Chapter 51
The constant stream of background noise emanating from the gargoyle through Harry's mind suddenly changed pitch. His attention was wrenched away from the parchment in his hands, drawn into the current of the creature's senses. Through the hazy distortion of a memory he felt as the two minds in the adjacent room disappeared; one moving out through the far wall, and the other simply blinking out.
He sat up straight in his chair.
"Oh, buggering fuck!"
Snape's head shot up, shooting him a bewildered glare but the question died in his throat as Harry took off, tearing across the cramped apartment they were camped in. He skidded across the smooth wood and slammed into the door, grabbing the handle to stop himself from bouncing off. He wrenched it open and leaped inside.
The far wall, where the impostor had been laid, was empty, the window standing open. Barty's still form was crumpled on the ground, a silhouette of blood forming around his head. Snape came to a stop at his shoulder.
"Are we too late?"
Harry bent down and lightly grabbed Barty's chin, angling his head to the side. Blood gurgled out of the massive gash torn through his neck. Harry laid Barty's head back down solemnly.
"He's gone." He put a hand on Barty's chest and lowered his head in a silent bow.
Snape cursed under his breath. He turned and glared at the open window. "How did this happen? Even at a minimum the charm should have kept them contained till nightfall."
"I don't know."
"Even then—they would be dead within seconds of it coming down!" Harry knew. That was the whole point of having Barty watch over them in the first place. "They're missing organs; how are they moving?"
"I don't know," Harry repeated, softer this time. The sight of the mutilated flesh of Barty's throat sent a shiver down his back. What could have possibly even done this to a man? And then it hit him, with the sinking feeling of bitter regret and frustration that made him want to slam his head against the wall as he realized their mistake. Memories danced before his eyes. The woman from the Eyes Riddle had dissected, artificially developed and mutated through magical means. The warped Veela simulacrum in Straub's lair.
They'd been confident in their understanding of Metamorphmagi. But they'd forgotten to consider that this was Grindelwald's Metamorphmagus; and all the consequences of the twisted arcane experiments that had likely been performed on them since they were discovered. They had no idea what this being could be capable of.
He blew a deep exhale out of his nose, and traced his hands down Barty's robe, investigating.
"No wand. They must've taken it."
Snape swore again. "Then we've failed. Even if they haven't already apparated away it'll be impossible to track down a Metamorphmagus in the middle of the city."
"No it won't."
Snape shot him a doubtful look but Harry was already out of the room. At a mental prod the gargoyle stomped out of the spare room it had been resting in, its massive bipedal form barely scraping through the doorway. Snape hurried after him.
"What are you intending to do? They could be anywhere, and more importantly, look like anyone by now. It's a fool's errand, we need to return to the—"
"No," Harry growled. "We're catching the bastard."
"How?"
Harry looked at the gargoyle, staring unblinkingly as lightning fast snippets of thought zipped back and forth between them, a conversation of impressions completed at the speed of thought. He nodded in satisfaction.
"It was how I realized what happened—the gargoyle uses an empathetic type of legilimency to track every living creature in a nearby radius. I asked it if it would recognize the Metamorphmagus's mind if it came across it, and it said it would." Harry flicked his wand at the wall of the small sitting room. A massive rectangular section of the wall Vanished, opening the apartment up to the cold air of the city. As he talked he crouched down and pulled a bag out of his stacked belongings and stuffed it into his robes.
"We just need to get close enough."
Snape frowned, as the wind started to tug at their robes. "How can you assume they aren't already long gone?"
"I'd wager they'll be going back to that same handler that Riddle went to—who, thankfully, we now know the location of. They're going back to the village; which means they can't apparate there. So we don't need to look through the whole city."
Snape nodded once, and then again, slowly, picking up speed as something gleamed to life in his black eyes.
"I'm going with the gargoyle to track them down. You try and follow in the van. Head to the building Riddle showed us," Harry said. He looked back at the gargoyle. He could feel the excitement bubbling through its mind, a primal eagerness to run, to find its prey and chase it down.
A hunt. That was what it reveled in. He'd seen that in its most prized memories.
It hunched over, placing its massive forelimbs on the ground. Two gleaming, whorled spikes sprouted out of its back like antennas, just behind where a shoulder-blade equivalent should've been. Harry gritted his teeth and stepped up behind the beast, grabbing onto the slivers of rock. They were ice cold to the touch. He felt the sense of urgency as the creature pressured him to hurry up, chomping at the bit to go.
Two ridges rose up at the base of its tail, horizontal, and almost cupped. He took a deep sigh and then stepped forward onto the back of the gargoyle. As soon as his feet settled on the improvised steps they retracted back into the creature's body, his legs slipping straight through the obsidian surface, disappearing into its mass. It pulled him in up to his stomach before coming to a stop. He let out a shaky sigh. His lower body was now suspended inside the extra-dimensional space that all the mass of the creature was contained—but it almost felt like nothing; there was no sensation of temperature, hot or cold, no gravity, just the slightly claustrophobic pressure of being buried up to his waist in something solid.
The gargoyle rose to its full height, hoisting Harry up into the air, embedded inside its back so that he could peer over the top of its horned head. Snape stared up at him with disbelieving eyes.
"You are, without exception, the most terrifyingly reckless lunatic I've ever met."
"Stop standing around," Harry snapped. "We're going hunting."
The gargoyle lurched forward, grabbing onto the edges of the gaping hole in the wall as it dropped into a crouch. It exploded upwards, two extra legs firing downwards out of its abdomen and into the floor as it leapt, hurling it up into the open air. They soared through the sky for half a second before it crashed onto the roof of another building, legs folding back into its body to absorb the impact as news ones punched through, redirecting its momentum into a forward dash.
Harry clung to the spiky protrusions as tightly as he could squeeze as his body was jostled into the hard surface of the gargoyle's back over and over again. As they approached another rooftop edge the creature began coiling up until, at the very edge, it detonated upwards into the air once more. Harry's stomach lurched uncomfortably in his chest. He pressed his head against the cool rock and clung even tighter.
"Do you understand now, Petru my friend?" Riddle murmured gently. Sarto's head lolled against the headrest of his chair, dripping with sweat. As each breath rasped through his lips they produced a dry rattle in his chest. "You said Grindelwald is too powerful for me to contend with. Well," he patted the elderly man on one cheek mockingly, "I expect you've seen the error in that belief by now. You know, you're actually only the second soul to ever see many of those memories—you should be honored to witness such magic."
Sarto's wide fear-filled eyes drew upwards, meeting Riddle's before looking away quickly. His face paled even further and he held back a retch.
"There, there," Riddle comforted, grabbing one of the man's shaking hands, ice-cold to touch.
"You know your options now: keep your secret like a loyal little stooge and die in your own home tonight, and then I track down one of your peers. Or, you can share it with me and scurry on to your next position after I kill your master. It's really quite simple. Merely ask the question of yourself: would you be willing to betray the chancellor for your own life?"
Sarto shivered. "C-can't."
"What's that?"
"I...can't."
"Why not?" Riddle asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Sarto simply shook his head. He looked up at Riddle with anguished eyes.
"He is not an idiot. He...he never forgot where I came from."
Riddle cocked his head as a thought came to him. "You can't?" Sarto shook his head.
"And I imagine you can't say why you can't?"
Another tearful shake of the head.
Riddle shot forward and grabbed him by the jaw, forcing him back into the seat cushion. Riddle squeezed, forcing his lips to part, before teasing them open with his other hand. The roof of Sarto's mouth was smooth, no scar tissue to be seen. He frowned.
"This must've been before he developed the implant magics," Riddle muttered to himself. He raised his voice to address Sarto. "Sharing the secret will kill you I imagine?"
"Y-yes."
Riddle tugged the man's face down to peer into his eyes. His mind punched into the frayed tatters of Sarto's short-term memory, scrambling his memories of the last couple seconds. And then he dove deeper, slicing through Sarto's mind like a knife, memories flashing by him, twisting further and further. The memory was old, but it had been drawn up from the depths by Riddle's questions, noticeably older and more deteriorated than the others. Riddle dipped into it.
Grindelwald sharing the secret with Sarto—the words slurred into a dull buzz in the memory—his ice-cold eyes boring into him, searching for any sign of disloyalty. Him weaving magics afterwards, the power washing across Sarto in dizzying waves of power. And then, finally, telling Sarto the purpose of those spells with a surgical tone: if he ever betrayed Grindelwald by sharing the secret they would activate and dissolve the bonds holding his brain together.
Riddle resurfaced with a blink, pulling away from Sarto.
"Obliviate."
The old man coughed, shaking his head blearily.
"Now Petru, think: would it really be that hard to betray the chancellor if it's your own life at stake? You understand now that I can truly kill him. And after he dies you, and all your peers, will be killed as well to make room for the new Europe. This is your only hope of surviving. Why not save yourself?" Riddle's mouth curved into a vicious smile. "It's not as if there's anything stopping you from telling me, right?"
"I—I suppose so."
The gargoyle landed in a crouch, gravel spraying around them as it smacked into the roof with a muted impact. A flicker of triumph filtered through to Harry.
"You found them?" he asked. The gargoyle creeped to the edge of the building, staying low to the ground, leaning forward enough that Harry could look over the concrete lip. Foot traffic was sparse this close to the village, a few wandering muggles passing by as the occasional vehicle roared through. The gargoyle's mind washed over his own, sensations overlaying his vision and tugging his head around to focus on one hurrying back. A short brunette woman, dressed in the drab, unassuming greys that would blend into the sea of muggle salaried workers. And they were walking in the direction of the village.
"You sure?" The gargoyle grumbled back at him, shaking Harry as the rumbling traveled through its body and into his.
"Perfect."
The gargoyle straightened up from its crouch into a slow canter, keeping pace with the Metamorphmagus below. Harry craned his neck to check on their proximity to the village. It was getting uncomfortably close—but that also meant they'd entered its anti-apparition protections already. They couldn't get away now. The gargoyle prodded him.
"Not yet, we have to wait till we can get them out of sight," he responded.
"—"
"No, we can't just jump down in front of the muggles. Or, I mean, I don't think we should—well, you certainly couldn't, Merlin they'd all shit their pants at the sight of you. Don't think we could keep that quiet."
"—"
He looked back up and winced at the visible skyline of buildings making up the village. "Damn it, you're right. We need to make a move."
The woman down below suddenly turned, gaze locking on to the looming shadow on the building across the street. They stopped in their tracks as cold brown eyes widened in recognition. Harry stared back down into their gaze from his perch on top of the gargoyle. He could feel the gargoyle vibrating in anticipation beneath him.
The woman broke out into a sprint—except, not towards the village or even into an alleyway, but into the middle of the street. Cars screeched as they slammed on the brakes, jerking to a halt inches from crushing them. They jumped around the side of the car and in one smooth motion pulled the passenger door open and slipped in. There was a momentary pause as the car sat in the middle of the street, horns blaring behind it as a line of traffic built up. And then it slowly started rolling, whipping around in a u-turn into the opposite lane of traffic, sending incoming cars veering out of the way, tires squealing. Through the window Harry caught a glimpse of the woman's face staring up at him.
They could take that all the way into the village. Out of their grasp.
He scowled. "Follow the car."
The gargoyle took off again, leaping to the next building along the street, limbs pumping. Harry hugged himself close to its back, trying to flatten his body enough to steady his arm pointing his wand over its shoulder. The car slowed down, as a stream of traffic passed in front of it at a light.
"Impedimenta."
The light changed and the car shot forward. But the charm aimed true, splashing across the rear window just before it pulled out into the crossroads. It kept rumbling forward, but its acceleration suddenly died, the car slumping back into a sluggish crawl. The car behind it slammed into the back bumper knocking it forward.
It pulled to the side as cars blasted horns from behind, several more vehicles having to slam on the brakes to avoid smashing into the stopped line. Unnaturally slow tires climbed over the curb, pulling the car into a narrow alley as the last scraps of speed slowly petered out. Behind it traffic picked back up to normal, muggles rushing home, ignoring the stopped car.
Harry smiled victoriously. "Take us down there."
The passenger door burst open as he spoke, the woman rolling out. Their body looked slightly off, the legs significantly longer than they should be, almost unfolding as they rose to their full height. They crouched slightly, muscles coiling up, before shooting forward, tearing out of the alley faster than Harry expected, a blur of motion racing down the sidewalk.
It was too late to abort their own course, the gargoyle landing on the bonnet with a terrible crunch, the metal folding under its weight and shearing apart. The terrified looking muggle driver stared at them slackjawed until Harry's Memory charm hit him in the face.
"After them," he hissed, but the gargoyle was already moving, scaling the alley wall with ease. It tore across the rooftops, loping closer and closer to the Metamorphmagus, catching up with every gravity-defying leap across buildings. The village border neared with worrisome speed.
The gargoyle skidded to a halt as the air opened up in front of them, no more buildings ahead to leap to. Down below the Metamorphmagus slowed, shrinking back down to a normal size as they approached the striped barricades of the village checkpoint. A handful of muggle guards stepped out of their posts and approached. The gargoyle hesitated, gripping the edge of the building tight enough for the concrete to crack as it quivered in frustration. Harry eyed the line of wizards watching over the point, sitting above the street on canopied platforms. Only three—but did they have a way of contacting the rest?
He didn't know what they told the muggles, but they parted in front of the Metamorphmagus, letting them pass into the village.
"Shit!" Harry growled, his hands clenching white-knuckled on the gargoyle's back. That was it. If they got back to their handler they would spoil everything. Riddle being alive, Harry's presence, their involvement with the muggles; everything would be scrapped, and they'd lose their best chance of getting to Grindelwald. It would mean the premature end to the tournament and the start of a war. One that could last years.
The Metamorphmagus looked back over their shoulder, seeking Harry out over the tops of the muggles' heads. A mocking, triumphant smile crossed their face.
Harry felt his blood go cold.
His hands tightened on the gargoyle even further.
"Go," he whispered. An uncertain ripple of emotion answered him. "I'm sure," he hissed. "Go!"
Harry's gaze was locked onto the Metamorphmagus's face as their expression changed, the smugness dropping away as a hint of uncertainty filled their eyes.
The gargoyle landed in the middle of the barricades like a falling rocket, concrete and dust detonating up around it on impact, spraying everywhere. It spun as it moved, its arms splitting at the shoulders, identical limbs emerging from within like gleaming afterimages, each tipped with a razor sharp cleaver. The guards disappeared in a mist of blood, the gargoyle tearing through them in a whirlwind of sharp edges.
The wizards shot up out of their chairs, drawing their wands as they ran to edge of their platforms. A pair of neat coin-sized holes punched through the chests of two of them, courtesy of Harry's wand, dropping them where they stood. The gargoyle bounded forward, bladed tail slicing cleanly through another pair of guards, before leaping onto the wizard's platform, scrabbling up on top. A curse glanced off its face, deflecting harmlessly. Harry reached over its head and blew the remaining wizard off the platform. They landed with a crunch on the hard ground below.
The gargoyle reared up and bellowed, preening in its victory over its enemies.
"Can you still sense them?" Harry asked. It paused and then dropped back to the ground, disappointment muddling their connection. The Metamorphmagus had gotten away. Vanishing charms poured out of Harry's wand, blood and flesh disappearing into thin air, wiping away from the concrete.
"We clean up first, and then make our way to the handler's building as fast as possible," he said. "For now we can just try to beat them there."
The gargoyle shared its agreement.
Koenig rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. The well-worn indent in the leather molded to his back perfectly, broken in through years of use. Ink smudges stained his hands from the stack of parchments he'd been pouring over, so fresh they hadn't dried yet when courier charms had brought them in to him.
The fire behind his desk flared to life, growing from a small ember into a tower of roiling emerald flame. A young man's voice echoed from within.
"The chancellor wishes to hear your report now."
Koenig took a deep breath and spun his chair around. "Tell the chancellor I'm ready to speak."
There was no response from the fire as it continued to burn, casting his whole room in a green glow. Koenig licked his lips nervously.
"Consul Koenig," a deep voice suddenly spoke. "Have you unearthed who is orchestrating this unrest in my city?"
"I have," Koenig swallowed. "The muggles."
"The muggles?"
"Yes sir."
There was a pause. "Explain yourself."
"I received a report from one of my agents who was present at the attack at Perrot's dinner, and managed to survive. They also attempted to infiltrate the muggle riots after leaving the house," Koenig said. "They detected no traces of magic influencing the muggles."
"Does that correlate with all your findings?"
Koenig nodded quickly, before realizing the chancellor couldn't see him. "From all reports of men in the field, and questioning of prisoners taken from the riots, we've found no sign of magical involvement. At face value it appears to be an entirely muggle problem."
"Your phrasing implies to me that you think otherwise?"
Koenig hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The...catalyst of the event is—worrisome, to me."
"How?"
"The muggles only dared because they knew about the destruction of the Eyes—all of them did. The news has spread throughout the city."
The fire remained silent for the longest time since the call started, the quiet absolutely nerve-wracking as the green fire continued licking at the edges of the fireplace. When the chancellor's voice finally crackled back through it was tight with suppressed anger.
"You suspect this information was leaked on purpose to create this exact situation?" he asked.
"I think it's likely," Koenig said. Should he share Saša's suspicions about a traitor setting up the magicals at Perrot's party? It could prove vital to finding their unknown enemy—but what would it provoke? He was old enough to remember the stories of the old purges back when the chancellor came to power. When he didn't trust the sitting members of the governments.
The chancellor's ruthlessness was a thing to behold.
"Who?"
Koenig shook his head, clearing away the errant thoughts. It would be…inexcusable to present unfounded suspicions to higher authority without first doing his own due diligence and supporting it with a groundwork of investigation. "I believe it likely to be the same enemy that carried out the assault on the Eye's facility."
Grindelwald's voice was flat and cold coming through the flame. "Then you do not believe the muggle outbursts are a symptom of a larger problem we face?"
"No sir," Koenig said. "Our current methods should have them cowed back into submission soon, and then priority can be returned to rooting out the wizarding group responsible for the attacks. But if my agents turn any up hints of a larger conspiracy at work with the muggles I will report them immediately for re-evaluation of our strategy."
"This is not what I wanted to hear, Mr. Koenig," Grindelwald said, ire dripping from his voice.
"I apologize sir; but I have only reported what I believe to be true."
"I know—that is precisely why I ask your for opinion." Grindelwald clicked his tongue in frustration. "Increase the presence on the village border, add even more tailing elements to parties of interest. If one of them even sniffs the outside city I want them clapped in chains. We have three dead wizards on our hands, and their countries are snapping at my heels. Four nations have already pulled out of signed treaty agreements due to pressure from their allies. We need a culprit for this. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir."
"Find me one."
"That's the one."
The gargoyle settled down on the roof. The consulate building was a few stories taller than all its neighbors, meaning that they couldn't freely approach it on rooftop without risking being seen. The gargoyle found a spot to wedge itself against a large exhaust vent, hiding them from view.
Harry let go of the holds on the gargoyle's back. At a silent cue it disgorged him from its internal space, ejecting his legs back out; it was a similar sensation to pulling them out of a pit of molasses. He dropped down off its back and fell to his hands as his legs buckled. They'd fallen asleep.
"Fuck off," he muttered, but used his hands to drag himself closer to the edge of the building on his stomach. He leaned against the lip and started massaging the blood back into his legs. The wave of stinging pins and needles made him grit his teeth.
"Do you sense them?"
It did not. Which hopefully meant that they at least hadn't reached the building yet. He peeked over the top. Several groups of robed individuals were dotted around the building, stationed at entrances, and at every corner. Even at this distance he could see the brilliant gold patches on their robes. The Army was here. And there were probably even more inside.
He sat back with a curse. The gargoyle's head perked up and a deluge of information washed over him.
"They're close? Heading to the building?" It responded in the affirmative. "From what direction?"
Harry blinked as the world swam infront of him, tugging his gaze out of his body and throwing it out over to the other side of the building. Too far to intercept in time.
"We're on the wrong side," Harry groaned. He felt the sense of urgency from the gargoyle. "I know, I know," he muttered as he tested his weight on his legs, "but we can't catch them in time. Jumping down in front of those soldiers will bring the whole army down on our heads—more than even you can handle."
The gargoyle grumbled.
"I'm going inside. Alone," he appended as the gargoyle's head snapped up. "Sorry, but even at your smallest we won't both fit under here. He pulled the bag out of his robes he'd grabbed before leaving and tipped it over in his hand. A stream of silvery, almost liquid-like material flowed out, pooling in his hands, draping down to the floor. He tossed it up over his shoulders and wrapped it around himself. As the impossibly light material settled over him his body disappeared from view.
The gargoyle started as he suddenly vanished from its senses as well. He pulled part of it down to reveal his face. "I'll try and catch them before they reach anyone important. Stay here and wait for me."
He pulled the cloak back over himself and leapt off the building, floating down to the ground. The guards didn't even spare him a glance as he approached. He slipped in through a swinging door as another wizard exited the building.
The ground floor was a busy place, men and women walking quickly between unmarked hallways, fireplaces turning green and spitting new wizards out into the mess of pedestrian traffic. His eyes scanned the river of people mixing around him and a frown came to his face. He had no clue how to pick out the Metamorphmagus. Underneath his robes he transfigured his robes into ones that matched the style and color of the passing workers, adding the ribbon to his sleeve to indicate his status as a European wizard. Ducking into a nearby hallway just as there was a lull in passersby he pulled the cloak off and stuffed it back into his robes.
When he stepped back out he slipped seamlessly into the flow of bodies. His face was enough to draw some glances, but thankfully it seemed no one drew the connection between its similarities to the notorious Harry Evans.
The gargoyle filtered back into his mind with the faintest connection, barely in range. Point them out to me, he asked. It directed his eyes over to the sets of doors on the far side of the floor, just as a tall, pale-skinned man strode confidently onto the marble floor.
There.
Harry started walking after them, pushing through bodies, drawing closer. But it was just too crowded. Too many people crossing in front of them to get a line of sight, and there were even more Army wizards standing guard along the walls, scanning the passing wizards with watchful eyes.
They stopped at a gilded elevator panel and hit the call button. Harry sidled closer, casually leaning against a pillar that he could see them from. His gaze burned into the back of their neck but they made no move to turn around and scan their surroundings. Apparently they felt like they'd reached safe territory. The elevator doors opened and they entered, reaching down to hit a floor button.
One of the tops floors—probably the top.
Harry was already gone by the time their eyes drifted up, looking out into the lobby as the metal doors closed in front of them.
He slammed through the doors with a loud bang, his pace already picking up as he left the roar of human noise behind him, the gargoyle's presence also dropping away. The emergency stair shaft was empty, tucked in behind one of the lobby's pillars and an unassuming metal door. Harry leapt up the stairs three at a time, skidding around the landings. He pointed his wand upwards.
"Ascendio!"
His body was picked up and hurled upwards through the air, the handrails flashing by his face as he rocketed towards the distant shadowy ceiling. His momentum had barely started to slow, gravity beginning to drag him back down, when he recast it, launching him up again, even faster. He cast it again, and again, risking whiplash as his body streaked upwards in a spinning blur. His stomach lurched up into his chest, but years of flying on a broom kept him from getting queasy.
The ceiling suddenly started approaching fast, the individual metal beams appearing out of the gloom. He barely got the Cushioning charm off in time to bounce off without breaking any bones. He dropped to the top step in a mound of disorientated limbs. Groaning, he pushed himself up to his feet as the world spun. Faster than an elevator.
He pushed open the door and stumbled through.
It was a smaller hallway than the lobby down below, but even more ornately decorated, pristine marble floors and wood paneled walls. Three wizards turned at his entrance, the only people present. They all frowned.
"Excuse me; do you have business on this floor?" one asked him. Harry noted the expensive cut of their robes. Must be reserved for more high ranking members of Grindelwald's regime.
Harry started walking towards them, trying to catch his balance as his legs still wobbled.
"Don't ignore me, I asked you a question!" Harry didn't bother to answer as he drew close.
"What are—"
Harry whipped his whole body around in a tight rotation, driving his metal fist square into the man's jaw with a harsh crack. He dropped like a stone. Harry's wand flashed red and another toppled to the floor. The last one stumbled back, eyes wide, and threw a desperate curse at Harry's head.
He caught it with his left hand, stepping forward in one smooth motion and slamming his glowing palm into the wizard's stomach. The absorbed spell exploded outwards, blasting him off his feet. They all remained motionless on the floor as his Memory charms washed over them.
A bell rang, and down the hallway the doors for the elevator slid open. The Metamorphmagus stepped out, and continued straight ahead, towards a second pair of elevator doors. Must be a private elevator for the consul. But this one didn't have any stairs accompanying it. Halfway across the hall they froze, turning their head to the side. They blinked at the sight of Harry standing over a trio of unconscious bodies.
There was no one else in view.
Perfect.
They dropped into a crouch with lightning speed, letting his curse sail harmlessly overhead. Springing upwards, they darted towards the side. Another spell grazed their shoulder as they slammed into the call button, pressing it in. Harry approached at a jog, hurling spells to try and corral them away from the elevator, but nothing landed. Their body contorted, shifting fluidly in size and length, joints bending in impossible angles, slipping around every one.
The doors chimed and slid open. The Metamorphmagus dove towards them. No.
"Depulso!" Harry yelled.
He shot forward like a rocket, tearing through the air headfirst. The Metamorphmagus could avoid spells with ease, despite their speed, but they could not get out of the way of a human-sized projectile in time. He slammed into them in a mid-air tackle, yanking them away just as their foot crossed into the sanctuary of the elevator doors. The extra weight instantly drained his momentum, sending them lurching to the ground. The doors chimed behind him and closed shut on an empty cab.
The pair slammed into a door adjacent to the elevator, busting straight through and tumbling over each other to the ground. As he rolled something heavy slammed into him, driving the air out of his stomach. He bucked the weight off of him with a snarl, spinning over and pulling them to the ground with him on top. Their hand closed around his wrist, stopping it in place, his wand pointing just above their head. He strained against their grip, pressing down as hard as he could, trying to push the end of his wand down towards their face. Underneath Harry's knee he saw a flicker of movement as they pulled something out of their robes.
A wand. Barty's wand.
He flicked the tip of his wand, all the movement he could produce in the ironclad grip. The wand shot out of their hand as the Disarming charm hurled it out of sight, over their heads. A victorious grin broke out on his face.
Razor sharp spikes of bone erupted from the arm holding his wand hand, driving into his skin. They slashed their arm upwards sharply, and his wand was wrenched from his hand, sent skittering out of sight. He swayed in place as sharp heat bloomed across his arm. That was new.
In the dim light he saw dark crimson start to leak down his arm, gashes leading from his elbow all the way to his wrist. The Metamorphmagus threw him off with a quick motion, scrambling back and jumping to their feet, their face remaining totally placid as they stared back at him, and he saw the glint of sharp edges sprouting all across their arms. The room itself was cramped, likely narrow enough for him to touch either side if he laid out, and a utilities closet judging by the jumble of cleaning supplies and random equipment stacked on each other, and sitting on metal rack shelves.
The closet door swung shut behind the Metamorphmagus, closing them in. He rose to his feet.
"Accio wand!" Harry called out. The Metamorphmagus leapt forward, slashing at him with a clawed hand, making him duck backwards, stumbling over a stack of buckets behind his feet. His wand shot overhead, clanking off the top of a metal rack and falling away into the darkness. They darted forward, hand reaching for his chest.
Flailing to keep his balance, his hand closed around the smooth grain of a wood handle. He pulled it in front of him as he fell. The claw punched straight through the wooden mop, snapping it into two pieces, just barely missing him as he hit the back wall of the closet.
He felt his heart pounding in his chest, beating against his rib-cage hard enough for it reverberate into his skull. They reared back with two bladed arms.
His skin burned as white-hot anger flooded his chest, washing away the terror. He was not going to die here, so close to the end; he was not going to die in this fucking world. Not before Grindelwald was put in the ground, and not before he got home and did the same to Voldemort. Raw, simmering magic boiled up from within, flooding his throat.
"Stop!" he barked, the word booming out of his mouth with a shock wave of power, rattling the shelves around him. The Metamorphmagus froze, arms trembling over their head as their body rebelled against their mind.
"Bombarda," Harry spat.
The shelving rack beside them exploded in a spray of molten fragments, slamming them into the opposite side of the closet as the air quickly turned acrid with the scent of burning.
Harry staggered but kept his balance. The Metamorphmagus's body contorted as it rose, their muscles swelling in size, straining against their clothes. Their arms stretched downwards, new bony protrusions sprouting outwards as they grew. He looked down and a grim smile broke out across his face as he realized he was still holding the two pieces of the shattered mop in his hands. Magic spilled out of his hands, draining into the two pieces of wood, taking hold as a pair of Sharpening charms.
"You won't leave here," he promised. They leapt at him with silent grimace.
A serrated arm whistled through the air at Harry, whipped forward by its shoulder like they were throwing a javelin. He stepped forward and met it head-on with a strike from one of his wooden batons. This time it sheared straight through the bony spikes, the magical edge parting flesh like paper, and burst through the other side in a spray of crimson. The Metamorphmagus reared back with a hiss, as the arm fell to the ground, wriggling like a fish as it transformed back into a normal hand.
Harry lunged forward, slashing furiously with the pieces of wood. He caught them once in the other shoulder, drawing a line of red as they ducked, and then again in the chest, tearing a ribbon of fabric off their clothes along with chunk of flesh. Something writhed under their skin of their arm, before it split, bony plates sliding overtop. His next strike deflected off the scale-like bone in a shower of sparks. The impact sent splinters of pain shooting up his arm as it jostled the nasty gashes.
They put their head down and charged at him, forcing him to jump out of the way as his weapons bounced off their shielding arm. One piece of wood slipped under their guard and carved a furrow through their side as they rushed past. The wounds didn't seem to slow them down as they fell into a roll, picking up the discarded limb on the ground and shoving it back against the bloodless stump. It merged seamlessly back into their body.
Blood seeped into their clothes, dripping onto the floor, but underneath the skin was moving, slowly sealing shut, the flow of blood stoppered. They rolled their shoulder as mobility returned to it.
Harry grimaced as he felt the strain in his flesh and blood arm, the blood leaking out of it starting to take its toll, making it feel heavier by the second. He couldn't afford a battle of attrition; not if they could heal their wounds on the fly.
They approached each other, both now cautious, testing the distance with small steps, weaving side to side, looking for an opportunity.
"Depulso," Harry murmured.
It caught them unprepared, snapping their head back as they were launched forward. He lunged with a violent stab, trying to drive the wooden stake into their stomach, but they twisted at the last second, contorting their body mid-air so that it only scored a shallow wound. A flailing arm lashed out, catching Harry in the side of the head.
Pain filled his head, as he stumbled away, trying to blink the stars out of his eyes. One side of his vision remained dark, the eyelid not responding as something hot and wet dripped down his face, running over his lips and filling his nose with the scent of copper. Through one teary eye he saw another fist heading towards his head. His left hand met it in mid-air, bone scratching across the black metal and skittering off. He swung blindly with his other piece of wood. They swayed backwards, letting it nothing but empty air, before stepping in closer, knocking his arm out of the way.
"Accio robes."
Harry was ripped backwards by the collar of his shirt, crashing backwards into one of the shelves, just as a dozen jagged points of bone raked across his chest, drawing blood and tearing his shirt into tatters. They stayed right on him, grasping for his face.
"Stop!" he cried again, the word tearing out of his throat with violent force. The hand paused centimeters from burying a hook into his skull. Veins on the Metamorphmagus's face stood out in stark contrast as they strained against the compulsion. Harry ducked around the arm and stabbed one of the pieces of wood straight through their stomach. It punched out of their back, tenting the back of their robes as a waterfall of dark crimson spilled onto the ground beneath them.
"Got you, bastard," he whispered, staring into their eyes. They smiled bloodily back at him. A clawed hand grabbed his shoulder, digging in through the skin painfully. They tugged him forward as he tried to backpedal, the muscles in his shoulder screaming in pain, and pistoned their other fist into his abdomen. The razor sharp bone sliced straight through the skin, driving deep.
Harry gasped, and stumbled. They held onto him, slamming him back against the wall, pinning him there. A cold tingling raced up his limbs, starting from his fingertips, a strange numbness settling over them. It was chased away as another surge of heat rushed through him.
He would not lose.
He glared at the serene looking Metamorphmagus and hocked up a wad of bloody spit. "Right where I wanted you," he rasped. Their face twitched as the saliva dripped down their cheek. They twisted their hand and his legs almost gave out from the wave of pain that tore through him.
"Same," they whispered.
Harry let go of the wood impaled through their body and jerked forward, ignoring the severe pain it caused, grabbing on to the back of their head with his free hand. He yanked their head forward and slammed his forehead into it. His world disappeared in a haze of pain, his already limited vision swimming in and out, colors flashing across the room. The Metamorphmagus reeled, blood welling up from large gash torn across their forehead. His was already caked.
The skin around their cut wriggled and then split, a thick bony protrusion rising out of their skull, like a lump of iron stuck in a headband. They sneered viciously and bludgeoned their head forward into his face. He felt his nose collapse with wet snap, clouding his eyes with tears as blood poured down into his mouth, filling his throat and making him retch. He dimly saw them shift backwards once again. The bone plate on their forehead narrowed, sprouting up into a deadly sharp spike. It dove towards his head, aiming to skewer him.
"Left," he croaked. It scratched his irritated throat on its way out, the power abrading away the lining, provoking an immediate coughing fit as the aftershock slowly drained away.
The horned Metamorphmagus stabbed into the side of the closet, inches to the right of his face, sinking deep. Their hand twisted into his shoulder as the impact stunned them, tearing it open even further. Harry grabbed his remaining handle with both hands and brought it up against the arm holding him. The Sharpened edge slipped in-between one of the bone plates and slid into the flesh. Harry twisted with his whole body, using the leverage to saw the wood straight through the arm, severing it. The Metamorphmagus staggered into the wall.
Harry grabbed their head and slammed it into the hard brick, bouncing it with a dull thud. He slipped behind them, throwing his weight into their back to pin them against the wall.
So far none of the wounds he'd given them had seemed to slow them down—of course, considering they'd survived Riddle teleporting their digestive system out of its body. But they couldn't be unkillable. What did it take?
They pushed back against him, trying to throw him off their back but he slammed them into the wall even harder.
"Accio wand."
Spines burst from the back of the Metamorphmagus, tearing straight through their robes and punching into Harry. The wand bounced off his stunned back and landed on the floor somewhere behind him. Blood streamed down his body, soaking his pants. Dark stains grew from around his feet, draining out of his shoes.
Their shoulder spun in its socket, the elbow rotating sideways, all the way back around to face him, the joint inverting. It slashed up into his chest, tearing another deep gash into it. His breath didn't seem to catch, vanishing as soon as he tried to take it in, over and over, the world starting swim, going dark around the corners. He stepped back from the Metamorphmagus, pulling himself off the spikes stuck in his body. More blood splashed out of him onto the floor.
He roared and threw himself forward, stabbing the handle into their back, gripping the blood-slicked wood with two hands to force it through. It sliced straight through them and continued out the other side, biting into the wall. The other handle, still impaled, bounced of this knuckles as they flailed against the wall. Gritting his teeth he grabbed the other one, holding on to both with opposite hands, and pulled the ends across his body as hard as he could, his ravaged body straining with everything it had.
They rotated outwards, opening a massive chunk of the Metamorphmagus's back, severing straight through their spine. Their body went limp, spontaneous convulsions wracking it. Hot blood splashed out across Harry's hands and immediately flashed into steam, the super-heated liquid scalding the flesh of his hands. His nerves screamed in pain and cut out, forcing him to let go and stumble backwards. Another Metamorphmagus trick.
His legs finally gave out and he collapsed to the ground. Most of the feeling in his arms was gone, vanishing into terrifying numbness, and his mouth felt drier than he ever remembered feeling before. If only he could just catch his breath.
Something hard was under his back, poking up uncomfortably. He wished he could move it, but he was just too tired too move. What could that even be?
His wand.
His eyes shot back open—he hadn't even realized they'd closed. His wand. His tongue sluggishly licked his lips, trying to moisten them enough to speak.
"Vulnera Sanentur," he gasped weakly. "Vulnera San—" he coughed, something wet spraying across his chin. "Vulnera Sanentur."
It almost became something like a mantra, repeating it to himself over and over again, as his strength waned. Faces flashed behind his eyes, torn out of hazy memories. His friends, sometimes how how he last remembered them, sometimes from his old memories of Hogwarts; the Weasleys, smiling and shoving, as they gathered together; Dumbledore, bright eyes revealing the quiet mirth behind his stern expression. And then, ones he wasn't expecting: Lily and James—but not the young faces of his own parents, but the ones he'd met here. Jimmy and Violet, Astoria and Edward.
A strong breath rattled through his chest. "Vulnera Sanentur!" he growled, almost spitting it out.
The magic took hold, starting from where the wand-tip pressed into his back and washing across his body in a cool wave, soothing the pain of his wounds.
"Vulnera Sanentur!" he said again, The deep gashes in his chest started to close, skin stretching across the bright red wounds and knitted close. His nose peeled itself off his face and snapped back into place with a pop. The flesh beneath started to seal as well, stopping the loss of blood. He cast it again and he felt the feeling return to his arms, the muscle in his shoulder reconnecting. There was a prickling around his blind eye but the darkness didn't vanish. Raising one shaky hand he peeled the dried blood away from his eyelid, blinking as it adjusted to the dim light.
With his newly returned eyesight he watched as the Metamorphmagus pulled itself away from the wall it had been pinned too. The wooden handles slid out of its body and dropped to the ground with a clatter. The massive cleave in its back had closed back up, its shirt torn enough to show the discolored patches of flesh marking where it had sewn itself back together, reattaching its spine. It turned to face him, with halting palsied motions, like its nerves hadn't quite recovered.
His heart dropped. He'd stopped the bleeding but he'd already lost too much. Any more and he'd lose consciousness. It stepped forward, foot squelching in a pool of blood on the floor. Harry didn't know whose it was. He tried to turn over and grab his wand but his body was slow to respond, clumsy, and resisted his attempts to raise it off the ground.
A shaking leg planted right in front of him. The Metamorphmagus loomed over him, its one arm reshaped into a massive clubbed mass of bone. Nasty looking spines sprouted across its surface.
"You will...die," it croaked, its voice hoarse and tenuous. It raised its arm over its head.
"No," Harry snarled. "I will not."
It stilled as the power lashed at its willpower, freezing the limb in its overhead position. Harry reached behind him, burrowing behind his back, trying to find his wand, but his fingers refused to grip. It shook its head, as if shaking off the effect of his mind magic. His throat started to ache, like he'd coughed it hoarse.
The spiked club started to life, arcing down at his head.
"No!"
It froze inches away. His throat convulsed with pain as the raw flesh was scraped by the escaping power, and something wet filled his mouth. He spat and it looked red against the floor. He looked up into its furious eyes, bloodshot and dilated wide, its face turning red, veins bulging as they strained against his influence, desperate to split his skull open. Fiery defiance surged through him as his face twisted into a glare.
He would not fail.
"Stop!"
Blood burst from his mouth in a spray, spurting out from his nose and running down his chin. A stabbing pain ripped through his throat, as it seized up. He coughed, a wracking, wet cough, spitting and gasping, crimson saliva speckling his robes.
But the Metamorphmagus jerked back, pulling its arm away from his head. He felt the sharp point of the wand still digging into his back.
He cast a Sharpening charm; but not on another object this time—on himself. On his own arm. The metal started to heat up, shimmering faintly around the edges as it drew on his own magic, sucking it up, until the sigils flashed with arcane light, and it spilled outwards, enveloping his hand in a glove of power. The Metamorphmagus stood at attention beside him, seemingly momentarily dazed, overpowered by the sheer willpower in Harry's magic.
He swung his arm in an arc in front of him, catching the Metamorphmagus right below the knee. His hand blew straight through flesh and bone, completely severing the leg, sending the Metamorphmagus toppling to the ground. It fell right next to him, almost landing across his feet, bouncing off its head, face-first. He could see its skin already moving, seeking to re-attach the limb.
With a titanic effort Harry rolled over, swinging his arm around in a great arc. It punched straight through their skull and carved into their brain.
The skin stopped moving, wounds unsealing. Blood drained outwards, growing outwards in a great, black pool.
Harry dropped back, rolling away. He came to a rest on his back, staring up at the dim light hanging above him, breaths still coming fast. His hand finally closed around his wand and he brought it up to his chest.
He'd done it.
Riddle leaned back with a satisfied smile. "Thank you Petru, my poor, poor friend."
Sarto's eyes barely had time to widen in fear before they turned dark red, blood filling the white surface. His body started to convulse as his brain hemorrhaged. Grindelwald's magic tore apart his brain, dissolving it into liquid as the cells crumbled into their component atoms, before eventually eating out through his skull. There was a second of implosion, as his head collapsed inwards, before it too was disintegrated in a flash of violet light.
Riddle rose to his feet. He patted Sarto's shoulder, careful to avoid one of the wetter stains. "An unfortunate necessity. Your soul has departed but perhaps it can take with you the satisfaction that your death will bring about a better world, and a better Europe."
Sarto's body remained still. Riddle gave it one last somber nod before Vanishing it with a flick of his wand. Another jab and the sweat and blood disappeared from the fabric of the chair, erasing the last traces of Sarto's presence.
Riddle walked over to the massive, panoramic window that dominated the space of Sarto's sitting room. He pulled aside the dark colored drapes obscuring it and looked out into the city.
A massive castle fortress enfolded in the middle of the city, shoving aside the nearby buildings and stretching out to encompass the horizon. Gleaming black stone spiraled up into the sky, soaring towers nearly twice as tall as its massive base was squat, torch lit rooms spilling their light out into the night like little orange gems peppered across a massive beast. Plains of untouched garden stretched out from beneath it, dipping and rising for hundreds of meters of green, speckled with bursts of vegetative color, spanning all the way out to the edge of an imposing wall that cut the fortress off from the rest of the city. Traffic swirled around the border, totally unaware of the massive structure casting shadows over them as the charms warped space and minds to carry muggles and wizards alike right past.
Nurmengard.
Riddle felt a wry smile curl his lips as he leaned with one hand against the glass, staring out at the stronghold.
"Who would have thought?" he murmured, letting out a small chuckle. "He was right there this whole time."
The sound of rushing footsteps grew louder, approaching a roar just before the door banged open, nearly kicked off its hinges. Robed figures rushed into the cramped room, glowing wands all aimed at the far side.
Harry leaned against the back wall, his robes tattered and stained, dried blood encrusting most of his face. His hand slipped into his pocket, pushing in the length of silvery cloth he'd just started to pull out.A still figure lay on the ground between them surrounded by a dark puddle.
"Too late, boys," he wheezed; a raspy, grating, sound.
The Disarming charm slammed him backwards into the wall roughly, tearing his wand out of his grasp. It soared through the air and into the waiting hand of one of the wizards wearing the gold patch of the National Army.
"Surrender immediately or forfeit your life," one of them barked.
Harry slowly raised his hands. His face was deathly pale, almost sickly looking. Green eyes blazed with fury beneath matted hair.
"I'm done. I'll go with you."