Chapter 2:
"My research suggests that it is unto them we owe the existence of the Magical Arts. Both the Arts. Without their presence on Earth, I do not think we would have magic at all. The question I now find myself asking is, if these beings are as powerful as I think, what force could have possibly imprisoned them?"
From the Diary of Merlinus Caledonensis; 537 Common Era.
Harry and his friends snuck down the cement-lined ridge, the River Thames limping along ahead of them. Underneath an old footbridge that had definitely seen better days, the trio stopped beside a drainage pipe. James quickly pulled the grate open, and Emily and Harry slipped inside, Mak flying through the metal bars. James closed the cover behind them, and they trudged forward in silence, slowly being absorbed by the darkness. The journey into the Bunker was considered sacrosanct. You weren't to speak or use any lights of any kind while making the trip. Any sound you made inadvertently was to be covered up immediately. It was all for protection and anonymity. If there were no sound from where there should be none, no one would come to investigate. Only a person led into the Bunker could find their way, and there were only three entrances inside at all. One was old sewage pipe through which Harry and his friends currently walked; the second was in the London Underground, hidden in a service tunnel off Barking Station; the last was the real entrance and exit – through the old manor staircase – and as such the one nobody dared use. Eventually, after about ten minutes of walking down the straight pipe in pitch blackness, they turned a corner and a faint gold light-filled Harry's vision. It was a single oil lantern, left illuminated for Harry's team, which would be extinguished by Sammy when she made her way back early the next morning – she would be staking out the House to make sure nobody followed Harry and the others, and to see what the cops – or Aurors, as the one-eyed-man had called them – would do. Harry stepped up to the end of the pipe and ran his hand over the stone. His fingers caught on a thin metal grate in the rock, and he knocked on it three times. A few moments later, a circular section of the wall about a metre tall, dripping and damp, swung inward. Light poured from inside, accompanied by the muted sound of voices. Mak flew inside, and James and Emily followed after. Finally, Harry ducked through, and he nodded to Kaleb, a light-haired thirteen-year-old with Autism who was on shift to man the door that night. He saluted Harry, as many of the younger kids tended to do, and slipped outside to check the oil in the lamp. Keeping the thing lit was an expense, but nothing electric would work in the damp, and none of them could afford to waste the batteries in a torch by leaving the light on all night. Oil was surprisingly easy to get your hands on if you knew where to look. Batteries, not so much.
Harry let out a breath he'd been holding since they fled the man's house. Mak came to a rest on his shoulder, folding her wings around her and leaning her head against his neck. Harry put his hands against the railing and took a second to look out at his world.
It was a World War Two era military bunker designed for protection during the London Blitz, and after, reinforced – as best as the technology of the time could afford – to be Nuclear proof as well. The builder - a wealthy general who'd owned the manor above - had died in the Korean War, and his daughter had inherited the property. She hadn't lived in the house, preferring to stay with her husband, but hadn't sold it. An enterprising thief, Daniel Raymond, had discovered the Sewer entrance and used the Bunker for drug-storage, even adding the train-station entry, so he didn't have to lug his goods up and down the pipe. Ironically, he was caught using that very exit by a janitor in the 80's, who turned him in to the police. Or, more specifically, a dirty cop called Tam Elthor. Tam, who had accrued rather large gambling debts, used the drugs to pay off his debtors. He burned the rest. Tam had then forgotten about the Bunker for a good five years. Until he was arrested for a crime he actually hadn't committed. Let free by his sympathetic partner, Tam had gone to hide in the Bunker, only to find that a group of illegal refugees fleeing deportation had found the place first. In the nearly two decades since then, the Bunker had become a haven for the lost, the discarded, and the hopeless. They had a few contacts with sympathetic outsiders, two nurses, a couple of cops from a few different precincts, even an electrician.
The Bunker itself was quite large, about the size of a football field, sectioned off into several different areas by walls and curtains added later on from salvaged sheets. A metal gangway ran a ring around the facility providing access to the dingy electric lights hanging from the roof – most of them had turned yellow with age. They had electricity thanks to the old thief, who'd tapped a nearby underground cable, and the original plumbing still worked reasonably well. The well, which dominated the communal space – comprised of several ratty couches set around a large fire pit and a few old wooden tables used for dining and meetings – hadn't worked for some time, the water trapped below by debris jostled free by-passing trains and the passage of time. Harry had fixed that himself – it was one of the first times he'd ever used his gifts. The second most important thing in the Bunker he'd done, in his opinion at least, was the spa he'd carved out of the ground in the corner of the Bunker, kept perpetually powered by geothermal energy from very deep beneath them. Opposite the junction with the spa was the kitchen. It was a modest kitchen, and by modest he meant nowhere near good enough to feed everyone in the Bunker in a reasonable time – they had allotted dinner times for everyone to compensate. They had three fridges… well, they had two working fridges, the third one they used as a pantry; two ovens, and a hot plate – gas-powered (gas, another easy thing to steal from service stations). Aside from their prized bathroom – powered, thanks to Harry, by the same geothermal source as the spa – the rest of the space was taken up by bedrolls, sleeping bags and blankets strewn across the floor. The three bedrooms, separated from the main area by walls from the original design, had been repurposed into a gender-specific room each, and Nylah's medical room – not that they had much in the way of supplies, but she made do. To Harry and the three-hundred or so homeless people who lived here, it was home.
Harry followed James and Emily down the rickety metal stairs of the gangway and down to the ground floor. Picking their way between sleepers, they eventually reached the firepit, which crackled faintly in the relative silence of midnight. The only voices came from the four figures sitting on the couches around the fire.
Bran Alvere was a weedy man, but then, most of them were weedy. He was tall and had jet black hair that was starting to grey. He had a haunted look in his eyes typical of war veterans. Bran had been a prisoner of war in the first Gulf War. He'd come home to find his father and brother dead and his cancer-riddled girlfriend pregnant. Most would have committed suicide at all that horror, not Bran. He had a daughter, named after her long since deceased mother, to live for. On the couch beside him was old Tam Elthor. The grizzled ex-cop, his thin grey hair and long since receded hairline belaying his age, hadn't seen sunlight in years, and the paleness of his skin was a testament to that. Nylah said he didn't have long now. Nylah sat in a single armchair nursing a cup of coffee. She still wore her nurses' scrubs; she must have just gotten back from her shift at the hospital. Nylah was a young woman in her early twenties with black hair, though not as dark as Bran's, meticulously braided in a single thick strand down her back. She'd wanted to be a medical researcher, even gotten into a prestigious university to do it; the girl was a genius, no doubt about it. Until a drunk driver left her the only survivor of a car accident, killing both her parents and leaving her with a permanent limp. Unable to pay her parents mortgage, she'd been forced out onto the streets, unable to afford the expensive tuition. Now she lived in the Bunker and worked as a poorly paid nurse in a shady part of town patching up druggies, taking care of teenage binge drinkers, and the survivors of muggings. The fourth and final member of the Bunker's hodgepodge leadership group was Adam Cauthon, a blonde-haired man in his early forties with a mischievous look about him, sitting in a rusty wheel-chair. Adam had been thrown out of home at sixteen when he admitted to liking men. Since then he'd drifted from odd-job to odd-job, learning what he could of various trades. He was a reasonably skilled plumber, and a passable electrician, but his real passion was theatre. He'd spent years trying to get work at any of the various shows and plays around London. Finally, five years ago, he'd gotten his big break, only to have it snatched away from him in a terrorist attack which left him paralysed. Unconscious with no one that cared for him, his landlord had cancelled his rent, and he'd lost the opportunity he'd been craving for his entire life – there's no such thing as an actor in a wheelchair after all.
A bunch of misbegotten wastes, cast adrift, forgotten, uncared for. That was what they were. What they all were. But they had each other, and Harry thought that was better than all the riches in the world.
"How'd it go?" Bran asked, catching sight of them. The trio sat down together on a vacant couch, while Mak dozed on Harry's shoulder.
"You want the good news first or the bad?" James asked, wearily. Nylah groaned.
"The good," Adam begged, leaning forward as best he could.
"He's not a predator. There were no girls, boys or any paraphernalia in his house at all."
All four of them breathed sighs of relief.
"And the bad?" Tam pressed, his voice croaking.
Emily and James looked at Harry, but he said nothing. He was too busy staring into the flames, watching them dance across the wood, yet another thing that was easy to steal. It really did amaze him the things that were easy to steal and the things that weren't. When he said nothing, Emily took up the story. She explained about the old man, the stick-like weapon he'd used that shot bolts of energy, one of them leaving her paralysed.
"Harry? Do you know anything?" Bran asked.
"No," he whispered, "Nothing at all. I've told you my story. Everything I know about myself. I was dumped at the Dursley's by persons unknown, I don't know my parents' names or what they looked like. If Mak hadn't come and found me, I'd probably been beaten to death, and my corpse shoved in the cupboard under the stairs until the smell got so bad Aunt Petunia ordered my uncle to throw me in the landfill."
"But surely there's something… If this man is like you, then maybe you aren't as alone as you thought," Nylah tried. Mak began to snore softly on his shoulder.
"Mak says he wasn't like us. Similar, but different. She doesn't understand it any more than I do." Nylah sighed. She'd spent so long trying to find a cause, or a source, for Harry's strange abilities. But between their limited access to resources and the sheer breadth of mythology that had grown up around the concept of Fairies, it was virtually impossible to learn anything useful. Emily placed a hand on Harry's arm and squeezed. He gave her a smile in thanks.
"Well. At the very least. We now know there's some new threat out there. People who have powers like yours, if not quite the same. We'll see what Sammy has to report in the morning, for now, get some sleep, all of you," Tam said, before grabbing hold of his cane and pushing himself up. Nylah was at his side in an instant, helping him out of the circle of couches and off to his own bed. Harry stood up, bade the others goodnight, and made his way towards his sleeping bag – an eleventh birthday present from Bran – tucked away against the far wall. He gently lifted Mak off his shoulder and lay her down in the tiny bed he'd made for her. It wasn't awe-inspiring. A bubble wrap mattress wrapped in cling-wrap to stop the squishing sounds, with a blanket made from the sleeve of one of his shirts, and a pillow of cotton buds stuffed inside a baby's sock. He'd never forget the look of absolute glee on her face when she'd seen it for the first time. They'd only been together for about six months back then, still living in a nook under a tree in the national forest land near Little Whinging. How far they'd come since then. She'd refused any attempt on Harry's part to replace the bed with a new one.
He tucked the blanket up to Mak's chin, squeezed himself inside the sleeping bag, and drifted off to sleep.
Harry awoke the next morning to the sound of hushed voices. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, blinking rapidly to dispel the haze of sleep.
"I don't like this," Bran's voice whispered.
"Sammy, look me in the eye, would you?" Nylah… Sammy! She was back. It must have been morning. He threw off his sleeping bag and climbed to his feet, rapidly pulling his threadbare grey shirt over his head.
"Harry?" Mak whispered, waking from her own slumber, "What is it?"
"Sammy's back." Harry didn't wait for Mak, she'd catch up when she was ready; instead, he hopped over sleeping people, or those in the process of waking. He reached the common with the couches, and the group of about twenty parted to let him through. One of the few benefits of being known for your awesomeness. Bran, Nylah, Adam, Tam, Emily and James were standing in a tight circle around Sammy – a cute red-head Irish girl who was freakishly tall – who was sitting in Nylah's armchair. She had a dazed look about her, and she was swaying slightly. No… He'd seen that look on too many of his friends. Sammy wouldn't… no, he wouldn't believe it. She wouldn't waste rations on something like that, and she certainly wouldn't do it while she was on a mission. Missions were Sammy's life!
He pushed into the ring and knelt down next to Nylah, who was shining a light in Sammy's eyes.
"Heart-rate is normal, so it's not a stimulant. Skin isn't clammy, so not alcoholic. A hallucinogen perhaps?" She muttered to herself.
"Not a hallucinogen," Harry said, staring at Sammy's glassy eyes. "If it was that, she wouldn't have made it through the tunnel."
"Agreed. Emily! Fetch my kit. James, freshwater, quickly as you can. Someone else get a cloth." Emily, James and Mary – a nine-year-old raised in the Bunker after being found, abandoned, at only a few months old – all hurried away. Mak chose that moment to fly down and hover in the air, observing Sammy's distant expression. Sammy turned her head, and her eyes fixed with razor accuracy on Harry, all glassiness vanishing.
She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, and she broke into a coughing fit.
"Sammy! Careful now, relax, relax…" Nylah said, grabbing the other girl by the shoulders and attempting to ease her back into the chair.
"Harry! She'd been touched! I can feel foreign power in her mind!" Mak screamed.
Sammy chose that moment to finally push the word in her throat out.
"Run," She whimpered, before her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she collapsed into the couch.
Everything seemed to happen at once. Nylah let out a strangled cry, Harry jumped backward, already preparing a bolt for the nearest exit, dozens of 'crack!' sounds, like an engine kick-back, echoed throughout the Bunker. A hand grabbed Harry's shoulder. He jerked his elbow back into the person behind him and grabbed the hand with his opposite arm. Static surged along his arm and into the person's hand. The next second, he jerked upwards with a scream, hurtling towards the roof – gravity pulling him in the opposite direction. Only then did Harry spin around. That's when the screaming started.
Eleven people, twelve counting the person now stuck to the roof, all wearing flowing red robes and feathered caps, had appeared out of thin air in a circle around the firepit and the gathered crowd. All of them had the shafts of wood in their hands, and all of them were pointed at Harry.
"DOWN!" He screamed, then, in defiance of his own statement, he jumped up into the air, the Fusion Force pulling him in the same direction as the flying man. Bolts of red light flew into the air, but the people of the Bunker were used to being afraid for their lives. Anyone standing dropped on Harry's command, and only those closest to the red lights were hit – some four people by Harry's rapid count. If the cracks didn't wake up those who slept, the shouts and cries of terror certainly did. Within seconds, pandemonium engulfed the entire refuge as people bolted towards the closest exits, regardless of who the threat was. A threat was a threat, and to people on the edge of society, a threat could come from anywhere and anyone. Harry dropped back to the ground, using the crowd to hide him from the people in red.
"Stop! Muggles! I demand you stop at once!" Harry didn't know which red-cloak said the words first, but they were quickly repeated by several others.
"Harry Potter! Surrender yourself immediately."
Shit. These must be the people the one-eyed-man had mentioned. The Aurors. Who the fuck was that guy?
Mak flew up beside Harry, a look of utter panic on her face.
"They're all wrong, Harry. It… it makes me want to vomit!"
"Sammy?"
"Fine. She snapped out of whatever that other power was. She was being controlled. They must have found her scouting the building and sent her in here so they could find you."
"But who are they?!"
"I don't know." Harry cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. Three of the red-cloaks had Nylah, Adam, Tam and Sammy at stick-point by the couches. Another four were firing bolts of light in all directions, felling as many escapees as they could. He caught a glimpse of James, and crazy Martin before they fell to the ground, stunned. At least they aren't dead.
A hand slipped into his, and he jolted, preparing to banish a red cloak to the roof again. But the hand's owner was Emily. Her face was ash white, and she was shaking like a leaf, but her eyes were firm. On his other side, Bran, moving far faster than Harry had ever seen him move before, pushed up to them. This stream of people was heading for the train station entrance. This many people coming out of that entrance? Dangerous. If somebody saw…
He couldn't let himself think about it. The crowd swept him away, and he tried to hide as best he could.
"There! North exit!" The voice came from above, and Harry groaned. Of course, the one on the roof could see him from the vantage point. The vantage point Harry had given him. Fantastic. He and Emily pushed through the door and into a short earthy tunnel. They ran, people in front and behind them, for less than thirty seconds, before they burst back into the light. The door to the service tunnel was already open on the other side, and Harry could see a station cop being jostled by the crowd of homeless people, trying to control the outflow. If they waited any longer, he'd see the entrance.
Harry made a split-second decision. He pushed Emily and Bran behind him, and pulled the stone up out of the ground, using the Strength Force to infuse it to the roof, covering the door and completely hiding it from discovery. The people behind would be trapped inside, but Harry had a feeling they would be fine. Those Aurors wanted one thing and one thing only. Him. They didn't care about the people of the Bunker. Oh god, what had he got himself into? He had been trying to do the right bloody thing, showed where that got you. Hunted by idiots in red capes like the Superman Corps.
Emily and Bran kept Harry's head down, Mak fluttering beside them, frantically looking behind as they pushed through the crowd. The marshal was shouting for order, but everyone was ignoring him. They burst out the end of the tunnel and onto the platform, still underground. The station had concrete flooring, but the walls were all white tilling, with various posters and advertisements stuck to them. Several onlookers were gawking at the Bunker residents as they fled. The train into London was opposite them, and dozens of people were cramming into the compartments. A flashing sign advertised another train, leaving on a different line in the same direction, departing in a few minutes – another dozen escapees were filling that way too.
Five more 'cracks!' echoed through the station, and five red cloaks appeared from nothing, stalking towards Harry with determined expressions. Who were these people!?
"Up the stairs! Quickly!" Bran exclaimed, pulling Emily and Harry up the escalators towards the ground level. The red-cloaked people followed, jets of light filling the air. Screams filled the stairs as people panicked and began to bolt. Harry pushed Emily and Bran behind him and thrust out his palms. A wall of Division Force appeared – like a faint shimmer in the air – absorbing the incoming lights. They Aurors hesitated for a second, and a 'bang!' 'bang!' that Harry would recognise anywhere filled his ears. Bran had pulled a pistol from… somewhere… and had fired at the red cloaks. One went down, the other four created shimmering transparent barriers like Harry's own, though the bullets were deflected, not absorbed. Harry pushed both hands forward and wriggled his fingers. The static surged, and eight thin bolts of electricity jumped from his fingers, arching down towards the Aurors. One went down, one dodged before vanishing with a crack, the last knelt beside his colleague. Harry, gasping for breath, pulled Emily down beside him as Bran spun around. This time the bang and the crack were indistinguishable. But the thump was not. They reached the top of the escalator, and ignored the bleeding man on the ground, trying to clutch his stick. They raced out with the screaming bystanders as a policeman in riot gear rushed towards them. Bran ditched his gun with a practised flick of the wrist. They stayed with the panicked rush, keeping Harry's head down as they bolted. Mak was clinging to Emily's blonde hair, which was flapping behind her as they ran.
They reached the exit and charged into the open air. Police tried to stop and marshal them, demanding to know what happened, but very few listened.
Just when Harry thought they were home free, the other seven red-cloaks appeared on the road, including the one Harry had stuck to the roof.
"Potter, stop this. We don't want to hurt anybody. We just want to help you." It was the man he'd stuck to the roof. He was a tall man, dark-skinned, with a bald head and a stern face. Very cop like.
"You can't have him! Leave us alone!" Emily snapped, putting herself in front of Harry.
"No. Go. I'll deal with them," Harry said softly, pulling Emily around. She had tears in her eyes, though Harry couldn't guess why.
"Go. Get out of here. They want me, not you. Save the Bunker, it matters more than I do." He shoved Emily towards Bran, who nodded to him in respect. Bran then pulled Emily away. The cops had finally gotten their tasers out of their asses and pointed them at the Aurors.
"Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads!" Two of the red cloaks actually laughed at the suggestion. Harry narrowed his eyes and glanced to Mak. She'd transformed her dress into a suit of armour, like a knight. In her right hand, she held a sword. Harry wasn't sure what she thought she was going to do with the thing, but the display was impressive at least.
"Butt kicking time?" Mak asked quietly.
"Butt kicking time," Harry confirmed. The lead Auror, seemingly deciding that Harry was going to "come quietly", took a step forward. An action that put his foot on the metal covering of a storm drain on the side of the road. What an idiot. Harry snapped his fingers.
The sky darkened in an instant, and a lightning bolt connected with the metal grate, frying the man standing on it. Oh, the sweet versatility of the Charge Force. The next second he was twisting his arm around his head. The static churned, and Harry thrust the hand forward. A shockwave of sound crashed over the Aurors, still frozen in their shock. Two of them dropped the sticks, hands going to their ears. Harry needed no further openings. He ran forward, employing one of his absolute favourite tricks. He pulled at the Strength Force, and used it not to bind himself to the ground, but to decrease the force keeping him on its surface. He still weighed the same, it was just that Harry no longer had to worry about the most pesky of natural forces: Friction.
He skidded forward with no resistance to his passage. He dropped to his back so that he was lying down as he slid past the guy he'd electrocuted, underneath the legs of the next person, before finally grabbing hold of the last guy in the line. Using his momentum, he swung himself around on the guy's leg, propelling himself in the opposite direction. He released the Strength Force, and Friction reasserted itself, slowing him to a halt, but not before Harry used Fusion to reverse gravity on two goons as he brushed past. Both of them shot into the air with squawks of fright. The person he'd swung around pointed the stick at him and Harry flicked two fingers at the man. Instantly, he vanished, swallowed by a shimmering glow before it faded away. Division to tuck the man into his own pocket dimension, unable to affect anything in the real world until the effects wore off. A handy skill that one. That left two Aurors undealt with. Both blasted him with lights, thinking him a sitting duck lying on the ground. They were wrong.
The static turned to burning heat grinding inside him, and Harry released a breath of sizzling air, expanding outwards and drifting towards the Aurors from his place on the floor. As soon as the lights passed through the air, they broke apart, disintegrating into nothingness. The Decay Force – opposite of Strength – was definitely the most dangerous power that Harry could draw upon. The wave continued towards the two, and both performed their disappearing act in fear. How were they doing that!?
Harry didn't have time to ponder it. The cracks indicated their reappearances – if they could do that silently, he'd be in trouble – and Harry jumped into the air, decreasing Gravity's hold on him. He flew upwards and crossed his arms, giving them his best death glare as he hovered above them. Mak flew through the air, becoming visible as a glowing blue light that danced around him. Harry could guess that his eyes were glowing green. Extended usage of his powers did that. Both red cloaks stared at him in awe.
"I don't suppose this means you'll leave me alone now, will you?" As if to punctuate his question, the first person he'd sent hurtling into the sky came screaming back to the ground. Harry frowned. He'd assumed they'd just teleport away. Maybe they couldn't use the teleportation while affected by Fusion? Oh, no, there they went. The two falling had seemingly realised they could vanish again now that Harry's power had worn off, as they quickly teleported away. They did not reappear. Hm, cowards. Harry glanced towards the man he'd electrocuted, the one in charge. He was slowly pulling himself up, smoke curling off his body. Once reality reset itself, the physical injuries caused by the lightning bolt would vanish if he hadn't died instantly. However, the shock, exhaustion and mental effects caused would remain. It was like the rock barrier he'd erected in the tunnel. It would stay in that shape because he'd fused it to the roof. It now was the wall. Therefore, it wouldn't simply fade away when his power faded from it. Finally, the person – who was actually a woman – he vanished with the Division Force reappeared. She fell to her knees and spewed. The policemen and women were staring at him in awe. In the distance, Harry could see Emily and Bran hiding behind a cop car near the edge of the perimeter. He nodded in their direction, and the pair disappeared into an alley adjacent to the station.
Then, a slow clapping echoed through the carpark. He spun around and found himself floating above Gandalf. Or more accurately, a really bad Gandalf cosplayer, because Gandalf would never have worn bright purple robes with sequins on it. He had a big bushy beard and wore half-moon glasses over his eyes. On his head was a tall pointy hat, the same colour as his clothes.
"Who are you people?!" Harry called. This hippie guy must be the leader. Mak stopped her dance and fluttered in the air next to Harry's head, invisible to everyone but him once more.
"We are your family Harry, and we have been searching for you for many years now." The old man's voice had a musical quality to it.
"Harry," Mak whispered, somewhat dazed, "he is like them, but there is also one of me near, with him. A faerie! I'm not alone." Then she frowned.
"No… no… I'm wrong, I think? I'm not sure. No. No, he does not have a bond like ours, Harry. But… I can sense one of my kind near to his person. He should not have our power, not without the bond, but be careful." She sounded very perplexed.
"You attacked my family!" Harry said, anger mixing with the exhaustion as it tried to overcome the adrenaline flooding him.
"Your real family, Harry. I know your mother and father, they were good friends of mine. If you would just come down, I can tell you about them." Harry's heart lurched. His parents. NO. He forced himself to pull the Bunker to the front of his mind. His friends; James and Emily; Bran, Nylah, Adam and Tam… what had happened to them? Were they trapped even now? Being rounded up with no hope of fighting back against these… whatever they were.
"My family. What are you doing to them?"
"Nothing at all. They will have no memory of our arrival here today. It will be as if none of this ever happened." Harry freaked. Memory wipes! That was like science fiction shit. But given what he could do, he believed the Gandalf lookalike. And that meant he wasn't going near them. Sammy had been mind-controlled. They could do the same to him.
Harry flicked his hands down and shot upwards, Gravity reversing on its axis, pushing him and Mak away from the ground at lightning speed.
Gandalf was fast. A stick shot from his sleeve into his hand and dozens of lights flashed towards him. Harry forged a shield of Division, but lagged, losing speed and energy as he tried to control two forces at once. The lights all vanished, but Harry came practically to a stop. His adrenaline was gone now, everything was about panic. He started to slip back towards the ground. God, but the guy was strong. Lights of dozens of colours slammed into the shield, each one vanishing into non-existence. And they just kept coming! It began taking more and more of his concentration. His grip on the Fusion Force began to weaken. He started staggering.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
Desperate, he banished the wall of Division towards Gandalf and renewed his gravity boost. Harry caught a glimpse of the barrier failing under the onslaught as he rose, if slower than before, trying to dodge the lights that flung towards him unhindered now. Higher, higher… surely they couldn't follow him like this.
"Harry!" A flash of flame erupted beside him, sharp talons grabbed Harry's shoulder, he screamed and was engulfed in fire.
