Final Chapter, or, 'The Saviour'
7eAL, 2005
The Saviour
Number 12, Grimmauld Place was a very large and very empty house, most of the time. Not because it was dark, though it was as dark as the family name of its ancestral owners, the Blacks. Not because it was forbidding, yet it certainly was forbidding, if the dim shadows in the windows meant anything. Not because it was unplottable, despite being placed under a very well-executed Fidelius charm by one very courageous Mr Longbottom.
It was a very empty indeed for such a large house, because of the identity of its sole owner and inhabitant. And it just so happened that on a certain night three and a half weeks before the start of term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, that sole inhabitant just happened to be receiving a summons.
"S-sir?"
A rumble of half-coherent mutterings replied in the dark.
"It's t-time, sir," the small voice squeaked again, in the voice of a person trying to make a polite and respectful solicitation upon a sleeping dragon.
Standing beside a crackling fireplace and out of arm's reach of the tall armchair, the small creature known as a house elf fidgeted with its large ears. It wore a dark tunic with a sash tied around the waist, and bore a single distinguishing crest on the shoulder.
The person in the armchair took a very long, deep breath and cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to his thick and messy black hair before opening his sharp green eyes. He swept his eyes over his surroundings, awareness reaching outward both physically and magically like the senses of a great, winged, fire-belching lizard.
He gave a graceless snort as a sign of dismissal, before he rose from the chair and swept up the longsword leaning beside it in one movement.
Standing, he towered with authority, though it had nothing to do with his height. Harry Potter had never been the tallest of boys and he was not the tallest of men, likely a result of malnourishment in his youth. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, glanced down to thank the short creature and left it to struggle with its own awe and embarrassment.
Harry flexed his hands and joints as he rounded the corner out of the room, letting the motions work the life back through his body. Situations had changed enough in five years since the beginning of his horcrux hunt. Where he had once needed to rush to every defence and emergency, he could instead bide his time, planning, preparing, working methodically.
"My Lord," or, "Lord Potter," several portraits of deceased vigilantes, aurors and professors called to greet Harry in the hall. He nodded absently and paid little heed to the greetings he received on his way to the armoury. Instead, he directed his attention to a voice speaking in rough, accented English.
"Dämonjäger Potter! De operations begin in thirty minutes, Dämonjäger," came the voice. The image of a young man dressed in fitted black leather and mail armour gracefully jumped from frame to frame as it spoke. "Kommandant Weasley haz passed word dat you are expected to lead de hunt," the long-dead eastern European daemon hunter continued. The portrait jumped ahead as Harry came out of the stairwell, moving toward the armoury, still reporting.
Harry turned a corner into what had once been the girls' bedroom, as the portrait went over the mission plan using a coded language. The flick of a wrist sent all the dim firelight in the room flaring.
The dancing light revealed walls and racks loaded heavily with weapons and armour – some of them relics from a time even before that of the man in the portrait. Harry pulled on an incomplete set of dragonhide armour; the leathery cuirass, thighs, right bracer and gorget collar went on tightly over his clothes. Then after tucking a half-dozen throwing knives and a handgun of vampire manufacture into his armour, Harry proceeded to put on something heavier. In minutes, his left arm, shins and shoulders were securely encased in plates of gleaming black dragonscale, with his longsword hanging from his left hip.
Harry then left the portrait in the armoury with a traditional salute, and proceeded a ways down the hall to the study. He presented the Black family ring to the seals and locks on the door while pulling a long, specially tailored coat over shoulders, with the armour on his left arm showing because there was no sleeve.
Inside, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black watched impassively as Harry swept into the poorly lit dimness of the room with all the noise of an owl on the hunt. Beside him, the portrait of one Albus Dumbledore was still completely insensible, lost deep in sleep and snoring lightly in his frame with his bearded chin against his chest.
Harry stood reaching into the shelves above his desk where quills and parchments stood next to muggle ball-point pens and lined notepads, going between books and then between pages to pull out individual trinkets. He tucked things into the many pockets of his long coat and armour: maps, carved stones, scrolls and vials of colourful liquids, amongst other items of importance.
After he had loaded himself with what seemed to be enough to make a one-man walking library, apothecary and curio museum, he finally stopped to pull open a drawer and snatch a handful of chocolate bars. On the wall, Phineas smirked in understanding.
The locks and seals sprung up again the moment Harry closed the door behind himself.
On his way down the stairs, Harry ran through checks on the house wards through the use of a series of charmed detectors that Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had created upon Hermione's suggestion. Satisfied that the Black family home was sealed to all but he, Harry called yet another house elf to the entrance hall, where he was standing.
With the sound of a loud crack, Dobby, with his immense eyes and long ears, appeared beside the man, perched on the infamous troll's leg umbrella stand for additional height. The intensity of Dobby's devotion to Harry hadn't diminished in the slightest over the years, as was evident in the small creature's behaviour.
Dobby froze stock-still in a deep bow, still perched on the empty umbrella stand, "Yes, Harry Potter sir, what can Dobby do for you, sir?"
"All of you are to guard the house and maintain lockdown on the remainder of the properties as usual," Harry ordered as he slipped into a pair of dragonscale plated boots Dobby had levitated over for him. "And send Winky to tell Ron that I'm ready, Dobby," he added as an afterthought, already knowing that none of the house elves would misunderstand the meaning of his orders.
"Right away, Harry Potter sir!" Snapping upright with the most determined set on his face, Dobby couldn't have disapparated any faster without clipping away the end of his sentence.
Harry nodded once, his mind already leaving the thoughts of Dobby and the house elves behind, and moving onto his regular mental preparations for combat. His actions were automatic as he extended his magical senses again before carefully opening the front door, all the while concentrating on building some magic into his Occlumency shields. He detected nothing, and stood in silence as he sensed all the wards, seals and locks on the front door reassert themselves.
Stepping out of the grounds and thus, out of the anti-apparition wards, Harry's vision swirled as he felt a sensation something like being compressed and sucked through a narrow tube. In an instant, he felt the presence of maybe a half-dozen others in his immediate vicinity. The magical signatures of his allies, including even vampires, a golem and a mage-hunter, danced around him. He caught the sound of Ron's familiar voice bellowing commands over the noise around him.
Harry opened his brilliant emerald green eyes, not knowing when he had closed them. As he did, they shone with unnatural light, producing a green magical flare just as the Dark Lord produced a red one, billowing from his eyes like a green flame in slow motion.
Raising his wand and his voice at once, he recalled a particular line he had adapted from a noblewoman he had met on several occasions: "In the name of Britain and the Queen, impure souls of the darkness shall be punished with eternal damnation!"
Wading into the rising battle around him, Harry, sword drawn and wand ready, smiled grimly as he heard the resounding response of his followers: "AMEN!"
Notes: There's a nod each to Castlevania, Hellsing, maybe even Diablo and Warhammer 40K or Dungeons and Dragons, depending on how a person decides to read into the little titbits I've put in. Really, I'm just messing with a twenty-something, jaded, badass Harry.
I could almost see this giving birth to another seven books, but that'd mean at least one book for every source of strength – during which time even Voldemort needs to become (dis)proportionately more threatening. I'd need Dumbledorian magical abilities to pull it off realistically and without taking the weight of the world off Harry's shoulders.
Disclaimer: The name Harry Potter and related characters and works of fiction are property of J. K. Rowling. This work of fanfiction is in no way related to or endorsed by J.K. Rowling, and no profit is made from it.