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The moonlight silhouetted the black cloaks of the dementors. Their presence was marked by the fog that followed them from the outside. An ice-cold chill flooded the room, freezing blood in it's veins. They paid no mind to the broken husk that once had been Rosmerta. They glided further into the mob- unmoved, ethereal- still seeking satiation.
The crowd was still in madness' grip. The memories of his parents' murder pierced his skull like an icy stalagtite, and the present imprisoned him in unrelenting despair. The truth of it, laid bare. The world hadn't stopped because of the cruel nature of what happened. It merely kept turning. A cruel Wheel.
Ron's bellowing finally got through to Harry, "TRY CASTING A SHIELD CHARM! HERMIONE, HELP HIM!". Ron was beneath the table, still holding Hermione close to him, too panicked to care that he was shouting directly in her ear. Short of breath, tears ran down Ron's face, "I'VE GOT AN IDEA!"
There was no time to question him further, so Harry acted.
He ran to the front of the riot, putting himself between the predators and their prey. Hermione was next to him in no time. Her breathing ragged, face pale and her bloodshot eyes brimming with tears, yet there was a determined glint within them still.
He shared a look with her that he hoped was encouraging. He was at least bolstered by that glint in her eye. With a flourish of their wands, they bellowed the incantation.
"PROTEGO!"
The two charms melded together, forming a wall of pale light, sturdy and shimmering.
The barrier was large but nowhere near large enough to defend both the crowd and them.
The drips of sweat that ran down Harry's face belied the cold. Hermione's forehead was beaded with sweat too. The barrier was exhausting to move. They dragged it across the ground, like an anchor, shifting it to the angle of the dementors approach. He hoped the dementors would be stopped —or at least slowed— by it. He really had no idea if that was possible but he trusted Ron.
The fiends stopped in their tracks for a moment, and hope surged through Harry.
'Is it working?'
The seemingly impatient of them slipped around them to penetrate their defense. Yet some lingered. Their gore steeped cloaks ruffled by an unseen force. Their star-glazed eyes stared at the barrier before them, tranquil. Like the dark.
Finally, they reached out to the barrier with their mottled corpse fingers, and pushed. The wall flashed a green light — Dead Light —, and a loud crack resounded through the air.
The fingers breached the barrier, which darkened as their flesh poked through, contaminating it. Black, sinewy lines sprouted forth, like malignant growths. Their corpse hands tore through, clawing at their prey.
The shimmering wall crumbled. Then faded away.
Harry and Hermione swished their wands, a desperate attempt to summon the barrier again but to no avail. It would light the room, topple over, then fade again.
The wall came tumbling down, dragging Harry's hope into the ruins.
Some dementors drifted towards them. The others started their attack on the crowd.
"ALRIGHT, COME TAKE ME YOU FOUL BASTARDS!"
Harry was drawn to the direction of the shout. He spotted Ron, and relief washed over him.
His friend levitated a chair which was wreathed in flames in front of him. It lit the freckles and beaded sweat on his pale face, in a light that was almost divine. Harry tried to get his friend's attention, "What are you doing!?"
But Ron was too focused on his task. He brandished the chair in the grip of his charm as if it was a sword. Harry was eerily reminded of a picture he'd seen in a book when he was young; an unnamed knight, leading a charge against unnamable evil. The dementors turned towards Ron. And attacked.
Harry swore. He tried to summon his Patronus, yet the whispers of long dead parents, and the terrifying nature of the present prevented him from conjuring more than silver wisps.
They were more solid than before.
"THAT'S RIGHT! YOU THINK YOU CAN TAKE ME!? COME GET IT, YOU DISGUSTING SHITS!"
Harry had only ever seen that look on his friend's face once before. In the most deadly chess game of their lives.
"NO!"
His denial didn't stop the realization from hitting him. There wasn't a plan. Ron was sacrificing himself to draw them away.
He had to stop him. Them. Anything!
He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. The endless chitter of painful memories was white noise. He concentrated on better ones.
'Hagrid tells me stories about my parents. We're exploring the castle under the invisibility cloak. The first snitch I catch is in my mouth, the taste is metallic. It's embarrassing but we win the match. I share some Honeydukes chocolate with Ginny, she's sad but it makes her feel better, she smiles...'
Harry's brow curled into a frown. The prick of realization.
'Honeydukes!'
Ron threw the chair at his attackers and he turned to run. It flew through the air, a trail of hot ash and acrid smoke left in its wake—
"EXPULSO!"
The chair was blown to smithereens. The dementor's giving chase recoiled in the face of the burning projectile. Harry had to look around for the source of the spell.
Linus, wand in one hand, the other using the table to hold his weight. His breaths ragged.
Harry hadn't the time to express his shock before the inn was bathed in silver light.
A swan Patronus took flight through the air, chasing down its own prey. Hope surged through Harry, he took a deep breath and cried, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
The corporeal form of his Patronus soared out of his wand. The stag joined the swan as they gave chase to the fiends.
Rowan emerged from behind the bar. He seemed shaken, pale, but his back was straight. Guiding his patronus to the defense of the crowd.
Harry rallied his Patronus, bidding the stag to stand against the dementors that closed the gap between him and Hermione.
The dementors stopped in their tracks.
'What the hell?'
His stag prowled in front of them, it's silver hackles raised, and antlers lowered, ready to charge. Yet they did not flee. They seemed unable to approach it.
Rowan's swan raised its wings to their full span, letting loose a screech. Preventing the other dementors from approaching the crowd.
The whole pub was still.
An aged, deep voice rang clear through the silence.
"It's time."
The hag walked forward, the crowd parted before her like the Red Sea. Her Dead-Lights shone bright not against, but seemingly with the dark. She spoke again, her voice ecstatic.
"Take me to it...The deep, dark sea."
Her face was locked in a rigor mortis grin. She was lost in her rapture. Offering herself to a fate worse than death.
The dementor's glided towards her.
Harry wasn't going to give the dementor's time to act on the hag's moment of vulnerability. He directed his stag towards her, in a defense she seemingly didn't want. Rowan's swan stood its ground, defending the patrons.
But it wasn't enough. He was too slow, or they were too fast. They grabbed their prey and ascended.
Two pairs of Dead-Lights stared into each other. The dementor lowered it's maw, and latched onto her mouth, a cruel parody of a lover's union.
The hag's body fell to the ground. It landed, dead weight and broken bones.
The dementor that had fed on her was still. Then it screamed.
Harry had to clutch his ears, head, anything that would make it stop! If it didn't, his skull would crack open.
It was unlike any noise he'd ever heard. It hissed like iron scraped over a heated furnace. Yet it was shrill and avian. Profane.
The rest of the dementors joined in chorus, in shared agony. It could only be agony that made a noise such as that.
The pub was a flurry of motion. Harry struggled to keep track of it all, with the noise that pulsed through his veins, the scurrying of the crowd and the frenzied flight of the fiends.
And they were fleeing, in pain or fear, Harry couldn't tell. But just before it left, the dementor that had kissed the Hag looked back at him. He was sure it was looking at him directly.
And it gazed into him with the hag's eyes.
Four dead. Three kissed. Countless more injured.
The single digit numbers were burned into his head. The endless refrain of placations ran through his head — 'It could have been far worse' — yet they couldn't soothe the smouldering embers in his mind.
Four dead. Three kissed.
Harry had recognised one of the corpses. A Ravenclaw in Ginny's year, though he couldn't name her. It.
She would have looked peaceful if it weren't for the impossible angle that her neck was twisted in. She likely died in the midst of the patron's riot. No one had come forward to take responsibility and likely, no one would.
'Just...what a pointless way to die.'
But to his horror, he knew that it could have been worse. He only had to look at the comatose bodies of Rosmerta, the hag and one of the other patrons.
They had been lucky. The students. Any other time of the year, the Three Broomsticks would have had many more of them, chatting by the fireplace but with the upcoming Yule Ball, many had opted to stay at Hogwarts, making plans, what to wear, still looking for dates. The teachers had stayed behind too, making their preparations for the ball.
The students that didn't stay at Hogwarts were likely with their partners at Madam Puddifoot's. He wondered if they had really averted disaster afterall.
'Are they okay? What if they were attacked as well? What if they've seen whatever that tentacle thing was?'
The pub was filled with fear, the air was hot with it consuming the chill that the dementor's left in their retreat. The room was a soundscape of crying, confusion, wails, and half-hearted whispered comforts. Young, old, fit, or heavyset, they were all equals in their terror.
Harry lay against the wall, steadily eating a bar of chocolate. It melted in his mouth, replacing the salty, dry taste of fear. Yet he was drenched in a cold sweat that belied the tense heat of the pub.
As he did this, he took stock of his surroundings. Rowan was supervising the repair of the windows. No one doubted they were in danger at this point though they were at loss as to how deep it went.
Harry had learned when Rowan had shook his hand and given him the slab of chocolate that he was a former professor at Hogwarts — "Ancient Runes, my boy. That's been my calling since I was your age" — and was quite deft at charms so he was placed in charge of fortifying their defences.
Hermione and Ron were —predictably— bickering near the bar. Ron was holding his soot laden hands out for inspection, allowing her to attempt minor healing. Though, Harry suspected wryly, it was all a pretence.
"So you're telling me your plan was what? Set a chair on fire and hope?"
"...Erm, almost. I tripped over Linus while I was looking for something to draw their attention with. He was awake, thankfully, and he said he'd help however he could. I had no idea that Rowan was even there. I figured once I had their attention I'd scarper and make it up as I went along but...this isn't making you less angry, is it?"
Hermione pressed her lips together in annoyance as she rubbed her temples.
Yet there was no heat to the argument. Their banter couldn't hide the exhaustion in Ron's posture, made all the more clear by the slump of his shoulders and the way his eyes shined a bit too brightly, added onto by the worry in Hermione's lip. When one thought the other wasn't looking, a hint of confusion and tenderness would cross their face but they would quickly school themselves.
And when they thought Harry wasn't aware, they'd shoot him looks of concern.
'They're quite bad at pretending they aren't worried, aren't they?', he thought to himself with irritation and a spark of affection.
And finally, there was Linus. He hadn't said much more than a gruff, "Good one, lad.", before Rowan had supported him to a table near the back. He sat alone but he seemed more at ease for it.
At the moment he was examining a chair leg, apparently severed from the chair on the right, and muttering to himself, occasionally grimacing in pain and disgust. His leg still looked infected as before and his support during the confrontation with the dementors had done it no favours.
Harry felt antsy, brooding in the corner was getting to him, so he picked himself up —wolfing down the rest of the chocolate as he did so— and walked over to Linus. He couldn't help but be curious about his two saviors and Rowan was too busy to interrupt. And he didn't think he was quite ready to deal with his friend's concern.
He stood by Linus, a mite awkward. Linus hadn't acknowledged his presence, apparently still distracted by...whatever he was doing. So Harry spoke first, "Erm...Hello? Linus?"
Linus finally looked up at him. Then turned back to his chair leg. "Hello...Harvey, was it?
"Um…"
"I'm just kiddin', lad. I know who you are."
Harry was perturbed by this but before he could think of anything to say, Linus continued. "You know I always figured you'd be a bit taller. What are you doing in school anyway? Would'a thought you'd be living it up in a manor somewhere, some harem girls at your side, and maybe a couple 'a lordships under yer belt."
"...What?"
Linus stared at him, with quite a serious look on his face. Harry was completely lost now, but after a few moments, Linus barked out a laugh. This caused him discomfort it seemed because it was followed by a wince. He seemed to take it in his stride.
"The look on yer face, lad. If only you could see it."
"Right...So what are you doing with that?"
"This thing?", he wagged the table leg in his hand, questioningly. "Trying to work out if I can transfigure it into summat that can help my current disability. A crutch would be a mite easier to make but if we get in another situation like earlier, well...I figure I need something more permanent. Maybe I can mangle it into something like ol' Mad Eye's peg leg."
"You know Professor Moody?". Harry was surprised by that.
"Who works at the ministry and doesn't know the daft, ol' gaffer? Not close to 'im mind but we've had a pint together on occasion."
Harry found it hard to imagine the gruff, no nonsense and incredibly paranoid professor having friends, nevermind drinking with them. Linus followed this with a sigh which drew Harry out of contemplating this frankly alien concept.
"My ma' always told me I should have worked with the spell reversal squad, better paid she says. But no, I have to go and join the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee." He shook his head dejectedly, "Could use one of those buggers right now. They'd have me fixed in a jiffy."
Another wince from Linus. Harry couldn't help but sympathise, "I'm sorry about your leg, we did what we could but…"
"It's fine. Might've died without yer' help. I got no complaints and well..."
Linus trailed off, staring at something in the distance. Harry followed his gaze.
It was the bodies of Rosmerta, the hag, and the unnamed patrons. Four dead. Three kissed.
Harry finished his thought for him, "It could've been worse."
Linus nodded, then stared at him, his face grim. Harry wasn't sure but he felt like he was being sized up. He met Linus' eyes, challenging.
Linus' eyes were calculating for a moment but he turned his attention back to the table leg he had in his hands, apparently satisfied that he found what he was looking for.
"Lad, I'm gonna be straight with ya. So far the only people whose 'ead is on their shoulders rather than the arse end are you, yer two friends and that old gaffer, Rowan."
Linus paused for a moment, scratching the back of his head in worry. Finally, he nodded towards the dementor's victims.
"I don't think we can leave them like that, it's...cruel."
Harry wasn't sure what he was getting at, "But there's no cure for being kissed. Everyone knows that. What can we do?"
"Aye. But there's summat we can do."
Harry was confused still but then it dawned on him. No.
"But that's murder! That's not right!"
Surprisingly, Linus nodded in agreement, his face wary, but he still pressed the issue. "Aye, but I think it's even worse to leave the poor sods to that fate. Look at the state of 'em!"
Harry protested as Linus reached out from his seat, grabbing him by the shoulders. Linus forced him to look at the victims. Harry felt his heart thudding in his chest. Linus' voice took on a harsh tone, "They'll never recover from this. They're not people...not anymore. Can't look after themselves, they're not even aware of their own existence. They're husks. Nothin' more."
Harry shook off his hands, surprised by the unexpected contact. He turned to look straight in Linus' eyes.
There was reluctance, hesitation and resolution in them all at once. The resolution was winning out.
Harry raked his fingers through his hair, agitated, "You can't just—"
But Linus shook his head angrily, "Lad, I get it, really, but what do you expect us to do?". Harry tried to protest but he continued, "Feed them? Bathe them? We have the food for now, aye, but for how long? And what about the good will of the rest of this lot? You think we can take care of them and treat everyone's injuries too?", he pointed his thumb at the rest of the pub.
The patrons that were still on their feet had a wary, tired look in their eyes. Exhaustion and fear were rampant, for themselves and for those that were incapacitated. Harry saw Linus' point but...
Harry ground his teeth. He felt like a heel for what he was about to say next.
"You owe me. I saved your life. My friends and I."
Linus scoffed at him, "Life debts aren't real, lad. Just old wives tales and plot devices used in Sickle-Store romance novels."
Harry nervously raked his fingers through his hair. "Yeah... but you owe me just the same."
"...Perhaps I figure that debt was paid, when I helped you lot earlier."
"Maybe, but we drove them off in the end. Hermione, Ron and I. Rowan too."
Linus glared at him but Harry held his gaze. Finally after a few moments, Linus sighed in resignation.
"Alright, lad. I hope you don't regret this. We reap what we sow."
Harry jerked his head in acknowledgment and stomped away. He couldn't talk with Linus any longer.
He made his way to his friends. Hermione was crying on Ron's shoulder, he seemed conflicted about where he should put his hands, and had settled for rubbing her back, softly but awkward at the same time.
"...It's gonna be okay."
"But what about Harry, he's—"
Harry coughed loudly to draw their attention. They squawked in fright, jumping away from each other. He cut through the mumbled denials, he had finally remembered something important.
"Honeydukes."
His friends looked at him, baffled. Ron sounded hesitant, "Uh...What are you on about?"
Harry shook his head roughly and continued, "There's a secret passage out of Hogsmeade there. Remember how I snuck here under the cloak in third year?"
Hermione and Ron's eyes grew wide. Then Ron whooped.
"So there's a way out? What are we waiting for then, lets go!"
But Harry shook his head dejectedly, "We can't. There are still too many injuries and not everyone can make it under their own power. And we don't know what's out there. There's at least that..that thing that Rowan was talking about earlier. I think we have to go to that apothecary. You know, for healing supplies. Hopefully someone here knows their potions. And we know there's dementors out there too…"
Harry trailed off for a moment, lost in thought. He shook his head and went on, "It's weird, I've seen what they look like...you know, under the hood. I don't remember them having eyes at all, just sockets."
Ron looked at him, confusion clouding his face. "Uh mate...what are you on about now?"
Harry looked at him blankly, "The dementors. They had eyes like…" —Dead Lights— "...the way they shined, it reminded me of the killing curse."
Hermione and Ron looked at one another, concern clear on their faces. Ron was about to say something but Hermione stopped him. Her voice laden with worry.
"Harry...dementors don't have eyes."
AN: Another few weeks, another chapter done. I hope it satisfies once again. Thanks to everyone that's helped so far on the HPFFN, DWP and H/G discords, couldn't have done it without the encouragement and support. And once this is posted, I'll be responding to pm's to anyone who leaves a review! As always, if you loved it, feel free to tell me why and if you hated it, feel free to leave a review and tell me why! I like hearing everyone's thoughts. Till next time!
AN2: Sorry, had to correct some typos and prose which is why I had to update again. Sorry for the false alarm.
