chapter Nine
Blue light flashed, thunder roared around Harry and the others as the portkey spun them onwards. The world shimmered for a second, almost materializing. Then an ear shattering, train crash of a noise rocketed them.
Harry came around slowly. The world swam into a vague approximation of focus. He groaned. His heartbeat thumped painfully behind his ears. He reached up a hand to rub his eyes, only to find that the hand was coming down to him. He blinked, it did no good. The world remained murky and apparently upside down. He rolled over the world made slightly more sense as he looked down over a small cliff, there was a small snap from his pocket. Below him lay trees shrouded in a blue haze.
Twigs, and his glasses cracked under his feet as he stood up. He sagged and, half blind, reached a hand down to search for the remains of his glasses. He swore as a fragment of glass cut into his finger and the blood welled up. He fished his wand from an inside pocket from his coat.
"Reparo," he murmured, a faint golden gleam flashed over the glasses. Fragments of lens leapt from the ground fitting together with a click like the pieces of a jigsaw before melding into a single whole. He slid them onto his nose, blood smeared from his finger over his temple. The world came into focus. He brushed himself down. As far as he could tell nothing was broken. For a few seconds he stood, wobbling from side to side, before taking a step and falling over. Bile rose to his mouth. He wiped his lips on the back of his coat's sleeve and stood again.
"Charming," remarked an unmistakable voice, acrid with dry sarcasm.
"Hello Tom. And here I was hoping you'd smashed your head against a tree or something," Harry replied weakly, placing an arm on the overhanding branch of an alder to support himself as he turned around.
"Unfortunately not."
"Where are the others?"
"Over there. They all seem to be well enough, more's the pity," Tom answered blandly. "You know I really don't think that much harm would come of it if they met an accident or three."
"No. We've discussed this. Will you please just be patient?"
"For now," Tom acceded, "and only, I repeat only, because I want to see your face when I'm proved right. Though since you haven't offered them your protection …"
"It isn't as if I trust them. Come on, apparate us to them, if you're quite done nattering."
"I cannot. There is some kind of anti-apparation jinx. I do not know where it ends."
They set off through the trees. Alders and elders swiftly gave way to the tangled mess of tall brooding pines.
"How very Hansel and Gretel," Tom remarked with distaste as he picked a path around a fallen tree, "I wonder if we will find a gingerbread house."
"I'm, surprised you know that story."
"One of my only pleasures when I was young, was a rather battered copy of Grimm's fairy tales. I used spend hours imagining worlds like that," Tom said wistful.
"Let me guess, you always supported the witches and monsters?" Harry asked, twisting away from a branch.
"No," Tom replied curtly, his normal, frosty demeanour snapping back into place.
They continued in silence. The peace of the wood was unbroken save for the snapping of twigs. Harry strained to catch sight or sound of Richard or the troupe of aurors, but the trees made it close to impossible. Once he thought he caught sight of one of the aurors in a long trench coat, but it was simply a broken branch still covered in long, sharp, dark green needles.
"Tom are you sure we're heading in the right direction?" Harry asked as they pushed through a tangle of brushwood. He took Tom's silence as an admission of uncertainty. "Damn it. Hello! Can anyone hear me?" The noise died away, fading into the tangled trees. He shivered, pulling his coat tighter about him. The silence pressed down upon him, a freezing fog of nothingness.
Tom sighed, "You could at least try to remember that you are a wizard. Please stop shouting like a moronic, mumbling muggle." He drew his wand and flicked it lazily through the air. A thunderbolt of sound crashed across the forest. The air pulsed and the trunk of a tree which had been unfortunate enough to be in Tom's path exploded into inch long slivers of wood as a fist sized hole was blown through it. Harry threw himself behind a twisted pine as a shower of sawdust and splinters whizzed past.
"That was creative," Harry huffed, picking himself from the earth. He dusted the pine-needles from his hand. Tom had not moved, remaining calmly in place. The splinters of wood had curved in shallow arcs around him. Tom turned to look at Harry a thin smile playing over his lips
"I think that they might be marginally more likely to hear that," Tom stated, sheathing his wand.
"Yes, I'm sure. A pity they won't be able to guess where it came from beyond this side of the forest. I mean, can you hear anything?" Harry strained his thrumming ears for any sound. He paused, his mind catching up with his mouth, "Actually, can you hear anything?"
Tom tilted his head, frowning, "I hear nothing."
"Nor me," Harry shook his head. "Let's move. I get the unpleasant sensation that something knows we're here." Harry started off again trying to hurry away from the unnerving stillness.
"This doesn't make sense!" Tom argued, striding after him, "the aurors will still not know where we are. All you will have achieved is to leave a trail for anything else which is watching us. Dashing off may do us more harm than good."
"Maybe. We haven't been attacked." Yet he added silently. He pushed between a pair of branches and into a clearing where the crackling pine needles met soft moss. The air was still, stifling even, deadening the senses. Upon the trees not so much as a leaf stirred. Harry swallowed thickly for a moment his feet froze unable to move forward.
"Which way should we go?" He asked, putting off the moment when he would have to step out from the pine trees. Tom emerged from the branches; pine-needles, dusted with resin clung to his robe. He shrugged, wordlessly.
"Onwards then," Harry muttered to himself and stepped forwards.
The moss was deep It muffled their footsteps and coated earth and boulders alike so that they appeared to be part of a single rolling carpet of green. There was a noise behind them, a cracking of twigs, and Harry ran. They were amongst the black and green alders again, catkins swinging to and fro from their branches like little bell-ropes as they brushed past. The branches curved over them, widening into a tunnel wide enough for two men to walk abreast between the walls of vegetation where bushes and shrubs crowded together.
"Stop," Tom spat, "this is not right."
"What?" Harry turned, trying to ignore the growing urge to carry on running.
"We are being led, can you not feel it? Have you noticed any other paths?" Tom hissed, his eyes flicking from side to side. "This one isn't natural, or rather it is too natural. None of those branches have been clipped or broken. No animal has come here, the moss is untouched."
Harry took a deep steadying breath. "Draw wands?"
"Certainly."
Holly and yew slid out in unison. The two wizards moved closer together, never quite turning their backs on one another.
"Through the thicket?" Tom asked, pointing towards where the alders crowded most thickly. With a nod from Harry they set off again, severing hexes slicing through the brushwood and branches. They picked whichever way was hardest, wherever the trees most resisted their passage.
Even with magic the going was slow. There was not enough room to put aside the branches or crush them underfoot and they were forced to slice again and again. Before long a tongue of white fire was burning constantly at the tip of Tom's wand as he savagely mutilated any branch in his way. Wood hissed and screamed as curling fire turned it into ash.
At last there was open air beyond. Surging forwards they found themselves upon a spur of rock. Below them lay a cliff just high enough to have hidden the news that they had not reached the end of the trees. There was no way down.
"Ideas?" Harry asked, turning to face the trees again.
"We could fly down, you have your broom I suppose," Tom suggested.
Harry reached into his pockets. There was a pack of jelly babies, a few shopping lists, a battered Swiss army knife, and eventually a broken piece of wood followed by a second ending in a bunch of crushed twigs.
"Maybe not. Anyway, I doubt the others could follow us," Harry said, trying to hide his disappointment.
"If they are still alive. Are we still bothering with them?" Tom asked, faintly surprised. "For some reason I keep hoping that you'll see sense."
"Hmm," Harry glanced over his shoulder at the drop again, it really was too far to just jump. "We could conjure some rope? Maybe I could climb down …"
There was a rustling from the path they had carved. Tom spun round wand slicing through the air, "Avada k…"
Earlier in Altewald
Pale sunlight painted the shop a dull grey. The old wood and the groceries were highlighted more by the shadows than the light. From round the corner of a door in the corner firelight flickered, orange and yellow. The smells of cinnamon, all-spice, nutmeg, rosemary and other herbs and spices hung in air.
"And half a kilo of those apples, if you please," she decided at last, picking her purse from the mix of odds and ends within her bag. "Thank you, how much is all then?"
He told her the price, packing the apples into a brown paper bag and handing them over. "Would you mind coming round later? The hot water's gone again. Boris says everyone's electricity is on the blink. It'd be great if you could do another heating charm for us. Anka's back's playing up again you know …"
"It would be my pleasure," she reassured him. "I'll bring round that charm bracelet for Elsa as well. You've had no word on what's causing the power-cuts?"
He shook his head, running his gnarled hand over the worn surface of the shop counter. "Not so much as a whisper. There's one or two that think it's those thingies …"
"Wards?" She suggested.
"Aye, that's it. Those things you put up around the village."
"It is possible. Magic doesn't always interact well with technology."
"Mmm, well the company that own the main power cables were going to send someone down to check on them, but they didn't turn up. They couldn't have been caught in those webs of yours could they?" He asked awkwardly, uncomfortable about suggesting that she was to blame.
"I doubt it," she answered, "they were only tuned for magic users. I'll give it a check though. We don't want some poor electrician wandering around in circles. No one else has gone missing … apart from … well, you know … I mean your delivery man is getting through isn't he?"
He nodded, a shadow of pain flitting across his features. "He's been fine."
"Good. I promise I'll do my best," she patted his hand with a small smile. "I'll come back before curfew to sort things out here. Take care now."
"I will. You take care of yourself too. Times are bad enough without your people disappearing on us and all."
"Don't worry," she called back from by the door, "I have no intention of disappearing on anyone." The bell jangled and he was left alone. He fumbled under the till for the account book. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus.
She swung her bags a little higher onto her arm to relieve the strain and set off towards her house. There were some things which she always preferred to do the muggle way, she had picked up the habit from her mother, and her mother in turn. She sighed as she passed the church and turned around heading towards the doors, it would be best to make sure that the electrician wasn't lost in her webs sooner rather than later.
The square was empty as she crossed it. The last decaying leaves of winter lay wet and brown upon the stone, a thin trace of yesteryear. She half closed her eyes imagining that they held the echoes of children's laughter, a pathway back in time. The doors to the squat, grey sandstone church opened with a groan, aged wood swung outwards slowly. The light inside was dim, filtering through the high windows. The scents of damp stone, cold air and stale incense mixed in the air.
She made her way through the church silently, head bowed in awkward respect. The door to the Church's spire opened easily, swinging back on iron hinges. She left the bags at the foot of the spiral staircase and began to climb up through the warped stone tower. The room, when she reached it, was pulsing blue, as it should do. It mapped the residual magic and activity of the forest which encircled the village. Swirling symbols of light dancing in the air like snowflakes. She brushed her hand against a few of the symbols looking out through the windows as she did so, checking the wards. Strands of magic flowed through her hands like silk.
It was as she was turning to leave that she saw it. A bright, pulsing trail of red and purple hanging in the air. As she watched it began to burn white. The air became opaque as the signal was overloaded. Someone, somewhere in the forest was using magic fast enough for it to start burning up the background power as well.
"Sonorus," she whispered, touching her wand to her throat. Her voice rang out through the village, "all broom riders are to assemble in the square. We have an emergency."
Back in the Forest
Harry's hand flew out, knocking Tom's wand to the side.
"I am Lord Voldemort. The most powerful wizard in a thousand years. I conquered death. I forced England to her knees. I have sacrificed more power than most men can dream of for knowledge! Knowledge which could unlock the very doors between the worlds! I am the stuff nightmares are made of! Do not presume to touch my person," Tom snapped, his temper flaring.
The green jet of light struck one of the trees. Leaves withered, bark split and curled. Tom almost smiled, or would have done, if Harry had not opposed him. The thicket spat Richard and the aurors. Tom mentally sneered at them, a little team of creeping watchdogs, chief bloodhound in the lead. He did not lower his wand, instead merely shrugging off the boy's hand.
"You were lucky," he commented, drawing himself up to his full height, "that the Boy is fond of foolishness. Otherwise you would be dead." They did not suspect his true meaning, like most humans they had the vision and intellect of mentally stunted ants. Nevertheless, their captain was intelligent enough to give a nod of thanks to the Boy.
"I'm glad we found you, my Lord," Richard panted, polite as ever. His face seemed peculiarly ruddy under his beard.
"The forest was too much for you then, Thorbecombe?" Tom asked, his tone tinged with bored toleration.
"Richard, sir. I don't know what's out there," Richard paused for breath, "but something is controlling the trees, we barely escaped them."
Tom noticed for the first time the scratches on their faces; there were bloody slices of flesh where their hands had been skinned, and their robes were torn. A mistake, he decided, observation was important. It was not a mistake he would make again. He never made a mistake twice, with one notable exception.
The Boy spoke up, peering into the vegetation, "The forest attacked you?"
"Yes."
"Exactly how did you end up here?" He asked. The point he was trying to make hit Tom and he stepped backwards towards Harry. The Boy may be irritating, but even Tom had to concede that he was handy with a wand.
"Well, we set off towards the ruckus you kicked off. Then, well we just tried to get away from whatever was attacking us as fast as possible …" Richard's eyes opened wide and he span around raising his wand just fast enough to deflect a branch which was heading for one of the aurors. Tom groaned internally. The trees began to move forwards swarming over the ground, roots unearthing themselves as they shuffled forward, boughs slicing the air like swords. For the first time that day there was birdsong.
Tom laughed as the joy of battle took him. His wand blossomed with fire: golden and white tongues of flame overlapped, intertwining into a long blade.
For trees they moved fast. Indeed, they moved surprisingly fast for most things, and they were deadly. Trees are tough, much, much, tougher than humans. Cutting curses will dig deep into bark, three or four might server a limb a branch as thick as your arm, but trees have a great many limbs. The loss of one or two does little to impede them.
Whips of fire were useful, Harry decided, but the wet wood did not burn easily. It was spring and the trees were filled with sap and life, they were hard to burn. At times it seemed the wizards' efforts only earned them flaming opponents who showed no sign of stopping.
Tom was in his element. He danced back and forward between branches. His sword sung in his hand. It looked ridiculous to Harry, but it appeared surprisingly useful. The flaming blade carved through the wood like a hot knife through butter. Strange, Harry reflected, that he should have ever bothered to learn such a spell, but arcane knowledge is his speciality. Despite the circumstances Tom's evidently amateur style brought smile to Harry's lips, he looked like a child hitting nettles.
Still, Harry thought, live in the moment and all. He ducked a vicious swipe from a young, bramble-tangled tree, and sank forwards onto one knee. Eleven inches of holly slashed downwards and green fire cascaded upwards crackling in a semi-circle in-front of him. An ill-timed swipe by a thirty foot alder carried it straight into the wall of flames. Green fire leap from air to wood, consuming everything in its path. For an instant the tree blazed, a towering inferno of wychfire before the rising wind caught it and it dissolved into a million, million fragments of ash. Harry could feel his arms shaking, the spell took too much energy when fighting things that size.
An auror stepped forwards. Richard's team had interlocked their shields. A haze of purplish light flashed red as the wood crashed against it, again and again. Richard had a fondness for blasting curses it would seem, either that or he did not know anything more effective against trees. Admittedly it looked good to rip chunks of from a tree's trunk, but they carried on regardless.
A tree reeled as Richard followed his blasting curse with a severing charm and with a cracking groan a tree split in two. The upper twenty feet of the tree crashed down onto the shield. Its bough's flailed against the shield, skittering over the hardened air. The auror directly beneath it began to sink to her knees, unable to hold aloft the weight. As one Richard and Harry struck the trunk with blasting curses, trying to lift it. The impact of the spells striking simultaneously managed to lift it away, but only for a moment before it fell back onto the shield. The spells flashed white and vanished, Harry tried to move forward, but he was too late. A limb stabbed forward skewering the throat of the woman, blood spilt out of her throat. Her hands flailed for a moment before going limp, her wand slid from her hand. He could feel her eyes resting on his as they glazed over. A moment later fresh green shoots burst from them, splitting her skull, feeding on her corpse.
Harry dashed forwards. He slashed his wand upwards and the air pulsed knocking the trees' limbs aside with the blast. Tom appeared beside Harry grinning madly. His cloak was swirling behind him, and his teeth were bared in a feral snarl as black lighting leapt from his wand. The spell ripped through a beech-tree, charring the bark and splitting the wood.
The aurors huddled closer together, recasting their shields as they waited at the edge of the precipice. The trees rustled and crept backwards as if regrouping. Tom looked mildly disappointed and dispelled the fires playing around wand. A group of the larger trees, beeches, oaks and black alders linked branches. They formed a crown of tangled thorns along the ridge which surrounded the little spur of rock.
Then Harry felt it. A rumbling from the rock. The ground shuddered, shaking as roots sunk into it. They ripped through the rocks with unnatural speed, forcing open the faults in the stone. He stepped back, turned swiftly and, using an old trick, pinched the fabric of the air, tearing open an auror's shield before climbing through. Tom followed, saluting the trees with his wand as the wind whipped his cloak back and forward.
"They're tearing through the rock! We need to get down from here," Harry shouted over the roar of the gale.
"What?" Tom asked, his lips twitching, "You mean down to those trees instead?" He pointed down to the green carpet of pine trees which swarmed at the foot of the cliff.
"Ah, bollocks."
They swept over the forest, the crystal in her hand pulsed with sharp red light. The pulses were drawing together as they grew closer to the disturbance. The wind tugged at them, icy fingers trying to pull them from the sky. The four riders who had come with her mounted the gale, flying stubbornly against the wind. The blue mist of the pines hung below them leaving the forest floor obscured. She gritted her teeth willing the broom onwards. A lock of her hair waved across her eyes, tugged loose from the tight plait by the wind.
It was Frederick who saw the place first. He caught up with her, bringing his broom alongside, "Arabella! Can you see it? There, up on the cliff!"
She squinted. On the heights of a grey sandstone cliff a blackened circle of broken trees, small fires and rising plumes of smoke marred the forest.
"What in Hell's name is going on there?" She murmured. Her words were swept away, lost to the skies as they swooped lower.
Harry frowned, concentrating as hard as he could. Vanishing the moss he blasted the earth aside, before carving the fourth of the seven runes of levitation onto the bare rock. The cracking of shattering rocks rumbled below them. Glowing fiery runes burnt against the grey stone.
"Hurry up, Richard!" Harry ordered as the auror channelled what magic he could into the second rune. Tom was proving irritatingly unhelpful; he had decided, it seemed, that floating a few feet above the spur of rock and watching Harry struggle to save the auror's lives was more amusing than taking part in the battle.
A section of sandstone crumbled from the cliff edge. The rocks crashed down until they rolled to a stop at the base of the outcrop.
"I would hurry up if I were you," Tom remarked calmly, floating over the edge of the precipice to gaze at the roots and creepers scaling the rocky wall. "Oh, I do believe that whoever is behind this has turned up to have a word. Shall I go and say hello?"
Harry glanced up long enough to see broom riders spiralling down from the stormy sky, "No, this isn't wizard's magic. Maybe they can help. No killing anyone."
"Very well," Tom agreed placidly, content to watch the advance of the roots. "Actually I was talking about that though," he added mildly, pointing to where a flock of crows were circling above the trees. Feathers drifted down from the flock, though they did not land; instead they swirled together into a form close to that of a man. An eight foot tall man, made of glossy, black feathers.
"Fine, go and see if you can't delay it," Harry said, trying to focus his exhausted mind to carve the sixth rune. It came out a dull orange, barely visible. If the rock even stayed in the air it was going to list. He sighed and moved on. Hopefully the others would balance it out. One more to go. The crag wobbled as the roots dug in deeper.
Tom strode through the air towards the trees and whatever was controlling the feathers, his cloak billowing around him. The actual movement was unnecessary, but it felt impressive. Below him the trees bent in the howling wind, his hair flicked to and fro. He swept aside the debris of the battle aside with a casual flick of wand sending sticks and charred bracken tumbling away until the wind caught them, snatching them up into the sky. Occasional fires flared up as the wind kissed them.
At the cliff's edge Harry finished carving the seventh rune. Richard bound the third to the first two, holding the rock together with faint threads of sky-blue light. The broom riders were descending slowly, battling their way through the storm. Harry stood, straightening up, his black hair wild in the wind.
"Greetings," Tom began, his long, pale wand held by his side, "I am Lord Voldemort. Are you the master of these trees? Are you capable of speaking with me?"
The shadowy mass of feathers nodded. Greetings, Lord Voldemort. It did not speak in any language as such but there was a sound in the mind; the wind whistling through a river's reeds; the groaning of oaks in a summer storm; the ringing of wind-chimes in the trees; the laughter of children, and the knowledge of what it meant. I am the Oldest King.
"Well then, could you stop trying to kill," Tom looked over his shoulder and pointed at Harry, "that boy, the black haired one? And yours truly of course."
The man of feathers tilted its head to the side. You do not care about the others?
"No."
There was a wave of repulsion, horror even. Have you no respect for life.
"Only lives which matter. Why do you care? You are the one seeking our lives. You attacked me," Tom pointed out, descending so that his eyes were on a level with the creature's head.
You struck the first blow. We seek to preserve our kin. You were given safe passage. You refused it. You cut down my folk! The being surged forward, feathers swirled in and out of its limbs. It stopped an arm"s reach from Tom, the feathers locking together like slices of jet.
"You were trying to help us?" Tom threw back his head and laughed. "I see. But you know you aren't going to win. We command fire. This hill bears witness to the destruction we can rein upon you if you dare to raise your …" he cast a glance over the creature, "feathers against us."
The wood will not burn. The King's feather's gleamed as lightning ran across the sky. The storm broke, huge droplets of water crashing down quenching the already dying fires.
"Ah, so that's why you wanted a storm …" Tom nodded slowly, "magnificent."
Run little wizard.
Tom shrugged, and in one lithe movement raised his arm, "Avada kedava!" The green light sighed as it cut the air. It struck the figure on the left side of its chest. The trees howled. A single feather burst into flame curling around itself and folding inwards like a scrap of paper. The creature stood still for a second before raising its hand, a signal, not to the trees though, but to its enemies.
As the broom riders descended Harry frowned, there was something familiar about the lead rider. She had drawn her wand and had it levelled towards him. Not necessarily a rescue party then. He considered summoning the brooms from under them before dismissing the idea.
The lead rider drew her wand in a tight circle before slashing a line through the mark. A shimmering bubble sprang from the sigil as it hung, glowing, in the air. The bubble expanded around the other riders who added further marks to the shield. Within it calm settled as the riders straightened their brooms. There were five of them, three women and two men, clad in hard wearing clothes, their hair was tied back and their wands were drawn. The leader had long red hair bound in a thick plait which fell over her shoulder. Beside her a young man with dark hair and thin, angular features flew. His expression was with interest rather than hostility.
Arabella gazed curiously at the rune she had drawn in the air. Green flickers of light were playing around its edges, dissolving it like acid on chalk. She shook her head and looked down at the man standing upon the teetering lump of rock, coat flapping around him.
"Hello I did not expect to see you here," he said, any surprise hidden behind a blank mask, "would you care to help us?" Behind him the black robed figure of one of his companions seemed to be talking to the feathery mass which stood before the trees.
"Mr Potter, I didn't expect to see you here either. Are you the cause of this …" She waved at the broken hilltop.
He grimaced, "I might have had a hand in it. In my defence the trees did attack us." The rocks he was standing on wobbled and almost fell, as the cliff below them partially collapsed. A net of pale-blue lines glowed brighter across the slab of rock he and his companions were crowded on, stabilising the rocking to and fro. The green eyed man looked incredibly pleased with himself. "I told you it would work! By Merlin I'm good."
She suppressed the desire to order the retreat. There was something about seeing him there, standing triumphant on the tottering precipice with fire and smoke behind him, which made her want to leave him to whatever fate he would find amidst that blood and death.
"Aren't we going to help them?" Frederick asked, pressing the issue. His pale face was illuminated as a bolt of lightning crackled across the sky.
"What if they've taken the children?" She asked, 'I met this man in Phalsbourg. Who knows how long he's been around here?'
Roots snaked up over the lip of the cliff only to slide off the auror's shields. The roots locked onto the edge unprotected by the shields, tearing at it. A fine layer of dust rose into the air as the stone was ripped apart. Thunder rolled and a section of the plateau leading to the spur collapsed, revealing a mass of writhing roots.
"If they've taken the children we can question them. If they haven't we need to save them," Frederick argued as the pillar of stone supporting the rock fell away. Only the threads of magic held the floating island of stone aloft. At least one of the wizards on it looked close to collapse.
"Fine, but bind their hands. Take them one at a time," she ordered, loud enough to let the wizards on the rock hear.
Harry nodded to the others on the rock as a rider swooped out of the bubble. Richard frowned but sheathed his wand nonetheless and allowed the rider to bind his hands before mounting him in-front of her on the broom. Harry took over from Richard, powering the levitation spell. A few moments later the second auror was taken by Frederick.
Harry's hands shook; his glasses slipped down his nose; heat pulsed from his wand, and the earth beneath it steamed where the tip met the centre of the net of light. In the distance there was a green flash and the trees howled. The last auror's shield fell as he was pulled onto a broom. Rain began to fall, lashing over them.
Harry ripped his wand from the stone, cutting off the flow of power to the runes as the roots swarmed over the rock. The blue stands of power held as he lashed out around himself. Purple light scythed through the barbed tendrils. At least the spell held until the roots pulled away the flimsy sixth rune. The rock swung wildly, listing to the left. The roots upon the opposite side snapped in two. One of the threads winked out of existence vanishing in a spray of sparks. The others frayed, pulling apart.
Harry leapt as the rock swung, clinging to the raised edge of sandstone as it crumbled under his fingers. He tried to heave himself up, but a sudden movement from the rock as something hit it almost threw him off, his coat flapped against the stone. The rough surface dug into his fingers. One hand came free and he scrabbled hopelessly, a nail tore, bright blood rising to mix with the mud and sweat. He swore only for the rock to knock the breath from his lungs. A hand grasped his and a thick black cord bound their forearms together.
"Hold on. I think it is about time we got out of here," Tom said before leaping from the rock as the last of the magic broke apart. For a second the stone hung, suspended in the air before it fell earthward. An ear shattering crash rang out as it shattered below. The yank on Harry's arm was tremendous, his muscles screamed.
"Follow us! And do not fall behind!" Arabella called over the storm before turning her broom around. The bubble which had surrounded her cracked apart.
Behind them came the cawing of a thousand crows as the birds took flight.
The Wizangamot
Draco Malfoy strode from the black hall of the Wizangamot. The silver gates to the rest of the Ministry crashed open as he reached them. The red-robed lords of the wizangamot stood slowly and filed out in silence.
In his personal rooms Malfoy poured himself a glass of the Massandra 1775 sherry. Moisture condensed on the crystal as he filled the tulip-shaped glass. He placed the decanter back on the table and took a seat, waiting for his guests to arrive. His fingers clenched and unclenched on the arm of the chair. His eyes were fixed on the mirror above the mantelpiece. He sighed, he needed to relax.
A soft knock came at the door. For a moment the glass of the mirror clouded before the faces of the Tobias Selwyn, and Aerona Gwaedpur appeared in it. Malfoy smiled thinly and tapped his armrest. The mirror returned to normal.
"Enter," he commanded. He stood, politely. They bowed, glancing at one another briefly, nervously. "Come and seat yourselves. Would you care for something to drink?"
"No thank you, Minister," Aerona answered coolly. Tobias merely murmured something indistinct.
"Very well. A bite to eat perhaps," Malfoy offered, placing his own glass on the table.
"I think not Minister," Aerona replied firmly.
"If that is your decision. Now, how are you both? I hear your eldest daughter is just about to start at Hogwarts, Tobias?"
"Um, yes, sir. Yes she is," Tobias answered. He rubbed his hands together, eyes flicking towards the door.
"Come, come Tobias. Stop worrying so. I'm not going to kill you; I'm a civilised man," Malfoy smiled benignly, his skin crinkling like worn paper.
"What then do you want with us?" Aerona asked, her voice had the lilt of the Welsh valleys to it.
"I want to persuade you. Isn't that what civilised people do?" Malfoy asked, a hint of hurt creeping into his tone.
"You can't justify the measures you are proposing! They will lead to war," Aerona protested.
"I can. I really, really can, but you two are leading the lords against me, against the safety of the country. I am not the one seeking war. I need you on my side Aerona, I need you beside me. Look at the world. Beyond this island forcing are moving, forces that want to see our nation cast down from its pedestal …"
"Then maybe it is time to step down gracefully, before we are pushed," she interrupted, "you cannot hope to persuade me with talk of our nation's greatness. It is built on blood!"
"Blood we have shed for it. Only the other day, within the vaunted neutrality of Stuttgart a delegate from our country was killed. Murdered. Are you proposing we stand by and let the murderers go unpunished? The French push for concessions, demanding that we give up British territory, surrender British citizens to them. Do you want that?" He asked pleadingly, his voice trembling.
"Peace, no matter the price, is better than more war. Murderers should be apprehended, but you are confusing the issues here," Aerona argued, her voice rising.
"What do you think Tobias? Does Aerona speak for you as well? Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools speak because they have to say something. Which are you?"
Tobias fidgeted awkwardly in his chair. He folded his hands over his stomach. "Well … there are many issues at stake here. Not all problems should be addressed as if they carried equal importance … um, it's really a matter of what we feel the country needs most … erm, you understand, glory and honour are important, but not as much as peace … D'yeh see what I'm getting at?" He trailed off ineffectually.
"Of course I understand," Malfoy reassured him, "but let me try and explain. You see without honour and glory our country will be seen as weak. We have allies and friends over the globe; we have our people all over the globe, and they need us to be strong. Our strength means that people think twice before they raise their hand against us … do you want to take that away? Of course you don't."
"No, but ..."
"Minister," Aerona interrupted, "this is getting us nowhere. Do you really imagine that this is doing you any good? I am not willing to move on this point. This country needs peace to recover from the wars you have thrown us into."
"Oh Aerona. We might easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy is when men and women are afraid of the light. What a pity you refuse to even consider your position. I asked you here simply so that we could talk about this like reasonable people, but since you refuse I suppose this discussion is at an end for now." He pressed the armrest again. "And I think that will make a lovely broadcast for the radio don't you? Particularly with a little, careful editing. What a pity you wouldn't actually get involved in any real debate about it."
They blinked at him, looks comprehension dawning on their faces, "You bastard. You aren't going to get away with this ..."
"On the contrary, I think that your popularity may be about to take a significant dive. Advocating peace at the country's expense? Surrender even? I think your fervour for candour may have run away with you. You know that almost sounds like treason even … what do you think?"
Tobias swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously, "He has a point Aerona, you know how the public react."
"But we didn't say anything we haven't said already! You've twisted this conversation!" She protested futilely.
"Indeed! But on the other hand this little recording need never reach the public ear …"
"If …?" Aerona asked cautiously. There was always a chance the offer would be better than public disgrace and death.
"If you join my cabinet," Malfoy answered brightly. "Why not try and change the way things are done from the inside. If you don't you'll almost certainly guarantee things go my way anyway, just stay in the game. All you are doing currently is tearing the country apart. Which would appear to be exactly what you wouldn't want. Even you have to see that civil disturbance would set the vultures circling. I forgot to ask Tobias, how is your daughter getting on by the way?"
"She's ... well. We don't have a choice do we?" Tobias asked.
Malfoy considered the question. "Honestly? No. For some reason people believe I have achieved my goals by playing with kid-gloves. I don't wear gloves, but I do play. I didn't need to do this. I have a great many dedicated servants who would happily have tortured you and your families into oblivion and then stepped into your places. We would have kept you just healthy and alive enough for polyjuice to work. I haven't done that, do you want to know why?"
They looked at each other for a moment. Malfoy rolled his eyes, "It was rhetorical. I'm letting you continue because yes, I want to keep things stable, but more importantly because I want to play this game without cheating. So, do we have an agreement? Will you join my cabinet and work from the inside to destroy me? Or will I just have to break the game? Speak up, I don't have all day."
Altewald
They half flew, half dropped from the roiling sky. They landed in the village square, panting. Cold sweat mixed with the rain ran down their faces and drenched their clothes. The rain lashed over them, stinging as they fell from their brooms. The water washed away the blood from their cuts and scratches where the crows' claws and beaks had struck home. Tom tapped the band holding him to Harry, letting it dissolve into the aether. Harry was as pale as a ghost and clutched his arm, rubbing the life back into it. They both looked upwards scanning the sky for any sign of the crows pursuing them further.
"We ought to get under cover," Richard warned as one of the riders undid his bonds. "The crows might be back at any moment, and we have to get these brooms out of sight before any muggles see."
"They won't be back. They can't pass the wards," Arabella promised as she threw down her broom, the wood clattered on the stones. "As for the non-magicals, that isn't a problem here. Everyone's in on the secret. Frederick, get some answers from them as to who they are, separately mind. They may have a cover story prepared, but it's always worthwhile to check. I have business to attend to. Personal business." She set off across the square towards Harry, limping slightly.
Harry watched her warily. There had been something about her attitude that suggested she associated something more than chess with him. The opinion was reinforced as her hand smacked into his cheek in a solid punch, sending him reeling backwards. He hit the ground hard and grimaced.
"What was that for?" He asked, wiping blood from his broken lip.
"That, Mr Potter, was for my family. You were supposed to be their friend. You betrayed them," she spat the words glaring at him.
He stood there, staring at her, aghast. The rain washed away her spittle as it poured down. "Who are you?" He asked hollowly.
"I am Arabella Fairchilde. Daughter of Rose Fairchilde, daughter of Ron and Hermione Weasley. I want a word," her fingers closed on his ear as she dragged him towards the church.