(A/N)- So terribly sorry for another long A/N, but we've passed the 200-review milestone! WHOO! Much appreciation to DarkRavie, charm13insomnia, hentai18ancilla, dontblink, Wedylai, Magician Girl Mirani, Tashio, devilchild1000, Silvermane1, twilightserius, Kai19, Lina03, Reaping-Vampire, melamariannie, White Ivy, yuki, Merlenyn, Psyka, Twitch101, Guest (2x), Emerest, Noxy the Proxy, chicaalterego, ThomasNealy, tamashiyuki, and TrenchcoatMan and to everyone else for taking the time to let me know your sincere feedback! Also appreciation to Pompom4u, pennameisblank, neveryears, Jubbles, Genuka, Sara, gurlygenes, and Mirabitur on AO3 (and to Merlenyn on the Art Masterpost)! Thank you for all your support, your alerts and favorites, your comments, bookmarks, kudos, and subscriptions! It is your attention and interest in this story that has made "Green and Gold" as popular as it is and as fast as it had! For that, I am immensely grateful and honored. The passion you guys have for this story is so absurd, I feel guilty not updating whenever my Inbox gets such incredible, intelligent feedback. I'm currently averaging about 40+ Word Document pages per chapter, as reimbursement for all your patience and sincerity. Hrngh.
ThomasNealy: Why isn't Shacklebolt "the Minister" after all this time? Mostly because it's my prerogative that he isn't. But I'm not saying it wouldn't make sense that he'd make Minister by now! I'm just currently uninterested in expanding on that whole political debacle since I personally think it's unimportant whether he's an Acting Minister or a Minister in the whole grand scheme of things. In chapter 7, we've established that he's having no luck seeking a replacement candidate to replace him. For reasons I'm sure you're able to infer by yourself.
Why isn't Umbridge tried yet? Mainly it's because I actually want to write about her trial and her sentence. And it might be a stretch but I think it's possible for her sentence to be deliberated for this long. In RL, it can take years of legal drama to settle upon a verdict. We've established Dementors in Azkaban are out. So, mind, I'm not an expert on court legal systems, so this is all conjecture and based off of my imagination. Regarding Sirius, in all the fanfictions I've read, as of 2015 I haven't seen this angle written yet (or I'd missed one): he seemed to be treated as an unlawful enemy combatant, so in our Muggle equivalent he may have had his Habeas Corpus rights suspended and therefore be imprisoned for an indefinite period of time without being able to challenge it. Death Eaters are essentially terrorists, yeah? I just think any competent judicial system coming out of a civil war should consider high-profile war criminals first, making "military tribunals" surmount those of corrupt, treasonous government officials that had instead aided and abided by the indoctrination of a terror regime and movement. It's like in Sirius' case, except I'm giving her attention. But wouldn't it be terrible if she got off with a mere impeachment? I'm not going to play at the backstabbing!wizardingBritain trope, but playing devil's advocate is fun, fun, fun.
What is Green and Gold's exact timeline? Simple answer: just to clarify, it's been several years, not months after the Second Wizarding War. The HP cast is at the age to start families of their own. Long answer: because I feel like I'm going to get the same thematic questions eventually, I'll address some of them here. Events that happened before the epilogue should be kept canon, unless I've warned you that it isn't. Everything that happens in and after the epilogue though are fair game and up for my reinterpretation. The general modern world I'm writing here takes place in the early 2000s. Harry was born in 1980. Meaning when he was 11-years old, Kagome would've been between four-to-six years of age. By my prerogative, Harry was between 20 to 22 years old when a 15-year old Kagome jumped into the well.
HP-wise, it's about five-to-seven years after Voldemort fell (1998). There is a reason why I chose this age range for him. BUT! It's up to the readers how old they imagine the HP cast, if they really want. I don't like to think I'm detracting from their reading enjoyment by stating this has to be their exact ages. In an earlier A/N, I've addressed that I'd shuffled around the order of events in the HP epilogue. This is where the canon divergence comes in (but I'll try to address most of the canon and drop them in as Easter eggs as the story progresses). I've advanced Hermione's pregnancy, Harry's ascension to Head Auror position, etc. because one, I wanted to write these matured characters in these scenarios and two, I kinda wanted to give people something different and unconventional than the stories of Harry still in school or immediately post-BoH where he gets betrayed. It was one of the reasons I'd felt like taking up the pen again.
IY-wise, it's after the Final Act when the well finally allows an 18-year old Kagome back to the past, but before IY and Kagome marry. The IY cast is still relatively young and recent. Mostly I just think it'll be amusing to write scenes of a mature adult!HP interacting with a younger audience. And for us to have an uninformed third-party—especially someone who is a war hero and currently involved in law enforcement, who should be capable of identifying right from wrong—react accordingly to certain character decisions and aspects of the franchise…insofar as the ones that still make me frown, therefore deterring me from willingly immersing myself into the IY fandom fully and reading fanfiction that star certain characters as the central protagonists. Yeah. I don't care much for canonically immature or obnoxious characters. Rarely am I convinced otherwise. By the by, we're assumedly going by what is written in the Inuyasha Profiles book, stating that a ~500-year old Sesshomaru is roughly 19, and a ~250-year old Inuyasha is somewhat the human physical equivalent of 15...or 17. (I know. It blew my mind too.)
Green and Gold
Chapter 12
By the time Harry arrived outside of the castle, near the Black Lake, it was mayhem and chaos all around him. The ground trembled. The mountain air—smelling of pine and the stench of troll—echoed with eerie groans and desperate cries. Jets of light were being shot across the shores, illuminating the dusky skies like small bursts of fireworks and tapering into nothing whenever they missed their target.
His Aurors were crouched behind craggy rocks and whatever that could be used for camouflage—even a troll cadaver—occasionally shooting up to lob powerful spells at the enemies before taking cover once more. Their coats and capes were of a dark or muted palette, camouflaging their bodies semi-effectively with the encroaching night.
Three trolls, towering into the skies like stone obelisks with their grey skins, aimed to trample the wizards underneath or to smash them with their colossal clubs which seemed to be carved out of old tree trunks. One female, two male trolls. Harry could see that one troll's foot—when it was raised—dripped blood and gore. Around their thick necks was what appeared to be a leather strip, which was collared underneath their rolling chin fat. Both of their feet and hands were massive and spiked.
Killing Curses were being volleyed from within the Forbidden Forest. Huddled behind the tree trunks were hooded figures swathed in ratty tunics and robes—which once made for handsome attires. The stitching gleamed a silver or a shimmering black from the glow of spells or whenever it grasped light. The leafy canopy overhead shadowed their human bodies, making them difficult targets to hit.
Instead of the iconic skull-like masks Harry had been expecting covering the upper half of the fugitives' faces, they clung to their bronze-cast masks with the snake-like eye slits. Ceremonial in their elaborateness, the masks were more suited for a masquerade than for inspiring intimidation, blood chilling as they were for what they once represented.
Harry could identify which spells had caught them off-guard by the scorched dings and gaping holes blasted into the metal, exposing jaws or cheeks. What remained of the masks was chipped and fractured with black spiderwebs cracking lines along the smooth burnish.
His rapid reconnaissance done, taking advantage of the distractions Harry quickly threw himself into a desensitized mindset. The Holly wand jumped into his palm. Obscuring himself with the Deathly Hallow, he disappeared underneath his father's cloak. Harry set his jaw and gripped the edges of the cloak tightly so that hopefully no limbs were exposed.
Taking stock of his surroundings, he dashed across the tract of land, scanning for a specific color of hair.
Catching the bright red hair behind a clump of trees—stripped of their leaves—and undergrowth, Harry grabbed Ron's wrist before the tall wizard whirled around. "It's Harry," he hissed quickly. "Your Jack Terrier Patronus collected me. The situation?"
Ron's eyes widened, before he jerked his chin down. Harry released his wrist, and Ron slid down so that he was squatting. His red hair was in disarray, as if he'd just rolled out of bed. And he looked exhausted. Particles of sand clung to his hair, his wand, and his Ministry-issued boots. He also had a fresh gash on his cheek, which seemed to be knitting together with the aid of a healing spell.
Although the wizard's back was turned, because of the long ponytail Harry could see the man Ron had taken refuge with was Williamson—one of their senior veterans.
Harry had remembered the scarlet-robed man from the night he'd confirmed Voldemort's return. The wizard had made an impression in the Department of Mysteries, and even when Harry had been a greenhorn just being assigned his cubicle. Harry had made certain that Williamson—along with senior veterans Proudfoot and Savage—were kept in the team when he'd ascended as Head Auror and reshuffled the ranks.
Williamson, too, looked down when he heard Harry's voice. But he'd merely grunted in acknowledgement. Unlike Ron—who was giving Harry his sole attention—Williamson refocused on the magical creatures. His outstretched hand slashed through the air in multiple sideways Vs.
Crackling blue streams were pitched at the trolls, and like bombs the light exploded upon contact, tearing chunks of flesh and coarse hide off. The pained bellows made the atmosphere reverberate like thunder.
"I'd spotted Parvati, Dean, and Finnigan, when I was running forth. Who else is here?" Harry demanded, hunkering down. He dug into his trouser pocket for the Marauder's Map.
Debris and wooden slivers rained down upon their heads from a curse a Death Eater had shot at them, ripping through the lumber. Both Harry and Ron ducked their heads. Williamson had pressed himself flat against the tree, before returning fire.
Ron said, "Once in a while, we have someone conjure the Repello Inimicum shield. To make sure they can't call for enemy reinforcements. We're not using the three-charm combo that'd been summoned over Hogwarts' boundaries. I reckoned that would've been too much."
"I reckon disintegrating our enemies would be a bit much anyway. This is a containment job."
"Jordan's with Savage and Macmillan's with Proudfoot up ahead, Sir," Williamson reported, his voice coming in a little ragged. "We've got the Death Eaters on the defensive. They're resisting arrest. We'd set up the anti-Apparition wards where they are. The only chance of them escaping is if they dodge all of our spells and made a break for the shores. Where you'd gotten in."
Ron motioned for Harry to stop. "Here, Harry." He thrust his own copy at Harry. He said tiredly, "Hermione and I've looked and debriefed everyone. Fourteen Death Eater scum and five trolls. Well, three trolls now. Parvati's a dead shot. She and Seamus took down two of them."
Raising his head, Ron yelled, "How close are you to bringing down another one, Williamson?"
There was a grunt. "Very close!"
Dropping back down, Ron continued in a hiss, "Each pair's assigned one person to mark a Death Eater. Hermione's with a rookie. They're making sure no one's getting into Hogwarts, and that no dunderhead wants to be the next Harry Potter and sneak out of the castle. She should be safe." Yet his voice sounded thick with concern and an emotion Harry couldn't place.
"She has the other map. She'll know if anyone's coming. She's also behind Hogwarts' magical defenses," Harry assured him. He analyzed the map, memorizing his Aurors' tactical positions and reading the scrolls above each pair of inked feet.
He counted underneath his breath, "Five—six—seven—eight Death Eaters." His eyes snapped up. "I don't recognize some of these names. They're not…Voldemort's sympathizers at the wrong place at the wrong time?"
"N-no, the rest were killed. They refused to surrender themselves. A blighter got himself crushed by a troll's foot. It was horrible." Although his mouth had curled down for some unexplainable notion, Ron ticked off his fingers. "Two or three were accidentally AK-ed by their own comrades. I think it was Proudfoot's team that got the other one. Macmillan's fault, most certainly. The Death Eater just blew up. Guts everywhere! And I think Parvati's team hit one with a Reductor or a Blasting Curse."
A quiet expletive rushed out of Harry's mouth. He muttered, "If this continues, we won't be able to bring any in for interrogation or a trial. We can't simply Accio their wands. Not after they'd pillaged our standard Auror gear or by contraband." Studying the map once more, he demanded, "There was no way to have a few Aurors flank them from behind?"
Ron gave the air ahead of him—where he thought Harry was—an incredulous look. His face was bleached bone white, making his freckles stand out like brown dots. He said, "Spiders, Harry."
He grunted, "I think my Aurors would know how to handle a few Acromantulas—"
"—Giant man-eating spiders that secrete venom and lay up to a hundred eggs that hatch in six to eight weeks!" His voice had gone high-pitched. "A colony of them, Harry! They're still there!"
The earth suddenly shuddered underneath them.
"Two Death Eaters Stupefied!" Williamson announced. "One troll dead or unconscious!"
"No one said you had to go with them," Harry said to Ron. In the back of his mind he tallied the remaining numbers. "But, alright, I see your point. A stealthy operation won't work, where they are."
"Not if we're coming from deep within the forest," Ron agreed, his skin returning to a touch healthier color. He was shakily drumming his fingers above his knee. "They're not that stupid. Instead of fighting us here, they'd retreated to the forest outskirts. And they're taking advantage of the bodies lying out here. I think they can tell if someone's sneaking up on them if they hear shouting or see spurts of light behind them. It'd waste too much of our time and manpower to remain undetected."
"Your Patronus said the White Tomb was being broken into. This is the shores of the Black Lake." It was for this reason Harry had Apparated to this location, hoping that the loud crack wouldn't tip off the Death Eaters. He'd been fortunate the din drowned him out, and that the wards' areas of effect didn't extend to where he'd appeared. Harry persisted, "They have the terrain advantage. And two opportunities to escape."
"They won't take the one where they'd have to run all the way north of Hogwarts to reach Hogsmeade," Ron instantly refuted. "It's too risky. It's too much of an open field for them and no one's stupid enough to run deeper into the Forbidden Forest. They'd be easy pickings for the centaurs. We managed to stave off the Death Eaters gathered around Dumbledore's tomb and advance forward. A Dark Resurrection Ritual, can you believe that! Over Dumbledore's bones! It's like they're asking for more people to demand their heads!"
"Another Death Eater taken down!" Williamson hollered.
The enemy combatants were down to five men.
As if sensing the shifting of the tide, it was at this point that the intensity of the fight picked up. Dark and Cruciatus Curses peppered the air. This time Stupefying Charms were also tossed in as well as several creative ones originally thought to be too Light or unfit for combat against Potter's men.
Harry was silent for a moment. Then he said heftily, "Did you get a chance to see if anything was taken or desecrated?"
"Outside of the seal they'd cracked open? I don't reckon anyone of us got the chance to see if anything was damaged," Ron replied, frowning pensively at the map in Harry's hands. His fingers abruptly stilled. His eyes widened. "Harry, you don't think—?"
"I don't want to think about it," Harry interrupted, flicking a quick glance over his shoulder at the older wizard. His eyes returned to his strategist. In a lowered tone, simultaneously as Ron was speaking he hissed, "Actually, it's not just our national monument I'm concerned about. Do you think Voldemort would be the type to share his secrets with his minions? Your honest opinion."
"What could be more important than Death Eater scum desecrating Dumbledore's remains—?" Ron's mouth shut with an audible clack of teeth. He rubbed his eyes with a fist. His brows knitted in consternation, he at last murmured, "No, he's too paranoid. He may have been absolutely bonkers, but he wouldn't have been the sort to boast about that sort of information. It would open him up to anyone who'd want to usurp him. So it's not related?"
"I don't know." Harry got back on his feet. His gaze was set in the direction of the White Tomb. "But I'll have to see."
"It's in an open field!" His hand shot forward. Ron tugged him down, nearly yanking the silky material from Harry's frame. "I know everyone believes Killing Curses bounce off you, but you'll be an open target."
Harry shot his mate an annoyed glance, but it melted from the genuine alarm on the wizard's face. Breathing deeply, he lowered the Invisibility Cloak down his head and said, "Williamson."
The wizard looked back. His brown hair was plastered to his skin with sweat. "Sir?"
"How certain are you that three Death Eaters were Stunned?"
"The color of the light is unmistakable." His voice was grim. "I saw Savage and Jordan team up on them. And I think the last one was hit by Macmillan."
"Where?"
Williamson faltered, bringing his wand down to his side and scanning the forest up ahead. Pressed up close against the tree, he'd craned his neck. "From my vantage point, the furthest three on my left, nearing Hogwarts. It would be...north…west of the forest edge…in the direction of the Whomping Willow!"
"That's another reason why they won't make a run in that direction," Ron said flatly. He looked up at Harry's face and he nearly toppled over. "Blimey, you're not taking the fucking piss. You got Hermione's look on you."
"Ron, I need your expertise again. Williamson, I want your attention back on the matter at hand. But feel free to listen in and offer your opinion." Harry spread the charmed map down on the ground. He pointed to three stationary pairs of footprints. "If he's right, it's these renegades that are unconscious. It's convenient. It's now our priority to make sure they're not mysteriously killed off."
"Are you mental?" Ron demanded. "Have you seen the spells being fired at us? That's asking to be killed! We have to wait until the area's cleared and hope a troll doesn't eat them before we get to them."
"They don't know I'm here," Harry said evenly. "At least, I don't think so. They'd have to use binoculars to track my footsteps, and you know they won't touch anything Muggle. You didn't hear the Apparition Crack, did you?"
Ron had been ready to drill him for answers about the binoculars but, posed with the question, he shook his head. "No, it was too loud already. I didn't even know you'd arrived. But what you're suggesting is risking—!"
"I can sprint there with my Invisibility Cloak. Ideally I'd make it there without being detected." He leveled his childhood mate with a withering look. "If anything goes wrong, I want you and Williamson to have my back. But mostly you, Ron. I'd prefer my senior veterans to be focused on the remaining trolls."
Reaching over, he moved his finger to the capital lettering that spelled out where they were. He traced a zigzagging route from their destination and halfway up to the Forbidden Forest. "I'm going to be running from here to there, so my movements are a bit more unpredictable, before charging forward."
His finger swiped directly up to the southwestern outskirt. "They'll hear me approaching, so I'll need a distraction. You and Williamson will have to make a lot of commotion. I don't care what you do, but I need it to be loud. Then I can guard these three and possibly, stealthily, take out one or two. Three, if I'm being ambitious. I'm relying on you all to incapacitate the rest. That's option one."
"Option two." Harry retraced the tactical proposal on the map. "Same execution, but with added complexity. I'll be going in wand a-blazing, with Gryffindor recklessness, to get their attention. You'll like this. Chess pieces like taking Kings, right? Once I rip off the cloak, the surprise of my appearance will trigger panic and they're going to focus solely on me. They're five cornered Death Eaters. I can give you all a narrow window to take out the rest."
"We can overwhelm them in a pincer attack," Ron breathed, his eyes gleaming. All thoughts of protest faded away. "Either way you'll be our 'vulnerable' Queen, Harry. It's instinct. They'll be so focused on you, they'll forget all about us. They'll be thrown into a panic, seeing the bloody Harry Potter appearing like the Grim and reducing their numbers." His hands curled into fists. "Three minutes, give or take. No silent spells, not unless you want to take them by surprise. That's how long you'll grab their attention, before they realize that you're our diversion."
"Is three minutes enough?"
Ron's tongue swept over dry lips. "It'll have to do." He clapped Harry on the shoulder, squeezing tightly. "Godspeed, Harry. Don't get yourself killed. Hogwarts doesn't need another great man buried on our school grounds."
Harry nodded grimly. He peered up over his shoulder at Williamson. "Well? Your thoughts?"
Williamson was silent, as if struggling to weigh the consequences of airing a thought. He ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly. "Permission to kill?"
Ron's head snapped up. His expression was equally tight yet hopeful.
"We're engaging in hostile firing," Williamson defended. "They're armed and dangerous. A risk. Our objective is to remove the threat. They're a threat that requires lethal force."
Harry merely stared down the tall man. "Keep causalities to a minimum. Maim. Incapacitate. Cripple. Anyone who's purposefully increased the wizard death toll reports to me and the Minister for damage control. If they deliberately kill, they deal with the consequences and another psych eval. Is that understood?"
"That wasn't a 'no,'" Ron said softly.
"You are not cleared," Harry said curtly, his contempt cutting like a razor, "by me or the Minister. You may use spells with the potential to kill. I can excuse accidents. But the instant I hear an Unforgiveable from any one of you, you're suspended from the field and sacked to a desk job for the rest of your career."
The senior veteran jerked his head. He whirled around sharply. Shooting at the magical creature's knees, Williamson replied, "I stand behind your decision."
Angry red lines oozed rivulets of blood down the rubbery grey skin, making the female troll's flesh appear like a poorly butchered piece of meat.
Harry growled, "Let's wrap this up." Green eyes slid to meet blue. He stared at Ron a pause too long, but he had to ask. "Ron?"
"It's bold. But it'll work." Although he looked sour that exterminating Death Eaters weren't a part of their plan, Ron had already dug out his charmed Galleon. He was rapidly squeezing it at periodic intervals, using the heating and the cooling of the metal to communicate in Muggle Morse code. "I'm alerting Parvati, of our change in plans. And Lee. You may call Macmillan. The git listens to you."
"I'll call Savage," Harry disagreed, squeezing the same rhythmic pattern for his. His head disappearing back under the cloak, he said hurriedly, "Then Proudfoot. Our senior veterans can run it by them a lot faster than if they did it. Ron, killing is not our objective."
Harry snapped his fingers once, twice, grabbing Ron's attention. When the wizard looked over, Harry stated, "Add on to that I want my senior veterans focused on bringing down the trolls. Round them up. Knock them unconscious. I don't care. Make sure they're no longer a liability. But killing everyone indiscriminately is not our objective." Springing to his feet, he commanded, "Williamson, status on the trolls."
"Proudfoot and I are placing the female troll under heavy fire. His team has her attention. She's not going to be able to join the last troll and double team us." Williamson felt an increase of temperature right behind him. Warm exhalations were heard by his ear. Swallowing against the ball of nerves, the Auror continued, "Parvati and Savage seem to be having better luck, Sir. It won't be long now for them."
"Five minutes. Then I'm making a break ahead. Get their attention off of me."
Williamson jerked his head. "Yes, Sir."
"You're doing well, Williamson." Harry squeezed his shoulder. "You and Ron, I'm impressed. All of you. You took the initiative and kept up the attack and reduced their numbers, before I'd even arrived. We finish this, and I'll mention your exemplary performance in my report."
His hand left the wizard. There were small indents on the ground leading away from them, where the Head Auror's feet had sunken into the soft silt.
To their right, Parvati's head twisted in their direction. Her mouth moved. Ducking down, she waved Seamus to take over for her. She went to debrief her team. It was several minutes later that their collective firing resumed.
It was then Savage's steady stream of fire that jerked and pulled away. After a while, theirs resumed, and then it was Proudfoot's turn.
Each one of their spells gradually became more ostentatious and grandiose, loud and colorful. Sometimes intricate. Vicious. Spells one wouldn't normally see or use. Like duelists showing off the best of their Defense against the Dark Arts knowledge in front of a jury. Nonverbal spells were traded for showmanship and attention.
"We're assembling at Dumbledore's Tomb," Harry ordered. Underneath the cloak, his eyes were set ahead, envisioning the clear path he was to take. His knuckles were white underneath his gloves, clenched around the familiar grooves worn into the wand. "Make sure no one gets away."
"We've got your back," Ron said determinedly, his tall and lanky frame unfolding into an upright position. Purple bags were underneath his eyes. He was rubbing his thumb against his wand, rigorously scraping off the fine grains of sand that clung to it. "It might not be high up in the air, but you weren't a Seeker for nothing. Fly like the wind, Harry. But remember, constant vigilance!"
A cross between a quiet scoff and a laugh escaped from Harry's mouth, before he swiftly silenced himself. "My eyes are wide open!"
In the time he had left, Harry casted several Sticking Charms to the bottom of the cloak, making sure that his legs wouldn't be exposed by the drag of gust. He squeezed the Galleon several times more, before pocketing it.
Gripping the creature hide securely with one hand, Harry alerted, "I'm going...now!"
Ron's wand slashed skyward. Sparks of light shot up skywards behind him, exploding like fireworks.
Harry launched forward, sprinting across the expanse. Sand and pebbles were kicked up by the balls of his feet, crunching underneath his weight.
Although the unease from separating from what he considered safety in numbers settled like a heavy weight in his chest, he heard Ron and Williamson yell, hoot, and holler obscenities at the trolls and Death Eaters, joining the spirited cacophony that was raised by his team of Aurors.
Dean swirled his wand arm up high, whipping up a miniature sandstorm.
Bringing his arm above his eyes and squinting, Harry zipped to the right before skidding to a halt and bolting into another direction. He avoided pitfalls or conjured obstacles. Whenever he saw a spell zooming in his direction, he'd swerve or throw himself behind the nearest obstruction. Harry would feel skittish, like someone was watching him from the shadows. The memorable sensation of his skin crawling or heavy foreboding settling in his gut had saved his life many times.
He was closing in when an icy feeling of dread suddenly alighted goosebumps down his arms.
Harry abruptly hurtled himself out of the way. Green flashed before his eyes.
A crater was blasted where Harry had been moments before. Terror temporarily seized his thoughts before his mouth thinned into a pale line, and he used that close encounter as motivation to hasten his pace.
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Confundus!"
"Bombarda!"
"Confringo!"
"Crucio!"
"Mimble wimble!"
Hearing the rush of wind zooming in from his side, Harry's head whipped around. Small, sharp pebbles swarmed toward Harry like projectile-guided missiles, which he avoided by nearly flattening himself against the ground.
Stumbling back upright, he forced himself not to look back to see the spell's target, trusting that his Aurors are fully capable of counteracting the Oppugno Jinx. More and more Dark Curses came one after another.
Unforgiveables. Entrails-Expelling. Full Body-Binds. Jelly-Legs and Leg-Lockers. Both nonverbal and spoken spells.
Then there were Blasting and Cutting Curses, and flashier Jinxes and Hexes. With shouts reverberating in his ears on both sides, he could hear the tremor beginning to set into the Death Eaters' cries and he could spot the few unstable trajectories.
Sooner than he'd expected, the sprint across the shores was almost over. His sides weren't nearly in stitches, trying to breathe, but the punishing effort his lungs had endured across the expanse had been excessive. His calves were on fire. Careering himself over bodies prone on the ground, his vision was set on the unconscious or dead troll ahead. Its head was coated with dark red, browning from the stretch in time, and covered with lacerations. Someone had targeted the eyes, stabbing deep into the corneas.
Harry tore past the clashing, colorful jets. Up close, he could see the slow, laborious rise and fall of the creature's chest, which posed a problem in itself. Using the fallen troll as a meat shield, he quickly took cover behind the giant figure, right where its head was.
He'd gagged when the malodorous, rancid stink hit the back of his throat like a tidal wave. He swallowed down the instinctive bile, craning his neck to gauge the risk.
Eleven meters stood between him and the renegades. Corpses—both troll and human—lined the grounds, misshapen beyond recognition. Two wizards were partially hidden behind trees; the side of their silhouettes was exposed to the Aurors' vision. They were flanking one Death Eater squatting in the tall grass.
Harry's eyes narrowed. They were behaving like guardsmen. Burning the memory of the crouched renegade into his mind, he surveyed the remaining Dark wizards.
One was a bit further down from the three, also taking advantage of her surroundings as shelter. It was a young woman, no older than Ginevra. Asian. Her mouth was set into a grimace, fear gripping her and draining her skin white.
His heart clenched. On the heels of that was a dark, larger surge of guilt that never completely went away. Swallowing his emotion, he forced his mind to work. The implication of the witch's distance away from the rest suggested that her presence wouldn't be necessary for encouraging cooperation once any survivors were brought in for interrogation.
Taking a deep breath though the mouth, he scanned for the last one, unable to find him until the foliage shifted, as if like a mirage, and then dissipated. His gaze stilled upon spotting a familiar face exactly where the map had recorded the three names was.
Underneath the haggard-looking wizard's fancy robes was a nondescript choice of outerwear, suitable for cross-country and changing weather conditions, and black greasepaint smeared in the area around his eyes. Unlike his comrades, his face was bare and gaunt, showing signs of starvation. Memories flooded Harry's thoughts as he recognized a red armband stitched around the Snatcher's right bicep. The name "Decio" was the most known moniker for the Snatchers' second in command. A former mercenary with multiple identities—so much so that no one really knew his real name—that had evaded his taskforce for far too long.
Harry was elated. It meant all three maps documented the Snatcher's real name.
He was keeping a vigilant eye over three prone bodies. It seemed like they'd been dragged over for this sole purpose, judging by the drag marks and the grime coating them. They were thrown over each other in a pile, limbs askew.
The former Chief Snatcher was uncharacteristically on the defensive and his twisted expression showed his displeasure of his assignment. But unlike his colleagues, this opened him up to act as watch. From far away, Harry could see the Snatcher's head twist this way and that, like a hawk guarding his nest, shouting orders to the frightened Death Eaters.
There were disturbances in the surrounding air, as if a heat haze had accumulated in a sizeable disk around the area of the four individuals. The recognition of that protective enchantment was like a cold splash of water to Harry's face. The Auror's eyes slide away to take in the Snatcher's companions.
They were all essentially in a ramshackle picket line. Ron was right; they were too smart. The six prone bodies strewn around the surviving five like shields showed evidence of that. To overcome their individual inclination toward self-preservation and to keep up the assault without breaking position, the traitors fought close enough for morale—but far enough that his Aurors couldn't take them out in one blow—taking turns to fire in volleys.
Harry's fingers were white underneath the leather as he considered his choices. The easiest method to get their attention was to leap out where everyone could see him and indiscriminately shoot spell after spell, without giving them time to think. But that strategy was that of his old Gryffindor self, of the inexperienced, frightened boy who he didn't have the reputation and reinforcements he had now.
The earth trembled once more beneath his feet, and a mighty roar resounded behind him. Like a second thunderclap the last male troll had toppled over. Harry heard what sounded like Dean and Lee cheering. Proudfoot was yelling, "One more!"
Bolstered by his mentor's declaration, Macmillan's bellow was ringing in Harry's ears like an annoying bee, arrogantly proclaiming that the battle was already won. All the Death Eaters had to do to earn their mercy was their unconditional surrender.
Harry inwardly cringed. Proudfoot did have a soft spot for the once-Hufflepuff. Although his mind was focused on dire circumstances, the crazy recollection of Ron's sour expression when Macmillan was chosen among the Head Auror's newly minted ranks by merit—and not nepotism—pierced Harry's head. Yet even the inevitable clash of differences did nothing to stifle the short burst of pride Harry felt.
His smugness died as soon as it came. His mind was racing. The three unconscious Death Eaters, he had to secure. The work was already done for him. Again he sought out the two individuals. He chewed on his lower lip, thinking it over. With this new development, there were many ways to approach this. He could risk the immediate plan on this newfangled gambit he had and hope for the best, or he could follow the blueprints of what he'd set out to accomplish.
Assessing the distance between the Chief Snatcher and the crouched combatant, he took a deep, steadying breath. An intake of confidence. And of trust. In himself and in his Aurors. Then with an exhale, he charged.
His eyes flickered up to see the female troll's status. Vengeful. Confused. Tiring out. Clumsy. But far away and preoccupied. His hands were shaking and his footsteps boomed in his ears as he closed in on the Snatcher and his cache. Adrenaline was giving him the confidence he desired and dulling his fears even as his heart was pounding like a jackhammer.
It must have been Ron that had alerted Harry's Aurors of his advancement, for the racket that Harry's veterans and senior veterans raised exploded into Fred's and George's worthy brand of pandemonium. It effectively diverted the Death Eaters' focus away from the footsteps approaching them. Even Decio was distracted, his gaze on the Aurors, trying to pinpoint who posed the biggest threat.
With Macmillan's vitriol echoing in his mind, by the time he'd crossed the short distance successfully relief flooded him so quickly Harry felt a little lightheaded from it. His whole world was condensed on that one wizard.
There was tension in the mercenary's shoulders, and his dark eyes were flitting around rapidly as if sensing something was wrong. He'd gotten on one knee, his wand fizzling at the tip.
Before the wizard's Shield Charm could be erected, Harry tore the Invisibility Cloak off, his wand carving a lowercase "n" in the air. The forest lit up with white light as energy was discharged from Harry's wand, and the next moment, Decio was screaming, writhing on the ground, cradling a bloodied stump where his wand hand used to be.
The blackthorn wand snapped under the force of Harry's heel slamming down on it, splintering the wood in the middle and resounding through the battlefield.
Four pairs of eyes darted over, and panicked cries began to rise like a crescendo.
"Harry Potter!"
"Potter! Potter's here!"
"Decio! Colloshoo!"
Panic was dangerous. Criminals who panicked were unpredictable. Like rapid-fire from a machine gun, advancing forward with each spell he thundered, "Protego Duo! Relashio! Incarcerous! Incarcifors!" Remembering the sight of Teddy's smiling face when Harry and Sesshomaru flew into the skies, he shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"
The curse—as well as the others that had followed—ricocheted off of the spiritual barrier erected around Harry, rebounding back at frightening velocities. The area around the Death Eaters was carnage.
Just as grass and foliage sprang up to entomb Decio with the three men in a transfigured cage, fiery purple sparks flared at the end of Harry's wand and the grip the crouched Death Eater had around the wand was released with a gut-wrenching yell when the streak of light hit. Boils had erupted along the reddened, burnt skin as the wizard doubled over, clutching his arm which Harry saw was sickly looking and weedy. Before his companions could pull him back, thin cords shot forward like a cobra strike, twining around the man's neck and limbs, and dragging him down with force.
As he went down, the wizard was shouting to his companions, "Go, forget about—!" before he was gagged and bound and his face plummeted into the earth.
Their grips on his arms were ripped as an indeterminate four-legged creature—tall as a two-story house—stampeded in their path like a hazy blur. Trails of mist and vapor followed the Patronus as it momentarily forced the Death Eaters into a retreat away from the trees, before twisting away sideways.
A high screech—like rocks tumbling down a cliff, but less rumbly than a male's—pierced the air as the Patronus slammed into the troll's side.
One wizard straggled behind, refusing to leave his comrade. Harry plunged forward.
The wizard's hood fell as Harry drove his fist into his face, cartilage crunching satisfactorily beneath his knuckles. Blood was running down nose and teeth as the Dark wizard and willow wand flew back. Dirt and patches of grass were scattered up into the air upon impact.
The Holly wand plunged down at the wizard's mask and the one before. Two red flashes, then each were knocked unconscious by a Stunner. Harry swept the two dropped wands from the grass quickly, purloining them into his holster. His wrist snapped up.
He kept up the assault, not stopping to give himself or the other party time to form any fully-fledged thoughts, forcing them to concentrate on returning fire instead of running. They were parrying spells, inflicting and deflecting, one after the other. Some exploded in midair as two streams collided. He threw everything that was in his immediate repertoire. Anything to distract them from detecting the tall five shadows congregating on the other side.
Their faces illuminated by the pulsing glow of their wands underneath, the two Death Eaters were looking at him like death warmed over, haunted and scared and desperate, as if he were the instrument of their nightmares hunting them down. His hand tightened on the wood.
Their Shield Charms burst into small shrapnel, which disintegrated into flecks of shimmering iridescence under the punishing barrage.
Their triad of voices was drowned out by the roar of crackling fire as the sudden movement of their wands simultaneously directed the purple flames in two opposite directions: two toward Harry and one toward the Death Eaters.
All three wizards threw themselves out of the trajectory, watching as the curse dispersed upon impact on trees or rocks.
His hands left drag marks into the grass as he struggled to get on his feet. His head snapped to the right, just as the Severing Charm whizzed by.
Past the sweat matting his long fringe to his eyes, he could see the woman's pale face crumpling in despair when both she and her companion realized the Head Auror was the scapegoat. They'd whirled around in time to see Ron, Seamus, Lee, Dean, and Macmillan raise their wands and collectively shout "Stupefy!"
Hands were at the Head Auror's shoulders and arms, yanking him up, and Harry snarled, "Forget about me. I want the troll taken out—!"
Instinct—or perhaps blind luck—had him shove himself back, landing back on his elbows. The jet of green light whooshed by harmlessly, where his neck and chest would've been. Propelling himself around and thrusting his wand intuitively, he countered, "Sectumsempra!"
What sounded like a blade slicing through flesh and a faint expletive made the red haze from Harry's head fade away. Decio was scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest—his dirt-smudged face a shining scarlet—with one of his hands still gripping a wand he'd stolen from one of the unconscious combatants imprisoned with him.
His gloved hand had moved into an automatic spiral movement, and a powerful, jagged jet of scarlet light shot the wand away from the Snatcher's hand and blasted the Snatcher off of his feet. Decio flew back, his head crashing into the transfigured bars with a sickening thud.
"Someone heal him!" Harry roared, seizing an Auror by the lapel and heaving him forward. "I don't want him dying of blood loss just yet!" His vision set in the troll's course, he ordered, "Macmillan, with me! Everyone else, search them! Make sure they're bound and their wands confiscated! I want them rounded up and taken to the Ministry! Alive!"
His men hesitated. Then their footsteps drummed away.
A small throng of bodies passed him and Macmillan as they rushed to the shores where four Aurors concentrated on bringing down the twelve-foot tall troll. But before they could go any further, Harry's name was shouted. Giving the fair-haired wizard a look, he jerked his head to the fight. "Go ahead first. Proudfoot could use his protégé's assistance."
The Auror nodded, and the crown of shining gold curls was the last thing he saw of the wizard when Harry twisted on his heels to grasp Dean by the elbow.
"Sir," Dean said quietly, leaning on him and breathing heavily. "I've taken the liberties of calling for a Healer to examine the dead bodies. They said they're sending us a mediwizard. I'd asked them to bring Hippocrates Smethwyck, if they can, for you."
"Thanks." Harry pressed Dean's elbow and shoulder in brief gratitude, before lifting his hands.
Dean gave him a small smile, then he ran back to rejoin the veterans.
By the time Harry caught up, he could see however small the troll's brain was, bestial instinct had the magical creature battling Harry's Patronus—its imposing three meters extra in height dwarfing the troll—and wielding its club like a baseball bat, growing more and more disoriented whenever the club swung past nothing.
Open gashes were littered all over the creature's discolored skin, with pus and infections around some of the serrated cuts like someone had taken a rusty knife and a whip to the troll. There were dark, faded marks around the troll's ankles and wrists. When the troll jerked its chin centimeters up, what seemed like a strip of fabric was collared underneath its chin fat.
Parvati and his senior veterans were keeping a wide enough breadth so that the pressure of the colossal club or feet striking the ground wouldn't throw them off balance. Except for Williamson, each was paired up: Parvati with Savage, and Macmillan with Proudfoot. Parvati's group focused on spells meant to safely incapacitate, but the creature's magical resistance posed as determent for Stunners and the like, fizzling out whenever the jets of light landed.
Harry's gaze stole across her shiny, smooth plait to a blond and a greying head, as he neared the two Aurors on his way to Williamson. His mouth lashed down into a frown when he heard them making idle conversation instead of focusing on bringing down the troll however humanely possible.
"Ernest!" Proudfoot was passing abrupt, incredulous glances over his protégé. "Glad to see the plan's worked."
"They were hardly any trouble," Macmillan scoffed. Behind Proudfoot's clear shield, he was looking at the ghostly massive apparition with bafflement. "That one of ours? It doesn't look like—"
"Talk later," Harry barked, making them jump, "concentrate now."
The Auror immediately stood at attention. "Sir! But if it's one of our enemies—!"
"It's mine, Macmillan. Now, focus! I know we all know it's dumb, but it's still a threat!"
Just as Macmillan was gaping at the back of Harry's running form, Proudfoot lobbed a Disintegration Curse at the club—which was already splintering from all the curses thrown at it—and the wood finally crumbled into small pieces.
Beholding the brown dust in its leathery-grey hands, the female troll staggered as both Williamson and Harry stopped to point their wands up at it. Thick ropes launched out in the speed of a grenade launcher, wrapping around her throat and feet and then falling as they failed to enclose around the two sizeable widths. The two Aurors hurtled themselves out of the way before they could be quashed under stumbling, gargantuan feet.
"Eyes!" a smoky voice that sounded like Savage's rumbled. "Someone take out the eyes!"
Promptly Macmillan began murmuring the incantation for the Conjunctivitis Curse—making memories emerge of a certain Durmstrang representative facing off against the Chinese Fireball—when Harry reached Williamson, who'd returned a brief glimpse before retransferring his attention to the towering threat.
The Auror's mouth moved soundlessly, and at once everyone could see what he was trying to do. Light pooled in the apex between the troll's thighs, appearing like purple taffy straining to glue them together as the female screeched and tried to rip them apart with the force of her legs.
"Proudfoot! Savage! Assist Williamson! Apply the spell in layers and get it to fall down!" Harry yelled, snapping his wand up. "Parvati, you and I are helping Macmillan with the Conjunctivitis Curse! Now!"
Both Proudfoot and Savage thundered at the same time, "Locomotor Mortis!"
Exchanging faraway looks at each other, they quickly sorted out the order of who should cast first. Williamson raised his wand, and Savage prepared himself to go next.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
"Locomotor Mortis!"
A pink torrent of fire discharged at the same time as the last Leg-Locker Curse was uttered, and two more followed right after. The first one hit the troll square in the breasts. The troll spun around, and one managed to batter the left eye and nose. The last one had missed when the troll turned around, which would've stabbed directly into the right eye like a sniper bullet.
With a spine-chilling groan that was a gravelly, deafening boom—akin to the sound of boulders grating against each other—the troll stumbled, eyes swollen shut. Its back was facing Proudfoot and Macmillan when Harry's Patronus slammed into it, making the troll at last lose its balance.
As the troll whirled its arms in a cyclone, Harry watched in disbelief as the new, vaporously unclear form opened what had to be its jaws and snag one of the troll's flailing arms, taking it down with a reverberating crash. Everyone toppled from the collision's tremors, like the ground underneath them had been transfigured into a trampoline.
As Harry struggled to clear his head of any lightheadedness, with wide eyes he watched his apparition breaking into small balls of light, which drifted up into the darkening skies leisurely like dandelion seeds, eventually dissipating into nothing before the clouds could be reached. Like it'd never been there.
A scream roused Harry from his vertigo.
Proudfoot was helplessly tugging at his leg crushed underneath the troll's heavy bulk. The other hand was recklessly shooting spells up at the skin, crisping the affected area a blistering red and trying to free himself.
"Proudfoot!" Macmillan keened, his eyes wild. The Auror scrambled to his feet, howling, "Proudfoot, we're coming for you! For the love of Merlin, don't antagonize it!"
"Macmillan!" Parvati cried, staggering back up. "Don't! The troll's still—!"
Large grey legs stuck together thrashed like a mermaid out of water, nearly striking Macmillan from its devastating kicks. Rolling off its back, the behemoth was struggling to push itself up.
Clenching the wand in his hand and exerting force on an arm to shove himself up, Harry raised his wand to the troll's head and rasped, "Verdimillious Tria."
Just as his hand slashed forward, simultaneously green sparks detonated from the tip of his wand like bolts of electricity, shooting across the distance and smashing into the overlarge skull like a blow.
Harry swallowed, when he heard it impact. Rubbish as professors Quirrell and Lockheart had been, they made sure that Defense against the Dark Arts Charm had been drilled into their heads. All the multifunctional properties of the dueling spell and each of its three devastating upgrades had been memorized: from how it could act as a flare to revealing objects hidden by Dark magic to its most damaging potential.
A brief pause and three cries echoed shortly after.
The troll jerked like a rag doll each time the offensive Charm hit.
The implications of what they were doing made his mouth dry with sawdust. But he grounded his molars; then he opened his mouth and commanded, "Aurors, concentrate on casting fully-charged Verdimillious Tria spells! Keep casting until it's subdued! Don't make it nonverbal! I want its full paralyzing effect!"
He raised his wand. "Verdimillious Tria!"
"Verdimillious Tria!"
"Verdimillious Tria!"
Verdant electric current after electric current kept being discharged, Harry lost count after the fifteen one.
Energy crackled over the stone-grey skin, reddening the tissue all over. Enormous muscles flexed and spasmed involuntarily, fluctuating like roiling sea waves underneath a canvas, stretching the flesh to the point of breaking. The sickly sweet smell of frying bacon would forever be burned into his mind, as the troll writhed on the ground.
Limbs quaked violently, and suddenly there was the fetid smell of defecation. The troll gasped as if it were being strangled. Drool spilled over its chin and chest, staining the shores underneath a dark spot.
"That's enough!" Harry roared, seeing the instant the bulging eyes rolled in the back of its head and the limbs collapsed as if their strings were cut. Troll fingers and toes kept twitching. He sprang to his feet, gesticulating with one arm. "Stop! Everyone, stop!"
"Pull back!" Savage yowled. He'd dropped his wand-arm. "Wands down! It's over! The Head Auror said 'wands down!'"
Slipping and sliding, Savage heaved himself up, his head twisting around. Several shoulder-length strands from his slicked-back hair had escaped the miniature top knot, and his beard was coated with filth. His glare honed on a fair-haired wizard. "Macmillan, the Head Auror said 'stop!'"
Lost in his own world, Macmillan was uttering his second—his third—incantation when Williamson and Harry strong-armed him, one snatching the Willow wand from the tight grip and the other wrestling Macmillan's arms behind his back before either of them could be punched. His face was pink with excursion.
"Macmillan, calm the fuck down!" Harry reprimanded, nearly barking in the Auror's ear. "Our objective is not its death. Cease and desist, or I will have you for insubordination."
The stout noble sagged in Harry's arms, his fighting spirit fleeing him. His chest heaving, he said weakly, "Proudfoot's—"
Parvati was already hurrying to their fallen comrade's side, falling to her knees to inspect Proudfoot's injuries. "Where else does it hurt?" she whispered, frantically moving her wand over his leg. White bandages spun around wherever she'd tapped, encasing the limb like a splint. She pushed him down when he reared up.
She said soothingly, "Calm, calm down, Proudfoot. Don't look at your leg. Tell me where else it hurts."
Harry released Macmillan's arms. Trying to regulate his breathing, with a slightly reproachful look Harry told him, "I'm temporarily confiscating your wand. You'll get it back at the Ministry. Williamson, make sure he doesn't get it back until I give the official 'okay.'"
Macmillan staggered away several steps, lowering his head and clenching his fists just as Williamson nodded. Both of his men glanced over in Parvati's and Proudfoot's direction.
His glare lessening, Harry rammed his fingers through his hair, dragging his fringe back. When his breathing returned to a normal pace, with an aggravated sigh, he said, "You're not in trouble, Macmillan. This is just a precaution, in case you get it into your head to take revenge for Proudfoot. I know you won't, but I don't like it when you lose your cool."
"Sir?" Williamson whispered. He was glancing between Harry and the Forbidden Forest where the rest of the team were gathered.
Not detecting any urgency behind the tone, Harry temporarily put him out of his mind. He held up one finger. Digging the Marauder's Map from his coat, he opened it with the key phrase and quickly scanned the contents.
A minute later. "Sir?"
Satisfied that there weren't any surprises left, when Harry peered up Williamson's gaze appeared conflicted. "Proudfoot's an old friend. Should I bring him to St Mungo's? We don't have anything in our potions kit for that. And I don't think any of us are experienced enough to cast the spell for mending broken bones."
"Yes, Sir, didn't Professor Lockheart banish your bones in Quidditch once instead, Sir?" Macmillan mocked, making the ponytailed wizard bristle from the snide tone.
It had been at the tip of his tongue to say that Dean had called for a field mediwizard, but then Harry spotted Macmillan's expression. Frowning, to Williamson he imparted, "I don't want to risk anyone of us accidentally failing to execute it properly. And Skele-Gro takes too long, if he has to regrow it."
Lifting his gaze to the fair-haired wizard, Harry said, "Macmillan, you take him to St Mungo's."
"Sir!"
"Sir?" Macmillan's eyes widened. Surprise and resentment flitted across his expression. He began heatedly, "Is it because of what happened earlier? I can still—!"
"Wasn't Proudfoot your mentor?" Harry said sharply, shoving the map back into his pocket. "Weren't you just concerned for him a short while ago? If it were Shacklebolt, I wouldn't exactly be protesting."
Macmillan's mouth snapped shut. He tried again, "It's not that. Was it my performance? Did you find it lacking? Alarming? I pulled my weight. I pulled as much, if not more, as Williamson had!"
"I'm not basing this off your performance or any favoritism. I'm basing this because I thought you were close to him, like a friend, and what any close friend would do is to bring him to a hospital and find him the professional help he needs." He strode over to Macmillan, clasping a hand over his shoulder. "Proudfoot would want you there. With him. We want him back in his cubicle tomorrow. I want you both back."
Macmillan's expression was dark, but he didn't reply. He shrugged off Harry's grasp, violently jostling their shoulders when he passed them by.
His gaze pinned at his teammate's back, when Macmillan was a safe distance away, in a low voice Williamson asked, "What's the real reason you chose him, over me? I've known Proudfoot longer. Ernest wants to stay and prove himself."
Harry was quiet for a moment. Then he confessed, "I know. But he was a Hufflepuff. I need him to cool his head. He won't be of any use to me if he's worrying about Proudfoot while we're investigating the White Tomb."
"Ernest is young. He makes mistakes. How he reacted shouldn't be held against him."
His gaze slid back to his senior veterans. "They were trying to perform a Dark Resurrection Ritual over Dumbledore's remains. I need clear-minded Aurors on the field with me. Can you honestly tell me that Macmillan, in his current mindset, would be a better choice over you?"
Searching the Head Auror's expression, eventually Williamson dropped his eyes. Savage shifted on his feet uncomfortably.
"Go with Ron and the rest of the team. I will join you in a bit. I heard Smethwyck's coming." He tipped his head toward the Forbidden Forest. "Make sure everyone's okay. Then check to see if all unconscious Death Eaters are transferred over to our division before you tell everyone to make their way to the tomb without me. There will be a small change in plans. Ask Finnigan, Dean, and Lee if anyone would be willing to stay behind to assist our medical examiner and Parvati."
Seeing their questioning looks, Harry clarified, "I need some of my Aurors to stay behind in case something comes up while we're performing the investigation." Twirling his wand idly, he added, "Wouldn't it be terrible if a supposed corpse disappears or tampers with evidence while we're several meters away with our backs turned?"
"Wouldn't want anyone to rise from the dead," Savage echoed. Williamson wordlessly nodded.
With a last glimpse in his colleague's direction, Williamson turned on his heels, dragging Savage by the crook of an elbow, and they began jogging to the four figures viewable in the distance.
"I want the Death Eater I'd bound identified!" Harry shouted, before the Aurors were out of hearing range. "I want to know who he is and why he's so important that he was worth protecting!"
Without checking to see if his Aurors had heard him, Harry marched over to Parvati, noticing that Macmillan was still there. They were bent over Proudfoot. Regulating his exhalations, his face pale and sweaty, Proudfoot had an arm slung over Macmillan's shoulders, ready to be lifted onto his good leg.
"Proudfoot," Harry said, snatching their attention. He projected confidence and authority into his tone. "You're going to be fine. Macmillan's volunteered to bring you to St Mungo's and get your leg checked out. You'll be as good as gold tomorrow morning."
He made certain to provide the tactile contact, squeezing the wizard's shoulder once. Helping the man up and meeting each Auror square in the eyes once, he stated firmly, "I'm proud of you. Proud of all of you."
Macmillan was shooting him a backward glance over his shoulder as he led the hobbling wizard away. A brief moment later and they Disapparated with a loud crack.
By this time his adrenaline rush had died down somewhat. But Harry concealed his slightly trembling hands in the lining of his pockets.
The last of sunlight over the horizons spilled over the shores with a dying rustic glow and spotlighted the old mottled bruises over the reddened skin. The bodies scattered around the shores and forest line seemed like misshapen rocks. Parvati was examining the troll with grim contemplation. "What we did," she said softly, "It was torture, wasn't it?"
"Either we immobilized it or we humanely kill it," Harry said. "With as little casualties as possible. That's been the protocol. At least we managed to keep one alive. Maybe another one, we won't know if it's too late to save them until the mediwizard gets here and makes his prognosis. Keep your guard up."
"Artemius Lawson would love us," she added dryly. "I reckon Liechtenstein would welcome us with a celebratory toast."
"Let's not talk about troll-hunting and magical creature rights," he griped, scrunching his face. "I hear enough of that in the ICW." He blinked. With a new, thoughtful expression flitting across him, he started, "The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, for their Beast division…wouldn't their superior would be—?"
"Amos Diggory."
He swore. "Merlin's saggy left—!"
"I'm yanking your wand, Harry!" Parvati said hurriedly, witnessing the dejected set of his mouth. "Goodness, Diggory's an employee. Their superior is someone else, someone as old as crumbs. Do you need to get into contact with them?" Upon seeing she was at the opposite end of the Head Auror's intensity, she immediately flushed. "Sorry, stupid question."
"Not stupid," he refuted, taking a deep breath through his nose. He closed his eyes. "But unless you want to volunteer us up for scrubbing troll guts and disposing of their bodies, I reckon they'd do a better and more efficient clean-up job than we ever could. They could mediate the damage control, once word gets out. But I don't think my Patronus would be recognizable in the state that it is in."
"Do you want me to summon them?" When his eyes snapped open in surprise, she grinned and explained, "You haven't told me to 'get.' That could only mean you want me to stay behind. You're like Padma. You two like making small talk before laying it on thick." Her nose crinkled. "I know you're the Head Auror and I have to listen to you, but I really could do without the unbearable smell."
"You've read my mind," he commented lightly. "Just transfigure something into a handkerchief, and hold it to your nose and mouth, if it's that horrendous."
"I can't believe you have the energy to be cracking witty quips," she said bitingly. She looked down at her sleeve considering, before shaking her head. She punched him in the shoulder. "I feel like I'd just been thrown into the Triwizard Tournament. Did you know I was about to leave for home when we got the distress call? How in Merlin's name are you not bowled over with exhaustion, after all that?"
"I had an impromptu, early morning workout."
She directed a skeptical glance over. Then with the flick of her wand, she took a big breath—which she looked like she'd regretted immediately—and she announced, "Expecto Patronum."
A sleek, silver mongoose shot out. Its long, tapering tail weaved sinuously around the witch as it bounded about her playfully. Two more flashes and a pair joined the first apparition.
With a laugh and another wan smile, she communicated to her wand, "This is Auror Parvati Patil, requesting back-up from the Auror Headquarters. The situation has been diffused, at the shores of the Black Lake. We require assistance transferring V-Voldemort's men on-site to the Ministry."
She held her wand up, like a microphone, to Harry's mouth.
He leaned forward.
"This is Head Auror Potter," he spoke gravelly, "confirming Auror Patil's communique. I don't need the entire department. I want wizards from our Investigation subdivision and the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. Five or six will do. Our veterans and senior veterans will have further instructions once you've arrived. Don't trip over each other and forget your wand in the excitement this time."
They watched the first one shimmer and then leap away on its stubby legs across the horizons.
"This is Auror Patil—"
"And Head Auror Potter. The password for the last Potterwatch broadcast was Mad-Eye."
"Right. We request the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures—Beast division—to send us assistance to the shores of the Black Lake. We have five trolls that we don't know what to do with. Some may still be alive. I know one's bleeding profusely and we'd disabled one more."
The second one went in the way of the first. Harry stared curiously at the last mongoose.
"Do you want to send Hermione a message?" she probed. "Get her away from the schoolchildren? She's brilliant. She'd be able to piece together everything, now that it's safe to look for clues. I know her husband's probably already sent his, but I figured…actually, I don't know where I'm going with this. You could just as easily call for another department."
"They'll know, once we bring everything back: the renegades and the forensic evidence."
Still he didn't outwardly decline. Gathering his thoughts, he at last said into Parvati's wand, "Hermione, Ron's not going to have an aneurysm now that the coast's clear. Meet us at the White Tomb. We need your input. Also, mischief managed."
Warmth flared from the map, bleeding through his pocket and into his skin.
XXXXXXXXXX
It was still twilight when the reinforcements arrived.
Harry had exchanged quick dialogue with Hippocrates Smethwyck—whom Harry remembered as the middle-aged healer that had miraculously discovered the antidote for Nagini's venom and saved Arthur Weasley's life—before leaving him, and the healers he'd brought, in the capable hands of Lee Jordan and Seamus Finnigan. Several rookies and investigators were still excavating the Forbidden Forest and the shores of the Black Lake for clues when Harry saw that Ron and Dean had waited up for him.
"These trolls aren't English," Dean stated the moment the Head Auror was within hearing distance.
They were standing at the cusp of broaching the venerated property lines of the White Tomb. The meadow was serene and unspoiled, conflicting with the unsealed stone casket that lay in the middle of it. Harry noticed Hermione and another one of their rookies were up ahead, examining Dumbledore's remains and the area around it. Williamson and Savage were bent around what seemed like human bones.
His gaze instantly slid to the immense grey form that'd looked like the top of its skull had been bashed in by its own club. Harry said levelly, "A fact or a theory of yours?"
"We're lucky we didn't have to deal with any more of those buggering giants," Ron grunted. Looped around his arm was Harry's cloak. "But I have to agree with Dean. Take a look at this."
He passed Harry a leather strip. The strap was long enough that it'd take three or four men to carry it if it were extended to its full length. Harry gingerly rubbed his fingers against it, rubbing off the blood to read the miniscule lettering underneath. His mouth dove down. "'Made in USA?' You're suggesting—?"
"I know it's farfetched," Dean said, exchanging glances with Ron. "But you weren't here, before everything went to shite. Every single one of them was outfitted like the security trolls at highly-guarded institutions. Leather caps and all."
"The Committee will be able to confirm it for us for sure," Harry said skeptically, handing it back. "But magical Britain is a long travel way from the States. And no sane person would transport these creatures through Apparition or Portkey unless…." He trailed off, his eyes widening just as Dean nodded grimly.
"We might be looking at potential trafficking," Ron rumbled gruffly, "between us and the States. It might also be circumstantial. My gut is telling me that some no-good Americans have fallen in with the wrong crowd though."
"Even if it's true, I'll need confirmation before we decide to go with this lead," Harry said thickly as memories swarmed him. "We butted heads with the Americans when we were there to help prevent their Washington Monument from being the site of a Death Eater ritual. Cases that cross international borders, especially those overseas, require close collaboration and coordination between our government agencies."
"We might have to get into contact with the American Division," Dean persisted, as they approached the three Aurors at the White Tomb. "I know you and their Director didn't exactly get along—"
"If I never have to meet their Director again, I will die a happy wizard. But yes, we might. I simply wish to avoid the headache that is jumping the wand, if at all possible."
"I remember he was a stubborn git, but the rest of their Aurors were alright," Ron remarked, grinning crookedly at Harry's irritated expression. "It wasn't that horrendous. We had their President of the Magical Congress backing us up. He even scored us tickets to see what their Quodpot was about, when it was all said and done."
His smile fell, though, once he caught sight of his wife.
She was chatting one-sidedly with a young, handsome wizard Harry couldn't place a name to, using him as a soundboard for her rapid-fire conjectures. He could feel the intensity of Ron's jealous scowl when Hermione finally noticed them. She waved them over.
"I see the remnants of a skeleton," Harry addressed. "Please tell me that's Voldemort's and that we're one step closer to recovering his body."
The unnamed Auror abruptly twisted his head to peer up at them, the moment he heard Harry speak up. With an earnest look, he blurted, "No, sir. I'm so sorry to hear you were dragged from your paid holiday, Head Auror, sir."
"What?" Ron barked, this time his indignation directed at Harry. Dean had drifted away from them when he accused hotly, "You're on paid holiday? How come I haven't heard of—?"
"Because you aren't sitting an ambassador from a foreign country," Hermione interrupted. Her eyes flicked up, her expression cross. "Ron, I told you about it eons ago. Stop being ridiculous. And, no, Harry, it might not be. They seem a bit too brittle. I'll have to have someone check."
Ron had opened his mouth to defend himself, but paused when Harry touched his shoulder and shook his head, mouthing the word "don't" at him. His mouth twisted sourly. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he mumbled grouchily, "Well? What did you find?"
"Neither of you are going to like this," she disclosed.
Giving their younger companion a shared, deliberate look, they waited patiently until the wizard understood he wasn't to be a part of their conversation and he collected his kit to join the three veterans further away.
Despite being out of earshot, Hermione still casted a Muffling Charm around their vicinity. Bringing her wand down, she said in a hushed volume, "Dumbledore's wand is gone."
Both Harry and Ron stilled.
Their gazes plunged down to stare at the thin, withered hands—one of them a decayed shade of black—folded peacefully over the Headmaster's chest. The preservation enchantment had maintained the glossy sheen of his purple robes, which was speckled by tiny stars shooting across. Although his face was gaunter than it had been when the funeral rites were performed years before, Dumbledore still appeared asleep.
"I thought this was another attempt at a Dark Resurrection Ritual," Harry hissed, once he collected himself. He tore his gaze away from the macabre display and he pinned Ron with a severe stare. "I thought you said Voldemort wasn't the sort to share his knowledge."
"N-not if it would make anyone more powerful than him," Ron gulped. He brought his fist underneath his unshaven jawline. "I don't understand. This doesn't fit their MO. They couldn't have known it was the Elder Wand."
"I agree," Hermione corroborated, noticing their mounting distress. "There might be a small chance that one of them found out, but really? I doubt it. Everyone thinks it's Grindelwald's mark. We only stumbled upon the truth because we had a bonafide believer tell us its origins."
"If someone like Mr Lovegood had known about it, who's to say there isn't someone else who would? Before it became popularly known as a propaganda symbol for Grindelwald's forces?" Harry speculated. "I remember him talking about a Quest. How there were others who wear that symbol to identify themselves to other Questers. Maybe someone became curious and stumbled upon a valid source like we did."
"Are you honestly telling me you believe the kook?" Ron demanded, his brows furrowing upon recollection of the wizard. "Granted, what he said was true, about the Hallows, but he's a bit…." His finger made a circling motion near his temple.
"Sometimes he's a bit off, yes," Hermione concurred. She frowned down at Dumbledore's body. "But let's say you're right, Harry. If that's true, there are huge ramifications."
"Would it?" Harry asked lightly. He held his hands out toward Ron.
Upon realizing he still held Harry's cloak, Ron's face turned white and he shoved the Hallow back into Harry's arms as if he had been scalded by hot water.
Harry stared down at the cloak that had remained intact all this time, passed down each generation from father to son. He almost felt like he could trace his father's existence, and his father's father who'd inherited it from his father—all the way back to their Peverell ancestor. Making his hands into fists, he said heftily, "If they're hoping to attain the Master of Death status, they're in for a long haul."
"Should we search for the Resurrection Stone?" Hermione asked, trying to peer beyond his occluded gaze in search of something. "You'd said you'd dropped it somewhere. In case they are, I feel safer knowing we had it in our possession than any Death Eater's."
"Or a Snatcher's," Ron added. He was frowning at Harry. "But they might not be chasing after a pipe dream. It is a children's tale, after all. They might've taken it because they associate it as Dumbledore's wand. Y'know, the wand belonging to the wizard V-Voldemort feared? No offense, Harry."
"None taken," he replied automatically. "But I agree with that theory. Or I'd like to, over the possibility of them pursuing the Deathly Hallows. It could be, again, circumstantial. Ron, before I got here, what were they doing?"
"Getting ready to perform a Dark ritual."
"No, what were they doing? Their positions? Incantations? Conversations? Did you see anyone holding two wands? Anyone that was gloating about acquiring Dumbledore's?"
Ron scowled. "I don't know. We just saw them hovering over his casket and we responded." He scrubbed his face with a large hand. "We have so many magical monuments out there. It's never going to stop, is it?" He sounded so tired.
"No, Ron, we are not going to think that," Harry rebuked sharply. "We can't afford to lose morale. One day, this will all end. There will be a day when there won't be enough Death Eaters desperate to bring him back."
"That's the day when a new Dark Lord rises," Ron said wearily. "And when we're all dead."
"Ron!" Hermione snarled, scandalized. She sounded one moment away from slapping her husband. "This is not the time for another one of your episodes!"
"Both of you, calm down," Harry hurried to say, despite feeling like he, too, wanted to punch Ron. "We have to remain positive. Now, tell me, out of all the magical monuments in Britain, why would they go after the White Tomb?"
"Well, it's rather obvious, isn't it?" Hermione asserted, staring at him incredulously. Then her eyebrows dipped. She was giving Harry an odd expression, as if she couldn't recall for the life of her why seeing him alone was suddenly unsettling.
"It is, but I'd like to hear theories. Especially from two of the most brilliant minds I know." He levelled a meaningful look at Ron, a strategic chess player, and at Hermione, one of the brightest witches of their generation. "Let's put aside the fact that a Deathly Hallow was taken."
Tracing the outline of a crowned shield silently, Harry shattered the Muffliato Charm. He offered a smile, hoping it wasn't too strained. "Well, let's share with the class. What else could their MO be?"
"I imagine it was an act of desperation," Savage's voice rang across the short distance, inferring what the subject of their conversation was. "We'd stopped them at every juncture. It's quite possible they thought this was their next big chance."
Hermione made an undignified sound through closed lips.
"Or maybe," Ron scoffed derisively, sharing his wife's opinion, "they were struck with a case of the theatrics and decided wouldn't it be dramatic irony if they managed to resurrect the Dark Lord on the deathbed of someone that a lot of people claim was the only wizard he'd ever feared? Especially a Dark ritual on a powerful Light wizard's remains?"
"Dumbledore would be rolling in his grave if their attempt had been successful," Harry commented neutrally. "It would make a lot of people angry. Not to mention the press that'd eat this up."
"They could be doing it to taunt us, sir," the still-unidentified Auror raised. He appeared to twitch when all eyes turned to him. He maintained hesitantly, "M-maybe they wanted to upset the H-head Auror. He took down their Dark Lord. Maybe they're trying to send us a message."
"Like what?" Ron growled, wrapping a possessive arm around Hermione's waist, his hand flat on her rounded stomach. "Don't tell me you reckon they're saying, 'look at what we can do! We're not afraid of you!' I don't think they'd pull something that foolish just to get Harry's attention."
"They might have gained the confidence now that they've got Americans having their backs," Dean offered. "Maybe this was this way of showing off their newfound partnership. Maybe they've grown arrogant."
"Or this could be an attempt to throw us off the trail," Hermione surmised. "We could be chasing a red herring."
"I think what we're all forgetting," Williamson chimed in, "is that before they got caught up in all this, they had families and respectable livelihoods. Whatever their reason is, they're also human beings. They were just like us."
"They reap what they've sown, making the decisions that they did," Harry reasoned coldly. "War is serious business, Williamson. I acknowledge some were coerced against their will. I don't begrudge them for siding with what they assumed to be on the winning side, and for being charmed or frightened into taking part of what they thought to be a revolution to win back pureblood and wizarding rights."
Multiple cracks were heard, like someone snapping wands, signaling that the last of the reinforcements had arrived. Everyone's heads spun around to take in the sight of a small army of wizards and witches clambering in the distance.
Returning his gaze, Harry finished, "But I can't forgive them for taking innocent lives, and subjugating the rights of Muggleborns and Muggles for theirs."
"Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for these murdering bastards, Williamson?" Ron demanded, turning away from the Committee officials and clenching his fists. Unsympathetic, he exclaimed to the wizard, "They've dug their own graves the moment they took the Dark Mark. And after? They've had plenty of chances to turn themselves in!"
"Also," the young Auror eagerly leapt back in, "they should've known better. They followed a madman. We had Harry Potter."
"And you!" Ron turned on him, appearing like flames were ready to burst out of his ears with how red his face was. Hermione held a firm grip around him, so that he couldn't advance toward the shirking wizard. He snapped, "You can stop kissing up to Harry. Buttering him up is not going to make him—!"
Hermione's hand had muffled Ron's mouth just as she chided gently, "What Ron means to say before flying off the handle is that you don't have to feel pressured to flaunt it in front of everyone, like you've got something to prove. You'll learn that trying to sweet-talk us isn't necessary."
Dean interjected, "Maybe not now, but eventually. We hear it enough from every apprentice the starting weeks that it's become repetitive and—frankly?—tiresome."
"I'm genuinely appreciative for having your respect and admiration," Harry reassured, looking back from having thrown his best mate a reproaching glare. Managing a less strict expression, he confided, "But I notice people who give me results and don't treat me like a celebrity. You were selected for your skills, not your ability to sing your praises for me or those that currently outrank you. We're not that insecure. Just be yourself, alright?"
"Y-yes, sir," the Auror stammered, peering back at him and his veteran Aurors with an unsure but newfound light in his eyes.
Harry's mouth pulled into a half-sincere smile. "Lovely."
Turning back to Williamson, he said, "It's fine if you feel pity for them. We all do. As our shrink claims, our empathy makes us emotionally stable and mentally sound to make rational, informed decisions. But we don't always have the luxury to falter. Sometimes we need to make the snap judgement, to neutralize a threat in a time of high tension."
Williamson hung his head. He yielded, "Yes, sir."
Hermione swiftly sucked in a breath, as if she'd felt her baby kick. Everyone's eyes landed on her in a panic.
Noticing the men's shared looks of terror, she waved off their concern flippantly. "No, no, it's not that." Fixing the Head Auror with a stern expression, she demanded, "Where is Sesshomaru, Harry? Weren't you supposed to guard him?"
Profanity tore through his throat. Ripping a hand through his hair, he groaned, "I was. It flew out of my brain the instant that I—!"
Looking over his Aurors wildly, his fingers digging into his scalp, he enquired, "Is everyone's alright with me leaving abruptly, if you're able to handle this by yourself? You don't need me to help gather the evidence?"
"Yes, yes, we're fine," Hermione coaxed, huffing an annoyed sigh through her nose. "We've got it handled. We'll meet you back at the Ministry. I think you might have someone who's a bit unsettled by your sudden disappearance."
"Unlikely. I'd left him in Room 4."
"Mate." Ron had grabbed his arm. His blue eyes were alit with a strange excitement. "I'd specifically requested for Doge to obtain special permission for Room 4. It's no Vanishing Cabinet, but the filing cabinets are there for a reason."
"Are you telling me—?" Harry's eyes flew back to stare at him disbelievingly. He hissed, "You're using Malfoy's method!"
"Hermione can show you," Ron disagreed, lifting what seemed like a metal bar from his pocket.
The witch was shooting her husband an uncertain glance. She was biting her lower lip, not looking at Harry.
Ron had set it down on the ground gently and he backed up when his wife reluctantly uncrossed her arms. She arched her wand in a glowing, icy blue circle and the bar mushroomed back to an impressive human height.
"It looks like no one can fit in any one of these drawers," Ron said, "but they were made to deceive."
They watched, astonished, as Ron demonstrated pulling out a drawer—which'd dragged out the rest as if they were glued together—showing the hollowness inside.
Harry heard whispers burgeoning behind them. With climbing acidity, he stated, "You're saying that you and several others had been aware that there's been a security hole, all this time, in our Ministry that only a select few are privy to. Why am I only hearing about this now?"
"Oh no, it's not as bad as you think," Hermione explained hurriedly. "It's relatively recent. You're looking at the only final prototype. Well, that and the few cabinets we'd scattered around every level. We didn't say anything because it was still in its experimental stages. I can confirm now, with a hundred percent certainty, no one's getting stuck in limbo this time."
"Really, the only way to access them is through this cabinet I keep shrunken on me," Ron verified. "You still can't Apparate into the Ministry. Not without this."
"…I'd Disapparated from that room," Harry argued, his brows creasing in confusion. "Wait, the Ministry has anti-Apparition wards set up. How'd I—?"
"Yeah, I heard the wizard that's in charge of that room used to be an Unspeakable. Not a good one, but an Unspeakable nonetheless."
"Then shouldn't I be able to—?"
"Would you like to waste your time and fail?" Hermione said shortly. She was tapping the tip of her wand irritably on an arm, still avoiding his eyes. "I was going to bring this up to you sooner or later, Harry. It could be a last-minute resort in case of another Ministry breach."
A part of Harry wanted to shake them by the arms and demand if they'd lost their minds. The other part of him was begrudgingly impressed by their ingenuity. Impatience won out. "You two have some explaining to do later," Harry growled an octave lower, stalking to their creation. He bent down to avoid hitting his head on the steel slides. Then he stood ramrod straight in the compact cavity, essentially feeling as if he were in a coffin.
"We'll see you later," Hermione promised. "Watch your wand." She shut the conjoined drawers, trapping him in darkness.
Several of his Aurors were loudly interrogating the couple outside when Harry disappeared with a telltale crack.
XXXXXXXXXX
When he heard the crash, Harry tore through the drawers with a speed to rival the Firebolt. His eyes darted around, brushing through the bedlam that was his immediate surroundings. Dread filled his veins. The table had been upturned, with holes big and small burnt into the wood. Dings and blackened scorches were left in the blocked-off entry that used to be the hall that Doge had escorted them down.
Wheezing gasps sliced through his thoughts, and the surge of concern was instinctual. Harry searched for the Ministry official. His vision soon landed on the wrecked furniture—or what had remained of them—and the wizard that was huddled down on the floor. The wizard's knees had been drawn up to his face. Pieces of upholstery and chairs were around the limp form.
Hatless and pale, Doge was rocking back and forth, his gnarled fingers clenched below his kneecaps. His knuckles bled white over the wand that he was holding like a precious possession.
"Doge!" Harry swept down to his side, checking for injuries.
Doge was rasping, his chest falling rapidly as if he were winded. Harry's sight lingered on five puncture wounds and the handprint that was a mottled ring of colors from the different pressures that had been exerted over his neck. He latched onto Harry's sleeve as if it were a lifeline.
"You're going to be alright," he soothed, tracing his wand over the bruised skin and murmuring a soft, flowing incantation which almost sounded like song.
The Wizengamot advisor was trembling under the Head Auror's hand.
Harry pressed as gently as he could, "What happened when I was gone, Doge? Where's Lord Sesshomaru? Was it him? Did he do this to you?"
Doge's gaze lurched to the sealed doorway.
Harry's gaze wandered in the same direction, and this time he was able to make out what appeared to be the faint outline of a door in the conjured or transfigured wall. It was quite possibly meant to keep the magical creature out. The line of his mouth thinning, he had started getting back up on his feet when Doge's hand shot up to grip Harry's collar and wrench him down. The elderly wizard was shaking his head and wordlessly repeating the syllable "no".
"He is my responsibility," Harry said shortly, prying the death grip away from his shirt. Lightheaded and revitalized with newfound energy, he felt a bit numb to the world as the weathered hand slipped away, grasping at thin air. "I will take care of this."
"H-he," Doge croaked, his voice hoarse and feeble—reminding Harry that the wizard was an old man. He swallowed and said, "He went berserk. After you left. I tried to s-stop him."
Harry's eyebrows flew up. "You did?" He relaxed the tone of his voice when he realized how that must have sounded. He said casually, "I mean, he did? I'm impressed that you'd tried. He is an intimidating man."
He rose to his feet, dodging all frenetic attempts at reclaiming him. Only a small portion of his heart felt guilty when the ex-Advance Guard missed from an overzealous reach and had toppled over. "Calm down, Doge. I'll handle this. Take this time to regain your breath. Don't panic, that's it."
Turning his back, he said authoritatively, "I'm going to go find him. I'll be back in a few."
His eyes were pinched. "No, Harry, no. Don't try to be brave—!"
The Holly wand was flicked. The door slowly groaned open; then it stifled further protests from being heard when it was resealed. The abrupt blanket of silence was both unnerving and made goosebumps run down his skin. The glowing orbs floating above were small and dim, throwing an otherworldly sheen and long shadows across the floor, walls, and ceiling.
His back and palms flat against the conjured barricade, he breathed deeply once, taking a moment to think. It was difficult to separate his professional mindset from how he'd normally approach situations outside of his profession, especially when he fully expected himself to dive back into his duties after he sought out his wayward time traveler.
Yet Harry pushed away from the wall.
"Sesshomaru!" he called out sharply. Instead of hearing his voice ricocheting back in the traditional Japanese, he could almost imagine it being absorbed into the soundproof walls. There was a tension in the air that he could cut with his wand.
His wand kept close to his side, he tracked the demon's magical energy in the dimness, blindly searching for the familiar aura that was embroiled in foreign but powerful Dark Magic. But unlike the angry tempest he'd been expecting, Sesshomaru's magical signature felt like subdued disquiet.
There was something agitating the warlord.
But contrary to Doge's claim, Harry couldn't sense that there was any need for alarm. Not when this was a far cry from the heavy, caustic Dark Magic that'd weighed down the atmosphere over the magical shores.
He felt along the wall with a palm, his fingers sliding across the dips and cracks of the cold flagstones for guidance. His footsteps were oddly muted—as if he were a ghost—yet he could hear the pounding of his heart, the blood rushing through his ears, and the oxygen in his lungs. Combined with the vertigo, it was a disorienting experience. His sense of smell was also impaired.
It might've been the effect of the mysterious properties of the Unspeakable's that Ron had mentioned, who had installed them into the chamber. Or it might be attributed to Doge's influence. Or maybe it was the fatigue that settled in—odd that it was, being that they were approaching nighttime, when the moon was up.
Either way his intuition was leading him to the end of the narrow hall and to the tightly sealed door, where flashes of orange light flared in the crack between the door and the floor. He steeled himself for a confrontation.
"Finite."
XXXXXXXXXX
The colorful hues terminated instantaneously.
He barely had time to react as a white and red blur burst past the opened door, a pale hand gripping the Head Auror by the shirt and slamming his back against the wall. Momentarily dazed, his senses were smothered by the overbearing scent of animal fur and of Sesshomaru's scent.
Red sparks were fizzling at the tip of the Holly wand jabbed underneath the demon's jaw, illuminating from below both of the contours of their faces. The heat of their proximity seared Harry through his clothes.
Sesshomaru was growling lowly, his fangs bared in a restrained snarl. One set of claws were clenched over Harry's shirt and the other one was up over their heads, pinning him underneath. Fortunately he had the foresight of allowing space between their chests, so that he wouldn't impale Harry with the spikes on his breastplate.
Maybe it was that display of conscious thought that held Harry back from unleashing the Stunner. Despite the initial assault, Sesshomaru wasn't doing anything aside from examining Harry from head to toe, with a small, concentrated frown written across his face.
Although he felt like a cornered mouse, Harry promptly scanned the dog demon back, but for any signs of aggression. No jagged marks were noted and the color of his irises was still the same slitted depths of molten gold. Nor did he smell the acidic toxin that'd seep through Sesshomaru's claws. His swords were also sheathed, since the top of the hilts were digging into the side of Harry's ribs.
He exhaled, easing up on the punishing grip he'd shackled around a striped wrist. The glow from the wand ceased, and he shifted into a more open and honest stance.
He began cautiously, "Sesshomaru, what happened to your hands?"
As if sensing Harry's lack of ill will, the tall figure emitted a rumbly sound that came from deep within his chest. He bent his head. Long, fair hair fell forward as a cold nose trailed along the Head Auror's sweaty skin, making the wizard inhale sharply from the unexpected action.
Harry had turned to crane his neck away when a soft wetness laved up his throat, roasting him to his bones, burning like a brand. He couldn't help the knee-jerk stirring of arousal in his loins and, horrified, he recoiled back against the wall. His face and ears scorching hot, he seized, "Stop, stop whatever it is that you think you're doing. Snap out of it!"
The menacing growl picked up again. Rhythmic puffs were ghosting along the slope of his skin.
Nuzzling against his neck, Sesshomaru was reverberating huskily, "Not all of this blood comes from this Hari. Yet this Hari had sustained injury, when you'd deserted this Sesshomaru."
A cool hand was sliding down Harry's chest, and the Head Auror sucked in a hiss when fingers pressed a spot over his solar plexus. Sesshomaru's hand stopped.
Closing his eyes, Harry grunted, "I think an elbow hit me when I stopped someone from fatally electrocuting a troll. I didn't notice." Reopening his eyes, he glared down at the hand over his coat. "Do you mind?"
"One cannot be aware of the extent of their injuries in the excitement of combat," Sesshomaru stated. Yet his claws had released Harry's shirt.
The dog demon took Harry by surprise when, instead of drawing back fully, he took the opportunity to stroke a calloused thumb over the path his tongue had traced, making Harry shiver from the sensation against the side of his vulnerable throat.
His deep brogue wielded as an intimate caress, Sesshomaru murmured, "Small and inconsequential, but a wound nonetheless. This Hari was careless."
The heat was spreading throughout his body, making his toes curl. Harry swallowed. He tried not to give away how he'd felt the instinctive ache of need beginning to kindle in him like embers preceding a fire. He raised his hand in resignation, his palm and five fingers splayed out flat. His hand made tiny pushing away motions in the empty space between their torsos with each syllable uttered. "Y'know what? Forget it. It's fine. Back up."
Sesshomaru's molten gaze was fixed on the dried blood encrusted over the back of the leather glove. "There is a smell of death and yōki that cling to this Hari, in the castle grounds that you'd absconded to."
The persistent challenge to his authority made the primeval, animalistic side of Harry want to unleash his own testosterone-filled snarl, but in his dizziness Sesshomaru's last words vaguely registered in his brain. He embraced that clarity of thought like a friend, anchoring his passions at a much safer level.
With another annoyed exhale, he peered at Sesshomaru somberly. Brusquely, he conceded, "You remember what I said about our fugitives running amok? These wanted insurgents sought to tarnish the remains of a powerful Light wizard…who I suppose I'd considered a mentor. I didn't lead you to his gravesite. It was very important that I stopped them."
Harry's expression darkened upon recollection, which seemed to inspire a shudder rippling through Sesshomaru's muscles.
He'd noticed Sesshomaru's reaction. "I'm not going to apologize for responding to my Auror's summon. Not when there were innocent lives at stake." Harry's brows creased into a troubled dip. "But, job or not, I realize I had a lapse in judgment. I should've notified you before going ahead."
His mouth was flattened into an uncertain, grim line. Gloved fingertips settled carefully above the demon's knuckles, barely skimming the skin.
Sesshomaru's gaze lunged down to stare intently at their hands, his head tilted and his expression almost that of curiosity and wonder.
Harry was analyzing his naked features, measuring the depth of the raw emotion that was transparent on the demon's face. He didn't say anything, merely taking the time to look at the bone structure and physical appearance of a man designed to stop someone in their tracks. He tried to look past the characteristics that'd marked Sesshomaru as an ancient magical creature. His lack of stubble on that graceful jawline, the soft curve of the demon's cheeks, and the incredible set of eyes finally drove it home to Harry that even with Sesshomaru's five hundred years of existence, at heart he was also a mature but uncertain young man comparative of nineteen-years in age.
Noble or sovereign, outside of warfare there was a high possibility that Sesshomaru could be inexperienced.
The confidence and the sobriety that came with this epiphany almost did him in. After a pregnant silence, with calculated delicacy Harry brooked, "I haven't known you for long, but this…loss of composure seems rare, of you. Even with the odd moments we've had. Is this related to my sudden disappearance? Or is there something else sincerely troubling you?"
That seemed to derail the moment they were having. Invisible walls were slammed down over the dog demon's expression, shuttering closed like blinds had been drawn. He denied, "Nothing distresses this Sesshomaru."
The demon lord finally pulled away, allowing them a larger breathing space between them. His head twisted to peer over his shoulder.
His eyes remained trained on Sesshomaru, even as a perturbed frown sliced across his face. Harry smoothed out his rumpled shirt and coat. He dragged the back of his hand against his throat, and then down at the side of his trousers to rub off the dried brown flecks.
The insight was a crescendo swelling in the forefront of his mind, but he tactfully withheld himself from making it known. His eyes having adjusted to the dim light, Harry raked his gaze around Sesshomaru.
He recognized the Shield Charm variant that had been erected over the far entrance. There were claw marks gouged into the shield, and this shot a spike of terror down Harry's spine at the thought of the cacophony that might've occurred had it not been for his timely arrival back.
"This is the Protego horribilis. Did Doge cast this?" His eyes beheld Sesshomaru's slightly singed fingertips. "Is that the reason why you'd attacked him?"
"Attacked?"
His knees involuntarily buckled as a swathing heat unloaded over Harry's neck and shoulders, encompassing him from the boa's surprising heaviness. Startled, Harry began pulling at the pelt—fingers burrowing into the soft furriness—and stopping only when an iron grip clamped down on Harry's shoulders.
Sesshomaru's expression was screwed as if he were highly dissatisfied by something the wizard had committed. The dog demon expounded, "Calm. This Sesshomaru is simply displeased by how this Hari smells. This Hari reeks of death." The two trailing ends of the fur were dragged closer underneath Harry's chin. Although the intensity of his frown had lessened, he sneered, "Your hanyou—as well as being a coward, he is a proficient storyteller. That is his claim?"
"Then let's say you're telling the truth. The handprint around his neck and the state of the room I'd found him in seems to corroborate his side of the story."
"He sought to prevent this Sesshomaru from pursuing this Hari."
"You're telling me," Harry said, his disbelief amplifying, "that preventative measures were taken against you? That Doge willingly raised his wand?"
Actually now that he'd said it, Harry could imagine how it could've gone down in his absence. It was more conceivable Doge's endeavor had been done on good intentions, than imagining the five-hundred year old magical creature had freaked out over his disappearance and then went on a mindless rampage.
Bringing a hand to massage the bridge of his nose, he muttered to himself, "He was an old Advance Guard. He can't be entirely useless." There hadn't been any physical tells on the lord indicating to the Head Auror that he was right to suspect dishonesty. That tone of indignation was also unfeigned.
He drew another deep breath, before he said, "Your hands." He'd glimpsed the clenched claws near the sides of his jaw. Deciding to be altruistic, he crooked his fingers, having slid an arm out from underneath the pelt. "I could heal the burn wounds. It'll only take a couple of seconds."
Sesshomaru blinked upon the change in subject. There was softness in the molten gaze as he replied, "Your concern is unnecessary. The skin will mend by itself." Sesshomaru stepped back. His long sleeves fell down, secreting his hands away from Harry's sight.
With the refusal and lack of distractions, Harry's mind could only focus on the man before him. The glow of the magical barrier behind Sesshomaru enveloped his silhouette with an orange light, emanating an august tinge to the pale hair—almost like a shade of blond. The feudal lord's overall impression was certainly less imposing without the gigantic shoulder-piece to add onto his height, but without it there was now an aspect of relatability he didn't possess much of before.
Harry's eyes roved down. The pelt Sesshomaru had adorned and was now placed on him seemed rare for its coloring and for its quality of fur.
Childlike in his wonder, Harry rolled a clump between his thumb and pointer finger, gazing at the texture curiously. Rubbing it between his fingers absently, he commented, "Is this a stylistic choice or is it tradition for you to wear…a boa? It's soft like fleece. But the fur doesn't come from any sheep or goat I've seen. It moves like a sentient magical creature's."
The Adam's apple in Sesshomaru's throat jerked. Perhaps it was that or the flicker of his lashes that Harry spotted his change in demeanor, however subtle it was. In a gravelly timber, he professed quietly, "Mokomoko-sama…is mine." The way he's said it so casually, imparted that the dog demon clearly expected this tidbit of information—however unnerving and upsetting it was for Harry to hear—to be of the norm.
Harry was battling between being both gobsmacked and appalled, and being horribly captivated by what's around his shoulders. Eyes wide, he blurted, "This is yours? Someone skinned you?"
"As all inuyōkai have, this Sesshomaru is also born with one," Sesshomaru assured, perceiving Harry's mixed expression. "There's no pain when it detaches. This Sesshomaru has full control over it."
It was incomprehensible. Harry stared at Sesshomaru for a moment. Then, without dropping his eyesight, he murmured," So, if I do this?" Gently, as if afraid to make contact, he slowly spread his hand out, his fingertips barely touching. Then his hand was stroking the fur softly through the thin leather of his glove, deliberately meant to stimulate.
Magenta flashed over eyelids; having closed his eyes. The resultant shiver that'd ripped through Sesshomaru's body made Harry want to brush that long hair behind a pointed ear and to glide his lips along a striped cheek. Down at the demon's sides, his hands were curled into fists. The marks on his face and hands were also becoming slightly jagged.
Harry's hands faltered. His mouth dry, he stopped what he was doing and apologized, "I'm sorry, I was unaware." His face and ears were flushed a deep red as he recollected, with startling acuity, every time that he'd come into physical contact with it. His skin was tingling with imperceptible energy. He swallowed. "I won't do it again."
He lifted the pelt away from him, with the intention of gifting it back, but Sesshomaru's fingers settled over Harry's wrists and pushed them back down.
Golden irises were peering at the wizard earnestly. He leaned in close to say, "This Sesshomaru…doesn't…mind, purely…if it's this Hari." His hands squeezed. His eyes now flashed in warning. "Provided that this Hari does this privately. And sparingly, lest this Sesshomaru kills you."
That sounded less like an exaggeration and more of a genuine promise. Harry grinned shakily, but he nodded.
Sesshomaru searched his face. Eventually he turned on his heels. "This Sesshomaru is in a generous mood," he said, his back to Harry. The volume of his voice was dulling the further he stepped away—like he were suddenly submerged in water—and Harry realized this was the effect of whatever magic Doge had thrown over the room. That had to be why the demon had seemed reluctant to give them space before.
Sesshomaru was saying faintly, "This Hari may borrow mokomoko-sama for now. Until the smell dissipates."
Harry grasped his sleeve. "Wait!"
Both stiffened as the oppressive, heavy atmosphere lifted, and the return of their senses rushed back in as if they'd inhaled a sprig of medicinal peppermint.
Harry had propelled himself off the wall, just as Sesshomaru had drawn a sword. He'd thrust his hand against an iron breastplate, shoving Sesshomaru behind him, his eyes forward. He parried off a bright scarlet stream with a lightning-fast disarming charm, redirecting the two spells away to explode elsewhere midair. The flare-up chased the shadows away, and illuminated a weathered face and theirs. The wall that was conjured was gone, and so was the Shield Charm behind the two lords.
"Why are you doing this, Doge?" Harry reprimanded, once the brightness perished. He maneuvered himself forward, angling his body so that he was sideways, one arm extended in Doge's direction and the other hand slammed up against Sesshomaru's armor. "The situation has been pacified. There's no need to—"
"I-I left you behind that day. You and everyone else. And I'm so incredibly sorry. But not this time. I'm not going to run." Doge's face was pale and glistening with sweat. He swallowed. His fist was trembling around his wand. "Harry, please. Get away from him."
Harry's eyes shot sideways for a quick survey of Sesshomaru's emotional state—to make sure he wasn't about to strike —but he jerked back when a jet of light deliberately missed them by a longshot. It ignited when it hit the ceiling.
"Don't look at him!"
"Alright, my attention's all on you," Harry appeased, deliberately lowering the tone of his voice. He kept his posture as relaxed and friendly as possible. Internally he was screaming. He said calmly, "I'm not looking at him. Put your wand down, Doge. Lord Sesshomaru's not going to attack you, isn't that right, Lord Sesshomaru—?"
"No!" The conviction in Doge's voice took Harry aback. The wizard's pale eyes were clear and focused, zooming in on the pelt on Harry's shoulders and the Head Auror's disheveled state.
His mouth firmed. "I don't know the specifics of what you've got yourself into, but I would feel a lot safer knowing you are standing by me than by that…that….Dumbledore would not want you by that Dark magical creature, Harry. It was Dumbledore's tomb you'd returned from, wasn't it? He would want you safe and out of harm's way. If he was still here. Please, Harry, run."
Panic had alighted Harry's thoughts, but he kept that at bay. He preserved his confident but defensive stance. "Alright, my wand is up." He twirled it expertly like a baton in his fingers, so that it wasn't pointed at Doge any longer. He said slowly, "I'm making my way toward you. Don't fire. Neither of you. This is all a misunderstanding."
"He attacked me!" His eyes were taut. "Why aren't you running?"
"I know. I know he did," Harry said just as Doge had aired his question.
His hand left Sesshomaru's chest. He heard the demon growl and instinctively made to move as if to stop him. But his movement was deterred when Doge detonated another stream of light warningly overhead.
The blood in his veins chilled. Past his racing heartbeat, Harry could hear himself saying, "My understanding is that you two had a disagreement, when I'd left. You tried to stop him from leaving, and he reacted."
"I was the victim!" Doge cried, his volume dangerously increasing. "Why are you taking his side?"
The urge to close his eyes and berate himself was almost crippling. But Harry maintained his show of strength. By now he was two-thirds of his way to the Wizengamot Special Advisor. "I'm not taking anyone's side," he mollified. "I'm not making any of you out to be the villain. I'm here for the both of you. But, Doge, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to put your wand down."
Doge's face was stricken. He moved his wand between Harry and Sesshomaru. "Then why aren't you telling him to put his sword down, Harry?"
"That's not how it works, Doge. I need you to do something for me first. I need to be reassured you won't do anything we'll both regret. Look, I'm making my way toward you. And he won't do anything to any of us. Put. Your. Wand. Down."
The wand straightened up in deceptively fragile, withered hands. Doge gesticulated to Harry. "Tell him to put his down first."
"…Fine." His voice firm, Harry ordered, "Lord Sesshomaru." Without looking back, he signaled to Sesshomaru to put his weapon away. "Please do as he says." After a beat, he added, "I would appreciate it. A lot. If you did. Please."
He'd added the last bit in hopes that Sesshomaru's generous spirit was still willing to play along. It felt like an eternity crawled by—where he heard nothing but his own breathing and his footsteps slowly plodding their way to the wizard—but eventually he heard the muffled shrnnk of the sword sliding back into its scabbard.
The relief that he felt was staggering.
"Alright, it's your turn to keep up your end of the bargain." He withdrew the hand that'd been facing Sesshomaru in the universal stop signal, and he redeployed it to his front. "We've both did as you've wished. Now let us feel the same assurance. Let's put this all behind us."
He saw Doge start to lower his wand, falling from arm level to below his heart. Then it halted. "W-why?" His voice was trembling. "Why do you have that thing around your shoulders, Harry?"
His leniency was boiling at an all-time low. In a curt tone, he stated, "It's none of your business. Doge, you are reaching the limits of my patience. Put your wand down." He was now only several meters away from him, but only a minute away if he sprinted.
Doge was searching him, his expression constrained. "I'm sorry. I need to be sure. Take it off."
The heavy, fluffy pelt contracted around Harry like a boa constrictor, as if Sesshomaru didn't want to release him. Upon sighting the Head Auror's instinctive reaction, Doge's eyes widened and his hand launched back up. Another spell was fizzling at the tip.
"Doge! Stop it!" Harry could smell and hear a liquid sizzling and dripping far behind him. Then he was yanked forward. There were forceful tugs against the soft fur—the old wizard was trying to wrench it off for him, his face colored with exertion—and Harry was nearly dragged off his feet as the pelt refused to let go. Then the withered hand pushed him away with surprising force, making Harry stumble.
Doge was shouting, "Run, Harry! Go get help!"
Harry regained his balance, and he could see the green glow on the dog demon's hand just as the wizard was ready to shoot a Dark curse at him. Neither one was willing to back down.
It only took him a split second to make that decision. His eyes full of remorse, Harry lifted his wand to the side of the glistening head. He whispered, "Obliviate."
(A/N)- Coincidentally I was traveling around in Eastern Europe when the fighting sequence came into completion. For my non-European readers, if you're a fan of the Voice or American/Canadian Idol or whatever national singing competition, I definitely recommend looking up Vienna's "2015 Eurovision Song Contest: Grand Final" to get a taste of what it is. Seeing the set-up in-person and then watching the 5-hour experience on live TV was incredible…even though the German commentators kept speaking over the performances. But, yeah, it was my first exposure to an international phenomenon I hadn't known existed! Ahem, in the film, Parvati's Boggart was a cobra instead of the book-canon's mummy. I figured a mongoose Patronus would be fitting.
Next chapter: Question of Devotion. Sesshomaru discovers the existence of the Boy-Who-Lived mythos in the reconstructed Hall of Prophecy. Plus other things.
