Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claims of ownership.
Additionally, this story features offensive language and imagery, proceed at your own discretion
Hyperborean Lullaby
Interlude
Private Ryan Bentley had never been a superstitious man, but at this moment, he thought the universe was out to get him.
Just when things were starting to go his way. Just when he'd proposed to Annie, it all came tumbling down.
He'd been sorely tempted to burn his draft card, but he knew that if he were found, the punishment would be severe. So the young man resisted and within months, was on his way to fight in South Africa.
It was fortunate most of the other guys were just as inexperienced as he was, because he worried they'd behave like he thought they would - take away the one photo of Annie he'd taken with him.
Ryan's sweet dreams of Annie faded out as he was forced awake. His bunkmates were crowded around a window in the village cabin they'd taken refuge in.
"Whaz goin' on?" Ryan asked tiredly.
"Lieutenant Callaghan found something, I think," Bacon told him.
Ryan threw on his clothing haphazardly, looping the strap of his rifle around his shoulder. He went outside, where the other members of his unit were.
"Where's Aufner?" Ryan asked, gazing around at the broken conversation between Lieutenant Callaghan and one of the villagers.
"That's what the Lieutenant is trying to figure out," Jackson replied.
It had been a bit tense the previous night. Aufner was the only in their unit that could speak to the villagers. So if he was gone, that meant conversations were going to break down and they were going to have to continue behind enemy lines.
Honestly, Ryan had no idea how far along they were, but he figured they hadn't yet crossed into the Boers' territory. If they had, he felt that the villagers would've said something.
Lieutenant Callaghan barked an order at a soldier Ryan remembered was called Gordon, who bounded out of sight.
Callaghan gestured to Ryan and Jackson, to their mutual surprise. They stepped down off the porch and approached the man.
The lieutenant gazed at the leader of the village, who'd been glaring at him since their shouting match ended. Compared to the lieutenant's combed solid black hair, thin mustache, and pristine uniform, the village leader couldn't be described as anywhere near comparison.
The leader was a young man that Ryan privately thought must've fallen into the role of leadership. His clothes were dirty from farming, and he had shaggy brown hair that was tied back. His unattractive face was covered in pimples and patches of facial hair.
"Private Aufner told us this savage's name is Morné Kriel."
The man perked up a bit, and Ryan figured that that was indeed correct.
"He has so far refused to report to me where Aufner has been taken, so…" Callaghan trailed off, reaching inside his vest where he procured a handgun.
The leader blinked, but as he made a step back, his head was torn apart in pieces of bone, blood, and flesh.
Ryan fell, taken aback by the gruesome scene. For the longest time, he just stared uncomprehendingly at the dead civilian.
"Rally the savages!" Callaghan shouted.
All around the village, people dived back into their homes, in complete fear of what had just happened.
Ryan's eyes were drawn to the scene of a little girl being pulled back indoors.
"Yes, sir," Jackson said, and then marched off.
From inside the house they'd been lended, the unit was already moving to follow Callaghan's orders.
Always though, Ryan's gaze landed back on the corpse until he couldn't look at it any longer. He pulled himself to his feet and swung his rifle around. He went to the house where he saw that little girl.
Heaving his foot back, he thrusted it out, crashing it against the frail, wooden door.
Not once did Ryan question his orders. Not even when he kicked the door down and found a woman and her daughter cowering in the corner of the room. It didn't cross his mind how scared and confused they might be.
He didn't think at all if they understood why they were being taken by the men they housed in their small village just the day before.
Ryan aimed his rifle at the woman and her daughter, nodding his head at the door. After a moment, the two obeyed his command and they stepped out onto the street.
The woman whispered something to her daughter, and the weeping girl held herself against her mother.
One by one, the villagers were rallied in the street. Callaghan ordered Miller to take some soldiers with him to start digging a trench around the perimeter of the village.
Ryan was confused. Why would they be needing to do that? Had the villagers contacted the Boers? Were they in danger?
Around the corner, Gordon returned with the truck. Backing up into the village. There was a human-sized box on top of it. The weapon that would be used to destroy the Newcastle Signal Tower.
Ryan had to remind himself just what the mission they were assigned to was. The tower had to be destroyed because it was giving away the position of aircraft.
There was likely more to it than that, but Ryan found he didn't care too much. All he wanted to do was get this all done, and maybe, just maybe, he'd be allowed home again.
All of a sudden, one of the villagers' houses burst into flames. They protested but Jackson, Bacon, and a few others continued to point their rifles at the crowd of people.
Callaghan wasn't paying any attention to the fire, though. In his hand was some kind of note, and he read over it with excruciating detail.
By the moment, Ryan grew more and more unsure of his surroundings. He'd conjured up an image in his head of the leader going for a weapon of his own, and that's why Callaghan shot him.
Callaghan patiently folded the note up and put it in his pocket. He looked back at the cowering crowd. "We've got intel that you are harboring Boers here. I'll remind you that it is treason to hold enemy soldiers behind our lines."
This was news to Ryan. He had no idea that there were any soldiers here.
Everything caught up to him at once, then. The dead man, the war, and the fact he was in the middle of it. He took a breath, and then another.
"No one?" Callaghan asked.
And no one did respond. It didn't look like any of the villagers actually knew what the lieutenant was asking at all.
"Right." Callaghan nodded to Ryan, Bacon, and Jackson. "Fire."
Ryan's stomach sank. The fear he had growing steadily in the pit of his mind was confirmed. They weren't using scare tactics, they were actually going to kill these people!
Ryan thumbed the trigger, but he couldn't pull it. He just couldn't.
The woman that Ryan caught charged forward suddenly, and her daughter split off in another direction.
Bacon and Jackson opened fire at that moment, their bullets spraying them down. Ryan could do nothing but watch with clouded eyes.
Callaghan pulled his pistol around, whipping the woman who'd jumped for him in the face. She dropped to her knees, blood pouring from her brow. He shouted a command to Gordon.
Gordon, who'd Ryan completely forgotten about in the chaos, flipped his rifle around and fired a spray of bullets in the direction of the little girl.
She collapsed like a ragdoll, blood pooling under her small body.
It had all happened just like that, at the snap of the fingers. In just a few seconds that felt like they could've gone on for years.
"Imka!" the woman wailed, tears falling down her cheeks as she stared at her daughter.
Ryan felt vomit rising in the back of his throat, but he quickly swallowed it down. His ears were ringing as he tried to make sense of his thoughts.
Distantly, he heard sobbing from the woman.
In his daze, all he could do was watch as Jackson and Bacon stepped over the corpses, unloading another round of shots into bodies they thought moved.
"Is there something you want to say, Private Bentley?"
Ryan looked to Callaghan, who was giving him a challenging look.
What could he possibly say?
He swallowed and shook his head. "No, sir."
Callaghan nodded. He looked at Bacon. "What about you, Private Bacon?"
Bacon surveyed the carnage in front of him. "Just following orders, sir."
Callaghan gave another nod. He looked back at Ryan. "If you're feeling so disagreeable, maybe you can take this savage-" he kicked the woman in the ribs, and she doubled over, "-for your pleasures."
Ryan nearly fumbled with his rifle. The woman didn't seem to know what they were talking about, but she did know that it most definitely involved her. Ryan frantically shook his head.
Callaghan stared at Ryan until the young man dropped his eyes to the soil.
"I was right, then. You don't have the balls to do your damn job." Callaghan's face morphed into a snarl. "What use are you, then?"
"Sir," Ryan started, then cut himself off. Did he really want to say anything?
Callaghan raised an eyebrow. The sound of the woman's sobbing tore at him, scratching away at him.
"These are unarmed civilians, sir," Ryan finally said.
Callaghan stepped away, turning around so that his back was facing Ryan. Another shot rang out through the village and Ryan winced, fingering his rifle unsurely.
"If you're so questioning of my orders, then why don't you fuck off the way you came."
Ryan was debating on doing exactly that. He could take a vehicle back and tell everyone about what Callaghan and the unit did.
But the only vehicle they had was that one truck to move the weapon, and he couldn't just leave it here. The mission was too important.
Fine then, he could walk back on foot. It would take time, but he could do it.
"I don't hear Private Jackson or Private Lowell disobeying my orders, do you?"
Callaghan casually palmed his pistol. Before Ryan could say a word, he pointed it at the head of the woman and fired.
All Ryan could do was watch as another person was killed.
"If you can do something worthwhile, go help Miller dig out the perimeter," Callaghan ordered, already walking away.
The last of the shots echoed throughout the village, and rather than walk off to find someone, anyone to tell about what had happened today, Ryan obediently helped Miller and the others dig out a small pit.
He didn't know how long they did that before Jackson, Gordon, Bacon, and a few others dragged corpses one by one and tossed them into the pit.
If Callaghan thought Ryan would say anything, he was proved wrong when the young man kept his mouth shut.
Night fell without any progress being made on Newcastle. Once the bodies were disposed of in ditches, it was like everything went back to normal.
Or, as normal as could be.
Bacon, Jackson, and Miller took one of the village houses and for themselves, joking around as if they hadn't just participated in a village slaughter. Gordon and Lowell burnt down another house. Ryan, though, stayed in the house that was given to them by the villagers the previous day. He was preoccupied with his thoughts, and gazing lovingly at the photo of Annie.
Would she hate him for his inaction?
"Over here, gentlemen!" Callaghan called.
Ryan slid the photo back into his pocket and slung his rifle back over his shoulder. He stepped onto the porch, seeing that Callaghan himself was sitting in the back of the truck.
A few meters in front of them was the giant box. The weapon.
The rest of the unit gathered around.
"I've received word from command," Callaghan told them, gesturing with his shoulder to the radio inside the truck. "Our mission has been cut short."
There was a bit of cheering from the soldiers. Ryan was relieved, as well. Even though the radio hadn't been working properly the past few days, he was glad it was now. Maybe he'd get pulled back and defend the capital instead. Something that wouldn't get him killed, he hoped.
Ryan smiled despite himself.
"Alright, who's here ready to set their dick on fire, huh?" Bacon asked, throwing an arm around Jackson and Miller's shoulders.
"Easy," Callaghan warned. "The Boers are advancing, so we've been ordered to activate the weapon." He nodded at the box.
More than a few of the soldiers looked curious, Ryan among them.
"What's in the box, sir?" Private Toliver asked.
Callaghan gave Toliver a stern look. "That's top secret, not even I know. However, I do have the code to start it."
Callaghan hopped out of the back of the truck and reached inside, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something down and folded it up.
"Unfortunately, I have to leave you here but I'll be back in the morning." Callaghan didn't elaborate, instead he signaled for Ryan to step forward. "So you'll have to be the one to start it up."
Without so much as a 'goodbye', Callaghan turned away and entered the front of the truck, and drove off, disappearing into the night.
Ryan watched the truck go for as long as he could before he looked down at the note. Why had it been given to him? Callaghan hated him, he was sure.
"Well, let's see what it is, shall we?" Bacon walked up to Ryan's side.
"He didn't tell us when to use it," Gordon reminded them, ever loyal to Callaghan alone.
"Well, he gave it to us, didn't he?" Jackson replied.
"Yeah, maybe for when the Boers are on top of us," Gordon sternly answered.
Ryan thought that they bickered like teenage girls.
"Why don't you weigh in, Bentley? Seeing as you're the one with the code," Miller said.
They turned their attention to Ryan.
'You have no right to ask me to do anything,' he thought about saying, but discarded it. Later. Now just wasn't the time.
Ryan looked down at the code.
"Yeah, alright. Let's do it."
Gordon and a few others looked uneasy, but stepped away from the box to allow Ryan through.
The best way the box could be described as a giant safe. On the side of it was a keypad for numbers to be punched in to start the weapon up.
Ryan wondered if there was something inside it, or this was it as it was. Some kind of weapon of which the likes had never seen before, and he was among the few to see how it worked.
Ryan dropped to his knees in front of it, looking down at the note, and then at the keypad. He hovered his finger over the first button, and then pressed down on it, then moved to the second without a beat.
Then he paused.
"What is it?" Toliver asked.
"It says there needs to be a pause?"
Ryan continued on, pressing the next two digits, and then pausing again before pressing down on the final two.
The shifting of gears inside the box reverberated in their surroundings, and Ryan took a sudden step back at the sound of it.
Suddenly, a door opened from the box, slowly swinging open, revealing a darkness from inside the box. Like an empty safe.
Ryan blinked and took a step closer to examine what was inside. Was it so dangerous that it really needed to be locked away in a giant safe.
He stopped, his heart pounding in his chest.
He could've sworn he heard something that sounded like growling.
Growing uneasy, Ryan turned on the flashlight that he'd had strapped to his chest, lighting up the interior of the box.
He could've screamed.
It was a man, one that looked like he deteriorated beyond all recognition. He had dirty, pale skin with cuts all across his face. It looked like the side of his jaw had been shot off, leaving a gaping opening to reveal incredibly sharp teeth. And his eyes were impossibly wide.
Ryan took a hurried breath, stumbling back.
He wasn't wearing any shoes, and his impeccable uniform was dirtied with dried blood around the collar. There was a nametag on his breast that made Ryan's heart skip a beat.
'M. Callaghan'.
"What the fuck is that!?" Bacon yelled.
The creature, for that's what it was, pounced first, tackling Ryan down before he could swing his rifle around. It was faster than he anticipated.
Fiery hot pain enveloped him as the creature bit its teeth into Ryan's neck, pulling a chunk of flesh out.
Ryan screamed in agony, but he couldn't pay attention to what the other soldiers were doing. The creature jumped off him and Ryan dropped his weapon in favor of clutching his bleeding wound.
He titled his head up, watching in enraptured horror as the creature tore Jackson and Bacon apart. The bullets that the others shot at it didn't seem to do a thing, and soon it was lunging for the others, too.
Ryan slumped back to the ground and rolled over. Raising one hand, he tried to pull himself away from the massacre.
He struggled forward a foot, and then another, before he fell still, blood gurgling out of his mouth.
"Annie," he whispered, and then his struggle ended.
Amidst the screams of terror and gunshots that had no impact, nobody noticed as the corpse of Ryan Bentley rolled over, eyes grey, and so slowly stood up.
Fear was a practice he'd never partaken in. He'd always thought it for the weak, and something to exploit when there was something to gain.
It was a construct he'd never been able to understand, and that's what set him apart from the rest.
Fear was a useful tool to the eye of the beholder.
As Bruno Richthofen walked down the cold hall of the basement, he didn't feel any fear. Instead, he felt excitement for whatever it was that faced him.
Opening the door at the end of the hall, Richthofen was faced with the three Kommandanten that had apparently already arrived.
Two of them looked at Richthofen while the third just continued to stare at the ceiling, like he was lost in thought.
Richthofen stepped inside, the door closing behind him. His eyes scanned the space and each individual carefully. A flurry of thoughts came by, whispering to him the things he knew about them.
Kommandant Elliot Fox led the Waffen-SS Camelot Legion. Of the three, he was the only one that decided to walk around the relatively empty room, but was wise enough to keep his hands off of anything.
Kommandant Josef Pressler was in charge of the Waffen-SS Werwolf Legion. He hadn't once taken his eyes off the ceiling since Richthofen had come in.
Kommandant Helmut Schreck was the man that led the Waffen-SS Spartan Legion. He hadn't stopped staring at Richthofen, perhaps coming to his own conclusion about the unknown third man in the room.
There was additional information about them that hid in the depths of Richthofen's mind, but they weren't important enough to be scraped out.
Pressler broke the silence of the group first, reaching a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a small silver container. He popped it open without looking, and took a small, solid red pill between his fingers. Bringing it up to his mouth, he clamped his teeth around half of it.
The pill broke in half with a loud cracking sound, and Pressler swallowed it down. His fists clenched, and he let out a short breath. He shut the silver container and put it back in his pocket.
Pressler, at last, dropped his gaze from the ceiling and sprung his attention onto Richthofen. "Oh, so it seems we aren't alone."
Richthofen moved to the same couch that Schreck lounged on. He sat beside him on one of the few things that furnished the concrete basement.
Schreck was a man that would probably turn heads. His white mane of hair stuck up in all sorts of different directions, and his pale face was covered in scars from a failed poisoning assassination. There was a device that could only be compared to headphones that he'd attached to his ear that went around the back of his head to connect to the other one. A red light blinked steadily from the left ear.
Pressler leaned back in his uncomfortable chair. "Any guesses on why we're here?"
"I suspect," Fox began with a theatrical movement of his arm, "that we're being rewarded for our services."
"Careful, Fox. One would think you're only in it for the glory," Schreck smiled disparagingly, and the expression on his face screamed just what he thought of that.
Fox gave a little shrug. It was an open secret among the three legions that Fox was really only in it for exactly that. He loved to be in the public eye and he loved the attention he got from it.
Schreck crossed his legs. "I thought it would be rather obvious, ja? We're getting new assignments."
"Oh, I hope so," Fox blathered on. Richthofen figured he must really love the sound of his own voice. "It's getting boring; patrolling the desolate wastelands of der Norden."
Schreck fixed a stare on the tall man. Fox met it.
Pressler tossed his own thousand-yard stare at Richthofen. "What I'm trying to say is who are you and why are you here?"
"Your best guess is as good as mine, Kommandant," Richthofen replied.
Pressler mirrored Schreck's crossed leg, and Richthofen figured the man was lost in thought once again.
"Helmut, your staring makes me wonder if you want to bed me like one of your socialites."
"Curious that you're the one to think that," Schreck sniped back.
Fox frowned.
"What is it that you're on? Five?"
Pressler blinked and finally looked away from Richthofen. "Five women that you couldn't get to marry you. Quite pathetic, isn't it?"
"I disagree," Fox argued, "I've managed to sniff out Untermenschen hiding in plain sight. And they've helped to bolster my numbers."
Schreck said nothing.
The door opened and the four men in the room snapped their gazes to it.
The Reichsführer-SS stepped inside, his ever present Private Secretary on his heels.
"Heil Himmler!" the four men inside the room saluted, bending their arms and pointing their palms outward.
The Reichsführer-SS moved past them without saying a word. He approached the wall and only then did he turn to face them.
Zorn, the Private Secretary, removed a small pile of folders and offered them to the Reichsführer-SS.
Heinrich Himmler took the top folder and opened it. In front of him, the group of three nervously collected themselves, wisely staying silent.
Kommandant Fox, on the other hand, dropped to his knees in front of the Reichsführer-SS and dropped his head like he was going to kiss his shoes.
"Mein Reichsführer," he babbled, "I am so privileged to be here in your presence! I have done just as you have asked, and the heathens to the north have fallen in line…"
Schreck and Pressler shared a look as Fox groveled. They shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Richthofen took notice of the growing look of disgust on the face of the Reichsführer-SS.
"Fox, enough," Himmler ordered, and Fox instantly fell silent. For a moment, Richthofen held his breath eagerly for the blood of the inane commander.
For once, though, Fox knew to shut up. He slid backward into the only empty chair in the room beside Pressler.
Schreck's pale face regained its color once he thought that Fox would not be executed for speaking so far out of turn.
However, the Reichsführer-SS pierced Fox with a cold glare that quickly morphed into neutrality.
"Remind me, Kommandant Fox, how is it you came to your current position?"
Fox sat straighter, posturing himself like a peacock. "Mein Reichsführer, I have been with the Schutzstaffel for ten years and I fully intend to stay with you for forty more. I climbed up the ranks because I believed in the cause."
"Good, good," Himmler said with a slight nod. "Then I trust you have always been loyal to me?"
That was an odd question to ask, but Fox gave a fervent nod. "Of course! How could the degenerate Untermensch ever compare!?"
Himmler circled the room slowly, his slow pacing giving Schreck and Pressler the smallest hints of anxiety.
Slowly, the Reichsführer-SS came to a stop at the door on the other end of the room. "So you've made it through your examination?"
"I have," Fox stated proudly.
"Then the only thing questionable about you is your English ancestry," Himmler said, his cold eyes bearing down on the commander.
Fox opened his mouth and then closed it. "I'm sorry, I don't understand, mein Reichsführer."
After a moment of silence that had grown increasingly tense, Fox started to squirm under the glare of the Reichsführer.
"It's a simple question. Are you more loyal to your degenerative people or the state that provided for you?"
Fox didn't understand. He'd done everything for the state, why were his loyalties being questioned? What had he done wrong?
"The Ordensstaat!" he called out, and he felt like he only dimly heard his own voice.
The tense silence returned twofold.
Himmler looked disappointed. His flat voice cut through the room like a knife. "Can no one be trusted?" he asked like it was just the two of them in the room. "It took far too long to see the traitor in front of me."
Fox's voice went dry and he stood up. "Reichsführer, I haven't betrayed you," he argued with as much dignity as he could manage.
"Come, the most we can be with each other is honest," Himmler gave him an empty smile, his beady eyes glaring at Fox with disdain.
"Please, Reichsführer! I haven't betrayed you!" Fox declared with a voice that grew with panic.
"You had something very alarming to hide," Himmler said, like Fox hadn't spoken at all. "I had you analyzed, and I learnt of you and your blue blood companions praising the English lifestyle."
Fox gaped like a fish.
Before the tall commander could say anything, the door to the basement opened suddenly, revealing a small group of Camelot Legion men.
Fox took a startled step back but was quick to recover. Desperately, he shouted, "The Reichsführer is betraying the state! Kill him!"
The men that Fox thought were loyal to him raised their weapons, but not at Himmler as he so desperately hoped. They pointed them at Fox, instead.
"Wait, please!" Fox babbled, but couldn't make out any more words before the butt of a gun slammed against his head and he collapsed.
Rolling around onto his arms, he tried to crawl and push himself onto his knees, but was quickly grabbed by the hair and shoulders, and dragged back.
"Mein Reichsführer!" Fox pleaded over and over, kicking and screaming like a toddler as he was dragged out of the room and out of sight.
The door was shut just as instantaneously as the once commander was taken away. His screams rose in pitch, echoing throughout the room as he was taken further and further away.
Such a momentous moment passed in the blink of an eye.
"I wished to speak with my Waffen-SS Kommandanten personally. The Untermenschen are foul things that create a rot in our society. Delve deeper into finding them."
The Reichsführer-SS spoke like not a thing had happened a moment prior, even as the screams continued to vibrate around the room.
Himmler opened the folder that remained in his hand and slid a series of photos out. "Your new assignment, Kommandant Schreck-" the Kommandant in question sat up a little bit straighter, "-is to liquidate these states that have been sighted with a cancer."
A smile flashed across Schreck's face, and it was like a completely different man inhabited his body.
"It will be done, Reichsführer." Schreck bowed his head.
"See that it is," Himmler stated coldly.
Zorn handed the photos to Schreck and Richthofen got a decent glance at one of them. Südbereich, one of them read.
"Kommandant Pressler," Himmler said without looking at the man. "I'm placing you in charge of the destruction of schools that still teach the self-destructive English language."
Pressler nodded.
When nobody said anything, Himmler continued, "What do you know of the contemporary Englishmen?"
Englishmen. Richthofen didn't think it was a word he'd heard been used in years. The last person he'd expected to ever use it was the Reichsführer-SS himself.
"Cretins," Pressler eventually said after a moment of deliberation. "The lesser men who sabotage themselves and the great society around them in an inability to accept facts."
"It's remarkable what proper teaching can do for a person," Himmler commented. "You know all about that, I'm sure. You used to be a teacher
"A very long time ago now, mein Reichsführer."
"Then you understand why the Englishmen needs to be wiped from the slate. So you will start with the schools."
The smile fled from Himmler's eyes, and Pressler replied in the affirmative.
The Reichsführer-SS lifted the third and final folder. "In my hand is the report on your operation in the Third Boer War, Bruno Richthofen."
Richthofen came to attention.
"The report indicates your exploits among the Americans," Himmler said without a change in expression.
The eyes of the other three men turned to him.
"That is correct, mein Reichsführer-SS." Richthofen inclined his head.
"And you completed your objective?" Himmler asked in a monotone.
"As I understand it, mein Reichsführer-SS, the zombie pandemic you'd facilitated has broken out."
Himmler did not smile or grin.
"The war has slowed to a crawl. It will be just as you envisioned it: an eternal war."
The Reichsführer-SS did not at all seem perturbed by the news. Rather than say anything about the information shared with him, he moved on.
"Your next assignment, Richthofen, is to interrogate your predecessor, Fox, on his companions in the English debauchery. The Waffen-SS Camelot Legion will be at your disposal."
Without another word, the Reichsführer-SS was already on the move and out the door.
In light of his apparent promotion, Richthofen went through as many torture methods as he could conjure up in his mind's eye.