Chapter Thirteen

The Hammer and The Blade

The Defense Association, or as it was called from the time it's official conception, Dumbledore's Army, had begun in Neville's fifth year at Hogwarts. It had been a response to that year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor refusing to teach actual methods that were needed to fight or defend against the dark arts.

Neville had been there since its beginning. He had been in the first meeting in Hog's Head. He'd been in the first actual meeting where Harry had begun teaching them the methods and the techniques he had previously used to defeat, first Quirrel, then Tom Riddle and the Basilisk, and then coming face to face with Voldemort during the Tri Wizard Tournament.

The DA hadn't sputtered and died after that year, when Professor Umbridge left and was replaced by another. Instead it had grown after the events of the Battle of the Ministry came to light and the news that Voldemort was back was announced. As the War continued and Voldemort's reign of terror increased day after day, the ranks of the DA also grew. Harry had taught them all he knew, training dozens of students at a time, while at the same time also receiving further training from various professors on the side.

Those final years in Hogwarts were far different from the five years previous. Gone were the carefree days, the weekly trips to Hogsmeade and worrying about a paper that needed to be written, or tests that they'd have to do. Castles in their initial concept were places where one could hold out if and when the enemy came. It was a place of refugee and defense. The school returned to being a fortress as Voldemort grew in power and the whole of the Wizarding World was being torn asunder in the battles that raged across the British Isles.

During that last year, Harry had become a man possessed. All his time had been spent preparing, training, and doing all he could to become the person that would have to stand against Voldemort. If it hadn't been for Hermione, Neville knew that Harry would have turned a dark corner. He had given up on teaching the beginner and intermediate students. Instead he spent his time only teaching those he judged as being the Advanced, those that learned quickly and followed his commands without hesitation. No longer was it Dumbledore's army or the Defense Association, it had become Potter's Army. A half trained army of little kids and not yet adults all filled with the eagerness for battle that only the young and the foolish have and their heads filled with thoughts of immortality and glory.

Through all of it, Neville had been there. Since the first meeting, to the first battle, to the first deaths of people he'd known for years. The first person he'd killed had been in defense of Harry. He'd been the one to carry Harry's broken, near dead body from the wreckage that was the Great Hall. He had been there on that sad day when the tattered remains of Potter's Army had been cheered and proclaimed heroes. Where there had been dozens before, there only remained a handful, broken and shattered by the horrors they had seen and committed in the name of stopping a great evil.

When reality came crashing back down upon them. When it had been time to choose what they would be doing for the rest of their lives, nearly all of them had automatically signed up to be Aurors. They had seen the horrors of actual war, but they all also knew they would follow Harry wherever he went. Harry had gone to be an Auror and they followed.

Neville could still remember the first day of their induction into the Auror Training Academy. He remembered the half finished barracks, the strong smell of newly applied paint, and the hordes of workers frantically trying to finish construction before their deadline. Everywhere he could see the newness, the freshly built buildings that had replaced the smoking ruins left behind by Voldemort and his Death Eaters when they destroyed the first Academy and slaughtered everyone there.

The first day of training they had been lined up, twelve kids all looking too young and at the same time too old. There were only two others, and Hermione, who had seen too much of fighting and wanted to live lives of peace. Neville could still remember the sneers on the instructor's faces, hard men and women who had lived lives of fighting. They were not impressed with what Potter had done. They saw it as irresponsible, they were all stupid, they were children playing at war, and they had paid for it in pain and in blood.

Neville had thought he knew what it was to fight. Three years he had trained beside Harry, he had fought alongside him. A part of him wondered why they had to go to Auror training at all. Had they not just defeated the Dark Lord? Had they not proven themselves capable? He had thought he knew how to fight. On that first day he was shown how little he knew. The instructors pulled no punches, they were hard, and they were unmerciful. Every one of them had fought and every one of them knew what it was to fight for your life, the mad desperation to win. On that day they had received a sound thrashing.

It was a realization that Neville hadn't known he needed. There had been a part of him, a small part that had become arrogant, that figured he'd win any fight for he was stronger. He hadn't known how little they actually knew, how badly prepared they had been when they'd gone up against Voldemort. He was shown what skill was and it had filled him with awe and humility.

He felt that same sense of awe and humility as he saw Dennis fighting. It was like watching a brutal thunderstorm. The sky seemed to shake, thunder boomed, and he could feel the power in the air. He cast spells and curses about him, everything in his wake falling, crumpling, burning, and vaporizing as they drew near.

He was a sledgehammer. Smashing a large area, crushing and utterly destroying anything in it, but on the fringes some survived. Neville took those on, slashing and burning as they came his way. Monsters hurled themselves at him. They were nothing more than impressions, creatures coming his way, fast and deadly. There was almost no time to think. Instincts, ingrained after years of training, kicked in and Neville cursed the creatures.

It was happening very fast. One thing that Neville had understood was that a battle didn't take long. There were no drawn out fights. They usually happened quick and deadly, duels in the old sense of the word. The fastest, strongest person would always win. Speed and reaction were the things that were ingrained in them. How to move without thinking, to react and counter without hesitation.

Monsters appeared and disappeared from his vision. He could hear the heavy beating of blood pounding through his ears, he could hear the harsh breathing heaving his chest, but what was happening wasn't completely taken in. The world seemed to fade away and all that there was were the monsters before him. Creatures that needed to be destroyed.

Suddenly as fast as it had begun it was over. Neville blinked his eyes and stared at the devastation that lay around him. Monster lay curled up, their flesh sear, broken, or torn apart. The once emerald lawns were turn into blacken ground, that smoked and was pocked with small craters and large portions that seemed to have just erupted.

Neville watched as a few of the monsters weakly tried to move, their shattered limbs moving slowly and a mewling sound coming from them.

There was the sound of clapping, slow and mockingly. Neville looked to where it was coming and saw a tall figure in black. He could see pale white hands clapping together, but the cowl of his robes hid the face. Though Neville could feel a gaze upon him, taking in everything and making its judgment. Beside him a stunningly beautiful woman stood, red haired and crimson robed arms folded and a mocking grin on her face.

The woman turned and headed toward the cottage, Neville glanced toward it and saw both Hermione and Ron standing near the door. Neville looked back toward the man in black. A second later he attacked.

XXX

It was called the Hammer and the Blade. A simple tactic made by Harry during the final days at Hogwarts for the children in the DA. Harry never called it Potter's Army, though everyone by then had taken up the name. To him it would always be the Defense Association. Toward the end of the school year only the Advanced students were able to do the most complicated magic, but they were few in numbers. The others, the Intermediate and the Beginners were far behind, so Harry had begun grouping them together

A stronger witch or wizard, the hammer, backed up by a weaker one, the blade. The concept was simple and it worked more often or not. The Hammers were taught devastating spells. Spells that could lay waste to large areas and cause the most damage. The Blades on the other hand were taught more elegant spells. They were quick and slicing spells that could be used against one or two opponents, but never against a large group.

It had been drilled into all of them. From the Advanced students to the Beginners. Everyone of them had been taught to learn to fight together. Using each other's strengths and picking up the slack for their weaknesses.

Hermione wondered how deeply that drilling had been ingrained in them all. She knew Neville was an Auror and Dennis would only have to be one of Harry's band of merry killers. They had never fought together and yet there they were falling into an old tactic. Dennis the Hammer and Neville the Blade. Both moving and working together in near harmony.

Hermione couldn't help but feel a shiver of recognition as she watched Dennis' face. She hadn't known the boy when he was in Hogwarts. His older brother had been known for picture taking and an almost sycophant attachment to Harry. They'd both followed Harry into Auror Training, though years apart. She'd heard briefly from Ginny that they'd also left when Harry had quit. She hadn't put together the two events, but now that she watched as he cut a swath of death and devastation across her lawns she knew he was a student of Harry.

Watching Dennis, Hermione couldn't help but to notice how he moved like Harry. How his face seemed devoid of express. There was a detachment to his surroundings, what Harry had called the Emptiness. A place where neither pain, fatigue, and emotion didn't matter. Where only the fight and only winning mattered.

She may not have been an Auror, nor even trained as one. But she'd seen Harry practice and train many times while they were together. There was something almost beautiful about the movements, the way wand and body melded together in a dance that could only cause death. It was a conservation of movement and power. Movements that were efficient and graceful, no energy wasted in either exertion or spell casting.

Nobody was good as Harry when it came to the arts of war. He knew what he was doing and all those that listened to him would also know what they were doing. Hermione had heard of the stories from their days in the Academy. How Harry's small team of five trainees had been the best team to graduate in nearly a century. They had prospered under Harry's instruction. It didn't' surprise Hermione for she could still remember the days in Hogwarts, where Harry had taken the time and the energy to make sure that everyone was learning what he had to teach. To make sure that everyone was proficient and ready. He didn't berate or shout, instead he talked softly and encouraged, taking the time to make sure that you knew it completely.

How many years had Dennis been under his tutelage? As she watched him, she knew Harry had turned the young boy she once knew into that killing machine. That emotionless, remorseless person that cut down and destroyed everything in his path. Hermione couldn't help but feel a shiver of fear watching him.

"Damn, he's good." Ron muttered at her side.

Hermione jerked in surprise, remembering that they were the ones who were supposed to be rescuing them. There were no more monsters, just a devastated lawn and smoking craters.

Then she heard the clapping. No, not all the monsters had been destroyed. Two still remained and one was heading their way.

"Get ready." Hermione whispered and then they were attacked.