A/N: Ack!! Why does real life persist in intruding on my beloved wanderings
into fiction land? Two bloody months! I'm trying to get this done as
quickly as possible, but apparently my profs want me to spend more time
writing something that they will read. *goes off to mutter vicious
imprecations even as she puts the final touches on a particularly nasty
project after 3 days without sleep* Anyway, sorry this has taken so long to
update. I had to take a little break to focus on schoolwork. The semester
is over for me, so I'll actually have some time to write over the summer. I
will finish!!! Especially if I can actually access the Internet from my
laptop.
Bukama, your train of thought follows logic beautifully, and most people would write it like that. I, however, am not most people. Go focus romance hormones on something other than this fic.
Darkclaw, I agree, Voldemort in a tutu is rather disgusting, and a proud (or maybe not) product of my severely demented mind. So yes, I am twisted. That was one of the best compliments a reviewer has ever given me, so thanks. *smirks*
Thank you to all you wonderful reviewers out there who have actually stuck with this monstrosity for the past nine months, (not to mention my bad moods, moderately evil cliffhangers, and long updates), who have worried about me and whether I would finish, and those who leave the best reviews that know how to inspire me to write more. And as for this chapter, just remember: "To be loved is to be fortunate, but to be hated is to achieve distinction." *grins evilly*
Wheee!!! I've reached some landmarks!! 200 pages handwritten (and my writing is tiny!), who knows how many typed, and over 100,000 words posted, not counting author's notes! And hopefully I'll get the next chapter up by this weekend, which will mark the one year anniversary of when I first started writing this thing. Man I'm a geek!
Standard disclaimer: Yeah, I own Harry Potter. And I'm also the Grand Empress of the Collected Universe Just Short of the Expanding Edge, and co- author of "The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy Limited to the Sixth Quadrant." *rolls her eyes* Yeah right, and frankly I'm glad I don't. JK Rowling gets the headaches. I get to 'borrow' her toys to play. *grins*
Chapter 22
The nighttime silence of the Wizarding Library of London was broken when Lucius Malfoy snapped shut his watch for the sixth time in the past hour and glared at his colleagues still bent over their books, conversing in low tones as quills skittered over parchment. "Have you made any progress?" he bit out with a touch of impatience, which only earned him a silently frosty glare thrown over the shoulder of the Slytherin linguist.
Sighing, Lucius shifted in his seat which had become particularly uncomfortable by now, wishing he could be elsewhere instead of babysitting bookworms. Specifically he wanted to be in the attack on the Minister's complex tonight.
He sneered; how that Muggle-loving fool became Minister was beyond his comprehension. Just goes to show how much the wizarding society had disintegrated in the past few years. He wanted to curse Arthur Weasley to hell and back for all the insults and damages the red haired weasel bastard had been responsible for over the years.
His reputation, the family name, all his beloved heirlooms, the manor which had been in his family for generations, not to mention all the extremely valuable Dark Arts artifacts and tools in the secret room under the drawing room - all seized by the idiotic Ministry.
With his Master's help and patronage, all the Malfoy property would be returned to the rightful owners once the world was remade, and proper respect for pure magic blood would be instilled in every wizard and witch. He sighed imperceptibly and threw an annoyed glare at the scholars, now poring over yet another musty old scroll with avid interest.
That is, if these middling idiots could only figure out how to read that damn book.
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Arthur ran through the corridors of his house with Molly at his heels, heading for their underground bunker that held emergency Portkeys. Another blast shook the house, and they ducked debris that fell from the cracking ceiling. Dust coated his thinning hair and settled in the creases in his face, making him seem as ancient as Dumbledore.
Molly's once bright hair was hanging in straggly knots around her face, also covered in gray lightened only by a bright splotch of blood. She had been hit by some flying glass, and as she ran she wiped small trickles of blood from her face.
From outside a huge window that once overlooked the expansive gardens, Arthur only saw leaping flames illuminating the hideous figures surrounding the house, and his heart leapt into his throat. They didn't have much time. Briefly he cursed not having the Portkeys more accessible, but it made sense at the time to put them downstairs.
They had never expected a swift attack without warning, nor to be so completely helpless. These new weapons were tearing the house apart, and they would be lucky to get out in one piece. He swore to himself that he would get Molly out, if nothing else. He could give her time to get out.
Hurrying through the front rooms, Arthur was so intent on his goal that he nearly tripped over the body lying in the middle of the floor. Molly gasped and knelt beside the inert figure, carefully turning it over in the illumination from the fires raging outside.
Tori Black gazed back up at her, gasping with pain from a burn stretching across her back and shoulders and a gash on her head. She was spattered with blood, far more than what could have seeped from her cut. One hand gripped her wand while the other dropped the shattered remains of a sword to grasp Molly's hand.
"Mrs. Weasley," she panted, wincing, "the demons surprised us, took out the patrols before we even knew they were there. We called for reinforcements, and my partner and I headed for the house to protect you, but one found us before we could cross the wards."
She grimaced. "They slaughtered Lulich, I barely got away. I don't think we'll survive long enough for the Aurors to come. They breached the wards and attacked the house right after I got inside. It couldn't have taken them more than two minutes."
Gingerly Molly helped her to her feet as another detonation rumbled the foundations. "We're heading for the Portkeys. Think you can make it?" Tori coughed but nodded with determination. "Let's go." But before they could go another step, the front window imploded, showering them with formerly unbreakable glass shards.
Arthur's eyes widened when he saw the Muggle grenade sailing inside. "Get down!"
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Dumbledore sat at his desk and contemplated the three teens sitting wearily in front of him with a fair amount of pride. They had managed to pass every test the Order was able to throw at them with flying colors and demonstrated quite admirably their individual strengths and skills.
Although they were showing signs of exhaustion and a deep desire for this day to be over, their faces also reflected some pride at their accomplishments and self-assurance in their own abilities. The Headmaster mused on how much they had grown in just a few year from mere children to confident young adults. He couldn't stifle a smile as he addressed them.
"Mr. Weasley," Ron straightened up a bit and met Dumbledore's gaze evenly. "You have shown remarkable strength, both physically and magically. Professor Figg said that with a little more experience you will be a first- rate duelist, and a good candidate for Auror training after graduation." Ron let his smile stretch across his face along with a light blush, and Dumbledore continued.
"However, your real talent lies with strategic thinking and analysis, getting into the mind of your opponent, analyzing weaknesses and exploiting them. This is particularly evident in your admirable chess skills. I must say that we used to tease Professor McGonagall after a first year beat her chess set, but now I see I may owe her an apology."
Hermione grinned at her boyfriend when he flushed under the praise, and Ginny nudged him with an elbow. "For the Order I think you would be best employed as a strategy analyst and tactical advisor. It would involve collecting what little information our side gathers on Voldemort's movements for analysis and predicting what his forces are up to next.
You may find yourself acting as a commander for our forces during battle if the need arises. You might see some front line action in the future, but only if our situation becomes dire." Ron thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "Sounds good to me, sir."
The Headmaster next addressed Ginny. "Ms. Weasley, you also show a particular affinity for dueling and make a rather unpredictable opponent, which can give you a significant advantage. You also could be sent out to fight, but again only if there is no other choice. During the tests, the professors have all noted different abilities that would make you an excellent spy. A tendency to fade into the background, avoiding detection, creative misdirection, improvisation, cool logic under fire, and a preference towards Invisibility and Concealing Charms. I believe your brother Bill has also taught you the basics of curse breaking, yes?"
Ginny inclined her head faintly in recognition with a smile tugging at her lips. Ron poked her gently. "Now all the years of sneaking around stealing our socks has come in handy," he teased lightly.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Professor McGonagall has said several times that you excel at Transfiguration. With your parents' consent, she will be instructing you on the Animagus transformation." He sat back and steepled his fingers as she stared back at him with wide eyes. "At this point, you cannot yet leave Hogwarts, so you will be responsible for keeping a watchful, if surreptitious, eye on the known student Death Eaters in the school. You may use any means possible to make sure that they do not compromise the security of the school and the safety of the students, but only take direct action if there is no other recourse. You will report back to both Ron and myself."
He fixed her with a piercing stare. "Do not get caught. By anyone, even the professors. I cannot emphasize that enough." Ginny had beamed at the thought of becoming an Animagus, but sobered as he outlined her responsibilities. "I understand sir. And I won't get caught."
Finally Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Ms. Granger, you truly are the cleverest witch of your age, and I'm tempted to say of any age." She blushed at the high praise, and Ron grinned proudly at her. "While you are proficient enough at dueling to hold your own, your forte is clearly at the intellectual level in nearly every area. The last five years of topping your classmates and shattering academic records cannot be wrong."
He flashed a small smile at her remarkable accomplishments. "Therefore the Order may use you in several different capacities, such as organizing and interpreting information, creating new spells, and working with Mr. Weasley for new defenses and such for our allies. Madame Pomfrey would also like to begin training you as a medi-witch, and Merlin knows we'll need those resources in the future." Hermione nodded firmly. "I accept sir."
The Headmaster ran an appreciative glance over them again, determination glinting in their eyes. "You all have shown the qualities that make Gryffindor proud. I pray that his war ends soon, before you have to demonstrate exactly how deep that fighting courage extends." He checked his watch and cleared his throat, breaking the solemn mood. "Forgive me, I've kept you all out too late. It's already after midnight, and certainly past curfew. Here."
He extended three purple sugar quills, and with some confusion the teens took them. "Hurry back to Gryffindor Tower. If you are waylaid by Mr. Fitch, show him these and tell him that I have given you permission to be out this late." He glanced over at Ron and Hermione, a twinkle in his eye. "No stopovers on your way, understand."
He hid a grin behind his beard as they blushed; it was too much fun teasing the children in the first flush of love. He should really stop, but an old man had to get his thrills somehow. "You can eat them later," he indicated the sugar quills. "Now off to bed, and mind you, it would not be good to be late to lessons tomorrow. Potions, isn't it?"
The two sixth years groaned, then bid the Headmaster goodnight. Ginny shook his hand and followed the other two out the door and down the spiral staircase.
As soon as the last strand of red hair disappeared and the grinding of the staircase ended, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes as he briefly felt the weight of all his years and experiences press down on him. Fawkes peered at him from his perch, then fluttered over to his shoulder and sang a few notes of comfort. Dumbledore grinned up at his familiar. "Thank you Fawkes." Absentmindedly he petted the phoenix as he voiced his thoughts.
"They are too young to have to do this. Spying, dueling, trying to predict Death Eaters, going through the aftermath of battles," he sighed again. He remembered his own student years at Hogwarts, when they were allowed to retain their childhood and a certain amount of innocence even if the professors wished they would all grow up.
Nowadays, children were forced to carry burdens that most adult wizards would buckle under, and to assume responsibility of those far beyond their age. Sometimes the universe just was not fair, for Fate was a fickle and unpredictable mistress.
"How many more generations must be affected by this, where the good die young before they can even live?" He thought of Harry and realized that no matter the outcome, the teen's life was basically ruined. Bred and trained for war, those skills which he was basing his entire life on do not translate well to peaceful society.
Once this mess was over (if it was ever over) he would have little to turn to, to anchor him to the real world, to a life beyond hunter and hunted. He had never really known a normal life, and at this critical point that would shape exactly who he would be, he was trapped in a horrific war. Could he ever adjust to a normal life in society with all the burdens he carried?
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Harry tossed the keys to the Black Shadow to Sirius as they ran out of the house. "Here, Apparate with the Shadow and fly it to the Weasley's. We need to give them time to get out. The green button is the flamethrower, and there's a bag of Spell Spheres in the saddlebag. I'll take a portal. Go!" Sirius nodded his understanding of the rapid-fire commands as he swung his leg over the bike, and within seconds was roaring off into the night.
Harry summoned extra weapons and transformed into Wraith even as the portal he was creating shimmered into existence, swirling with energy. Breathing quickly in preparation, he stepped through and was instantly transported into a war zone.
In less than two seconds after he appeared, Wraith was already defending himself against three demons. Barely avoiding a slash of claws, he pulled his parvalleh and swung desperately. The hammer part caught one demon in the side and threw him away with crushed ribs poking yellow through shredded flesh and dark blood.
With a backswing Wraith sliced the last two nearly in half with the axe side. Earning himself a breath of space, he pulled out his staff, feeling the pulse of energy as he grasped it tightly and called on his Elemental abilities just in time.
The ruby atop the staff glowed brightly and shot out a beam of pure fire hot enough to instantly disintegrate the front lines of demons charging him. Whirling, he blocked an attack with the side of the parvalleh before sweeping the staff through its legs, dumping the creature on his back, then swung down and split its skull open to spatter gore over all of them.
Spinning back around, he dodged a trail of fire sent his way, which managed to ignite the edges of his trenchrobe. When the hell did they get flamethrowers?! By then he was surrounded, and Wraith was fighting furiously both magically and physically. The night blurred into sweat, snarls, flames, clanging weapons, and spurting blood.
An engine roar above him announced the arrival of Sirius, who immediately opened up with the flamethrower while still in the air. Briefly Wraith sent a mental thank you to Eva for adding that little feature instead of the cup holders or stereo. A couple dozen creatures collapsed in conflagrations before others turned their own flamethrowers to the sky.
Sirius was forced to break off his own attack runs and climb higher to escape the jets. From this higher advantage, he chose a new strategy and flew towards the besieged house, setting Spell Spheres with his wand and dropping them into the swarming hoards.
While demons are immune to magical attacks, they are still vulnerable to basic explosions. The earth erupted under their clawed feet, hurling them in droves backwards away from the manor. More crowded up to replace them, hurling small objects through the windows and playing the flamethrowers over the walls to set the building on fire.
Suddenly another explosion blasted from the inside of the house, showering glass and bits of wood in all directions as flames shot hungrily out from inside the front window, licking up the walls. The manor trembled and began to buckle in places, giant cracks appearing up the sides.
Sirius cursed vehemently and hoped that Arthur and Molly were still alive and able to get to the Portkeys. There was nothing he could really do for them except give them more time to escape, if they still could. Dropping another Sphere on the heads of two armed demons, he chanced a glance towards his godson. Wraith wasn't visible, his position only marked by the massive concentration of demons and the occasional flying head.
Everything was burning - the manor, the gardens, the surrounding forest, various demon corpses - and the fires kept expanding as more fuel was added. This whole area would be nothing but a pile of ash by the time they were done. Steering away from another blast, he flew over a clump of smoldering corpses and caught a whiff of putrid smoke rising from them. Sirius choked, grimacing at the acrid smell, then a new fire was started, this one burning in his throat and trailing quickly down to his lungs.
Feeling as if his entire respiratory tract was melting, he coughed harshly, and each breath became a struggle. Gasping and choking in air, he tried to focus on the battle below him and vaguely registered the arrival of what seemed to be the entire Auror corps. Dizzily he directed the bike towards the edge of the still active wards, wanting to get out of the way and back to Hogwarts for help, but his vision was swimming and his hands no longer seemed to obey him. His entire body was beginning to freeze up, no longer under his control.
Fighting to breathe, to stay alive, to keep from crashing, Sirius focused every ounce of his being on the controls and willed his body to obey him. For a brief moment he was able to twitch the handles to circle upwards around the forest towards the meadow about half a kilometer away. But it only lasted a second, for without breath to provide him with life-giving oxygen, he could no longer stay conscious and passed out.
Limp hands fell from the handles and his body sagged forward. The Shadow tilted with the change of weight and headed down in a steep dive for a promised crash landing on the hard, unforgiving ground.
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Dumbledore was heading for his sleeping quarters when his fireplace blazed green and a head popped through. "Professor Dumbledore?" a male voice called urgently, and he hurried over to kneel in front of the hearth. He recognized the face of one of the younger Order members with the DMLE. "What is it, Williams?"
The bleach blond Auror, who preferred to be called Spike, winced a bit at the use of his last name but reported quickly, "We've just had a call from the Minister's residence. They're under attack." The Headmaster started a bit. "Death Eaters?"
Spike shook his head negatively, his expression somber. "Demons. Too many for the screens to pick up individually. They've already taken out the Auror outpost and it looks like the house is under siege. The screens only lit up after the call. We've had some problems here, but two companies are heading out now with reinforcements trickling in as they can. It looks like we're outnumbered though, and most of these people don't know how to kill these things."
Dumbledore thought fast. "I'll call up every Order member I can, but it won't be many. However, Remus and Sirius have been stockpiling Muggle firearms on the sly for just this sort of situation. Remus will teach you how to use them, and I expect Sirius might show up with Wraith. Don't be surprised if they're already there." Spike nodded, "Got it," then disappeared with a whoosh.
Throwing powder into the flames, Dumbledore called up every professor who could stand a chance against the demons and informed them of the situation. He debated calling the Weasley siblings, then decided they had a right to know about their parents. Bill and Charlie immediately answered and after hearing of the situation instantly Disapparated to join the battle.
Percy was a bit harder to get a hold of, but it turned out that he was at the joke shop in Hogsmeade with the twins, apparently discussing quite amicably an innovation that they had asked for his help on. Pigs were not flying yet, but some had booked tickets on the next flight to Timbuktu. Dumbledore briefed them on what he knew, and the brothers gathered up their best products and Disapparated to DMLE Headquarters.
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Lucius Malfoy had passed through several stages of boredom by this point: compulsive watch checking, twiddling thumbs, wand tricks, mental games of chess, personal Top 10 lists on various subjects (including why the Falmouth Falcons are superior to the Chudley Cannons), even so far as to actually go search for something interesting to read. Now he simply sat in his damnably uncomfortable chair leaning his head onto one hand, half asleep with his eyes just slitted open.
A small piece of hair drifted across his face and he temporarily entertained himself by blowing it away, only to have it come stubbornly back. Oh, now this was a fascinating game. He could never get irritated at his hair; he saved that for living beings. He liked his hair, long, blond and silky smooth as it was, as one likes an obedient pet that by its mere presence exalts its owner. It went particularly well with black silk dress robes, the contrast making him seem especially intimidating.
His affectionate musing on the strand dangling in front of his nose was disrupted by an eager shout, and startled he nearly fell out of his seat. Recovering his dignity, he swept his hair back into place and asked with cool biting precision, "Have you finished?" The scholars ignored him, preferring to jabber back and forth while running their fingers delicately along lines of ancient text and comparing it to the rumpled parchments in their sweaty hands.
"See, the glyphs here are the precursors to the roots of those found in ancient Atlantean, but it seems to have employed syntax characteristic of Egyptian Amenemope." "Yes, and here when it switches to a Ugaritic textual the same syntax is repeated. I think it correlates to the Qohelet passages right here, which means it could have the identical translations. Analogous to the Rosetta Stone, but with greater time gaps explaining the changeable diphthongs." "Even so, the possibility of a pre-Atlantean root structure means we should transpose these with Sumerian writings of a pre-Indus origin, and probably some ancient Hebrew as well. The key lies within these three texts, but I think . . ."
Lucius could not follow their excitement in the flood of lingo that managed to utterly befuddle him. He hated it when others made him feel stupid, so he interrupted in a louder voice, "Can you translate the book yet?" One shook his head despite his grin. "Not yet, but we've nearly uncovered the key to it. See, since it was written before any other previously known existing civilization, we have to work out the base root from their evolved descendents, and . . . ."
Lucius cut him off with an irritable wave of his hand. "How soon can we leave? The Master will be expecting a progress report." He made a show of checking his pocket watch, and the woman looked up at him from her all- engrossing texts on the blood magic rituals of the Aztec wizards. "Are we leaving?"
The Mid-Eastern wizard flicked his wand over some scrolls and a stack of parchment, and several quills began copying rapidly. "As soon as these are finished, we may leave. I will still need time to translate the book, but we are much closer than before." "And it only took you six hours to find which book to copy," Lucius couldn't keep the dry sarcasm out of his voice, earning glares from his three companions.
"It is indeed fortunate that we discovered it so quickly. Normally this sort of job takes weeks of methodical research and dead ends," the scholar reprimanded him sternly, but the Malfoy patriarch was in no mood to be lectured. He fixed him with an intimidating glare and gritted his teeth.
"Let your brains rot to dust with your precious books and dead tongues. I have other duties to attend to." The woman sneered back at him, "Yes, torturing Muggles and Mudblood children is so much more important in the long run, after all."
Lucius was on the brink of pulling his wand when the Slytherin linguist intervened. "Stop. You're acting like children. Let's just finish up here and leave, and we'll all have separate duties to report back to our Lord."
The remaining few minutes passed in strained silence, then the linguists gathered up their parchments while the woman sent the books off to their shelves. Lucius let the party out, Obliviating the librarian as they snuck back around the wards and Disapparated, with no one the wiser.
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The Auror reinforcements arrived with a bang, literally. A crack like a giant whip sounded through the air, followed by a thunderous boom, then a massive fireball bloomed in the center of the demon ranks, incinerating most and sending more flying.
Wraith was knocked back and down by the shockwave, narrowly missing impaling himself on an abandoned sword. Scrambling to his feet in a flash, he was gratified to see the Aurors and several Order members spread out to begin their own assault.
Wraith was expecting to see some weapons, with maybe a few new inventions by the Weasley twins thrown in, and he wasn't disappointed. But he was surprised to see that instead of wands most were carrying what looked like Muggle firearms. He could have sworn that that woman over there - was that Professor Figg? - was firing a Tommy gun like in the old gangster movies. Shots rang out through the night, adding their noise to the cacophony already deafening everyone within range.
Sporadic bursts lit up their faces like strobe lights, increasing the unearthly surrealism of it all. Still, with the armored hides it took several hits to drop a single demon, and Wraith knew that unless something drastic happened, they would run out of ammunition long before the demons were stopped.
Remus was at the front, firing straight through a demon's eye to spray gore and blood out the back of its head even as he shouted directions to the professors with him. They flanked out to form a semi-circle to concentrate their fire, and more creatures dropped. A couple of Aurors spotted Wraith off to the side and nodded quickly in salute at him before blowing away a snarling creature with a flamethrower.
Smashing his parvalleh into another gruesome head, Wraith heard a familiar noise over the chaos and glanced up, looking for Sirius. To his utmost horror, he spotted his godfather slumped on the bike, locked in a dive that would splatter him and the Shadow into an ugly oily mess on the scorched ground.
Desperate, he dropped the parvalleh and drew his wand, shouting, "Wingardium Leviosa!" The spell caught the bike and it drifted, bobbing gently as the strength of the magic holding it up competed with the magic directing it downwards.
This movement caused Sirius' body to shift, and unbalanced the bike slanted to the side, and gravity again started to exert a grip on him. Slowly he tumbled off and began a fall through 50 feet of thin air. Wraith watched as if in slow motion as he released the bike from his spell and aimed for Sirius. Two meters off the ground the spell caught, and he stopped in midair, but by them Wraith was again under attack.
A demon brought his sword down in a blow that would have bisected the wizard from his head to his stomach. At the last second he dodged, but the edge managed to catch the top of his shoulder deep enough to draw blood. He staggered to the side, one hand clutching the wound, then dropped and rolled to avoid another slash. Recovering, he planted a hard kick in the demon's chest and drove it back into its companions, accidentally becoming impaled on another's heavy knife as the weight knocked them both to the ground.
Suddenly furious with this battle and impatient to see to his godfather, Wraith planted his staff and called up the wind to create a giant tornado in the middle of the grounds, which picked up the creatures around him to send skyward, squealing. An errant burst with a flamethrower lit the entire whirling cyclone, and the flames swirled around and grew off of it, turning the natural phenomenon into a blazing pillar of fire. Letting them stay up there and bash into each other as they roasted, Wraith sprinted towards Sirius lying on the torn and burned ground.
Dropping to his knees beside the man, he cradled his head in his arms and called his name while checking his pulse at his neck, hoping for a response. No such luck. Sirius' heartbeat was weak and erratic, and he wasn't breathing.
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Ron stepped through the portrait hole first into the familiar setting of the Common Room, weary beyond all expectations. He supposed they were lucky that they hadn't encountered anyone on their way back to the tower, but he had noticed a suspicious lax in the normal nighttime patrols. Where were the Aurors, the professors, Mr. Filch?
The castle was eerily quiet and set his nerves on edge, and he had hustled the girls with him quickly up to the Fat Lady's portrait. The comforting crackle of the fire quickly eased his mind, and he consciously relaxed, feeling safe. He spotted Harry waiting up for them on the sofa, staring into the flames as shadows danced across his face.
Ron eyed his friend a bit warily, for there were times when he swore he could tell the difference between the real Harry and the clone, and this was one of those times. Internally he shrugged; in the end did it even matter? It was the same person, same mind, just in two places at once. Still he decided to test the accuracy of his intuition anyway.
With Ginny and Hermione right behind him, Ron plopped down in an armchair and groaned deeply. "The professors are even more sadistic than we ever guessed. I think they've all been taking lessons from Snape."
Ginny nodded, sitting beside Harry on the couch as she massaged her shoulder and moaned, "Whoever put those demons in the maze should be hung by their thumbs from Filch's manacles."
Hermione also sat, but chose Ron's lap instead of the other armchair. "Come on you two. You have to admit that it was rather interesting, and frankly some parts were even fun." "Only if you're a masochist," Ron grinned and gave her a quick kiss. Harry laughed quietly. "Don't hold back, tell me how you really feel," he teased. Ginny lightly smacked him with a pillow, which he quickly retaliated.
Ron looked quickly around to make sure they were alone, then asked casually, "So is Wraith up to anything special tonight, or is he lying low?" Harry looked askance at him then quirked a slight smile at him. "He's off wrecking havoc with Padfoot tonight, but nothing earth-shattering. Just clandestine." He sighed theatrically. "I'm stuck with the homework while he does the dirty work. Sometimes I don't know which of us got the better deal."
He turned back to Ron, suddenly quite serious. "How did you know?" Hermione was flicking her gaze back and forth between her friend and her boyfriend in slight bewilderment. "You mean . . . you're . . . he's . . . Ron, how can you tell?" Ron shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. "I don't really know, it's a feeling I get sometimes. I don't think anyone else can tell though. If there's one thing I know, it's to follow my gut instinct. I just had to see if I was right this time."
Harry sat back with a sigh, Ginny watching him closely, evaluating. "Ron, I really don't know how you can tell. Harry, I've watched you for the past five years," she was blushing bright red at this admission but continued doggedly, "and I really cannot tell any difference." Harry flushed slightly, but he still smiled as he wiped his brow with exaggerated relief. "Well, if you and Hermione can't, then I doubt anyone else even has a chance."
He glanced at his watch. "It's late, and I want to be awake for Potions in the morning. I'm heading for bed." Ginny stood up and stretched. "Bed sounds nice. Good night." As she and Harry headed up to their respective dormitories, he turned around on the stairs with a mischievous grin. "Don't stay up too late giving him a lap dance, Hermione. I sleep in the same room with him and his Silencing charms are a little shaky sometimes."
Hermione and Ron looked cute when they flushed the exact same shade of sunset red, and Harry had to duck around the corner and run as they flung matching curses at him. His laughter rang out and carried down the stairwell before being cut off by the dormitory door. Ron was muttering viciously under his breath as he pocketed his wand again, debating all the ways Harry could be hexed in his sleep.
Hermione silenced his tirade with a kiss. "Ignore him love. That mouth can be put to better use." He caught a flash of her wicked grin before he closed his eyes. When they later broke for air, Ron grinned at her and ran a hand through her bushy brown hair. "Who is this Hermione? What happened to that fussy stickler-for-rules bookworm that took me four years to realize was a girl?"
Hermione smirked as her finger traced circles on his chest. "You realized she was a girl, and she realized that not everything can be learned in books. Some things need to be experienced." She proceeded to show him just what experience had taught her, and it was a very happy Ron that wandered up to bed some 20 minutes later for some very sweet dreams.
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Dumbledore was still in his office when, with three pops of displaced air, three bleeding and bedraggled figures appeared in the front room, where one promptly collapsed to the floor. As he hurried over, he was pleased to recognized the bright red-orange hair of Arthur and Molly Weasley through their coatings of blood and soot.
Arthur limped heavily towards the Headmaster as Molly knelt next to the prone body on the floor, which was barely recognizable as Auror Tori Black. "Albus, it was a surprise attack. We barely made it to the Portkeys before the entire house started coming down around our ears." A deep breath caused him to break out into wracking coughs, and Dumbledore summoned a glass of water before calling Madame Pomfrey to his office.
The nurse bustled in less than two minutes later and immediately started tending to Tori Black. Molly helped her, explaining all the while, "She fought off demons to get to the house, but they were carrying some new weapons. Some of the blood was her partner's." Pomfrey nodded as she waved her wand over several bleeding gashes, directing Molly on applying the ointments she had brought.
Arthur sat in a chair watching as he spoke quietly to Dumbledore. "We were asleep when the wards went off, and seconds later we heard explosions from outside. I saw the demons from the window as they breached the first line and took out the Auror outpost and patrols. We ran for the emergency Portkeys in the basement and tripped over her in the front room." He gestured at Tori with sadness pulling down his features to make him appear twenty years older.
"She barely made it inside before they crashed through the next line and attacked the house directly. Her partner didn't make it. They were carrying what looked like Muggle weapons: a tube that shot fire, and another - what did Hermione call them? Granadas? Grenades? - Anyway, they threw one through the window and I thought we were dead."
He scrubbed at his face with both hands and sighed. "Tori saved us. She Banished it back outside and got a Shield up in time, then took the brunt of the explosion herself." He stared at the far wall blankly, reliving the scene. "The house was on fire. It sounded like the Aurors had arrived, and the demons broke off their assault temporarily. We hustled downstairs before they resumed, and activated the Portkeys just as another explosion started bringing the ceiling down on us."
Dumbledore silently handed him a cup of tea as he spoke, and as the Minister absently stirred it with a sugar quill the Headmaster placed a hand on Molly's shoulder. "How is she?" he asked the nurse quietly, and she shook her head. "In bad shape, but she'll live. I need to take her down to the Hospital Wing. "
"Very well. Arthur, Molly, go with her and let her check you over. Get some rest, you are safe here for tonight. I'll let you know as soon as we have more information." Subdued, the two got to their feet and followed Madame Pomfrey as she floated Tori on a stretcher in front of her. They disappeared quietly down the stairs, and Dumbledore watched another twin set of red hair leave to face an uncertain future for the second time that day.
He frowned as he considered this new move. This was not good. The battle was still on at the Minister's former residence and he had no way to recall the Order from the now pointless action. He prayed that everyone would come back safe and sound, yet with an attack this large he sincerely doubted it. All he could do now was wait to see the outcome and make his next move accordingly.
He knew enough chess strategy to know when he had been outmaneuvered. Voldemort was stepping up his attacks, and it looked like there was precious little they could do to stop him. Check.
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Wraith nearly stopped breathing himself. Frantically he pulled his vials of healing potions and phoenix tears out of his pocket, even though he didn't know what was wrong with Sirius. All he knew was that he had to save him. One shaking hand uncorked a vial, and tilting Sirius' head back he poured it down his throat, gently massaging his neck to get him to swallow.
"Sirius, don't you dare die on me now," he muttered desperately, barely noticing the distant crash and boom that signaled the fiery demise of his beloved Black Shadow. Shaking the unconscious man's shoulders, he tried to make him breathe again.
A distant memory of a Muggle technique flashed in his mind, and he settled Sirius on the ground., tilted his head back and pinched his nose shut, then took a deep breath and put his mouth over his godfather's, blowing air into unresponsive lungs. He did it again, then checked his pulse. It was getting weaker, and he still wasn't breathing. Trying to give the phoenix tears time to work, Wraith continued mouth to mouth, praying and hoping.
Time ticked by, each second an eternity as he fought to save his godfather's life. When he next pressed trembling fingers to the man's neck, he couldn't feel a pulse. "No! Sirius, don't leave me, don't you fucking leave me! Damn it!" he howled as he started pumping on his chest to restart his heart.
Wraith tried everything he could think of; his potions, more tears, Muggle methods, even going so far as to use his staff to conjure a miniature lightning bolt to shock him better than any Muggle defibrillator. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he worked feverishly over the still body, trying to force him to live. "C'mon Sirius, you can't leave me now, please," he murmured with a cracking voice as he waved his wand over him.
Yet despite all his considerable powers, with the forces of nature and knowledge of millennia worth of magic literally at his fingertips, all Wraith could do was hold Sirius Black in his arms as he died.
He stared down at the pale face of his godfather, the only real family he had ever known, and knew he was gone. A crushing sensation in his chest let him know that his heart was breaking. His eyes burned as he fought back tears, and gently he lowered the body to the ground, smoothing a hand over the lax features into a semblance of peace.
A massive explosion behind him shook the ground and snapped Wraith back into the present. Whirling around on his knees, he saw the Minister's manor crumbling to debris as an inferno raged at its core, silhouetting the demons as they cavorted in triumph and fell savagely upon the Aurors. He watched as one of the Order members - the bleached blond hair gave him away as Spike Williams - fired several rounds into two advancing demons until his clip clicked empty. A quick search of his pockets revealed he was out of ammo.
Undaunted, Spike threw the gun away and pulled two short swords from beneath his robes just as they engaged him. The battle was furious but short, and Wraith could only watch as the blond head went flying while the body it was formally attached to slumped to the bloody ground.
A blind and unreasoning rage filled him, and he leapt to his feet snarling ferally. Foregoing his staff and weapons entirely, he sprinted nearly supernaturally fast to the nearest demon and grabbed its arm. Applying leverage, he spun it around towards another group rushing forwards then whipped out with a powerful double kick, simultaneously twisting the arm. A wet snapping noise accompanied a sickening tear as Wraith tore the arm off entirely, and the demon spiraled back into its neighbors to knock them off their feet.
The creature's squeals of pain were cut short as Wraith, ignoring the putrid blood spattering him from ripped arteries, hefted the severed arm like his parvalleh and used the claws to rip open its neck. As it gagged on its own poisons and died, he quickly dispatched three demons within his immediate vicinity in similar fashion. Dropping the dismembered limb, he headed for another group terrorizing four Aurors including Bill Weasley.
These ones saw him coming, and as one slashed open an Auror like a marshmallow another turned a flamethrower on him. Dodging gracefully, Wraith transformed into a gryffin and leapt, the lion's muscles propelling him straight into the demons. Sharp eagle's talons ripped into their chests, and with a clamp and a twist of his beak a head snapped off, which was then spat out with disgust. A sweep of wings beat Bill and an Auror backwards just as a grenade flew through the space their heads had just occupied. The gryffin caught the bomb on his wing and flung it back to explode right in its owner's hands.
By now, with the main target accomplished, the demons had begun transporting themselves out, leaving only a few to finish up the battle. The Aurors pulled back for defense and were watching dumbly as the remnants were systematically butchered by the Animagus. After watching the last chest ripped open, the heart torn out and manually crushed to a pulp in one clawed paw, several Aurors turned and retched on the ground.
Panting heavily and glaring down at the scattered carcasses, the gryffin seemed to realize that it was over and visibly deflated. Instantly it changed back into Wraith, nearly unrecognizable with his clothes slashed, burnt, muddied and drenched in blood. Wearily he surveyed the trampled and bloody earth, the slain corpses of demons and humans leaking blood, the burning grounds and the flaming pile of rubble that was once a fine manor house.
Shaking his head in defeat, he stumbled back to the place where he had left Sirius' body, and fell to his knees beside him again. Grief overwhelmed him like a tsunami, overpowering and crushing, and this time when his eyes burned he let the tears fall as a sob was choked out of his throat. He let himself fall forward onto the still chest, head buried in the fabric of his robes.
For the first time in years, he wept.
Bukama, your train of thought follows logic beautifully, and most people would write it like that. I, however, am not most people. Go focus romance hormones on something other than this fic.
Darkclaw, I agree, Voldemort in a tutu is rather disgusting, and a proud (or maybe not) product of my severely demented mind. So yes, I am twisted. That was one of the best compliments a reviewer has ever given me, so thanks. *smirks*
Thank you to all you wonderful reviewers out there who have actually stuck with this monstrosity for the past nine months, (not to mention my bad moods, moderately evil cliffhangers, and long updates), who have worried about me and whether I would finish, and those who leave the best reviews that know how to inspire me to write more. And as for this chapter, just remember: "To be loved is to be fortunate, but to be hated is to achieve distinction." *grins evilly*
Wheee!!! I've reached some landmarks!! 200 pages handwritten (and my writing is tiny!), who knows how many typed, and over 100,000 words posted, not counting author's notes! And hopefully I'll get the next chapter up by this weekend, which will mark the one year anniversary of when I first started writing this thing. Man I'm a geek!
Standard disclaimer: Yeah, I own Harry Potter. And I'm also the Grand Empress of the Collected Universe Just Short of the Expanding Edge, and co- author of "The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy Limited to the Sixth Quadrant." *rolls her eyes* Yeah right, and frankly I'm glad I don't. JK Rowling gets the headaches. I get to 'borrow' her toys to play. *grins*
Chapter 22
The nighttime silence of the Wizarding Library of London was broken when Lucius Malfoy snapped shut his watch for the sixth time in the past hour and glared at his colleagues still bent over their books, conversing in low tones as quills skittered over parchment. "Have you made any progress?" he bit out with a touch of impatience, which only earned him a silently frosty glare thrown over the shoulder of the Slytherin linguist.
Sighing, Lucius shifted in his seat which had become particularly uncomfortable by now, wishing he could be elsewhere instead of babysitting bookworms. Specifically he wanted to be in the attack on the Minister's complex tonight.
He sneered; how that Muggle-loving fool became Minister was beyond his comprehension. Just goes to show how much the wizarding society had disintegrated in the past few years. He wanted to curse Arthur Weasley to hell and back for all the insults and damages the red haired weasel bastard had been responsible for over the years.
His reputation, the family name, all his beloved heirlooms, the manor which had been in his family for generations, not to mention all the extremely valuable Dark Arts artifacts and tools in the secret room under the drawing room - all seized by the idiotic Ministry.
With his Master's help and patronage, all the Malfoy property would be returned to the rightful owners once the world was remade, and proper respect for pure magic blood would be instilled in every wizard and witch. He sighed imperceptibly and threw an annoyed glare at the scholars, now poring over yet another musty old scroll with avid interest.
That is, if these middling idiots could only figure out how to read that damn book.
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Arthur ran through the corridors of his house with Molly at his heels, heading for their underground bunker that held emergency Portkeys. Another blast shook the house, and they ducked debris that fell from the cracking ceiling. Dust coated his thinning hair and settled in the creases in his face, making him seem as ancient as Dumbledore.
Molly's once bright hair was hanging in straggly knots around her face, also covered in gray lightened only by a bright splotch of blood. She had been hit by some flying glass, and as she ran she wiped small trickles of blood from her face.
From outside a huge window that once overlooked the expansive gardens, Arthur only saw leaping flames illuminating the hideous figures surrounding the house, and his heart leapt into his throat. They didn't have much time. Briefly he cursed not having the Portkeys more accessible, but it made sense at the time to put them downstairs.
They had never expected a swift attack without warning, nor to be so completely helpless. These new weapons were tearing the house apart, and they would be lucky to get out in one piece. He swore to himself that he would get Molly out, if nothing else. He could give her time to get out.
Hurrying through the front rooms, Arthur was so intent on his goal that he nearly tripped over the body lying in the middle of the floor. Molly gasped and knelt beside the inert figure, carefully turning it over in the illumination from the fires raging outside.
Tori Black gazed back up at her, gasping with pain from a burn stretching across her back and shoulders and a gash on her head. She was spattered with blood, far more than what could have seeped from her cut. One hand gripped her wand while the other dropped the shattered remains of a sword to grasp Molly's hand.
"Mrs. Weasley," she panted, wincing, "the demons surprised us, took out the patrols before we even knew they were there. We called for reinforcements, and my partner and I headed for the house to protect you, but one found us before we could cross the wards."
She grimaced. "They slaughtered Lulich, I barely got away. I don't think we'll survive long enough for the Aurors to come. They breached the wards and attacked the house right after I got inside. It couldn't have taken them more than two minutes."
Gingerly Molly helped her to her feet as another detonation rumbled the foundations. "We're heading for the Portkeys. Think you can make it?" Tori coughed but nodded with determination. "Let's go." But before they could go another step, the front window imploded, showering them with formerly unbreakable glass shards.
Arthur's eyes widened when he saw the Muggle grenade sailing inside. "Get down!"
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Dumbledore sat at his desk and contemplated the three teens sitting wearily in front of him with a fair amount of pride. They had managed to pass every test the Order was able to throw at them with flying colors and demonstrated quite admirably their individual strengths and skills.
Although they were showing signs of exhaustion and a deep desire for this day to be over, their faces also reflected some pride at their accomplishments and self-assurance in their own abilities. The Headmaster mused on how much they had grown in just a few year from mere children to confident young adults. He couldn't stifle a smile as he addressed them.
"Mr. Weasley," Ron straightened up a bit and met Dumbledore's gaze evenly. "You have shown remarkable strength, both physically and magically. Professor Figg said that with a little more experience you will be a first- rate duelist, and a good candidate for Auror training after graduation." Ron let his smile stretch across his face along with a light blush, and Dumbledore continued.
"However, your real talent lies with strategic thinking and analysis, getting into the mind of your opponent, analyzing weaknesses and exploiting them. This is particularly evident in your admirable chess skills. I must say that we used to tease Professor McGonagall after a first year beat her chess set, but now I see I may owe her an apology."
Hermione grinned at her boyfriend when he flushed under the praise, and Ginny nudged him with an elbow. "For the Order I think you would be best employed as a strategy analyst and tactical advisor. It would involve collecting what little information our side gathers on Voldemort's movements for analysis and predicting what his forces are up to next.
You may find yourself acting as a commander for our forces during battle if the need arises. You might see some front line action in the future, but only if our situation becomes dire." Ron thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "Sounds good to me, sir."
The Headmaster next addressed Ginny. "Ms. Weasley, you also show a particular affinity for dueling and make a rather unpredictable opponent, which can give you a significant advantage. You also could be sent out to fight, but again only if there is no other choice. During the tests, the professors have all noted different abilities that would make you an excellent spy. A tendency to fade into the background, avoiding detection, creative misdirection, improvisation, cool logic under fire, and a preference towards Invisibility and Concealing Charms. I believe your brother Bill has also taught you the basics of curse breaking, yes?"
Ginny inclined her head faintly in recognition with a smile tugging at her lips. Ron poked her gently. "Now all the years of sneaking around stealing our socks has come in handy," he teased lightly.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Professor McGonagall has said several times that you excel at Transfiguration. With your parents' consent, she will be instructing you on the Animagus transformation." He sat back and steepled his fingers as she stared back at him with wide eyes. "At this point, you cannot yet leave Hogwarts, so you will be responsible for keeping a watchful, if surreptitious, eye on the known student Death Eaters in the school. You may use any means possible to make sure that they do not compromise the security of the school and the safety of the students, but only take direct action if there is no other recourse. You will report back to both Ron and myself."
He fixed her with a piercing stare. "Do not get caught. By anyone, even the professors. I cannot emphasize that enough." Ginny had beamed at the thought of becoming an Animagus, but sobered as he outlined her responsibilities. "I understand sir. And I won't get caught."
Finally Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Ms. Granger, you truly are the cleverest witch of your age, and I'm tempted to say of any age." She blushed at the high praise, and Ron grinned proudly at her. "While you are proficient enough at dueling to hold your own, your forte is clearly at the intellectual level in nearly every area. The last five years of topping your classmates and shattering academic records cannot be wrong."
He flashed a small smile at her remarkable accomplishments. "Therefore the Order may use you in several different capacities, such as organizing and interpreting information, creating new spells, and working with Mr. Weasley for new defenses and such for our allies. Madame Pomfrey would also like to begin training you as a medi-witch, and Merlin knows we'll need those resources in the future." Hermione nodded firmly. "I accept sir."
The Headmaster ran an appreciative glance over them again, determination glinting in their eyes. "You all have shown the qualities that make Gryffindor proud. I pray that his war ends soon, before you have to demonstrate exactly how deep that fighting courage extends." He checked his watch and cleared his throat, breaking the solemn mood. "Forgive me, I've kept you all out too late. It's already after midnight, and certainly past curfew. Here."
He extended three purple sugar quills, and with some confusion the teens took them. "Hurry back to Gryffindor Tower. If you are waylaid by Mr. Fitch, show him these and tell him that I have given you permission to be out this late." He glanced over at Ron and Hermione, a twinkle in his eye. "No stopovers on your way, understand."
He hid a grin behind his beard as they blushed; it was too much fun teasing the children in the first flush of love. He should really stop, but an old man had to get his thrills somehow. "You can eat them later," he indicated the sugar quills. "Now off to bed, and mind you, it would not be good to be late to lessons tomorrow. Potions, isn't it?"
The two sixth years groaned, then bid the Headmaster goodnight. Ginny shook his hand and followed the other two out the door and down the spiral staircase.
As soon as the last strand of red hair disappeared and the grinding of the staircase ended, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes as he briefly felt the weight of all his years and experiences press down on him. Fawkes peered at him from his perch, then fluttered over to his shoulder and sang a few notes of comfort. Dumbledore grinned up at his familiar. "Thank you Fawkes." Absentmindedly he petted the phoenix as he voiced his thoughts.
"They are too young to have to do this. Spying, dueling, trying to predict Death Eaters, going through the aftermath of battles," he sighed again. He remembered his own student years at Hogwarts, when they were allowed to retain their childhood and a certain amount of innocence even if the professors wished they would all grow up.
Nowadays, children were forced to carry burdens that most adult wizards would buckle under, and to assume responsibility of those far beyond their age. Sometimes the universe just was not fair, for Fate was a fickle and unpredictable mistress.
"How many more generations must be affected by this, where the good die young before they can even live?" He thought of Harry and realized that no matter the outcome, the teen's life was basically ruined. Bred and trained for war, those skills which he was basing his entire life on do not translate well to peaceful society.
Once this mess was over (if it was ever over) he would have little to turn to, to anchor him to the real world, to a life beyond hunter and hunted. He had never really known a normal life, and at this critical point that would shape exactly who he would be, he was trapped in a horrific war. Could he ever adjust to a normal life in society with all the burdens he carried?
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Harry tossed the keys to the Black Shadow to Sirius as they ran out of the house. "Here, Apparate with the Shadow and fly it to the Weasley's. We need to give them time to get out. The green button is the flamethrower, and there's a bag of Spell Spheres in the saddlebag. I'll take a portal. Go!" Sirius nodded his understanding of the rapid-fire commands as he swung his leg over the bike, and within seconds was roaring off into the night.
Harry summoned extra weapons and transformed into Wraith even as the portal he was creating shimmered into existence, swirling with energy. Breathing quickly in preparation, he stepped through and was instantly transported into a war zone.
In less than two seconds after he appeared, Wraith was already defending himself against three demons. Barely avoiding a slash of claws, he pulled his parvalleh and swung desperately. The hammer part caught one demon in the side and threw him away with crushed ribs poking yellow through shredded flesh and dark blood.
With a backswing Wraith sliced the last two nearly in half with the axe side. Earning himself a breath of space, he pulled out his staff, feeling the pulse of energy as he grasped it tightly and called on his Elemental abilities just in time.
The ruby atop the staff glowed brightly and shot out a beam of pure fire hot enough to instantly disintegrate the front lines of demons charging him. Whirling, he blocked an attack with the side of the parvalleh before sweeping the staff through its legs, dumping the creature on his back, then swung down and split its skull open to spatter gore over all of them.
Spinning back around, he dodged a trail of fire sent his way, which managed to ignite the edges of his trenchrobe. When the hell did they get flamethrowers?! By then he was surrounded, and Wraith was fighting furiously both magically and physically. The night blurred into sweat, snarls, flames, clanging weapons, and spurting blood.
An engine roar above him announced the arrival of Sirius, who immediately opened up with the flamethrower while still in the air. Briefly Wraith sent a mental thank you to Eva for adding that little feature instead of the cup holders or stereo. A couple dozen creatures collapsed in conflagrations before others turned their own flamethrowers to the sky.
Sirius was forced to break off his own attack runs and climb higher to escape the jets. From this higher advantage, he chose a new strategy and flew towards the besieged house, setting Spell Spheres with his wand and dropping them into the swarming hoards.
While demons are immune to magical attacks, they are still vulnerable to basic explosions. The earth erupted under their clawed feet, hurling them in droves backwards away from the manor. More crowded up to replace them, hurling small objects through the windows and playing the flamethrowers over the walls to set the building on fire.
Suddenly another explosion blasted from the inside of the house, showering glass and bits of wood in all directions as flames shot hungrily out from inside the front window, licking up the walls. The manor trembled and began to buckle in places, giant cracks appearing up the sides.
Sirius cursed vehemently and hoped that Arthur and Molly were still alive and able to get to the Portkeys. There was nothing he could really do for them except give them more time to escape, if they still could. Dropping another Sphere on the heads of two armed demons, he chanced a glance towards his godson. Wraith wasn't visible, his position only marked by the massive concentration of demons and the occasional flying head.
Everything was burning - the manor, the gardens, the surrounding forest, various demon corpses - and the fires kept expanding as more fuel was added. This whole area would be nothing but a pile of ash by the time they were done. Steering away from another blast, he flew over a clump of smoldering corpses and caught a whiff of putrid smoke rising from them. Sirius choked, grimacing at the acrid smell, then a new fire was started, this one burning in his throat and trailing quickly down to his lungs.
Feeling as if his entire respiratory tract was melting, he coughed harshly, and each breath became a struggle. Gasping and choking in air, he tried to focus on the battle below him and vaguely registered the arrival of what seemed to be the entire Auror corps. Dizzily he directed the bike towards the edge of the still active wards, wanting to get out of the way and back to Hogwarts for help, but his vision was swimming and his hands no longer seemed to obey him. His entire body was beginning to freeze up, no longer under his control.
Fighting to breathe, to stay alive, to keep from crashing, Sirius focused every ounce of his being on the controls and willed his body to obey him. For a brief moment he was able to twitch the handles to circle upwards around the forest towards the meadow about half a kilometer away. But it only lasted a second, for without breath to provide him with life-giving oxygen, he could no longer stay conscious and passed out.
Limp hands fell from the handles and his body sagged forward. The Shadow tilted with the change of weight and headed down in a steep dive for a promised crash landing on the hard, unforgiving ground.
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Dumbledore was heading for his sleeping quarters when his fireplace blazed green and a head popped through. "Professor Dumbledore?" a male voice called urgently, and he hurried over to kneel in front of the hearth. He recognized the face of one of the younger Order members with the DMLE. "What is it, Williams?"
The bleach blond Auror, who preferred to be called Spike, winced a bit at the use of his last name but reported quickly, "We've just had a call from the Minister's residence. They're under attack." The Headmaster started a bit. "Death Eaters?"
Spike shook his head negatively, his expression somber. "Demons. Too many for the screens to pick up individually. They've already taken out the Auror outpost and it looks like the house is under siege. The screens only lit up after the call. We've had some problems here, but two companies are heading out now with reinforcements trickling in as they can. It looks like we're outnumbered though, and most of these people don't know how to kill these things."
Dumbledore thought fast. "I'll call up every Order member I can, but it won't be many. However, Remus and Sirius have been stockpiling Muggle firearms on the sly for just this sort of situation. Remus will teach you how to use them, and I expect Sirius might show up with Wraith. Don't be surprised if they're already there." Spike nodded, "Got it," then disappeared with a whoosh.
Throwing powder into the flames, Dumbledore called up every professor who could stand a chance against the demons and informed them of the situation. He debated calling the Weasley siblings, then decided they had a right to know about their parents. Bill and Charlie immediately answered and after hearing of the situation instantly Disapparated to join the battle.
Percy was a bit harder to get a hold of, but it turned out that he was at the joke shop in Hogsmeade with the twins, apparently discussing quite amicably an innovation that they had asked for his help on. Pigs were not flying yet, but some had booked tickets on the next flight to Timbuktu. Dumbledore briefed them on what he knew, and the brothers gathered up their best products and Disapparated to DMLE Headquarters.
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Lucius Malfoy had passed through several stages of boredom by this point: compulsive watch checking, twiddling thumbs, wand tricks, mental games of chess, personal Top 10 lists on various subjects (including why the Falmouth Falcons are superior to the Chudley Cannons), even so far as to actually go search for something interesting to read. Now he simply sat in his damnably uncomfortable chair leaning his head onto one hand, half asleep with his eyes just slitted open.
A small piece of hair drifted across his face and he temporarily entertained himself by blowing it away, only to have it come stubbornly back. Oh, now this was a fascinating game. He could never get irritated at his hair; he saved that for living beings. He liked his hair, long, blond and silky smooth as it was, as one likes an obedient pet that by its mere presence exalts its owner. It went particularly well with black silk dress robes, the contrast making him seem especially intimidating.
His affectionate musing on the strand dangling in front of his nose was disrupted by an eager shout, and startled he nearly fell out of his seat. Recovering his dignity, he swept his hair back into place and asked with cool biting precision, "Have you finished?" The scholars ignored him, preferring to jabber back and forth while running their fingers delicately along lines of ancient text and comparing it to the rumpled parchments in their sweaty hands.
"See, the glyphs here are the precursors to the roots of those found in ancient Atlantean, but it seems to have employed syntax characteristic of Egyptian Amenemope." "Yes, and here when it switches to a Ugaritic textual the same syntax is repeated. I think it correlates to the Qohelet passages right here, which means it could have the identical translations. Analogous to the Rosetta Stone, but with greater time gaps explaining the changeable diphthongs." "Even so, the possibility of a pre-Atlantean root structure means we should transpose these with Sumerian writings of a pre-Indus origin, and probably some ancient Hebrew as well. The key lies within these three texts, but I think . . ."
Lucius could not follow their excitement in the flood of lingo that managed to utterly befuddle him. He hated it when others made him feel stupid, so he interrupted in a louder voice, "Can you translate the book yet?" One shook his head despite his grin. "Not yet, but we've nearly uncovered the key to it. See, since it was written before any other previously known existing civilization, we have to work out the base root from their evolved descendents, and . . . ."
Lucius cut him off with an irritable wave of his hand. "How soon can we leave? The Master will be expecting a progress report." He made a show of checking his pocket watch, and the woman looked up at him from her all- engrossing texts on the blood magic rituals of the Aztec wizards. "Are we leaving?"
The Mid-Eastern wizard flicked his wand over some scrolls and a stack of parchment, and several quills began copying rapidly. "As soon as these are finished, we may leave. I will still need time to translate the book, but we are much closer than before." "And it only took you six hours to find which book to copy," Lucius couldn't keep the dry sarcasm out of his voice, earning glares from his three companions.
"It is indeed fortunate that we discovered it so quickly. Normally this sort of job takes weeks of methodical research and dead ends," the scholar reprimanded him sternly, but the Malfoy patriarch was in no mood to be lectured. He fixed him with an intimidating glare and gritted his teeth.
"Let your brains rot to dust with your precious books and dead tongues. I have other duties to attend to." The woman sneered back at him, "Yes, torturing Muggles and Mudblood children is so much more important in the long run, after all."
Lucius was on the brink of pulling his wand when the Slytherin linguist intervened. "Stop. You're acting like children. Let's just finish up here and leave, and we'll all have separate duties to report back to our Lord."
The remaining few minutes passed in strained silence, then the linguists gathered up their parchments while the woman sent the books off to their shelves. Lucius let the party out, Obliviating the librarian as they snuck back around the wards and Disapparated, with no one the wiser.
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The Auror reinforcements arrived with a bang, literally. A crack like a giant whip sounded through the air, followed by a thunderous boom, then a massive fireball bloomed in the center of the demon ranks, incinerating most and sending more flying.
Wraith was knocked back and down by the shockwave, narrowly missing impaling himself on an abandoned sword. Scrambling to his feet in a flash, he was gratified to see the Aurors and several Order members spread out to begin their own assault.
Wraith was expecting to see some weapons, with maybe a few new inventions by the Weasley twins thrown in, and he wasn't disappointed. But he was surprised to see that instead of wands most were carrying what looked like Muggle firearms. He could have sworn that that woman over there - was that Professor Figg? - was firing a Tommy gun like in the old gangster movies. Shots rang out through the night, adding their noise to the cacophony already deafening everyone within range.
Sporadic bursts lit up their faces like strobe lights, increasing the unearthly surrealism of it all. Still, with the armored hides it took several hits to drop a single demon, and Wraith knew that unless something drastic happened, they would run out of ammunition long before the demons were stopped.
Remus was at the front, firing straight through a demon's eye to spray gore and blood out the back of its head even as he shouted directions to the professors with him. They flanked out to form a semi-circle to concentrate their fire, and more creatures dropped. A couple of Aurors spotted Wraith off to the side and nodded quickly in salute at him before blowing away a snarling creature with a flamethrower.
Smashing his parvalleh into another gruesome head, Wraith heard a familiar noise over the chaos and glanced up, looking for Sirius. To his utmost horror, he spotted his godfather slumped on the bike, locked in a dive that would splatter him and the Shadow into an ugly oily mess on the scorched ground.
Desperate, he dropped the parvalleh and drew his wand, shouting, "Wingardium Leviosa!" The spell caught the bike and it drifted, bobbing gently as the strength of the magic holding it up competed with the magic directing it downwards.
This movement caused Sirius' body to shift, and unbalanced the bike slanted to the side, and gravity again started to exert a grip on him. Slowly he tumbled off and began a fall through 50 feet of thin air. Wraith watched as if in slow motion as he released the bike from his spell and aimed for Sirius. Two meters off the ground the spell caught, and he stopped in midair, but by them Wraith was again under attack.
A demon brought his sword down in a blow that would have bisected the wizard from his head to his stomach. At the last second he dodged, but the edge managed to catch the top of his shoulder deep enough to draw blood. He staggered to the side, one hand clutching the wound, then dropped and rolled to avoid another slash. Recovering, he planted a hard kick in the demon's chest and drove it back into its companions, accidentally becoming impaled on another's heavy knife as the weight knocked them both to the ground.
Suddenly furious with this battle and impatient to see to his godfather, Wraith planted his staff and called up the wind to create a giant tornado in the middle of the grounds, which picked up the creatures around him to send skyward, squealing. An errant burst with a flamethrower lit the entire whirling cyclone, and the flames swirled around and grew off of it, turning the natural phenomenon into a blazing pillar of fire. Letting them stay up there and bash into each other as they roasted, Wraith sprinted towards Sirius lying on the torn and burned ground.
Dropping to his knees beside the man, he cradled his head in his arms and called his name while checking his pulse at his neck, hoping for a response. No such luck. Sirius' heartbeat was weak and erratic, and he wasn't breathing.
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Ron stepped through the portrait hole first into the familiar setting of the Common Room, weary beyond all expectations. He supposed they were lucky that they hadn't encountered anyone on their way back to the tower, but he had noticed a suspicious lax in the normal nighttime patrols. Where were the Aurors, the professors, Mr. Filch?
The castle was eerily quiet and set his nerves on edge, and he had hustled the girls with him quickly up to the Fat Lady's portrait. The comforting crackle of the fire quickly eased his mind, and he consciously relaxed, feeling safe. He spotted Harry waiting up for them on the sofa, staring into the flames as shadows danced across his face.
Ron eyed his friend a bit warily, for there were times when he swore he could tell the difference between the real Harry and the clone, and this was one of those times. Internally he shrugged; in the end did it even matter? It was the same person, same mind, just in two places at once. Still he decided to test the accuracy of his intuition anyway.
With Ginny and Hermione right behind him, Ron plopped down in an armchair and groaned deeply. "The professors are even more sadistic than we ever guessed. I think they've all been taking lessons from Snape."
Ginny nodded, sitting beside Harry on the couch as she massaged her shoulder and moaned, "Whoever put those demons in the maze should be hung by their thumbs from Filch's manacles."
Hermione also sat, but chose Ron's lap instead of the other armchair. "Come on you two. You have to admit that it was rather interesting, and frankly some parts were even fun." "Only if you're a masochist," Ron grinned and gave her a quick kiss. Harry laughed quietly. "Don't hold back, tell me how you really feel," he teased. Ginny lightly smacked him with a pillow, which he quickly retaliated.
Ron looked quickly around to make sure they were alone, then asked casually, "So is Wraith up to anything special tonight, or is he lying low?" Harry looked askance at him then quirked a slight smile at him. "He's off wrecking havoc with Padfoot tonight, but nothing earth-shattering. Just clandestine." He sighed theatrically. "I'm stuck with the homework while he does the dirty work. Sometimes I don't know which of us got the better deal."
He turned back to Ron, suddenly quite serious. "How did you know?" Hermione was flicking her gaze back and forth between her friend and her boyfriend in slight bewilderment. "You mean . . . you're . . . he's . . . Ron, how can you tell?" Ron shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. "I don't really know, it's a feeling I get sometimes. I don't think anyone else can tell though. If there's one thing I know, it's to follow my gut instinct. I just had to see if I was right this time."
Harry sat back with a sigh, Ginny watching him closely, evaluating. "Ron, I really don't know how you can tell. Harry, I've watched you for the past five years," she was blushing bright red at this admission but continued doggedly, "and I really cannot tell any difference." Harry flushed slightly, but he still smiled as he wiped his brow with exaggerated relief. "Well, if you and Hermione can't, then I doubt anyone else even has a chance."
He glanced at his watch. "It's late, and I want to be awake for Potions in the morning. I'm heading for bed." Ginny stood up and stretched. "Bed sounds nice. Good night." As she and Harry headed up to their respective dormitories, he turned around on the stairs with a mischievous grin. "Don't stay up too late giving him a lap dance, Hermione. I sleep in the same room with him and his Silencing charms are a little shaky sometimes."
Hermione and Ron looked cute when they flushed the exact same shade of sunset red, and Harry had to duck around the corner and run as they flung matching curses at him. His laughter rang out and carried down the stairwell before being cut off by the dormitory door. Ron was muttering viciously under his breath as he pocketed his wand again, debating all the ways Harry could be hexed in his sleep.
Hermione silenced his tirade with a kiss. "Ignore him love. That mouth can be put to better use." He caught a flash of her wicked grin before he closed his eyes. When they later broke for air, Ron grinned at her and ran a hand through her bushy brown hair. "Who is this Hermione? What happened to that fussy stickler-for-rules bookworm that took me four years to realize was a girl?"
Hermione smirked as her finger traced circles on his chest. "You realized she was a girl, and she realized that not everything can be learned in books. Some things need to be experienced." She proceeded to show him just what experience had taught her, and it was a very happy Ron that wandered up to bed some 20 minutes later for some very sweet dreams.
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Dumbledore was still in his office when, with three pops of displaced air, three bleeding and bedraggled figures appeared in the front room, where one promptly collapsed to the floor. As he hurried over, he was pleased to recognized the bright red-orange hair of Arthur and Molly Weasley through their coatings of blood and soot.
Arthur limped heavily towards the Headmaster as Molly knelt next to the prone body on the floor, which was barely recognizable as Auror Tori Black. "Albus, it was a surprise attack. We barely made it to the Portkeys before the entire house started coming down around our ears." A deep breath caused him to break out into wracking coughs, and Dumbledore summoned a glass of water before calling Madame Pomfrey to his office.
The nurse bustled in less than two minutes later and immediately started tending to Tori Black. Molly helped her, explaining all the while, "She fought off demons to get to the house, but they were carrying some new weapons. Some of the blood was her partner's." Pomfrey nodded as she waved her wand over several bleeding gashes, directing Molly on applying the ointments she had brought.
Arthur sat in a chair watching as he spoke quietly to Dumbledore. "We were asleep when the wards went off, and seconds later we heard explosions from outside. I saw the demons from the window as they breached the first line and took out the Auror outpost and patrols. We ran for the emergency Portkeys in the basement and tripped over her in the front room." He gestured at Tori with sadness pulling down his features to make him appear twenty years older.
"She barely made it inside before they crashed through the next line and attacked the house directly. Her partner didn't make it. They were carrying what looked like Muggle weapons: a tube that shot fire, and another - what did Hermione call them? Granadas? Grenades? - Anyway, they threw one through the window and I thought we were dead."
He scrubbed at his face with both hands and sighed. "Tori saved us. She Banished it back outside and got a Shield up in time, then took the brunt of the explosion herself." He stared at the far wall blankly, reliving the scene. "The house was on fire. It sounded like the Aurors had arrived, and the demons broke off their assault temporarily. We hustled downstairs before they resumed, and activated the Portkeys just as another explosion started bringing the ceiling down on us."
Dumbledore silently handed him a cup of tea as he spoke, and as the Minister absently stirred it with a sugar quill the Headmaster placed a hand on Molly's shoulder. "How is she?" he asked the nurse quietly, and she shook her head. "In bad shape, but she'll live. I need to take her down to the Hospital Wing. "
"Very well. Arthur, Molly, go with her and let her check you over. Get some rest, you are safe here for tonight. I'll let you know as soon as we have more information." Subdued, the two got to their feet and followed Madame Pomfrey as she floated Tori on a stretcher in front of her. They disappeared quietly down the stairs, and Dumbledore watched another twin set of red hair leave to face an uncertain future for the second time that day.
He frowned as he considered this new move. This was not good. The battle was still on at the Minister's former residence and he had no way to recall the Order from the now pointless action. He prayed that everyone would come back safe and sound, yet with an attack this large he sincerely doubted it. All he could do now was wait to see the outcome and make his next move accordingly.
He knew enough chess strategy to know when he had been outmaneuvered. Voldemort was stepping up his attacks, and it looked like there was precious little they could do to stop him. Check.
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Wraith nearly stopped breathing himself. Frantically he pulled his vials of healing potions and phoenix tears out of his pocket, even though he didn't know what was wrong with Sirius. All he knew was that he had to save him. One shaking hand uncorked a vial, and tilting Sirius' head back he poured it down his throat, gently massaging his neck to get him to swallow.
"Sirius, don't you dare die on me now," he muttered desperately, barely noticing the distant crash and boom that signaled the fiery demise of his beloved Black Shadow. Shaking the unconscious man's shoulders, he tried to make him breathe again.
A distant memory of a Muggle technique flashed in his mind, and he settled Sirius on the ground., tilted his head back and pinched his nose shut, then took a deep breath and put his mouth over his godfather's, blowing air into unresponsive lungs. He did it again, then checked his pulse. It was getting weaker, and he still wasn't breathing. Trying to give the phoenix tears time to work, Wraith continued mouth to mouth, praying and hoping.
Time ticked by, each second an eternity as he fought to save his godfather's life. When he next pressed trembling fingers to the man's neck, he couldn't feel a pulse. "No! Sirius, don't leave me, don't you fucking leave me! Damn it!" he howled as he started pumping on his chest to restart his heart.
Wraith tried everything he could think of; his potions, more tears, Muggle methods, even going so far as to use his staff to conjure a miniature lightning bolt to shock him better than any Muggle defibrillator. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he worked feverishly over the still body, trying to force him to live. "C'mon Sirius, you can't leave me now, please," he murmured with a cracking voice as he waved his wand over him.
Yet despite all his considerable powers, with the forces of nature and knowledge of millennia worth of magic literally at his fingertips, all Wraith could do was hold Sirius Black in his arms as he died.
He stared down at the pale face of his godfather, the only real family he had ever known, and knew he was gone. A crushing sensation in his chest let him know that his heart was breaking. His eyes burned as he fought back tears, and gently he lowered the body to the ground, smoothing a hand over the lax features into a semblance of peace.
A massive explosion behind him shook the ground and snapped Wraith back into the present. Whirling around on his knees, he saw the Minister's manor crumbling to debris as an inferno raged at its core, silhouetting the demons as they cavorted in triumph and fell savagely upon the Aurors. He watched as one of the Order members - the bleached blond hair gave him away as Spike Williams - fired several rounds into two advancing demons until his clip clicked empty. A quick search of his pockets revealed he was out of ammo.
Undaunted, Spike threw the gun away and pulled two short swords from beneath his robes just as they engaged him. The battle was furious but short, and Wraith could only watch as the blond head went flying while the body it was formally attached to slumped to the bloody ground.
A blind and unreasoning rage filled him, and he leapt to his feet snarling ferally. Foregoing his staff and weapons entirely, he sprinted nearly supernaturally fast to the nearest demon and grabbed its arm. Applying leverage, he spun it around towards another group rushing forwards then whipped out with a powerful double kick, simultaneously twisting the arm. A wet snapping noise accompanied a sickening tear as Wraith tore the arm off entirely, and the demon spiraled back into its neighbors to knock them off their feet.
The creature's squeals of pain were cut short as Wraith, ignoring the putrid blood spattering him from ripped arteries, hefted the severed arm like his parvalleh and used the claws to rip open its neck. As it gagged on its own poisons and died, he quickly dispatched three demons within his immediate vicinity in similar fashion. Dropping the dismembered limb, he headed for another group terrorizing four Aurors including Bill Weasley.
These ones saw him coming, and as one slashed open an Auror like a marshmallow another turned a flamethrower on him. Dodging gracefully, Wraith transformed into a gryffin and leapt, the lion's muscles propelling him straight into the demons. Sharp eagle's talons ripped into their chests, and with a clamp and a twist of his beak a head snapped off, which was then spat out with disgust. A sweep of wings beat Bill and an Auror backwards just as a grenade flew through the space their heads had just occupied. The gryffin caught the bomb on his wing and flung it back to explode right in its owner's hands.
By now, with the main target accomplished, the demons had begun transporting themselves out, leaving only a few to finish up the battle. The Aurors pulled back for defense and were watching dumbly as the remnants were systematically butchered by the Animagus. After watching the last chest ripped open, the heart torn out and manually crushed to a pulp in one clawed paw, several Aurors turned and retched on the ground.
Panting heavily and glaring down at the scattered carcasses, the gryffin seemed to realize that it was over and visibly deflated. Instantly it changed back into Wraith, nearly unrecognizable with his clothes slashed, burnt, muddied and drenched in blood. Wearily he surveyed the trampled and bloody earth, the slain corpses of demons and humans leaking blood, the burning grounds and the flaming pile of rubble that was once a fine manor house.
Shaking his head in defeat, he stumbled back to the place where he had left Sirius' body, and fell to his knees beside him again. Grief overwhelmed him like a tsunami, overpowering and crushing, and this time when his eyes burned he let the tears fall as a sob was choked out of his throat. He let himself fall forward onto the still chest, head buried in the fabric of his robes.
For the first time in years, he wept.