Autor's Note:
By the way, big thanks to the user "a pair of ragged claws". With your last reviews you brought a smile to my lips.
Unyielding
Harry couldn't help himself, he really didn't like masks. Neither on others, nor on himself. Especially not this one. It was to his great displeasure that, even in this world, Riddle's followers wore silver masks that bore an uncomfortable resemblance to those of the Death Eaters. They were plainer, and generally bore less ornamentation than their counterparts in his world.
Though his view of this was no longer entirely historically coherent either, as the styles had also changed over time. The Neo Death Eaters in particular wore extremely elaborate masks - presumably to distract from their low individual importance. But the one he held in his hands was quite comparable to those worn at the beginning of the Second Civil War.
What was different from the Death Eaters was the rest of the clothing, which could best be compared to that of Muggle soldiers, only dyed pure white. At least the symbolism was reversed here, compared to Voldemort's amused flirting with everything that was considered evil or dark.
The mask, however, did not please Harry. Every wearer of one was required to individualise it somewhat so that the other members of the fighting force could quickly identify who they were dealing with. And this representation was to change every now and then in a fixed rotation, so that the enemy could not adjust to certain enemies out of simple recognition.
Indecisively, Harry poked at the mask with his wand. For a moment he had thought of breaking the friendly theme of Riddle's fighters for good and making it a devil's mask, but in the end that wasn't really his style. Then he remembered that after a meeting with German Aurors in a small Alpine town, he had picked up on some of the local Muggle folklore. It involved crudely carved Jesus figures.
That was all he remembered of it. But the faces had been quite expressive. He didn't know why he liked the idea, perhaps it was the allusion to having once been something akin to an alleged Messiah. So he shaped the mask into something that resembled a bearded, sad-looking man roughly carved in wood. At least it was different enough for the others to clearly recognise him.
He put on the uniform, somewhat reluctantly put on the mask and then pulled the hood of the top over his head. The masks were enchanted in such a way that normal vision was possible without any problems and not constricted by narrow eye slits. He glanced at the standing mirror that was in his living quarters and nodded to himself that he really didn't look like a Death Eater that way. That reassured him immensely. Even if no one in this world would blame him for walking around in the robes of his enemies, he still wouldn't have felt comfortable.
With a sigh, he made his way to the room from which the departure to the village of Slytherin's Burden would take place. It was apparently the this-side equivalent of Godric's Hollow - only as a ghetto for the accepted but unwanted parts of the population. The name had certainly been thought up by Ministry officials as a joke, since of course this burden on pure-blood society would be Salazar Slytherin's fault.
When he opened the door to the room, he found four other people there. The only one he knew was Lupin, who wore a mask in his hands that vaguely resembled a grinning vampire. Probably a joke based on the antagonism often postulated by the Muggles between vampires and werewolves, although in reality these groups had no specific relationship to each other. Harry nodded at Lupin, who replied after a pause, once Harry had removed his mask again.
"Mr James, I presume?" asked a woman with stern features and tightly tied back grey hair. "My name is Julia Walpole and I am in charge of tonight's watch. Although Mr. Riddle vouches for you and your skills, I want to make it clear that I am in charge. When I give an order, I expect it to be carried out. When I say disappear, you disappear. If I say retreat, you retreat. If I say attack, you attack. Is that clear?"
Harry rolled his eyes and replied, "Yes. I have served in combat units. This kind of hierarchy is not news to me. However, this mission should be fairly quiet, shouldn't it? At least that's what Riddle has been saying."
"I wouldn't be so sure," countered a rather short stocky man. "After that big stunt in the menagerie, we're expecting retaliation. And of course, these cowards always go after those who can least be blamed. The more days that go by without the Order showing up, the more likely an attack will be. I'm Clemens Pettigrew, by the way."
With a raised eyebrow, he asked, "Are you related to a Peter Pettigrew?"
"A cousin of mine is called that. He's one of the Regime's minions. It's not a very rare name, though," the man replied, bored. Harry didn't think this Pettigrew particularly resembled the Wormtail of his universe. He certainly didn't seem anxious when it came to the fight he obviously expected. Of course, it would fit Harry's characteristic bad luck that he went off with Riddle's troop exactly when there was actually danger.
"What would to be feared in the event of an attack? How many opponents would you have to anticipate?" asked Harry in a businesslike tone. If he was going to throw himself into chaos again, he should at least be informed.
Nodding appreciatively, Walpole explained, "At least you're focused on the task at hand. Normally it is never more than three members of the Order who cause trouble and harass unwitting people. However, we have had to deal with far greater numbers. After the last apparent death of our revered Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, they reduced entire streets to rubble with thirteen people.
"From what Mr. Riddle has told me, Dumbledore has again been briefly incapacitated. We fear something similar will happen now. If they outnumber us like that again, we'll go purely defensive and try to get as many people out of Slytherin's Burden as we can."
"As if that would work," the last of the four muttered. He was far older than the rest and he wore a short unkempt white beard. Walpole looked at him sharply, to which he just shrugged and elaborated, "You weren't there last time. Protecting people? Pah," here he laughed mirthlessly. "We had enough to do with ourselves. Like then, there are only five of us. I'm the only one who survived that! Once portals and portkeys are out of action that's it. If tonight is a night of revenge, we'll greet the morning at best as disembodied spirits."
"Walter, you know that we have learned from the mistakes of the past. Slytherin's Burden now has, as you know, physical escape tunnels that we can use if the Wards go up. As yet, Dumbledore's people don't seem to have discovered them. This time we can help people escape by buying time."
"Get us killed, you mean," the man called Walter replied. As Walpole made a piqued sound, the man fixed Harry and said gruffly, "You'll see. We're playing Russian Roulette right now. Any troop on any day can get the bullet. And with a bit of bad luck, it'll be us. Only because Riddle can't control his urge to lash out against our worst enemy."
Riddle had obviously not told around that it had been Harry who had killed Dumbledore in his form there. He wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that or annoyed. Apparently there was a not unwarranted animosity towards Dumbledore slayings.
"I'm sure Mr Riddle would never deliberately make the situation more unstable than it already is. Your pessimism is not helpful, Barlow," Lupin countered defiantly. "We will do our duty as best we can. We are all that stands between the Muggleborn and the regime. Besides, there's no sign of anything going differently today than the last few days."
Walter Barlow just snorted, shaking his head, and fell silent. After a moment of silence, Harry asked, "So how does a normal skirmish usually go? Are they targeted attacks with clear intent, or do our enemies just carry out chaotic raids?"
"We've been through both," Pettigrew said, unconcerned by the previous discussion. "Planning doesn't help much if you don't really know who exactly you're up against. If it's the highborn who have been shat on with private tutors since childhood, then you can expect more of a tactical approach. If it's the "poor and stupid but pure" faction, they'll just do as they please. And a mixed group? You just can't tell."
As he spoke, a portal opened in the room. Harry, who was simply not used to this kind of magic, was startled for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. So far he had not tried to create a portal himself. Unlike Apperating, Portal magic was less instinctive and had to be learned over a long period of time, like any other spell, and Harry wasn't sure if it was worth it, as his method of travel was simply superior. Well, except for the purpose of mass transportation. But what were portkeys for? He could create them and since jurisdiction was very far from his mind at the moment, the illegality of creating one no longer concerned him in the slightest.
One after the other, five white-clad and masked persons entered the room and closed the portal again. A tall man wearing a mask decorated with distinctive zigzag patterns said tersely, "Nothing to report. Delta Elephant Three."
With those cryptic words, he and his troop left the room. Harry looked after him, puzzled, and asked, "What was that supposed to mean?"
"It is a code phrase that must be spoken in this room after the troop has returned. It is used to stop an attempt at infiltration. The phrase is always determined anew for each mission. If it is spoken, there is a quick check for foreign mental influence and a progressively strengthening sleep spell.
"They will make it to the hospital wing, then they are gone. If they deviate from the path they will be shocked by the Wards of the Refuge. However, if it is not spoken within at least ten minutes of arrival, the troop members are eliminated. The same applies if the wrong code phrase is spoken. The code for today, by the way, is: Omicron Adder Eleven."
That was something Riddle could have explained to him in his so-called information pack. Harry shook his head. Was it suspicion? Or was the leader of the Fellowship merely trying to annoy him? It certainly wasn't a big deal and Walpole hadn't been surprised that he didn't know the procedure either.
Nevertheless, it seemed unprofessional to him to keep such important information to himself until shortly before the event. It was the same with the threat situation at the village. For this, too, Harry could have been better prepared if he had known that a retaliatory strike might be imminent. Or perhaps he should have thought about it himself.
"Masks on!", Walpole ordered the group. As the order was obeyed by those present, Harry memorised the masks worn by those present. Walpole's mask was very plain and bore a large deep blue gem on the forehead. Barlow, on the other hand, favoured many vertical black lines. His was otherwise quite generic. Pettigrew's mask reminded him of elongated African masks with highly exaggerated facial features. Unlike Lupin's mask, there was an angry expression carved into it.
"We use code names during every operation because some of us have marginalised but still public lives outside the community. Out there, you will call me Shine, Mr James. Mr Pettigrew goes by Wrath, Mr Barlow by Stripe and Mr Lupin by Teeth. What shall we call you?" wanted to know Walpole, whose voice now, as the mask was on her face, suddenly sounded pure and as clear as a bell.
This was the information Riddle had exceptionally given him. The name should be no more than two syllables long, but better only one, so that it could be called well. The decision had not been easy for him on the way here, but since it was basically an unimportant one, he had simply chosen a name that suited the mask, like most of the others present. Harry replied, "Grief will have to do."
His own voice now resembled a deep rumble. This was quite an elaborate spell on the masks, which Harry didn't really comprehend. It was obviously derived from the mask's chosen form, but exactly what criteria the mask used to determine this was beyond him. It probably required some sophisticated form of divination and he didn't know much about that.
Walpole and the rest nodded, accepting his code name. Secretly he wondered if any of them really needed this procedure, or if they were just mindlessly following a rule. But no matter what was right Harry appreciated brisk caution. Now that their preparation was complete, Walpole opened a portal and they all strode through.
When Harry had imagined what exactly this village looked like, he had conjured up a rather unflattering image in his mind. Barracks, dreary grey blocks of buildings. Basically, Soviet mass architecture had come to his mind. This thought had turned out to be fundamentally wrong. In fact, the place was more like a large village that had not lost its historical charm over the centuries.
Some buildings had the awkward shapes typical of magical dwellings, which were impossible to realise in Muggle buildings, if only for reasons of structural integrity. It was a picturesque settlement of rustic timber-framed houses. Obviously, the regime had not prescribed to the inhabitants how they had to build their houses. It seemed strange to Harry. After all, didn't this place show that the so-called Mudbloods had a fine sense of aesthetics that didn't match the coarse and crude creatures that the Pureblood Society was so fond of portraying the inhabitants as?
Perhaps that was one of the reasons for the repeated attacks on the community. They probably hoped that if the buildings had only been destroyed often enough, they would eventually stop bothering and finally hand the regime the image it wanted. For at second glance, there were not so few obvious ruins on the edge of the settlement where Harry patrolled along the road. Mere burnt wooden skeletons of buildings lying by the roadside like rotting cadavers.
He wondered how these attacks were portrayed by the regime. Would it admit that a group of vigilantes went around burning down the property of the lower class? He could not imagine that they would like that narrative. They would then be exposed as incapable of keeping the radical stirrings within their own elite in check. Harry could well imagine the government blaming the Muggle-borns themselves for those depredations, for instance, so that the notion of stupid or malicious dolts could be perpetuated. Disgusting. He hoped it wasn't so, but unfortunately it seemed too likely to rule out.
Suddenly Harry felt a shockwave of magical energy hit him, rushing through the village. He was pretty sure it was a Ward. Harry ran as fast as he could in the direction he suspected the enchantment had been cast. Because even though Anti-Disapperation Wards were probably the most common form of Ward in his world, those were always, by and large, enchantments that were bound to objects to give them greater permanence. For in order to undo this type of Ward, the object had to be scouted and destroyed or dismantled. There was, of course, the Anti-Disapperation Jinx, but this was quite short-lived, easy to undo and also had only a small perimeter. After a short diagnostic spell, it was clear that he was dealing with a Ward, even if he didn't know which one.
As Harry hurried to the place where he suspected the Wardstone, or whatever object had been used to bind the Ward, a loud voice resounded through the place: "Citizens of Slytherin's Burden, once again the treacherous nature of the lower blood has been exposed with great clarity. The great Albus Dumbledore was deceitfully and most brutally attacked and severely wounded by a band of thugs led by Tom Riddle. Of course, being the wonderful leader of our nation and the great wizard that he is, he was able to put his devious enemies to flight.
"Without outside financial support, this fool would not be able to pay these thugs. We know that some idiots in this village support the traitor Tom Riddle. The other citizens certainly know about this as well. And yet they have passed on no information to the Ministry. Accordingly, all the inhabitants of this village are subversive enemies of magical Britain. The Ministry feels its hands tied, but ours are not. You will rue the day you forgot your place! This village will bleed until it has no more blood! Know that the Order of Walpurgis is here to exact vengeance upon you!"
That sounded unpleasant. Harry was pretty sure he could disapperate in case of emergency, since whatever experimental magic Dumbledore had constructed in the Menagerie was certainly not yet common knowledge. But he wasn't there yet. True, the warning sounded drastic, but he had enough experience with the big words of terrorists and madmen not to see an attempt behind them to appear bigger than they really were.
He was the last of his troop to arrive at the far edge of the village, where opposite them six shimmering figures awaited them. The name Knights of Walpurgis seemed to be very literal. All of their adversaries wore massive plate armour, which, however, did not seem to hinder their movement.
Without waiting for any action from this force, he did cast a Deicio Perpetua at a tall one among the Order members. The spell was completely absorbed by the armour and with a gloating laugh the man continued his advance, now clearly in his direction. Gruffly he shouted in the direction of his allies, "Shine, why are these people using goblin-crafted armour? That information would have been important."
"This is new to us too, Grief!" the woman angrily burst out, also raining down curses on her enemies. Meanwhile, those had begun firing spells of their own in their direction. Mostly Killing Curses, as was to be expected with this uncreative lot. Only one of the Order knights in shining coppery armour seemed to prefer cutting curses, which he slashed into Lupin.
"Curses are useless! Use environmental and area spells!" shouted Harry before even turning to face his adversary in earnest. Walpole and Lupin were up against two knights each, while Barlow and Pettigrew were together against two. Only Harry had the dubious luck of being allowed to fight a normal duel.
Armour of this kind presented a great challenge for magical combat. This was true even for Harry, who was more specialised in curses and counter-curses. But he had not based his Mastery of Defence Against the Dark Arts solely on those, and he was quite capable in the two classes of spells that were helpful here as well: Transfiguration and Charms.
In the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, every Auror had to complete the training program for Goblin Uprisings in a rotation of at least three years. Even though his ministry was now genuinely committed to good relations with the goblins, they were not so naïve as to trust the goblins completely and allow themselves to be stabbed in the back at an inopportune moment.
Their magical armour was the main reason why goblins were very dangerous enemies. Even the strongest curses bounced off them - and that included even most sinister dark magic. Only some Killing Curses they could not block, most prominently Avada Kedavra.
Although Aurors were authorised to use the curse in the event of an uprising, Harry did not see it fit to mutilate his own mind for such a base purpose. There were other methods. But he never expected to have to deal with wizards who used those magical armours.
It was an increase in difficulty. Goblins had the disadvantage of not knowing how to make foci, which allowed spellcasting at a distance for the masses. A practised wizard could thus always create space between himself and his enemies among the goblins. Here that was not possible. In his world, of course, there had been attempts to imitate the goblins' artistry, but with few exceptions, that had failed just as much as the development of goblin foci of their own.
To deceive his opponent, Harry continued to fire weak curses in his direction until he did cast a special spell that only seemed to miss the man just laughed and scoffed, "What fools Riddle is putting in his squads these days! Scum like you should learn your place in the dirt."
It was the same arrogant voice that had given the speech. His opponent felt confident that he would be victorious. But Harry's spell had already begun to take effect. For as powerful as the goblins' armour was, it was mainly concerned with absolute curse protection.
And even goblins were limited in how much magic they could weave into an object. Harry guessed correctly that other spells would not be blocked. In this case, it was a modified form of the bubblehead charm. Only this one caused its victim to slowly suffocate. The only important thing was that the victim was unaware of the spell, as it was easy to lift.
Since Harry had already cast his most important spell, it was now a matter of distracting him until he showed obvious signs of failure. Harry's nimble handling of the Paretur and also his agile evasion protected Harry from the Killing Curses that rained down on him.
It was advantageous that there were enough objects here to put in the way of his enemy's spells. His adversary seemed to slowly realise that he was no incompetent dolt and began to use more elaborate spells. Harry just managed to dodge a rather dark frost spell. Instead, it hit a house front, which shattered on impact like window glass that had been punctured by a fist. And that was an strange sight with wood and stone.
Then Harry, with a grin behind his mask, used his favourite spell, Expelliarmus. In its usual unfocused form, it was normally used in such a way that the enemy's body had to be hit quite unspecifically. However, the versatile curse could also be used directly on the weapon itself. And one was not protected by armour. Of course, aiming was not easy. He missed Hand several times and then had to block another wave of spells from his adversary.
Breathing heavily, which the man probably uncritically took for a sign of a hard fight, the latter said between his spells: "Riddle has apparently confused new purebloods to fight his battles for him. You can return to the fold of the Pure Community if you take our righteous side now!"
Harry found this silly conversion attempt rather absurd, considering that the man had just declared war on a village for something it wasn't responsible for. Eventually his opponent merely staggered and Harry's disarming spell hit its target, which he caught nimbly. He now used two powerful Expulso curses to knock the man off his feet.
The first was swallowed by the armour as Harry had let it fly too far, the second fortunately exploded in front of his victim and he was flung down. Harry quickly rushed to the man and pulled off his helmet. The man struggled, but had no chance. Beneath him was a light blond mop of hair and a panicked face that reminded Harry of Lucius Malfoy, but looked different enough to make it clear that it was not him.
To conserve his own energy, Harry coldly cast the spell he disliked, with his wand pointed at the Malfoy-verse's temple: "Stupify!"
It was rather like putting an animal to sleep. A mercy really. For he did not plan to lift the stupify spell. This man had planned to raid a village and obviously kill innocent people. If he let him live, who could say how many he would have on his conscience in the future?
For a moment he had considered using the tracking potion on the possible leader of this Order force, but leaving him alive for that didn't seem worth the result. It was better for all concerned. Harry faltered for a moment. Something was wrong, unnatural about that thought, but he couldn't grasp it. He didn't have time for ethical dilemmas right now.
Harry left the man to die and rose. The skirmish continued and no one seemed to have realised Harry's victory. This gave him the opportunity to do something he had strongly advised his students not to do: use complex spells in a fight. He immediately began the wand movements for a spell he was sure could pierce one of these armours.
To be honest, this spell would probably even be able to destroy a Horcrux. Its hand movements, lasting over forty seconds and getting faster and faster, were simply absurd in a normal fight. They would be quickly interrupted, either by a necessary dodging movement or the need to block. But since no one was consciously aware of him, he would not waste the opportunity.
As he performed his protracted whirling movements and slowly moved closer, he watched the struggle of his two allies. Their adversaries were a knight in dull black and one in opulent gold. The latter seemed to be quite small and was obviously not a woman, if one could trust the design of the armour.
While the short man favoured Killing Curses, the other's choice was apparently completely confused. He too had the familiar green curses, but there were also spells that were more like schoolyard spells. Giggle jinxes, trip curses and simple transformations, even if he couldn't determine their type and manner from pure sight.
Harry didn't get to see their results in the end, for Barlow used an intriguing technique to block his opponents' curses. He had apparently taken a metal plate from somewhere and was sliding it across the battlefield with astonishing speed to catch his opponents' curses. Pettigrew, on the other hand, focused solely on the attack. To Harry's great displeasure, he also mainly used the Killing Curse, only occasionally interrupted by Curses of finely concentrated fire, which hardly seemed to have any effect.
After the final circling of his wand was complete, he whipped his wand towards the black knight's wand arm and shouted, "Calamitas Fulguris!"
A thick, glaring storm of pure white electricity hissed towards the black knight, tearing a hole in his chest and also setting fire to several trees far away. The accuracy of the spell was, unfortunately, one of its shortcomings, along with the long, always-to-be-spoken formula and the tedious wand-waving. All four participants in this fight looked in shock for a moment at the knight sinking to the ground.
Then came a shrill cry from the golden knight: "No, Sirius! No! No! No!", obviously quivering with rage, the golden coloured wizard leapt towards Harry and shouted, consumed with anger, "You killed him, now I'm going to kill you!"
It was an eerily familiar situation. The battle at the Ministry in which his Sirius Black had fallen came to mind. Backing away, Harry backed away from the golden knight, who was completely out of his mind, throwing around death curses. Barlow and Pettigrew nodded at Harry and quickly rushed to the aid of the other two as he moved further and further back into the village. Barlow still called out to him respectfully, "Good work, Grief!"
The Order Knight, who was quite young by the sound of his voice, heard this and shouted, "Grief? I'll make sure you monster will have something to grieve for!"
Harry decided to take the transfiguration route here. The young man was simply much more agile and less predictable than his first opponent. He was dangerous mainly because of his wild nature. He didn't seem to bother to aim accurately at all and increasingly damaged surrounding houses. So Harry pointed his wand at the ground, from which tentacles of earth slowly but surely formed, grabbing hold of the golden knight and wrapping themselves around him.
In the second step, he turned the earth into lead. Well, not really lead, but rather earth with all the properties of lead, but he had no need to be precise here. This act sounded easier than it was. For despite his imprecision, the young man had almost hit the mark on occasion. Harry was glad that here he could use Pertorquetur here without possibly hurting his allies.
With the knight's hands also finally securely bound, an Expelliarmus was enough to secure Harry's second wand of the evening. Harry directed one of the tentacles to pull the knight's helmet from his head, who was still hopelessly trying to wriggle away. The face that was revealed to him here was, as he had feared, very much like his own. Of course, just as he could rule out that it was Lucius in the case of the Malfoy knock-off, he knew that this was not a variant of himself.
But the resemblance was tremendous! The hair was a dark blond, the eyes brown and the face altogether a bit more pointed than his at that age, but the rest? That was like him. This had to be the son of James Potter in this world, of whom the misshapen merchant in the Diagon Alley must have spoken. He could now well understand how that person had come to the conclusion that Harry must have been a relative of these people.
Harry vaguely remembered the name, which corresponded to that of a great uncle long dead in his world, and said with an inclination of his head: "You call me a monster, Charlus Potter? One who goes about spreading terror and worse among innocent citizens does not have that privilege over one who defends those. Deicio Perpetua!"
The spell hit the now somewhat distraught Potter scion square in the face. Fortunately, this spell had no appreciable force, otherwise it would probably have broken the firmly fixed fellow's neck. For a moment, however, three other words were on the tip of his tongue: Conficio Miseriam semper. Then Harry realised, with widened eyes and a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he had made a gross mistake.
He had used this Killing Curse twice in quick succession a week ago and then not given it a second thought. Because simply too much had happened. And yet it was dark magic. It distorted one's perception, one's logic and even one's memory. Each destruction fed the next. The heightened urge to kill was a quality that all Killing Curses bestowed upon their user. He should never have entered a combat situation in this state. And now that it occurred to him, he had to ask himself: would he have let the leader of the troop die under normal circumstances?
With some effort, he gave up the idea of killing this boy too. He didn't want to murder someone so young, so he decided to at least seize the opportunity, especially since no one was watching him now. He quickly pulled one of the Tracking Potion vials from a pocket in his jacket and injected the potion directly into the youth's bloodstream. A useful spell. Next he cut a small wound in the young man's neck and closed it again after letting a few drops trickle into the other vial.
Then he sprinted back to the fight. To push his plan now had been an extremely selfish act, exposing his comrades-in-arms to unnecessary danger of fighting outnumbered. But he would certainly not get such a favourable opportunity again. The walk back allowed him a brief moment of reflection. He knew he was falling back into old patterns. This way of fighting had become so second nature to him, had become so much instinct, that he found it difficult to use lighter weaponry.
It was life or death. Like the Neo Death Eaters in his world. Killing saved more lives here than it devoured. It was, in a sense, a mercy for the world and the sufferers themselves. Oh, he still didn't like it, but he didn't have many options. If he had only incapacitated the silvery blond man who was his first victim, it would only have led to a spiral of escalation with this type of person. People like him did not accept defeat. He would have tried again and again, taking more and more lives with him.
Harry had acted like this in his early days as an Auror and had seen how little he was thanked by those who had spared his life. As soon as they were free again, they had continued with their murderous madness. No, these kinds of people could no longer mend their ways and it was more moral to permanently remove them from the overall context. In the Muggle world, rehabilitation of terrorists might have worked, in the magical one he had never really experienced it.
The temptation to continue the misdeeds was always too close in the form of a wand. Their deaths were a mercy to the world. And here in this dimension, he didn't even have the choice to try this frustration of locking away homicidal witches and wizards again. It was depressing. He had not known for a very long time whether this way of proceeding was the easy or the right choice. Both, neither of them?
Here he stopped his train of thought again. These were rationalizations. They followed a clear logic, but this was still not him as he knew himself. His memories were bent as if by a distorting mirror. He had killed in the past, but not always. Nor did all criminals fall back into their old patterns.
Too many, certainly, especially as far as the terrorists were concerned. But he only knew those who fell into his net again, all the others might live a quiet life beyond Harry's awareness and it just never came to his attention. By Merlin's beard, Harry really hated the influence of dark magic on the self! Even more tragic was, that most magicals never learned this.
The situation in front of the village had developed into an even fight three against three. Their team leader, however, was already lying lifeless on the ground. A curt Homenum Revelio told him that she truely was dead. Unfortunately, the spell did not tell him how long. He fervently hoped that he would not have been able to save her, if he had not taken the blood of his transdimensional half-brother.
Without delay, he threw himself back into the fight, using his earth tentacles as he had done with the young Potter. Unfortunately, the three in front of him were prepared for it and broke his animation with ease. Even the trick with the suffocation spell was futile with multiple targets, they would definitely recognise the bubble around the other's head even if it was shaped in such a way that the affected person himself was unaware of it.
"Teeth, take care of the fucking Ward!" shouted Pettigrew energetically as he continued to throw death curses around as if they were sweets.
The defence of their three adversaries was formidable. Mainly transfiguration based. It consisted of three unidentifiable lumps that were apparently simultaneously wielded by one of the female knights, whose armour was richly ornamented. The material stretched and moved quickly, making it almost impossible to get through. Lupin scurried away while they gave him as much cover as they could. The sooner he found the Wardstone, the better.
Barlow growled in frustration to Harry as he sent his metal plate hurtling through the air, "Grief, can't you try that lightning thing again?"
"Too complex," hissed Harry, who in turn was barely keeping up with Partur blocking various curses. One eventually got through the defences and hit Pettigrew, who collapsed, illuminated by green light. The temptation to use a death curse himself rose drastically within him. Forcibly, he pushed this back, urging himself to consider other options.
Finally Harry came to the conclusion that he had to take a risk and he tersely ordered Barlow, "Buy me a few seconds!"
Barlow did so by ramming his shield into the enemies and then blowing dirt and muck in the direction of his enemies with a very powerful wind spell. It wasn't exactly a feat of sophistry, but it was enough for Harry, in full concentration and with precise movements, to call out: "Nihsankalpa!" without being hit by other spells.
For a moment, everything in front of him was as if covered in golden dust. Although the armour swallowed a good part of it, the three of them also breathed in a fair amount and had thus fallen into the desired paralysis. So his fear that the armour would completely absorb the spell had not come true. It was their good fortune that the three of them, apparently fooled by their armour and the abilities of their defender, did not think of summoning a magical shield. A Protego would not have sufficed, but he trusted these enemies to be proficient with more sophisticated shields.
Harry called to Barlow as he started to sprint, "We need to rip their helmets off and incapacitate them while the effect lasts."
And they did. Barlow did use simple stupifys for this purpose, to Harry's displeasure, but with none of their attackers left, Harry accepted it.
"Cana Cairns, a master transfigurator and a favourite student of Dumbledore's. Umbra Avery, an expert in dark magic of every kind. Reginald Wood, another skilled Auror. We're lucky to have survived this. And Black, of course. Good thing that wanker is dead," Barlow remarked grimly.
"Who was their leader?" asked Harry.
Barlow explained with unease in his voice, "Titus Malfoy, eldest son of Abraxas Malfoy. Is he dead too?"
At this Harry nodded and Barlow cursed, "Damn! This could be a problem. Not that I think it's particularly unfortunate. But without Lucius, we're blind in the Ministry. He knows all our contacts. If he's pissed off because we've got his brother on our conscience, that would really suck. Who was the runt in the gold armour?"
"Charlus Potter. He's just unconscious. And pinned in a construct made of lead," Harry explained unhappily. But his thoughts were with Titus Malfoy. Yet another reason to clash with Riddle. Wonderful. As he thought this he felt the Ward collapse around them.
Lupin ran over to them and said frantically when he arrived, "We have to get out of here. Even if the Order sends someone else, like this the three of us can't defeat anyone."
"What should we do with the surviving Knights of Walpurgis?" asked Harry wearily. Casting Nihsankalpa at full intensity, two Deicio Perpetua, uncountable Pareturs as well as Pertorqueturs, and creating the massive transfiguration around Charlus Potter, was enough to drain anyone.
"We'll send them to Saint Mungos. While I'd rather they all died, I think we've done enough damage today," Barlow grumbled listlessly. "Three dead, two at your hands and young Charlie Weasley at Walpole's."
While Lupin prepared a portal - and it clearly took him longer than Riddle - Harry ran to the young Potter again and activated a portkey for him, which transported him to the hospital. Barlow probably did the same with the rest of their enemies and sent them away.
Harry tried to ignore the thought that he had been indirectly involved in the death of this world's Charlie Weasley. They weren't close, but they were friendly enough. He wondered how many other familiar faces he would see die in this world.
Shaking his head, he hurried back and helped Barlow and Lupin heave the bodies of their fallen comrades through the now stable portal. The fact that there were already coffin-like caskets for the deceased in the room made Harry wonder how often it happened that members of the Fellowship returned only as corpses. Finally they stepped through and closed the gate behind them.
After it disappeared with a soft hiss, Lupin explained: "We have to explain to Mr. Riddle immediately what happened. He'll be furious."
"What else could we have done?" Harry wanted to know indignantly. What right had Riddle to criticize them in this regard?
But Lupin replied, shaking his head, "It's not so much what we did or failed to do, as much as the result. I doubt he will condemn our actions. In fact, he'll probably approve. But three dead members of the order and at least two of them heirs from prestigious houses? Cleaning up the fallout will be quite impossible. It will irritate the regime to push even harder and hunt us down. A new level of escalation."
Harry nodded sullenly, watching as Lupin composed a short letter to Riddle and put his memories into one of the small vials that must have been stored in the room for just exactly that purpose. After an expectant look from Lupin, Barlow and he did the same and let strands of memory flow into the jars.
Then Lupin murmured, "Omicron Adder Eleven. Let's go."
Harry felt the magic of the refuge permeate his every pore. This was powerful sorcery. Once again, Harry had to ask himself what exactly this refuge had originally been. He could credit Riddle with creating such a great work, like an enchanted sanctuary, but this felt older and, more importantly, grown over time.
They strode out of the room together. Neither of them had removed the mask on their faces, for it was hard enough to keep on their feet at all with the growing fatigue. The time until he landed on a soft something was little more than a blur that already felt like a dream. Then his consciousness dropped and night fell around him.