A/N
The Azkaban chapter is here! Thank you so much to Happily, and Keri who's A03 name I have, once again, forgotten. I have no idea how this chapter got so long, but Happily read it so many times his eyes must be bleeding at this point.
I have no idea how the entire story has gotten this long lol. But things are moving faster from here on out, I promise you.
Just a touch of smut at the end. Just a touch.
Chapter 42
Harry
"Five minutes!" Moody announces, stomping around the parlour and double-checking everybody's readiness.
I double-check the jars in my bag.
"I feel like we've robbed a menagerie."
Ginny says it in jest, turning in a slow circle, but she certainly has a point.
I chuckle under my breath, checking my supplies for the thousandth time.
Draco, who transformed in the kitchen away from onlookers, has made his way into the parlour. Remus, who let the moon touch him an hour ago, is curled up in front of the fire, snuggling with a shaggy-haired, black-dogged Sirius. The twins are scampering around the furniture, nipping at people's heels and purposefully being a nuisance. Though she's in the form of a tabby cat, Professor McGonagall looks as regal as a queen sitting on the table, giving the twins irked looks and swishing her tail in irritation.
Aberforth is in his goat form, munching on a plant Neville procured for him. Nate is sitting on the owl perch grooming his eagle feathers.
Hermione calls Draco to her, who snarls lightly, but doesn't complain when Mi latches the harness with his pack around his neck. She makes him test it to ensure he can pull the cord, then snaps it around him a final time. Draco growls at her, then looks about the room, before running his head into her hip so hard Mi almost falls over.
Mi laughs and digs her hands into his mane, rubbing him like she does Crookshanks.
Did he just…? Are they? I shake my head and go back to checking my supplies. I'm not in the right frame of mind to even begin to work that out. I don't understand how the more Hermione yells at us, Malfoy included apparently, the more she endears us to her. I doubt I will ever understand. Especially as I'm the worst example of the lot.
I look around again. Yeah. We do kinda look like a petting zoo.
Tonks alternates between worried looks at Padfoot and Moony with their shaggy heads together by the fire and checking in with the others, asking their beast forms if they've got everything they need and waiting for a nod in return. Ron is with the other Weasley's, trying to assure his parent's that everything will be fine.
Honestly, we've broken into the Ministry twice. How hard can the prison be? Dementors don't frighten me.
I breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to calm my runaway heart. I'm not scared, I'm excited, and Hermione doesn't find that reassuring at all. For the millionth time in approximately three minutes, I check my father's magically expanded pouch on my hip to ensure I have enough mason jars. They're in a bag, inside my bag, so they don't rattle around. On top of that, I have two wands, three knives, and the Sword of Gryffindor all in their holsters on my back, arms, chest and thighs. Instant darkness powder and decoy detectors in smaller pouches are linked to my belt. My invisibility cloak is because, since Six Year last time, I don't leave the house without it. Two communication mirrors have been shoved into my trouser pockets, and Hermione's father's PPK is tucked into the small of my back.
Just in case she said. If we get to the point where I need to use the gun, we're in deep trouble indeed.
Mi crowds into my personal space and slips my glasses from my face. Before I can ask her what she's doing, she slides a different pair over my eyes.
"They have a night vision spell," she says tapping on the bridge of the glasses over my nose, at the same time Ron exclaims, "Oi! Nice getup, Mate."
I tilt my head at Mi in question, and she takes my hand and drags me to a mirror. Instead of my reflection looking back at me, I look like a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair. A fit-looking middle-aged man wearing black Dragon-hide armour and enough weapons to invade a small country.
Huh. She got the glamour spell to stick. Now I know where she and the twins went this morning. I make a mental note to give them her Bonding ring and have them stick a shield charm in it.
"I'd rather be safe than sorry," she says. "We'll destroy this pair afterwards, so this specific alias can't be used again."
If the wizards on duty aren't called away from the main prison floors as we planned, there's a decent chance we end up in the cells tonight instead of walking around outside of them. Tonks slipped an untraceable request into the Auror department the day after we set our plan to break into Azkaban. That was nine days ago. She got confirmation of it yesterday. If all goes to plan, in approximately three minutes, the Aurors of Azkaban will be pulled into a thirty-minute long gathering to thank them for all their hard work toiling amongst the Dementors.
More than enough time for us to get in and get out.
You've got this Hermione whispers into my mind. You'll be fine.
I do got this.
Thirteen cells. All of which are in the high-security section and most of which are situated side by side. Another sign of the Ministry's ineptitude. I get the idea of keeping the most dangerous prisoners secluded and together but allowing them to be that close and to talk to each other through the bars is just stupid in my opinion. Plus, it will make it incredibly easy to break them out.
Though, since tonight it's to our benefit, I suppose I shouldn't complain.
Not trusting myself from injuring him again, I watched as Ron allowed Hermione to practice the spell on him until she could get his magic bottled and in her pocket in under twenty-five seconds. If she can do it that fast, I can too. We should be in and out within fifteen minutes.
"One minute!" Moony yells, and all the Animagus move towards the middle of the room where the elves are waiting. Poor Winky looks terrified, but Dobby is bouncing on the tips of his toes. I always knew there was a reason he and I got along so well.
"Stay in formation," I say, "and we'll be fine. We get in, we get out, we stay safe! At the first sign of trouble, I'll call for our escape. We don't need to get them all. Robbing Voldemort of even one of these Death Eaters will be a blow to his regime."
Almost twenty sets of eyes look to me, their faces differing between human and animal, and the weight of their stare sits heavy on my shoulders. This was my plan, my idea.
We don't have to do this. There's still time to back out. If anything goes wrong…
"First set, go," Moony says, and Winky grasps hold of McGonagall and Aberforth in the predetermined sequence and disappears from the parlour.
I hit the timer on my watch. It's set to alert every ten minutes.
Two at a time, the elves with their charges disappear from the room until only I remain.
Hermione pulls me into a hug so fierce it pushes the air from my lungs.
"You better be safe, Harry!" Hermione demands. "Don't do anything stupid or reckless. In and out, just like you said. Don't dawdle!"
I run my thumb over her bottom lip, admiring how very lovely she is.
"Don't worry," I tell her. "I'll be right back." I move my lips in a silent charm and watch as my hand disappears against my wife's face and the feeling of an egg cracking over my skull slides down my face. I am fully disillusioned.
With Dobby's hand in mine, together we depart in a flash of elf magic.
I land in a stone hallway; the only light is that of the moon shining in from cracks in the walls and bars. Dobby disappears with a whispered, "Good luck!" The night vision on my glasses must be working because, despite the dank and gloom, I see everything clear as day.
"Expecto Patronum," I whisper, pulling my wand, and Prongs burst forth from the tip, cantering around our circle. I swear I see Hermione's new doe, invisible but still present, striding lightly beside him.
I keep forgetting to ask her about that.
I protect the stone hallway as much as I can, putting up the spells we used for our meetings, Muffliato, Silencing, etc. I debate enabling the perimeter alarms, but don't know whether the Dementors would set them off or not.
I'm surrounded by a bevvy of animals, standing tightly together with their backs towards me staring down either side of the walkway. Nate, in his eagle form, is circling above my head. Though the castle is used as a prison, it had the potential of being beautiful, once upon a time. Unlit sconces line the walls and murals long since faded to blacks and greys cover the ceiling.
The corridor is big enough for the Dementors, so probably twelve feet tall and twenty feet wide. I imagine, before, this space could have been a great hall.
"Spread out," I say, and my guard separates, each taking a designated point on the floor. It's one of the only things we argued about. McGonagall and Remus wanted to stay at my side the entire time. What's the point of a guard if they aren't guarding you, they said. But I think it makes more sense to scatter. The Dementors won't be able to pinpoint where I am, because the static, for lack of a better word, caused by the animal's brain waves won't be concentrated on one spot.
They aren't truly here as my guard. They're here as a distraction. Only the younger generation seem to understand that though.
Dementors immediately appear at each end of the passageway, but don't come any further than that. They don't have faces, but if they did, I'd say they'd look confused. Between the love for my wife powering Prongs and the bevvy of animal brains messing with their mojo, the Dementors seem content to sit back and watch the play by play.
Do Dementors even have eyes?
No, blossoms in my mind.
A smile tips up the side of my lips.
So far, so good, I tell my Bonded. She'll let the others know.
It's freezing here, the combination of the Dementors touch and the damp sea air. I get a surge of anger knowing how long Sirius spent in this hell. A wet tongue slides against my hand, and I glance down to see Padfoot. It's okay, he seems to tell me. I'm free now.
I'm spending too long in one spot. I turn in a circle, looking around me one last time.
The prison cells aren't numbered, but so long as the elves dropped us in the pre-designed spot…
Tonks provided me with updated mugshots, so I know what everyone looks like after ten years in captivity. Rockwood is lying prone on his back, his arms behind his head. He doesn't even look in our direction. Asleep or perhaps uncaring of the activity beyond his cell.
My blood is rushing in my ears so loudly I can't hear myself breathe. I'm not even sure I am breathing. Maybe Hermione is breathing for us both. This is it. The first test. Every eye of my animal guards is focused in my direction, waiting to see the spell work. They can't see me, but they can smell my location.
I'll have to thank Umbridge again for the torture when I get to her cell because even though inside, I'm shaking, my hands are perfectly still. I have the smallest connection with Rockwood. Outside of the battle in the Department of Mysteries, I had very little to do with the man. If the magic fails, it'll be with him.
I pull the jar from my bag with my left hand and magically untwist the lid. It floats in the air beside us.
"Augustus Rockwood, for crimes against me and crimes against those I love, I declare thee an enemy of my House. Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."
For a horrible second, that seemingly lasts an eternity, I don't think it's going to work. Ron's power always bled out of him immediately. But then, suddenly, the man's eyes pop open and he gasps a breath of shock, and his magic flows from his body like water.
It's blue and almost crystal-like, sparkling in the moonlight. A man that dark shouldn't have magic this pretty.
It solidifies in the air then comes to rest inside the glass container on my side of the bars.
"What have you done to me?" He barks, struggling to climb to his feet with his hands clutching his chest. I stun him and watch with dispassion as he drops to the side.
"Obliviate," I say and point my wand to the man on the stone. I erase the last minute from his mind.
Sirius nips at my hand. A smile that would give Riddle nightmares spreads across my face.
One down. Twelve to go.
I fall into a rhythm. Speak the spell and collect their magic. Stun them, obliviate the last minute from their mind, and then move five feet down the row to do it again. My guards walk the edge of our perimeter, snapping at the dementors who seem ready to break the line and fly into the corridor.
It would be easier if I could stun them first, but part of the spell is they have to be aware when their power is stripped. Which, again, makes no sense to me, but Draco assures me it's to uphold my pureblood honour.
Of which I have none.
After one of the Lestrange brothers, the prisoners seem to understand something is going on, even if I can't be seen. A phantom voice issuing decrees followed by collapsing prisoners is proof enough for anyone. Several inmates come to their bars, yelling at each other, and asking questions.
"Who's there?" and "What's going on?" and in one case, "Can I pet the lion?"
Draco almost bites their hand off. Padfoot barks in amusement beside me.
Travers's magic is green, and he screams like a baby when it bleeds from his pores. I silence him after mere moments, but the sound bounces off the stone, pulling other prisoners from their cots.
I can almost taste their fear. It would be a heady feeling indeed if the thought didn't make me feel sick.
The Dementors begin to get antsy at the end of the hallway. You'd think Dementors would be used to screaming, but maybe that's only when they're the ones making you wail.
Dementors don't have ears, Hermione says from across the Bond. They're feeding off the fear.
If that's the case, love, the Dementors are going to feast tonight.
My hands begin to sweat.
Some prisoners watch their comrades wilt with dispassionate stares. Others begin to taunt, teasing that they've been spared. Still, others yell for the Aurors. I throw up another silencing spell.
To them, there is no reason why the pack of animals and I, still fully invisible, stop at one cell and not another. Why a mass murder remains on their feet, but a person convicted of the minor crime of being a Death Eater collapses to the stone. They start joking and making bets, wondering who will fall next to the phantom of Azkaban and his travelling zoo. I try to tune them out and pick up the pace.
The Dementors don't scare me, but that doesn't mean they don't affect me all the same. My heart is thundering in my chest as the cloaked half-demon's agitation grows.
"Never an Auror when you need one," a pale-skinned woman laughs when I walk by her cell. She opens her mouth wide to heckle Sirius, who hasn't left my side, and a shiver of disgust trickles down my spine when I see how many teeth she's missing.
That's why you don't turn to the dark side, mate. They don't have dentists.
Nate flies too far outside our perimeter and dips in the air before catching himself. I'm already on my way to catch him mid-fall when he wings it back inside the circle.
Bugger.
"Don't do that again," I snap at him, and startle when he salutes me with one wing.
The problem is that our perimeter is getting smaller. My breath blooms in a white puff of smoke in the air as the Dementors creep ever closer. I silence every prisoner before I steal their magic, but it makes little difference at this point. Dementors don't hear. They feel. It doesn't matter how many Animagus I brought with me. With every prisoner who succumbs to my will, the panic and fear in the prison ward continues to rise. Like the tide at sunrise, it can't be stopped.
Every prisoner's magic is different. Greens and blues and reds. Some of the textures are almost liquid, some as thick as glue.
I know without having confirmation, that Hermione is on her side of the Bond taking notes. To pull a favourite phrase from my wife, even I can admit it's fascinating.
I stop in front of Umbridge's cell and tap my wand against my thigh. It was a surprise, and a pleasant one, when we learned the fanatical bitch had not only been thrown in prison but in the high-security ward to boot. We tried to find out what the charges were besides treason, but those were classified even beyond Tonks's reach. Whatever she was doing behind the minister's back, however, was enough to get her locked away for the rest of her life.
It almost doesn't feel like punishment enough.
Even in prison, Umbridge is wearing a stupid bow. It looks like she tore a strip from her hem and fashioned one from it. Her toad-like face bulges in anger, and she picks up her tin cup and bangs it on the wall when I steal her voice from her throat. Remus growls at my knee.
Happiness, and just a touch of revenge, gurgles in my chest when I tear her magic from her.
"Dolores Umbridge, for crimes against me and crimes against those I love, I declare thee an enemy of my House. Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."
She gurgles a high-pitched scream before I silence her, much like she did in the Forbidden Forest, then her eyes roll back in her head, and she passes out on the spot. Unfortunately, she's still breathing.
A Dementor lunges in my direction, and I jerk and stumble before Prongs rams him with his antlers. My hands start to shake from the cold.
"So gross," I mumble as Umbridge's power drifts through the air into the jar. Her magic is pink, surprise, surprise, and its fluidity reminds me of Pepto-Bismol. I tighten my lips around my chattering teeth, so I don't gag.
"Obliviate."
I duck as a rock comes careening from a cell behind me.
My watch beeps a warning that we've hit the ten-minute mark. McGonagall hisses as a Dementor glides down the hallway before Prongs bats it away again.
Shit. I'm moving too slow…
Nausea roils in my stomach. The animals that surround me are growling and yipping in the air, adding to the chaos blooming in the middle of Azkaban. Despite the chill, I'm sweating through my armour.
Dolohov is three cells down the row.
Images of Hermione, unconscious and hefted over Neville's shoulder dance through my mind. The disillusion charm is holding, but for all that he's a monster, Dolohov is no fool. He seems to realize his time is coming. He gives a bemused smile as I prepare to rip his magic from his body.
My vision goes white. The ever-increasing sounds of growling and roaring behind me filter into nothing.
I shouldn't give in to the rage coursing through me. I know I shouldn't. But my anger settles my heartbeat. It helps me regain control. Anger is what I'm good at. It's what's kept me going so far.
I point my wand at the monster who almost killed the woman I love.
"Antonin Dolohov, for crimes against my wife and crimes against those I love, I declare thee an enemy of my House. Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."
He bellows as his power is forced from his body, its colour and texture like that of a swamp. I don't silence his pain, and instead, let it wash over me until it dwindles into nothing. Until his body tips to the side, dead or almost there. It doesn't matter to me either way. He'll never be able to hurt Hermione again. It settles some of the ache in my bones.
McGonagall hisses, and nips at my hand, then she turns and snaps at an approaching Dementor.
Yeah. I know. I shouldn't have done that.
"Obliviate."
The Dementors are starting to surge. They don't make noise, but the sound of their cloaks dragging against the stone and brushing against walls makes a slithering effect that has my skin crawling. My anger warms me from the inside out, boiling my blood to fire. The Dementors cool me from the outside in. The result is a body fraught with tension that's struggling to breathe. I'm running out of time.
I have to stop and clear my head. Dementors feed on bad emotions.
I'm not here to settle a score. I'm here to rob Voldemort of his army.
Get in. Get out. Keep everyone safe.
My hands clench at my side.
But it's so, so tempting just to kill the rest on my list and be done with it.
I duck as Nate dives over my head.
Bellatrix's cell is next and I'm panting in barely contained rage. I point my wand at the crowding Dementors, and Prongs lowers his head and charges, sending them all scurrying back the way they came. Only Prongs is starting to dim.
The Dementors are feeding on my anger. Patronuses are fueled with love.
I love you I send to my wife
Concentrate and stop screwing around, she demands.
Prongs surges as I laugh, glowing brighter than the moon. Then he flickers when he's rushed by a dozen Dementors. Draco is pacing back and forth, shaking his head in agitation. The twins are snarling as they walk in a circle around me. Even Aberforth has his head lowered, ready to attack.
I finger the blade strapped to my left thigh and feel the pistol at the small of my back heat as if begging me to use it.
Sirius nips at my hand and I dig my fingers into his fur before I lift a hand to my face and pull off my glasses. I let the disillusion and glamour fall and reveal myself to my enemy.
She's fuzzy without my glasses, but she can see me just fine.
Bellatrix's eyes widen in shock, and she starts to cackle that horrible laugh. The laugh that makes you cringe away in fright and horror. Her laugh could strip the flesh from your bones if forced to listen to it for too long.
"Do I know you?" she asks, rising to her feet. "You do look familiar." She closes the distance to the bars and wraps her fingers around the metal. Her nails are like razors like she's used the stone surrounding her to sharpen them into the only weapon they'd let her have.
Draco's roar rattles the stone.
"I'm Harry Potter," I confirm, my voice steady despite the rage coursing through my bloodstream. It would be so easy to kill her. She's wandless, all but defenceless. Driven mad by devotion to a Dark Lord and a decade playing snack to the Dementors. With a tug of magic, I could hold her to the bars then slit her throat like she slit my wife's.
My breathing comes in tight little pants, as I play out the vision in my mind.
"What does the itty-bitty Potter brat want with little old me?" she croons, voice as soft as velvet laced barbed wire.
I finger the blade strapped to my thigh, and Sirius rubs his head against the back of my hand. He drags his tongue across it in what I assume is supposed to be a sign of comfort. The air in the prison drops several degrees as Prongs canters down the hallway to ward off another Dementor. They seem to be multiplying before our eyes. I reach out to Hermione across the Bond, who rubs against me like an invisible cat. The fire of her in my head surges and blooms in support. Prongs flares before setting into his steady light again.
Stop wasting time.
The words are light, almost like a breeze through the trees, but I hear her all the same.
My bonded telling me to get my arse in gear refocuses my attention.
I will end Bellatrix. But not tonight.
"I won't kill you. Not now. Not on purpose. But if you survive this, when your master pulls this memory from your mind, I want him to know it was me who robbed him of his strongest ally. I'll be coming for you soon, Riddle. Of that, you have my word."
I pull a jar from my bag and twist off the lid.
"It doesn't matter," she says in that sickly demented voice. "With or without me, he'll kill you anyway."
But it'll be harder without her. So much harder.
"Bellatrix Lestrange, for crimes against my wife, crimes against those I love, and a betrayal to the house of your foremothers, I declare thee an enemy of my House. Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."
She doesn't even get the chance to scream.
Bellatrix's magic is ripped from her body, bursting from her pores like a million tiny bullets. Her body arches and her neck rears back as her power is forced from her core. Her mouth opens as if to cry out, but nothing leaves besides a whimper. She rises several feet off the ground before she collapses to the stone like a marionette who's just cut their strings.
I hope she's dead.
Her magic is disgusting. Black and tar-like, it moves as sludge through the air. I transfer it into the jar, and it jerks like a visceral thing, testing the confines of its new home.
I obliviate her and those able to see me where I stood in front of her cell after I restore my disillusionment charm. If she survives, I trust Riddle will work the hardest on her to discover what happened to his most devoted follower.
My watch dings. Twenty minutes…
Shit!
Hermione is screaming, the sound ripped from her in torturous pain. But she's not. It's in my head. It's all in my head.
The Dementors surge before retreating from my stag. It's getting harder to breathe, harder to see. My animal guard is faring better than me at least, but they won't last for long. I shake my head to clear it of the echo of my wife screaming and the vision of blood running free down her arm in a stream.
I pull my second wand and call another Patronus, so two bucks now protect our group. The Dementors fall back enough that I can breathe, but only to the outside of our perimeter, which is barely wide enough for me to stand with my arms extended at this point.
Draco starts to growl.
I slip my glasses back onto my face before moving, tripping the next cell over. The jeering from the unaffected prisoners gets louder, the screams for help more urgent, and I throw out several silencing charms before turning my attention to my next target.
Barty Crouch Jr.'s sanity is no better than Bellatrix. His tongue is constantly darting out like a snake, tasting the sea salt in the air. He's rambling, declaring his devotion to his Master.
Remus howls and lunges for a Dementor who the werewolf felt got too close to us. Adrenaline is shooting through my system, and my chest gets hot and tight as the Dementors get closer and closer.
I have to get them out of here. The Dementors are too close.
Imposter Moody starts his lament while I ready the jar.
"No matter what you do to me, it's in the service of my Lord. He will repay my dedication."
I've seen how Voldemort pays his debts. With goblets filled with blood.
"Barty Crouch Jr, for crimes against me and crimes against those I love, I declare thee an enemy of my House. Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."
His manic laughter never stops as I pull his magic from his body. His power is purple, and choppy like the sea during a storm.
I drop it into my bag without a care.
" Obliviate."
Hurry! Hermione insists as if she can feel the rising panic in the atmosphere.
There's only one person left, and he's sitting in Sirius's old cell.
Sirius rises to his feet beside me, decked out in his Pureblood finest. His hands are shaking, and Moony is growling at Sirius's knees. Peter stumbles to his feet then scurries in wide-eyed fear as deep into his cell as he can get. He's wearing bracelets I've seen in pictures, meant to bind a person's magic. To prevent Wormtail from transforming into his Animagus form and slipping out through the cracks like the rat we know him to be.
We'll take care of that for them.
"Sirius, my old friend," Wormtail starts, and I silence the hallway for the dozenth time and pray we don't alert the Auror's to our presence. We're almost out of time.
"Whatever you want to say," I tell Sirius, "Hurry it the fuck up."
I end the disillusionment charm since Sirius is in plain view. I remove my glasses and slip them into my pocket. Peter starts to whimper.
"Lord Black," my Godfather says, giving me a formal bow. His voice is steady, despite the myriad of emotions I see storming behind his eyes. "May I have the honour of naming him a traitor?"
Draco forced me to read a book on pureblood etiquette he'd found in the Potter-Black library. Some bullshite about refusing to be oath-sworn to a heathen. Thanks to Hermione's power of recall that I now share, the protocols are burned into my brain.
As a result, the formal answer to Sirius's request drips off my tongue like water.
"As a Son of House Black, it is your right. Name him thus, Father, and I will deliver his punishment."
In another life, I'd be asking my father the honour of naming Wormtail a traitor. But because of this man, my parents are gone, and the burdens of both Houses have been left to me. Sirius is no one's son, but as we proved with the work we've done tonight, I am his. At least as far as magic is concerned.
Sirius smirks at me, delight that I've named him father sparkling on his features. It bleeds into a scowl when he faces their former friend again. His wand drops into his hand.
"Peter Pettigrew, I name thee betrayer and an enemy of my House, and to that of House Potter, the House of my adopted son."
"Help! Guards! Guards! Sirius Black is in the prison! He's going to kill me. Help! Guards."
I silence Peter's screaming, watching as his mouth moves but nothing comes out. It's too late though. The damage has been done. The Dementor's, held at bay so far by the confusion of so many animal brains and Prongs, surge forward at the obvious emotional spike of the rat. There are too many of them for Prongs to keep back. Even two of Prongs.
I point my wand at Peter.
"Inimicus domus meae, potestatem tuam capio pro mea."
The dementor's charge the minute Wormtail's magic leaves his body. His magic, a sickly yellow colour the texture of mush, seeps from his pores in a painful explosion of fury. I direct it into the jar, twisting the lid and dropping it into my pack.
I quickly disillusion myself but I don't have time to Obliviate him or reestablish my middle-aged man glamour. I'll just have to hope the trauma scrambles his brain. What little left of it there is.
Every cell in my body fires at once.
I've already started to turn before Wormtail's knees begin to buckle. My guards scatter from the Dementor's path and I grip my scabbard and pull the sword, all in one single move. Without giving it any thought, I swing the blade in an overhead arc, dragging it through the closest Dementor.
It screams a horrible death knell, an oozing liquid bursting into the air, before it's skeletal body drops in two and its robes flutter to the ground.
Bloody fucking hell! The Sword of Gryffindor can kill Dementors.
The entire prison seems to hold its breath before it explodes into a fury of screams and activity.
We must get out of here. It's my only thought as my heart beats a vicious path out of my chest. I have to get them out.
"Winky!" I holler. "I need you!"
She doesn't appear.
God bleeding dammit all to…
I pull out a decoy detector and throw it down the hallway and watch as it skitters out the other archway. Hopefully, the Aurors will go there first.
Sirius's Patronus is charging down Dementors left and right. But there are dozens of them. More than were at the lake, shoved into a much tighter area, and hundreds possibly crowding outside the castle and hovering at windows and doors. Our breath exhales in icy bursts and all the light in the prison is blacked out from the press of dark robes and skeleton-like bodies.
Prisoners whimper and shout in despair and fear and hide in the tightest ball in the farther corner that their cells will allow.
Someone screams, and the sound is haunting in my ears.
I bring the sword around and jam it down into another robe.
It's a literal fight for my soul.
One by one my guards transform back into their human forms. All except Draco, who plants himself in front of me and roars. Remus settles in front of Sirius and raises his hackles, leaning down into a crouch and baring his teeth in a growl.
"Sirius, you fool!" McGonagall hisses, raising her wand and firing her Patronus. "You stupid, impetuous, fool!"
"It wasn't his fault!" I snap at her.
We were building a castle on a game of exploding snap. It was bound to collapse eventually. We'll never know if it was Wormtail's panic, a second unexpected human mind or if the Dementors just finally realized they had us outnumbered and we looked like food.
Even over the screaming of the prisoners, I can hear the thundering footfalls of the Aurors running this way. The decoy detector explodes somewhere in the castle, and the tone of the running changes as the Aurors head in that direction instead.
"TO ME!" I yell. "Everybody, back in their Animagus forms, now!" I order. "Get behind me!"
Nobody bloody moves beside Sirius and Remus at his feet. The ones that are able are directing their Patronuses at the Dementors. It isn't enough.
It's nowhere near enough.
"NOW!" I snap, stepping out of their protection and holding both sword and wand in a defensive position, blocking the Dementors path. "Before the Aurors show up and see your faces."
"You're the boss," Nate says before he throws himself into the air as Aberforth and the twins drop down to all fours and scamper behind my back.
Dobby and Kreacher appear beside me, eyes wide at the chaos of ten-foot floating demons bearing down on us from every direction and silver see-through-animals charging them down.
"Mistress says you need us," Kreacher postures with a high head and a trembling voice and facing completely away from me. Oh yeah. I'm invisible.
"Grab them and go!" I order, and Kreacher grips the closest two animals to him and disappears into thin air.
"I'm not leaving you," McGonagall says determinedly, waving her wand and directing her tabby cat Patronus at the oncoming attack.
I jump into the fray while the others line up behind me. If the Sword of Gryffindor can kill Dementors then I'm going hunting. I trust Sirius to keep our team behind the line of Patronuses and step out in front of Draco.
Prongs comes with me, guarding my back as I glide into a horde of Dementors. I remember the dance Nate has spent the summer teaching me and twist the blade in my hand, ramming it into a set of black robes. It cries out in a hacking hiss before tumbling to the ground. I don't wait for it to fall. Using magic to aid me, I push and pull the Dementors at will, slicing as I go.
Still, they're too close to me.
I can fight through their effect, but that doesn't mean it doesn't touch me. I hear Hermione screaming, see the knife slide across her throat until I remove the arms of the Dementor that has me at the shoulder, and it collapses in a sea of robes.
"Dobby!" I bark and push him towards McGonagall.
Without a word, he grabs hold of the witch's wrist and whisks her away mid-complaint. Her furious screech of "Potter!" still rings in the air.
I ram my fingers into the pouch with the instant darkness powder to grab a fist full then throw it into the air as footfalls thunder our way again. It was dark before. Now it's an abyss.
But Dementors don't need to see.
I toss another decoy detector in the opposite direction of last time and hope it does the trick.
Draco roars and grabs at the hem of a Dementors robe, throwing him into another before falling back beside me. Remus hasn't left Sirius's side.
My lungs burn like ice as the torturous memory of my mother's scream wails in my head quickly followed by the flash of green light behind my eyes. I blink and see Hermione on her knees in the Malfoy drawing-room, gasping a ragged breath. Then I'm back in my own head.
I love you, I tell her, then use my Occlumency and shut down my side of the Bond as tightly as I can.
An image of us, years before I knew I loved her, with her head in my lap reading a book while Ron and I play chess under the big tree at Hogwarts pushes its way to the forefront of my mind, and my mother's screaming stops.
I cut another Dementor in two, and the others hiss in anger and glide outside the sword's reach. Sirius throws his head back and laughs. "Gods!" he yells as the Auror's try to shove their way through the pile of half-dead demons. "I haven't had this much fun in ages!"
Sheer adrenaline has me laughing in return. I hit him in the back with a disillusionment charm, just in case the Aurors have night vision glasses too. The human faction of the prison guard has finally joined the fray, and Sirius is dodging spells and sending them back just as fiercely. I use the sword as both a weapon and shield and pray that, despite the darkness powder, and the chaos of the fight, the Auror's didn't see Sirius's face.
"How can you even see anything?" I ask with a laugh.
"Can't!" he says gleefully like it's the best game he's ever played.
"Who's left?" I ask, yelling over my shoulder.
A shot of blue light fires at my head and I block it with the blade before swinging it at an oncoming Dementor.
"Just us and the cat," he hollers back.
Surprised laughter bursts from my lungs as Draco roars in anger. Us and the cat! I'm never letting Draco live that down. I'm going to have it engraved on his tombstone. Here lies Draco, the Cat.
Our oversized kitty grabs another robe and shakes the creature between his teeth. It reaches for Draco anyway, its skeleton fingers straining for Draco's fur. Draco toddles to the side, drunk-like and unsteady on his feet, and I cut off the Dementors head. Draco's soul, slipping through his lion's teeth, returns to his body with a jolt. Draco gives his head a shake then dives back into the fray.
Lion's heart indeed.
Kreacher reappears, and I shove Draco across the floor with a burst of magic. He roars at me in anger, claws scraping on stone, then pops away with Kreacher's arm on his fur.
Sirius's back collides with mine, his arm reaching out to feel me against him.
"Having fun?" he asks loudly over the dim of the prison riot we've started.
I'm reminded viscerally of the night I lost him last time. Fighting side by side, laughter bright on his face. Nausea roils in my stomach and fear makes my eyes grow dark.
But our combatants tonight aren't aiming to kill us, and I'll cut any dementor in half who tries to get their hands on his soul.
"Like you wouldn't believe!" I laugh, flipping the sword around in my hand and jabbing backwards to slice a Dementor coming up beside my Godfather.
"As one," I say, and we split apart, working as a team. Sirius handles the Aurors, who are firing blindly into a melee of rampaging Dementors and screaming prisoners, and I handle the hooded demons.
Dobby apparates beside us, then vanishes with a cry as a bolt of green goes flying over his head. I twist on my feet to see where he went when a second bolt hits me square in the chest. The pain is instantaneous. Fireworks explode behind my ribcage and my eyes water in pain. But I manage to stay on my feet, as the Dragonhide does its job and absorbs most of the spell.
Whatever the hell it was.
"Master!" Dobby cries turning in a circle, and I look down at him with a grin. "Dobby," I shout. He smirks devilishly in my direction before I grab his wrist in my wand hand, and the tail of Sirius's coat, and just like that, we're gone.
Chaos seems to be the theme of the night.
Disorder reigns free when we land back in the parlour. Mrs. Weasley is having hysterics in a corner, fretting over the shape of the Twins. They look fine to me, but what do I know? I'm not an overprotective mother.
Professor McGonagall has what looks suspiciously like Sirius's good brandy in her hand, sipping it gingerly from one hand and holding a palm to her chest with the other.
Hermione is beating on Ron, physically, who with Neville's help is trying to both comfort her and hold her at arm's length. Draco the cat is sitting back on his hind legs at her side and lowly growling, looking so much like an oversized guard dog that I have to double-take.
Tonks is on her hands and knees in front of a growling Remus and pops to her feet when Dobby appears seemingly alone, jumping over furniture to head our way.
Winky is passing out huge blocks of chocolate, forcing them into mouths and hands and ignoring the mumbled denials from half the Order that claim they don't need it. She shoves a chunk bodily into Aberforth's mouth when he tells her to bugger off.
I love that little elf. She reminds me of my wife.
Even if she didn't come when I called her...
And Albus bleeding Dumbledore is sitting on a red velvet chair, grinning ear to ear with a china teacup in his hands. The arsehole winks right at me, even though I'm supposed to be invisible.
Bloody hell.
I reach over my shoulder and hold the scabbard while I slide the sword back into its resting place before breaking the disillusionment charm on both me and Sirius. Then I pick up my glasses from the nearby table and switch them with the night vision and glamoured frames Mi gave me earlier.
"Harry!" Ron exclaims, and Hermione whips in my direction, before leaping over the ottoman and into my arms.
"Harry! You selfish prat!" she screeches, beating on my chest. I groan in pain, and Hermione's concern spikes even through the dampened Bond. Then she double checks me for visual wounds before she's hitting me again and yelling "serves you right! And why are you covered in filth?"
"Let him be, 'Mione!" Ron laughs, wrapping his arm around Nev's shoulders. "Give the poor bloke a chance to catch his breath before he's attacked again."
She utterly ignores him.
"You completely deviated from the plan!" Hermione continues to yell.
"Love you too, wife," I laugh, grabbing both of her wrists and planting a kiss on her lips. She pulls her arms from my grip and links them around my neck, sinking into my touch. It isn't until I hear the gentle throat-clearing of one Albus Dumbledore that I remember we're in the middle of the parlour.
Hermione jerks like someone hit her with a stinging jinx and pushes away from me so fast she stumbles. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close, before looking at the Headmaster.
With all eyes on us, I slip the gun out from the small of my back and slide it into Hermione's rear waistband. She sucks in a sharp intake of air and glances at me sideways.
Thank you love, but I didn't need this.
"So, who told?" I ask Dumbledore, unable to stop smiling. "Or do you have another portrait spying for you here? I know it wasn't Phineas Black. He's been resting comfortably in the Potter-Black vaults since the day after I took my place as Head of House."
Dumbledore places the teacup and saucer back onto the end table and crosses his legs at the knee.
"Your wife got rather nervous when you did not show up at the pre-arranged time. Knowing you the way she does, and using that magnificent Bond you share, she determined that you'd found yourself in a spot of trouble, and instead of calling for help, were rather enjoying yourself."
I notice he doesn't comment on the portraits spying for him.
Sirius throws back his head and barks out an aggressive laugh.
Professor McGonagall huffs, loudly, then takes another sip of her dram.
"Mrs. Potter-Black felt, circumstances being what they were, you could use a bit of backup. She sent Winky to hunt me through the halls of the castle. Fortuitously, she found me on the first try."
Ahh. Which is why she didn't come when I yelled for her. I may be her Master, but she's Hermione's girl, through and through.
Hermione is blushing horribly, but her nose is in the air, and stubborn self-righteousness is bursting from her every pore.
"I don't recall being rescued," I say dryly.
"Quite," Dumbledore agrees. "Knowing you as I do, I deemed it unnecessary. Though Winky told such a thrilling tale of spy craft and espionage, I decided I must come see for myself. I take it all went well?"
Professor McGonagall opens her mouth to answer, bristling with discontent, but Dumbledore silences her with a hand on her knee.
I take a quick glance around the parlour. Draco has disappeared, ostensibly to go someplace private to change back into his human form. The Twins are smirking with their hands in their pockets. Aberforth is drinking tea from his brother's cup, and from the way, his eyes roll back and his neck flexes, probably isn't tea at all. Or at least heavily doctored with a liquid that contains alcohol content. Nate gives me a thumbs up from his spot leaning against the back wall.
The only person who looks ruffled is the Transfiguration professor.
"Very well," I announce. "I managed to steal the power of all thirteen targets and keep the prisoners contained until the last. It was Wormtail who lit the fuse that exploded the bomb at the end. Even when the rest of the prisoners finally realized what was happening, they were more or less resigned to it. Convinced that Voldemort will be able to set it right. But Wormtail has always been a coward. His outburst finally alerted the Dementors that all was not right."
Dumbledore nods sagely.
"Smart to leave him for last, then." He pauses for a very deliberate minute, then asks, "The damage left behind?"
I decide to take a page out of his book, and answer a question with a question.
"Did you know the Sword of Gryffindor can kill Dementors?"
Dumbledore looks genuinely taken aback. He freezes in his chair, eyes whirring over my form, which truth be told, is a little worse for wear.
"No," he answers honestly. "I did not."
"Neither did I," I smirk at him. "You learn something new every day. I don't think we were seen by the Aurors. My entire team got in and out unseen and unhurt, myself excluded, at least to the best of my knowledge."
The others agree with nods and hums of confirmation.
"However," I continue, "I left a pile of dead Dementors and stunned prisoners in my wake. It'll be easy to tell the damage to the Dementors was done with a blade of some sort. Some of the Dementors are in pieces."
Mrs. Weasley makes a gagging noise and presses her face into her husband's shoulder, and Professor McGonagall looks rather green.
"It was wicked," the twins say together.
"He handled himself well," Nate says.
My chest is starting to throb. I'd bet money I broke a rib.
"If you don't mind," I say, not caring if they do, "I'd like to get changed. The Dementors don't bleed, but they ooze something nasty, and I desperately need a shower. And I got hit in the chest with something. The armour took the brunt of it, but I think I may have a broken rib I need Mi to look at."
Dumbledore inclines his head with a twinkling smile and a wave of his hand.
"Go, of course. Take care of your ailments. If you do not mind, Harry, I'd like to stay and hear the rest of the tale. It sounds thrilling."
"My home is your home, Headmaster," I say with a grimace, posing as a smile. Tonight was a success. A smashing, fantastic success. He can't take that away from me.
"We'll be down in a few minutes," Mi says, then links her hand with mine and leads me out of the parlour. Chatter breaks out as soon as we're through the doorway.
"You're going to have to talk to him sooner or later," Mi says, referring to Dumbledore.
"Yeah," I sigh. But not tonight.
The walk to our bedroom feels like it takes forever. Now that the adrenaline is leaving me, my hands are shaking and my shoulders droop in exhaustion. All that disappears when our bedroom door slams shut, and Hermione pins me roughly against the wood.
"You bloody arsehole!" she hisses, beating on my chest again. "Don't you ever do that to me again! Shutting down your side of the Bond like that!"
I moan in pain, but don't get a chance to defend myself because her mouth is covering mine and her tongue is down my throat. With fumbling fingers, she pulls on the leather and silver buckles holding the sword to my back, and the entire rig slides off my arms and falls to the floor in a clatter. She pulls down the zipper under my armpit to loosen the armour then shoves it up my chest and over my head.
I hiss in pain from the motion of my arms rising above my head but Hermione doesn't seem to care.
"I'm so bloody pissed at you," she growls when she takes a step away and pulls her shirt off over her head, then pulls the gun from her waistband and floats it over to the bedside table. She shoves her trousers and knickers down her legs in one go. She slaps my hands away when I reach for my belt, jerking the leather in an angry tug and loosening the buckle. She doesn't even bother taking off my combat trousers and instead reaches her hand into my pants and frees my erection from its confines.
Forgetting about the probable broken bones and bruises already forming on my chest, I haul her back to me and dig my hand into her hair. She wraps her arms around my neck and lifts her feet from the ground to link them around my waist.
With two steps to the right, I have her up against the wall and sink into her.
"Oh Merlin, yessss," she sighs at the rough treatment, her forehead falling to rest against my neck. I'm trembling with the effort to hold still, but I drop kisses across her shoulders and wait for her okay to keep going. She flexes her hips, tightening her internal muscles around my prick, then whispers in my ear, "Don't be gentle."
I'm not. I squeeze her arse and hip and pin her against the door while I fuck up into her. Hermione feels desperate, and it feeds into me until I'm gasping for breath and her nails are raking red lines down my back. The entire bedroom rattles as sparks explode around my wife.
"Almost," she pleads, so I slip my hand between our bodies and slide my fingers over her mound and through her curls until I find that sweet little bud that makes her come so beautifully.
"Oh, fuck," she cries out, and something claws and latches onto the base of my spine and roars like a fucking dragon when Hermione falls apart around me.
"I'm sorry I scared you," I say with a raspy voice, holding her as tightly as I can. "You're such a good girl. Such a good girl."
Hermione grunts and groans and it sounds almost feral as she grinds and spasms in my arms. I hate it when she takes my control like this. She makes me strong at the same time she makes me weak. I have no choice but to follow her over the edge. "Mine," I growl as I shake and jerk through my own orgasm. "Yours," Hermione says into my ear. I can feel her heart galloping next to my own where her chest is pressed against me.
It hurts. Horribly.
"Mi, I gotta—," I say, stumbling with her still in my arms. I make it the six meters or so to the couch then collapse onto the cushions. I groan when the force of it presses her harder into my bruises.
"Well, bloody hell," she says, scampering off my lap. "You really are hurt, aren't you?"
I can't open my eyes. I can barely breathe as the pain, only a while ago localized to one spot, spreads through my torso with alarming speed. I hear her mumble the diagnostic charm and try to breathe through my teeth.
"Two broken ribs and one cracked. Bruised a lung too. I would know that if you hadn't shut the Bond. You seemed fine. Just a little bump. Open the Bond, now!" she demands.
I open the lid to the trunk in my mind, and Hermione flares with love, and concern, plus tons of irritation, and too many thoughts for me to work through right now.
Mi sways on the spot.
I think, actually, I broke a rib up against the door…
"Bloody fucking hell, Harry," she swears. "That hurts!"
Even though my lids are closed, I still roll my eyes.
"Yeah. I'd figured that out myself, thanks. That's why I kept the Bond closed."
A vial touches my lips, and I open my mouth to accept whatever vile concoction she's offering me.
"You really shouldn't accept potions without verifying what they are first," she says conversationally, as another slides over my tongue.
I-I can't even with her right now.
"This is gonna hurt," she says, and before I can brace myself, "episkey ."
I cry out in pain as the ribs in my chest repair themselves.
"There," she says, with not nearly enough sympathy for my tastes. "Go take a bath. A hot one. I'll let the others know you'll be down when you're done."
I stay where I am, feeling a little whiplashed as I listen to Hermione clean herself up and redonning her clothing.
"Don't I get even a little bit of sympathy?" I ask conversationally. "Maybe an 'I'm so glad you're home, husband. Congratulations for ridding the world of a dozen of the worst sorts of Death Eaters. Hey! It's really wicked that you can kill Dementors with the sword.'"
I peek open an eye and turn my head in the direction I know Hermione is standing.
"Congratulations," she intones with her hands on her hips. She doesn't sound like she means it.
"I'm so proud of you." I don't believe her.
"I love you so much." Truthful, yet dryly sarcastic.
"Hurry up. We'll go over what you did wrong when you get downstairs."
There it is. That's my girl.
Hermione Jean Potter-Black.
Ballbuster.