AN: Hey, readers! We're getting down to the end of this story. It's been a wonderful journey. Cheers to all of my readers, especially CelestialMacabre, who had reviewed every chapter. Thanks for all of your input!
This chapter is different from others, in that there is a fair bit of Manx and Gaelic dialogue. The translations are at the bottom of the chapter. If any of the words are wrong, please drop me a note. As I don't speak either language, help would be welcome if I have made mistakes.
Onto the chapter!
*HPatKoM*
The first hour following the battle was foggy for Harry. He felt almost disjointed from this world, like he had one half of himself grounded and the other half dosed with mushroom and vervain tea. There were moments of clarity, and then they would mix with others. He could only remember bits and pieces of the night, only key moments in the aftermath.
He remembered when he walked into the Gryffindor common room after the battle, telling everyone that the battle was over, and that Voldemort was dead. Before he entered, he had glamoured his chainmail and tabard into Hogwarts robes. The students still had to stay here for the time being, but the worst was over. The cheers in the common room celebrated not only with the death of the Dark Lord, but also with the prospect that the Manxmen were finally leaving. Seamus came to him and told him how the Manxborn could assist in the aftermath's effort. He pointed him towards the Great Hall for further instructions.
There were the looks on Hermione and Ron's faces as they found him in the milling crowds. Hermione wrapped her arms around him in a constricting hug that threatened to crush him, screaming in name in joy that Airmed was leaving. Ron tried to give him a manly hug once Hermione had let go of him, but they had the audacity to look hurt when Harry backed away from them and told them to take their celebrations elsewhere.
He remembered Remus and Sirius finding him after the battle. They both hugged him, saying how proud they were of him. Sirius told Harry straightforward that he planned to move to the Isle with him. Remus told him the same thing only a beat afterward, saying that the Sidhe Queens had offered to teach him how to embrace and control his wolf, instead of imprison it with the Wolfsbane Potion. Harry nodded to them, and went back to work.
Harry remembered helping to transport the wounded on stretchers into the Great Hall, transformed into a makeshift hospital. He had no skills as a blue robe, so he took on the role of helper. Be it giving out warm blankets or potions, or bandaging wounds, or helping the blue robes to attend to injuries, Harry helped out where he could. He saw Neville and the Manxborn of Hogwarts assisting as well, their faces grim as they tended to the wounded and dying. These men and women were a part of his family now. They had suffered so much, but it was not yet over. The hardest part was covering the faces of the dead with blankets, and leaving them to attend to others. The funerals in two days time would be numerous. Many tears would be shed, many wails and screams gone unheard by the gods and by the dead.
The primal screams from the Hogwarts infirmary echoed throughout the castle, making those working pause and lift their heads in sorrow. Every time Airmed bellowed from the pain of whatever they were doing to her, it scarred the hearts of all that were listening. Airmed had given so much up in safeguarding the Isle. She had watched all of her brothers and sisters sail to Tir na nOg. She had defeated the Blackone, and had fulfilled her oaths. Prayers went up to the gods that she would be saved, brought through this final ordeal whole. It would be cruel, indeed, if after all that she had sacrificed to protect them, that she did not have a chance to live.
He remembered hearing the final tally. Of the Manx, fifty-six soldiers and knights had lost their lives. Three dragons and eight griffins were lost, and ninety-four soldiers of the Sidhe Courts were dead. For the Darkness, there were one hundred forty-eight Death Eaters dead, twenty Cwn Annwn, thirty-two werewolves under Fenrir Greyback, forty-eight dullahans, six trolls, and two hundred eight-seven dark sorcerers: all dead. The losses were great, but they could have been worse.
He remembered Draco coming to him and asking for Harry to ask Conn for a meeting. He wanted to request asylum on the Isle for himself as a scion of the Blacksun line, and for those Slytherin Manxborn. He had seen his father among the dead, and knew that Britain was no longer safe for him or for those Slytherins that were not sworn to the Dark Lord. They would be hunted down, ostracized, or worse. Harry nodded, and told Draco that he would talk to Conn, but not right away. Draco had to be content with that.
The blurring of the events stopped when Harry saw a familiar tabard sitting among the dead. He finished bandaging the injuries of a soldier, and walked towards a figure sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees. Morwen was silently weeping for the figure laying on the ground in front of her.
"She's gone, Harry. My mother's gone." She leaned against him, the tears falling down her face. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to tell my family. I can't do this without her."
Harry pulled her closer to him, kissing her temple as she quietly keened. "You have me, mo shearc. You have your cousins. I swear to you: I will never leave you. We will do this together."
Another scream ripped through the air. Morwen cringed, covering her ears. "Gods, make it stop. What is happening to her? Make it stop…"
Harry spotted a blue robe nearby, and turned to look at his future wife. "Morwen, I will check on Airmed. But there is work to be done, and many who need your help." He motioned for the blue robe. "We will tell your family together." He kissed her once again on the cheek, and stood up to leave.
Harry made his way to the infirmary, trying to block out all of the screams coming from that direction. He wanted to go there, but his courage began to fail him as Airmed howled in agony. He had to stop for a moment to swallow back his bile-mixed fear before opening the doors to the infirmary. What he saw would scar him for the rest of his life.
Airmed was on one of the beds, her back arching and her limbs flailing. The cords in her neck were taut as she clenched her jaw and bit back another scream. Niamh, Donnchadh, Conn, and Torniach, still blood-stained and battle-weary, were at each of the bed's corners, holding her down at best as they could. By her left upper leg, Sorcha was focusing her magic to cut away the poisoned flesh before it could spread further; by the look of her face, you could not tell that she even heard Airmed's bellows of pain. Harry could smell the injury more than he could see it: it was pungent, musty, and sharp, like rotten plants and wet earth. As he got closer, he saw that Airmed's injury was blackened and oozing a purulent yellow fluid. Prince Fionn and Gwydion Strongtree, one of Sorcha's apprentice blue robes, were busy holding back Madam Pomfrey from attacking the knights.
"For Merlin's sake, stop it! This is barbaric! Give her a Calming Draught! Don't let her be awake during this!" Madam Pomfrey was fighting against Gwydion and Fionn with all of her might, but the young apprentice was built like a professional boxer. Fionn was a knight of the Isle, and he has the physique of a professional rugby forward. She was getting nowhere near Airmed without a fight.
"Gods! You call yourself a Medi-Witch?" Sorcha managed to roar louder over Airmed, making herself be heard while not breaking her focus on the task at hand. "I don't know if a Calming Draught will work on her, because I don't know what kind of poison this is! If I give her your damned potion, it might make the poison work faster! Be quiet, woman, and let me work!"
Harry knew what he could do to help in this situation. Moving quickly to the head of Airmed's bed, he placed his hands on either side of her head, closed his eyes, and used the same leeching spell that had killed Voldemort not even two hours ago. This time, he spoke the words under his breath and dove into the core of his mentor.
Unlike the slick oily presence of Voldemort's magic, Airmed's core was like an ocean. Her magic was blue of all hues, crashing against Harry to protect itself. She did not recognize him, but that was to be expected. Even in practice, Harry never tried this technique on Airmed. As he breathed in and out, he began to drain some of her energy and took it into himself. He did not try to drain her magic, but he was gathering the energy that radiated from it. If he took enough of it, it would exhaust Airmed enough to allow her to lie quietly on the bed without too much of a struggle.
As Harry slowly harvested more and more of Airmed's energy, he kept it contained within himself until he was finished. It did not take as long as he thought it would. After fighting a massive battle and then fighting off this poison for as long as she had, Harry was amazed to find the reserves that he had discovered. It was as if Airmed had been ferreting away energy into pockets of herself, in case she would need them during a fight. All Harry had to do was find some of those pockets and drain them, without too much searching and probing.
When he was finished, Harry opened his eyes and wobbled away from the bed. The six knights in the room watched as he fell to the floor and slapped his hands to the stone. He felt like he was going to throw up, but he kept his focus on draining the taken energy from him back into nature. He felt small waves of magic leave him, until he had given all of the excess energy away.
A hand reached for his shoulder, and helped him to sit against the leg of an unused bed. Harry's vision was blurry, but he was able to make out Prince Fionn crouching in front of him. "Gura mie ayd, Flah Crooinagh Fionn."[1] He took Fionn's other hand and slowly stood up, only to drop onto the bed behind him. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he knew to keep up his Manx mage persona. Madam Pomfrey would, no doubt, run to Dumbledore and tell her that Harry Potter had joined the Manxmen if she found out. To help, he switched out of speaking English.
Niamh stared at him, fear evident in his eyes. "Cad a rinne túléi?"[2] Harry looked over to Airmed and saw that she was still awake, but was slumped against the bed. It was like all of the fight had gone from her. The four knights slowly let go of her limbs, but they remained close by just in case Airmed began to fight again. Sorcha nodded her head, and beckoned Gwydion over to assist her in debriding the injury. Airmed moved her head a little and whimpered, but she was not fighting anymore.
Harry understood Niamh's worry. "Draenáilte mé roinnt dá cuid fuinnimh ar shiúl ó di. Anois, ní bheidh sí ag troid le linn oibreacha Sorcha. Beidh sí a fháil ar ais ar an fhuinnimh, leis an am agus an chuid eile."[3] Niamh nodded a few times, before he conjured a chair and sat by his wife's side. Harry could make out his lips moving: Niamh was praying, but to whom, Harry did not know.
Madam Pomfrey, finally released, stalked her way over to Harry. Without even asking his permission first, she began to cast a diagnostic spell on him. "You seem to be injured as well, young man." Her voice was terse: it was rare that her authority was usurped in her own infirmary. She did not notice Prince Fionn's back straighten, or his face go tight with anger. She did not seem to realize that she was talking to the person that had killed Voldemort, who had saved their world from a war that they would probably never recover from. Harry heard her mumble under her breath about the stubbornness of Isle-folk.
Harry nodded to her, not stopping her for the moment but taking note of the insult. "They are not serious, madam. It can wait until the blue robes are finished with the others." He made his voice sink into a fictitious Irish accent, helping his disguise along. Pretending to scratch his head, Harry made sure to hide his scar with a hank of his hair. He had not been recognized so far, but caution was never uncalled for.
Pomfrey snorted with disdain, and ignored Harry's request. She began to read through the spell's results, a moue of fury made complete with her lips pursed so tight that they were turning white. "What's your name?"
"Call me Griffinswing." Harry began to feel ill at ease in her presence, and wanted her to stop. "Please, madam, I wish to wait for the blue robes."
"I shan't treat a man by his last name. What can I call you?" She, apparently, had lost all sense of listening.
Harry pushed her away and held a hand up in front of him. "Madam, thrice now I tell you. I wish to wait for the blue robes to treat me. Thrice now, you have ignored my wishes. I will not be treated by a woman who sees it fit to force her will upon me, while insulting my countrymen when she believes that I can't hear her. Now leave, before I make you leave." His hand began to glow with his emerald green magic. His face had turned into a stony grimace. Tired and battle-weary he may have been, but no longer would he be pushed over by those in authority.
Madam Pomfrey's mouth opened and closed like a fish, before she stalked away. The crack of the door as she slammed it shut resounded through the infirmary. She might have even chipped some of the stone wall.
The Manxmen looked at each other with incredulous looks on their faces. Torniach turned to Harry, his arms folded over his chest. "An bhfuilceol tírena Breatainei gcónaímar seo?"[4] He looked behind him at the door once more. "Conas a fuair tú a bhainistiú gealtacht a sheachaint gach ceann de na mblianta?"[5]
"Leis an gcleachtasi bhfad."[6] They all laughed a bit, finally letting their exhaustion take hold. It was hard to believe that it was all over. Everything that they had been fighting for, what they had been trained to do… finally, Mann was at peace. With the main forces of the Darkness destroyed, and with no clear leader in place and only splinter fighters left, their next goal was rebuilding their homes.
Airmed groaned from her bed. Everyone turned and faced her. Niamh grabbed her hand. "Moir… Ayr…[7] Marcus…" She tried to raise her hand, as if she was reaching for something. "Ny kied mee ayns shoh… Gow mee lesh shiu."[8]
"Ní mór duit fanacht anseo, Airmed. Fan anseo, le liom."[9] Tears fell down Niamh's face as he held onto her hand. Airmed showed no signs of listening. Instead, her eyes rolled back into her head as she finally gave up.
Sorcha and Gwydion stood up from their work, their faces grimly smiling. Sorcha placed a section of Airmed's poisoned skin into a container. "Anois, is féidir léi codlata. Beidh mé ar ais i dhá uair an chloig ar an am. Faoin am sin, beidh a fhios agam cad Iseult nimhe a úsáidtear. Tar éis sin, is féidir linn tús a chóireáil. Ach do anois, lig di codlata."[10] She turned and faced the knights, her eyes moist with tears. She placed a hand on Niamh's shoulder. "Ná bíodh eagla, Niamh. Ní bheidh mé in iúl do bhean chéile, ná mo iníon altrama, bás. Ní lá atá inniu ann."[11]She left with the speed of a galloping horse, bumping into Dumbledore as he walked into the infirmary.
He looked around at everyone, a sad smile on his face. He walked up to Airmed's bed and stood at the front of it. His grandfatherly look did nothing to relieve the tension in the room. Conn and Donnchadh sat next to Harry on the bed's edge. Prince Fionn leaned against the sink where he had helped restrain Madam Pomfrey. Torniach took up a space against the wall. Not a one of them cared that the Headmaster was here.
"It is over." Dumbledore, underneath his own sense of tiredness, smiled. "Thank you, Knights of Mann." He nodded to every one of them, but paused when he came to Harry. "I thought that I knew every face among the Manxmen staying at Hogwarts, but I do not know yours. May I know your name, brave sir? I understand that it was you that killed Voldemort this night."
At first, Harry wanted nothing more than to say nothing, to ignore the man that had manipulated him for so long. Instead, he looked to Prince Fionn. "Ba chóir dom ainsint dó?"[12]
Fionn looked at Dumbledore, before sighing. "D'fhéadfá chomh maith. Beidh sé fháil amach bhealach amháin nó eile. Níos fearr go mbeadh sé uait."[13]
Harry looked to Dumbledore, moving his hair aside to show his faint scar. "I'm surprised, Headmaster, that you don't recognize me."
It was rare that Dumbledore allowed himself to look shocked, but this was one of those occasions. His eyes had lost all their twinkle, and his jaw and white beard dropped. "Harry… When did you-"
"Not tonight, Headmaster. Wait until my teacher has healed, and then you will have all of your answers." Harry dismissed him, too angry and too exhausted to care if he had disrespected Albus Dumbledore. Tonight, he was just a man. Harry was just a man as well, but a man who had had enough. The rest of it could wait…
It had to.
[1] Thank you, Crown Prince Fionn. (Manx).
[2] What did you do to her? (Gaelic)
[3] I drained some of her energy away from her. Now, she will not fight while Sorcha works. She will gain the energy back, with time and rest. (Gaelic)
[4] Are British folk always like this? (Gaelic)
[5] How did you manage to avoid insanity all of these years? (Gaelic)
[6] With much practice. (Gaelic)
[7] Mother… Father… (Manx)
[8] Do not leave me here… Take me with you. (Manx)
[9] You must stay here, Airmed. Stay here, with me. (Gaelic)
[10] Now, she can sleep. I will be back in two hour's time. By then, I will know what poison Iseult used. After, we can begin to treat. But for now, let her sleep. (Gaelic)
[11] Do not fear, Niamh. I will not let your wife, nor my foster-daughter, die. Not today. (Gaelic)
[12] Should I tell him? (Gaelic)
[13] You might as well. He will find out one way or another. Better that it be from you. (Gaelic)
