Chapter 34
Harry appeared in the Potter household at a sprint, flying out of the fireplace and skidding across the sooty carpet. The house was still and lifeless as he rushed down the dim hallway, windows flickering by him at a steady pace, the sky outside still pitch black. Considering his recent circumstances, he hadn't held out much hope that Ministry officials would listen to him. He could only hope Sirius, or another Auror from Azkaban, was already there, raising the alarm. Instead, what he could do was find some way to defend the muggle towns from the Dementors. But he couldn't do that alone.
He tore around a corner and saw that one of the drawing rooms was already lit up. Slowing to a halt, he slid into its entryway.
James Potter spun around at his entrance, his face hard. As James turned, Harry's eyes flickered past him, to where Sirius was slumped over in one of the cushy chairs. Catching sight of Harry, James's expression softened.
"Harry! What are you doing here?"
Sirius jerked up at the name, angling his head to look at Harry. He let loose a sigh of relief. Harry subtly met his eyes over James's shoulder and shook his head. Sirius's shoulders sunk.
"Sorry, there's not much time to explain," Harry grimaced. "The Dementors, they've been released from Azkaban—they're heading towards the mainland. I think they're going for the muggles."
"Shit!" Sirius swore, jumping to his feet. James just looked bewildered.
"What? How do you—is this related to what Sirius has been talking about? You're involved in this too?"
"Yes, I'm sorry—but there's no time right now to explain," Harry pleaded.
"What about Azkaban? Sirius was saying that those neo-supremacists are back, and are freeing their prisoners, but now you're telling me I should be worrying about the Dementors leaving, I—"
"They are back, and they've already fled the island, back to their homes, with all the prisoners in tow. It's too late for that. But they released the Dementors behind them," Harry said harshly, narrowing his eyes at Sirius. "And you were supposed to be back at the Ministry, raising the alarm. What are you doing here?"
"I was at the Ministry. Fat lot of good that did," Sirius snorted angrily. "Couple guards made it back before me, already had the whole place running around in a panic. Couldn't agree on what was happening, and the story was moving fast through word of mouth, blowing way out of proportion. It went from maybe 20 attackers, to fifty, to a hundred—it was a mess. Nobody was organizing the response, too many bureaucrats afraid to make a call, and half of them wanted to give it up for a lost cause—puttering around, whinging, convinced there were was a small army of terrorists and all the worst criminals in the prison ready and waiting for them to return, turning the place into some sort of fortress."
Sirius shook his head.
"I wasn't getting anywhere there. So I came to James; he served for a good bit of time back in the day, and I knew he still had some contacts in his pocket. Figured we might be able to scrounge up some real fighters from the border and hop the red tape."
"Can you?" Harry asked.
James nodded hesitantly. "For an emergency? I'm pretty sure. But you said they already got away?"
"They're not our concern. All the Dementors are moving inland. The whole brood. We'll need every capable wand we can get."
James nodded seriously. "Then I'll get on the floo and see what I can do." He started to leave but then paused, turning towards Harry with a pointed look. "I'd like to have a talk after this is over, about what exactly you've been up to."
Harry nodded quickly. "Of course."
There was a quiet tension in the room, an invisible current of anticipation threaded between all the waiting witches and wizards, whether they were sitting patiently or pacing in eagerness. James's contact had come through, some comrade who he had served alongside of, and now a section commander for part of the deployed border guard. After hearing the situation it had only taken minutes before the battle-ready unit had marched into the Potter household. And now they all waited, Harry and Sirius too, for a signal to come through about where the Dementors were going to make land. It was too much ground for them to spread out and keep watch over.
Harry waited in the corner, separate from the rest of the group. His foot bounced up and down against the rug-covered floor. Every second they stood there waiting, doing nothing, tore at him. Had the Dementors already overrun the coast? Was that why they hadn't gotten word? Would it be too late, and they'd arrive in a ghost town full of soulless husks? His fingers crushed against his wand like vise. Would there be more blood on his hands?
"At least one of our questions has been answered," Riddle whispered through his robes.
"What are you talking about?" Harry hissed back, trying to remain surreptitious.
"Dolohov's purpose, for coming to Britain. We should remain cautious, but I believe we've reached the apex of our foes' conspiracy."
"What, releasing the Dementors?"
"In magnitude, if not in specifics," Riddle replied. "We have no way of knowing when Malfoy contacted them, which would have dictated the amount of planning time they'd have, but I find myself more and more sure this was their final goal: the British students struggling in the competition compared to their European peers, while back home civil unrest breaks out; Azkaban emptied, prisoners running loose, the Ministry loses control of the Dementors—a practice already widely denounced by many of the other nations—who rampage, and steal the souls of a few defenseless muggles. A perfect storm of embarrassment, incompetency, and turmoil. Our reputation will take a beating—just in time for Europe to reestablish itself in the global hierarchy."
"Not very reassuring."
"It lets us at least take solace in that Dolohov likely has nothing particularly heinous he has been building up to in secret. We know what he is doing—and we can focus on stopping him and Malfoy's army of lackeys."
A shrill sound pierced the relative quiet of the room, ringing painfully. Harry felt a stillness wash over him. It was time.
"Alert came through," Someone yelled, presumably the commanding officer of the visitors. "The Dementors have been sighted by a town called Burnmouth. Don't expect much Auror support. Now move."
In coordination the group hustled to the burning floo, disappearing through it in tight pairs.
"C'mon Harry," Sirius beckoned, his wand almost bouncing against his leg in eagerness. Harry let out a deep breath and braced himself. He nodded back at Sirius. They stepped into the floo side-by-side and were whisked away.
They spilled out of a cramped fireplace, bouncing off the backs of the servicewizards who had entered before them. There was a frantic looking Auror at the front of the small room trying to yell instructions as they poured out of the guardroom and into the town.
Harry could feel it the second his heel landed on the cobbled street. The air was frigid, significantly colder than it should've been. His breath came out in foggy clouds that billowed up in front of his eyes. The streets themselves were dead, every citizen holing up inside to escape the supernatural chill.
"They're here," He whispered to Sirius, his eyes flickering across the tops of the town skyline, searching for a shape to detach from its horizon. "Can you make a Patronus?"
Sirius nodded hastily, his own gaze darting around their surroundings.
"Good."
They moved as a unit, splitting away from the rest of the servicewizards, who were still getting organized for a sweep of the town. Harry and Sirius prowled down a side street, cutting away from the open town square, and into the more densely packed residential area. Harry strained his ears but they didn't catch any hint of movement. The town was silent.
"If they're here why can't we tell? Shouldn't the muggles be panicking?" Sirius whispered from behind him.
Harry shook his head. "They can't see them. All they notice is the cold, at first—and then the despair slowly sets in, like a creeping depressive episode that gradually sucks out their will to move, slow enough that they don't realize. Dementors in this concentration? Could sweep through the town and leave the whole lot of them dead in their homes before anyone noticed."
"Merlin," Sirius cursed under his breath. Harry could feel Sirius's horror-struck gaze on his back. "You sound like you've seen that before."
I have.
Harry just shrugged.
Something moved in the corner of his vision, up above the skyline where shadows mixed with the dim moonlight. He froze, putting a hand out to stop Sirius.
"What?"
Harry shook his head, but didn't keep moving.
"Har—"
Harry waved him to be silent. He saw it again, something dark and sinuous passing in front of the moonlight.
"There," He hissed, already moving.
They tore down the small street, Sirius chasing after him, as Harry angled towards where he saw the wraith, throwing caution to the wind. It was a downhill sprint, the street curving down around the hill the town was built on. He cut through a small alley, barely a wingspan wide, skidding out into a small square of houses.
The sky crawled with Dementors, milling about and diving down towards homes, obscured behind the slope of the hill. Without a second thought, or even glancing at each other, Harry and Sirius raised the signal, two bright streaks of sparks flaring upwards through the air. Hooded faces whipped towards their direction.
A dozen Dementors wheeled around from where they were prying open house doors and swept towards the two wizards, their cloaks trailing across the road behind them.
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted, a brilliant stag bursting from his wand and charging forward at the creatures. He heard a slight intake of breath from Sirius behind him, but a second later a glowing silver dog raced along after.
The stag met the incoming Dementors at a full gallop. Sheer antlers speared into a robed figure, carrying them forward with the charge, before dashing them to the ground. The Dementor let out a guttural wail as sharp hooves skewered it against the road. Its brethren scattered, sailing up the walls around them to escape the glowing Patronus. Sirius's dog chased them, nipping at their cloaks with sharp teeth.
And icy cold dripped down Harry's back. He whirled in place, catching another pack of Dementors converging on them from behind.
"Sirius!" He warned, tugging the man around. They fluttered down from the roofs, scabbed hands reaching out form under their cloaks, numbers swelling as their compatriots floated out of the gloom.
"Confringo!" Sirius yelled, brandishing his wand at them. His spell flickered across the street and fizzled out on contact with the Dementor. Another wave of his wand and a pair of chains erupted from the tiled roof, wrapping around a handful of the creatures. The links drew tight, locking them in place. Cords of ropes spilled through the air from Sirius's wand to cinch around them. The Dementors struggled haplessly against their restraints, but nothing gave.
Sirius let out a victorious laugh, his eyes wide with nervousness. Harry remained silent. He knew what would happen next.
The chains shivered, and from where they pressed into the Dementors, swathes of dark rust spilled out, racing along the links. The latent magic maintaining them was devoured, and the metal disintegrated into a spray of scraps, tumbling off the rooftop in a tinkling shower. The ropes rotted, crumbling apart. Like a bursting dam, the tide of Dementors surged forward again, gliding down the rooftops, short loops of corroded chains still hanging off them.
Harry chanced a look backwards and saw that the other swarm of Dementors had regrouped, and were now taking turns swooping down at the two Patronuses guarding the square, getting further before they were chased away each time.
"Where the hell is backup?" Sirius swore, his gaze flickering around the square. "We sent up the signal."
"Dealing with much of the same, I'd imagine," Harry responded.
Another barrage of curses from Sirius splashed ineffectually across the quickly encroaching mass of Dementors.
"Harry…" Sirius muttered, slowly backing up, a worried note in his voice.
Harry stared solemnly at the approaching monsters.
"Expecto Patronum."
A second stag leaped from his wand, gleaming just as bright as the first, and raced forwards. The Dementors scattered in front of it, screeching as it lashed wildly with its antlers and hooves.
Rotting, slimy hands clawed at wood, the simple door splintering apart with a loud crack. Harry wheeled around. A trio of Dementors were grouped on a doorstep, tearing their way into the house with their hands.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A third stag charged across the square, and rammed into the clump of Dementors, sending them sprawling in every direction. The stag lurched forward and caught one full-on with its charge, pinning it to the door-frame, antler points impaling it in multiple points across its body. It let loose an ear-splitting shriek, tearing at the ghostly Patronus with its hands, but it couldn't find any leverage to dislodge itself. The projection backed up a step, before ramming back into the door with as much as force as it could, driving the points in even deeper.
The other stags circled the two wizards, kicking and snorting at any Dementor that got too close. Sirius watched on in shocked silence.
"I—three Patronuses?" He mumbled.
Harry ignored the comment, focused instead on watching the swirling cloud of Dementors around them. One of the stags snorted loudly, drawing his attention. He turned to see a Dementor float out of a house window, the pane swinging open in the wind. Harry felt a cold chill drip down his back. The lights in the house behind were still on. They had been too late.
His wand burned to the touch. More lives, needlessly lost—maybe a family this time, perhaps, kids. Delaney and his wife flashed through his mind, their eyes glassy and wide in death, bloodied faces frozen in permanent screams.
He didn't remember when he started running, but in an oddly detached fugue, he found himself charging across the cobbled square, a trio of stags galloping along beside him. The gloomy streets faded from the edges of his vision, the cries of Sirius and the Dementors quieting to a dull whisper. There was nothing but clapping hoofbeats, the pounding beat in his mind, and the solitary hooded figure descending slowly to the street below.
The Dementor noticed his charge, and reared up, looking oddly unsure. The three Patronuses sped up, tearing past Harry, and darted towards it. It flinched, spinning around and made to soar back up into the air. It was escaping.
Harry punched his wand at it with a wordless cry. There was no incantation, no wand movement, just a raw demand for his magic, grabbing at it heavy-handedly and ripping it outwards. It answered eagerly, igniting beneath his skin, a furious inferno that surged down his arm and through his wand.
The chimney, and a good part of the roof of the house, exploded outwards, rocking the square with a rolling shockwave. A hail of flaming debris tore through the fleeing Dementor, buffeting it backwards as it floundered in the wake of the explosion. A streetlamp tore out of the pavement, the metal screeching as it contorted in the air, swinging upwards. It slammed into the creature, smacking it out the air like a flyswatter.
The Dementor bounced off the ground with a crunch, scraps of cloth tearing off its robes and evaporating into a noxious fog as it slid. The Patronuses were on it in a second. Gleaming hooves speared downwards, staking it to the ground. It wailed, and writhed, thrashing wildly against the street to free itself, but the stags held steady. Its brethren kept their distance. Uncaring of the suffering of their kin, and unwilling to approach the combined aura of three Patronuses.
At Harry's approach the trapped Dementor's head whipped around, its hands scrabbling against the road to scratch at him. He stepped right on them, grinding the digits into the ground with his boots. With one hand he casually grabbed the Dementor's hood and pulled it back. The thing's face was a mottled patchwork of rancid looking skin. Scabs covered where its eyes should've been, its gaping maw devoid of any teeth or recognizable anatomy.
It shrieked at him in helpless fury.
His left hand wrapped around its face, covering its mouth. Lines of minuscule sigils flared to life across the metal prosthetic. They blazed with supernatural light, the skin sizzling beneath his fingers, starting to blister.
The main utility of his hand was as a defensive tool, diffusing curses and enchantments by consuming their raw magic, disrupting their structure, so that they could be absorbed. Harmless to everything but spells. Except, Dementors weren't truly magical creatures—they were artificial, creations of the mad wizard Ekrizdis, hyper-complex constructs powered by magic, that maintained their constitution by consuming the souls of living creatures. The spellwork was genius, the magic involved intricate enough to fool centuries of observers into thinking they were real creatures. But they were bared to the enchantments on Harry's hand.
The Dementor boiled under his hand, flesh sloughing apart and peeling off in long slimy ribbons. The creature bucked underneath his grip, thrashing wildly as the magic holding it together started to erode.
The feedback hit him like an electric shock, white-hot pokers stabbing up through his forearm, sawing and burning, the whole limb seizing so tight it hurt, shivering in its socket. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he sunk to one knee. His body shook with the effort, the prosthetic burning hot enough to start singeing the skin around its edges.
But still he didn't remove his hand, a determined grimace fixed on his face as he kept his hand firmly planted, even as the strong fetor of decay washed over his nostrils and bubbling skin ran down his hand.
The creature screamed, a horrifying wail of desperation as it felt its approximation of life starting to fail. Yet, the rest of the square remained still, a cloud of motionless Dementors hovering in the sky, every single one focused on the sight of one of their own dying. Something they'd likely never seen before.
With one last screeching hiss the Dementor expired, its robes melting away as its body stilled.
"Holy shit, boy." The whisper from Riddle barely registered.
Harry straightened back up, his face tight. He turned slowly, and looked out on the waiting crowd of Dementors. They stared back. His Patronuses trotted forward, flanking him on every side.
As one, the Dementors scattered, flooding away from the square, rising high above the tops of the homes and angling back towards the sea. Harry watched the tide billow away from him, an unusual haste pushing the Dementors to flee the town. There wasn't any audible cue, but the remaining brethren from other parts of the town rose as one, joining the swarm as they flooded away.
Loud cries echoed out across the town as the other defenders reacted, and a chorus of cracks rang out. Harry idly canceled his spells, letting the stags fade away in a mist of silver motes, just as a red robed Auror spun into existence at the edge of the square. They immediately oriented themselves, and started chasing after the fleeing host.
Lights started flickering to life in the nearby houses, their occupants curious about the loud sounds. A door banged open in a neighboring street.
Harry turned to a shell-shocked looking Sirius.
"Ministry's here, must've finally got the news. Let's head back," Harry said quietly. Sirius nodded awkwardly, his jaw repeatedly clenching under the skin, like he started a question a dozen times but could never get it past his lips.
Harry didn't blame him. But all he wanted right now was to sink himself into his bed at the Potter's, and stay there till the end of the week. His arm throbbed painfully as he massaged it tenderly over his robes. One finger pressed too roughly and he flinched from the sharp stab of pain.
"Hey, you lot—what're you up to? I don't recognize you!" A gruff voice barked from behind them. They turned to see a portly old man, a fine dusting of stubble peppering his red face and a ragged coat pulled over pajamas, breathing hard as he jogging awkwardly towards them. "Are you the ones making all that racket?"
He glared at them suspiciously as he approached, his silver mustache quivering in indignation. Harry's eyes scanned him quickly, but found no badge, or any symbol of authority. Not a muggle police officer then—just a concerned citizen, used to throwing his weight around the small village. He didn't feel like dealing with this.
It came easy to him, this time, and quicker than ever.
"Now I don't know—,"
"Stop," Harry snapped, a thrum of power rumbling through his throat. "Go home."
The man blinked at him, dazed, before stumbling away, pulling his coat tighter around him as he mumbled to himself. Harry watched as the old man meandered back around the corner, out of sight.
He turned to Sirius.
"No word of this. Any of it," He said seriously. Sirius nodded quickly, but Harry kept his gaze fixed on him. "At all. I don't anyone to know of my involvement here. Okay?"
"I promise."
Sirius gave him a sincere look, but looking deep into his eyes Harry could see something else. Something unsure, something fearful. It worked well enough for him.
"Good."