CHAPTER 13: Assault at Grimmauld Place
The others did not come back for the rest of that day, neither the next few days. Cho was at practice on Saturday, but she avoided talking to him, and to make things worse he still could not remember what went down on that fateful afternoon. He made his way to and from the stadium fires with an invisibility cloak, avoiding all the publicity. It was lonely at the manor without everyone. Moody showed him the Chameleon charm, the Disillusionment Hex and some other neat defensive spells that Harry didn't learn in Hogwarts, and probably wouldn't until he got into Auror school. However, Harry could not really practice them because the Ministry strictly forbid him using any magic. He spent the whole weekend alone, killing time by doing monotonous tasks around the house, boring things like servicing his broomstick and chores: washing clothes and sweeping up the floor. He dreaded each passing day leading up to his trial, which was now only a week away. Tomorrow he had another appointment with Mrs. Chang. Now he knew how Sirius had felt, how this place could drive someone close to a maddening boredom, making him itch to leave it as soon as possible. Harry paced up and down the house, haunting the grand halls, straightening this and replacing that.
Suddenly, he felt drained form all the chores he was doing, and went upstairs to bathe to wash away the grime he accumulated. While bathing he felt a strange sensation, drowsy and fatigued, yet his hear beat strongly with anticipation. The time was near. Leaving the shower, he put on pants and dropped into bed in a deep sleep.
"Excellent. You have finished the analysis of the enemy and are ready to proceed Warlock?" his high voice muttered softly into the dark room. A figure in front of him, dressed in a long black coat and camouflage pants was smoking a cigarette, drew a deep pull and nodded slightly. He was tall, over six feet with long hair that was a shiny gray, almost white. It covered most of the right side of his face, on the left half there was a symbolic tattoo around his eye and dominated most of the cheekbone. His eyes were a steely grey, but eerily turned colourless and white when he spoke. His voice was a grated rumble, and it had a very unusual trait; it echoed after itself no matter where he spoke. The repeating growl of his voice was ominous, giving the impression that his words were a decree, and that what he said is final.
"That weakling Fletcher is now writhing in one of your torture chambers isn't he? I delivered the boy unguarded and totally vulnerable to you. You need not doubt my ability, you should take a closer look at your so called efficiency." The strange man once again puffed out smoke casually, and Harry wondered if he were merely talking about the weather, far less addressing him, the Dark Lord Voldemort. His eyes blazed alive, and he tensed, ready to strike. Tyrone Statham opened a lazy eye at him, the steel grey pupils were back, and he smiled a half smile.
"You dare talk to me in such a manner?"
Statham laughed.
"Do something about it if you don't like it, freak." Harry studied him.
"That is one trait that I admire: an utter lack of respect and complete indifference. But be wary, there are ways other than magic at my disposal. Do not forget this, hunter."
"Yeah, whatever," he pulled out another cigarette, tossing the still alight butt of the previous one. Voldemort whipped out his wand.
"Asi salinta Serpentus!" The butt transfigured itself into an African King cobra which reversed direction and flung itself at Statham. Quick as a flash he drew a Kodachi (Japanese short sword) from his coat, and with an upward jerk of his forearm, threw it at the snake. It dissected the monstrous reptile, and lodged itself in the armchair Voldemort sat in, and inch to the right of his head. Calmly, he cupped the lighter in his right hand, and flicked the flame on. Feeling the glorious nicotine siphon into his system, he closed his eyes in bliss. Such amazing inventions were a reason why he hated living in those past times. He snapped shut his lighter, and walked out of the room as Voldemort's hood fell back, a neat slice cutting the black robes at his temple.
"These high and mighty types," he threw out behind him, shaking his head in an amused manner.
Harry was beyond furious. He apparated into a dark cell. Adjusting to the darkness, he eyed the man hanging limply from chains that cuffed his wrists. The man looked up, and began to scream uncontrollably.
"That man my be impervious to magic, so I daresay you may just have to suffice Fletcher," Harry whispered to him, chuckling softly.
"NO, PLEASE GOD NO!"
"Crucio!"
Harry awoke with a start, his scar searing with pain. He felt sick, but managed to keep it in halfway until he reached the bathroom adjacent, throwing up all over the tiles just before the sink. He doubled over the toilet, and emptied out his breakfast. The pain in his head began to recede, and his breath came in hard, racking coughs. He was drenched in sweat, his skin clammy and feverish. Harry quickly undressed and stepped into the shower and let the warm water rejuvenate and calm him down. He had to talk to Dumbledore. He still hadn't come back, but Hedwig would just have to take the message to him at Hogwarts. After he showered, dressed and quickly cleaned the bathroom, he got quill and parchment and began writing a letter describing the vision he just had. Even though the vision appeared to be only a minute at most, he was asleep the whole day- it was dusk outside. He was still unnerved by this man who goaded and challenged Voldemort so nonchalantly. Was he really impervious to magic? Grim thoughts and many possibilities jumbled in his head as he tried to write down what he could remember of the rapidly fading memory
"Come here! Get this to the Professor as soon as possible!" Quickly attaching it to her leg, Hedwig flew off with the letter into the fading light. Putting on shoes and grabbing the Medallion of the Order fo the Phoenix, he sprinted down the stairs.
"Mad Eye! I've got to talk to you!" he yelled, running thru the rooms looking for him. He finally found him, sleeping soundly in a big armchair that must have been in the manor for generations. "Hey WAKE UP! We've got trouble!"
Moody's magical eye focused on him, Moody still fast asleep. He waved his hand in front of it, the eye sized him up, and with a nod of recognition it spun back inside of his head.
Is it actually going to wake him up? Harry watched the eye do its thing, utterly fascinated.
"Huhhmm-wha?" Moody suddenly jumped out of sleep, his normal eye looking around the room in a daze. He focused on Harry with both eyes and saw his expression. Instinctively knowing something was wrong, he became fully alert and straightened in the chair. "What is it?" drawing his wand.
"Voldemort's got Fletcher! I saw a vision of them just now! He's torturing him right now, Mundungus Fletcher is chained in a dungeon room!"
"Merlin's beard! I've got to warn the others!" he clumped on his wooden leg quickly to the fireplace, pulling out the amulet he himself wore around his neck. He grabbed some floo powder and threw it into the fire. Nothing happened. They both looked quizzically at the Floo powder in the box and the fireplace. He took out some more and threw it into the fire, again.
Still nothing happened.
"So you are the one that stopped Voldemort before. Your reputation precedes you, Auror Moody," a gravelly voice echoed right behind them. Both of them jumped a foot high at the new voice and spun around to face the man leaning casually in the doorway, one hand on the hilt of a Japanese katana. His pupils were colourless, and he spoke as if greeting a worthy enemy, one he was not about to take lightly.
"HIM! From my Dream!" Harry yelled.
Moody drew his wand in a flash, "Immobilus!" The spell flew straight at him, then amazingly veered away and blew apart a vase that stood in the corner of the room. "What in hell?" Moody watched the stranger calmly step forward. Harry panicked, tugging on Moody's sleeve, pulling him backwards.
"He's impervious to magic, those spells won't work on him!"
"The boy is observant, I must say," Statham chuckled. He eyed the walls and paintings with an eye of disgust. "Whatever magic spell guarding this place is obsolete to me. Maybe you should have simply put a sturdy padlock on the front door." He half smiled and continued towards them, his fingers resting lightly on the handle of his sword.
"Shit! Potter, run!," Moody commanded, shoving him out of the door at the other end of the room, running hard behind him. "I don't know what that man's abilities are- but until we do we better get away if we can," he pointed his wand at the furniture as he passed, "Inanimate Animatus!" The furniture began to spin around and fly around the room, creating a difficult obstacle course in their wake.
"Is this your best?" Statham laughed. As he drew his blade, in one blinding flash, half of the furniture was split apart, and he took pursuit, dodging and dancing past as Moody magically launch objects at him, one after the other. He ran after them, his movements inhumanly efficient as he tore his way thru the rooms after them, not even missing a stride. Harry and Moody ran as hard as they could, charming doors and anything that could be used as barricades to slow him down. Finally they found the rear exit, and Moody wasted no time and blew it apart with a single curse.
"Reducto!" He practically shoved Harry down the steps as they entered the garage. Before Harry's eyes could adjust to the dim gloom, Moody had spun around and used a complex spell to fix the door.
" Prior Incante Reversium, alveris omino Reparo!"The tiny fragments of the door left from his Reductor blast jumped back together, and Moody slammed the door back into place, creating a sturdy padlock on the outside. Not half a second later, came two loud bangs from the other side, their assailant pounding on the magically re-enforced wood to break out. Moody's glass eye focused, and by his expression, Harry knew that he was looking at him through the door.
"That should hold-" His eye narrowed, and he took an involuntary step back. "What in the Devil's name? Potter…"
"What? What?" Harry asked, also backing away.
"He's coming- quick- find a way out of here…I'll have to stall him…" Alastor threw off his cloak, and gripped his medallion fiercely, briefly closing his eyes. " Fortemus Enervate-" he incanted, pointing his wand at his chest.
"What are you doing?' Harry asked shakily, still not knowing how to proceed. He wouldn't leave Moody here to die!
"Strengthening technique- I used to be good, but these old bones are no match for him. If I get you a few minutes, that'll be enough…"
"You can't be serious- magic won't work on him!"
"Engorgio-" he incanted resolutely, holding both ends of his want between his fingers. It slowly began to grow, and then almost quintupled in size, creating a long, sturdy staff. He focused on the door, and the man standing still behind it, his sword sheathed, his eyes closed in mediation. Moody also closed his eyes briefly, calming his nerves.
He is the real thing…Rebecca, this may be my time. I'm sorry
His eyes re-opened, and Harry now knew why this man was known as the best in the Ministry. His whole appearance had somehow changed, and Harry could feel Alastor's strength.
"Harry, you've got to escape and tell Dumbledore. This man is Warlock, and a skilled one at that. . They hunted and killed wizards centuries ago up until the Goblin War, where it was believed that the last of them were persecuted and wiped out. They're assassins, Harry-and do it from the shadows." Moody pointed at the crack below the door. Before harry's very eyes, a shadow slid underneath, and climbed back up on the outer side of the door, manifesting itself into the dark shape of a man.
"Shit…" Harry whispered, inching back again. The shadow's eyes opened, and Tyron Statham stepped away form the door, a deadly glare in his eyes.
"Moody, I lied. Nothing can stop me. Give up the boy. That's what she wants," he said darkly, lovingly drawing his sword once again. "He is an intriguing target- I must say. She will drink his blood gratefully," Statham boasted, running the tip of his finger along his precious blade.
"Go! Sirius' motorbike should be here, take it and go!" Moody commanded him.
No sooner than he finished say it when there was a flash of steel, and Moody parried, using his improvised staff to deflect the sword. Suddenly the hunter jumped back, holding his sword at a different stance.
"Bo- kendo?" Statham nodded appreciatively. "Shotokan ninjutsu, with a strong influence of English bare-knuckled brawling. You indeed are a man of many talents- I accept this battle."
Moody grimaced. "Harry, you must survive. Don't just stand there! Move- dammit!"
Harry was astounded. From that one attack, this man figured Moody out. There was another flash of steel, and the fight began in earnest. Harry watched in awe as Moody, a relatively old wizard, holding his own on a man who could be half his age, a man much faster and stronger. Moody spun the staff in circles, whipping the staff around his person and behind his back, effectively holding off the rapid fire attacks, but not managing to counter attack. The technique between them were impressive, Moody's footwork was impeccable. Who would have thought that a wizard would be proficient at muggle martial arts?
"What are you waiting for boy? Get the fuck out of here!" he shouted, obviously not being able to hold off this expert swordsman for much longer. "Get to Dumbledore! He needs to warn Tonks- AAAH!" Statham's attack had finally penetrated. Moody's right hand fell apart form him, and he fell to the ground, clutching the stub in agonizing pain. Bypassing that obstacle, the Warlock began to run at Harry, but Moody grabbed his foot and effectively tripped him. Statham fell face down on the hard concrete. He flashed a glare at the bleeding Auror, and plunged the sword deep into his stomach. Moody's grip released and he crumpled there on the ground, his head curling into his chest. The Warlock got up and pulled out his blade, wiping it on Moody's robes.
"You're next."
"MAD EYE!" Harry screamed, and Statham was blasted back into a pile of junk in the corner of the garage.
I'm not letting this happen again, this time, I won't allow any of you to die for me...
He ran over to Moody, who was barely alive. Harry's eyes blazed blue and with a grunt he hefted him up over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. Tyrone watch this in amazement, a skinny boy of sixteen running down the garage with a two hundred pound man around his shoulders. Harry drew his wand and pointed it at Moody.
"Liquidous Immobilous!" The bleeding stopped, but it was nowhere near enough to stop Moody from dying if he didn't get help. Sirius' motorbike was near the garage entrance. He ran over to it and seated Moody at the back and himself in the front, Moody's weight resting heavily against his back. The Warlock had recovered from the unexpected magical blast and was tearing down the garage after them. Harry mashed down the gas, revved into gear and tore off down the back alleyways behind Grimmauld Place.
They were driving around inner city London, completely lost. He just wanted to get away from that place as fast as he could. Tears streamed down his face, and rain began pouring like buckets on them. Moody gurgled and moaned incoherently off and on, and for that, Harry was grateful. At least he was still alive. They needed to get to St. Mungo's, fast. Harry was desperately trying to remember how he went there the time before, but he couldn't think straight. He thought hard about what he had that could help him, but his only possessions he had were the clothes on is back, his wand, and…wait, the medallion! He grabbed it with one hand and called for help desperately in his mind.
Someone, anyone, Professor, Sirius, anyone please…
He focused thru the rain, wait-
He pulled on the brakes hard, fishtailing the bike and skidding to a halt, nearly throwing them off in the process. Harry stared hard at the trench-coated man, and as soon as he recognised him, he silently thanked Alastor again for giving him his father's medal. It was Remus Lupin. He ran to them, holding something wrapped in a cloak.
"HARRY! WHAT HAPPENED! MOODY SUMMONED ME BACK AT GRIMMAULD PLACE BUT THE TIME I ARRIVED, THE HOUSE WAS EMPTY AND FURNITURE WAS SMASHED ALL OVER! IS MOODY ALL RIGHT? " He peered into his face, it was ghastly white and both eyes were rolled back into his head. "My God Harry, I brought his arm from the back of the house, we need to get him to the hospital!"
"I WAS TRYING TO- WE WERE LOST FOR AROUND TEN MINUTES BEFORE YOU SHOWED UP!" he retorted. His hair was plastered to his face, his scar burning consistently now..
"Harry listen to me, tonight is the full moon, right now I am usually isolated and in a secure place before I transform. I have only a few minutes before it begins." He conjured a map out of thin air. "Use this map to get to St Mungo's hospital, and take this. No- don't look at it, just give it to the Healer," he handed him something which was wrapped in a thick cloth. As soon as he took it- he felt sick. This was somebody' severed hand, and it was damp with blood.
"Afterwards, use the invisibility cloaking device and the flight gear to get to Hogwarts as fast as you can, Dumbledore is there. You've got to tell him what happened. Now, you can do this Harry; I know you can. Godspeed." He coughed loudly, racking barking noised that sounded inhuman. "I've got to leave now, be safe." He disappeared, leaving them alone once more.
Harry looked at the map Remus gave him, and found the best route to St. Mungo's. He made it under five minutes, gunning the engine as fast as it could go. The controls came easily to him, it felt that he new this bike very well. He saw the glass display with the mannequin at the end of the street he was on. He gunned the engine and drove right up unto the pavement, screeching to a halt just in front of the glass. He put his arm around Moody, trying to take him from the bike, but he was too heavy. Harry frowned. Didn't he just run with him around his shoulders a short while ago?
"Wingardium lleviosa!" Moody rose off the bike and was beginning to float away. Harry grabbed him, and stepped thru the glass to enter the hospital. As he pulled Moody inside with him he heard all the talking in the hospital cease. Looking around, everyone was staring at the blood-soaked boy pulling an profusely bleeding man through the air. A prep- healer ran up to them and froze when she saw it was Alastor Moody.
"Him Again! What has he done now?" she looked at the young man with blood and hair almost covering his whole face. "Who are you?"
"Forget about me- Moody is dying and if you don't help him he will be!"
She peered into his face, " Wait- You've been all over Quidditch Weekly and the Daily Prophet! You're Harry Potter!" she practically beamed at him.
"For Christ's sake! Get him some help, NOW!" he bellowed. A senior healer heard the commotion and came around. He took one look at Moody, and grabbed him from Harry, barking orders left and right as he rushed him to the emergency ward.
A couple hours later Harry was sitting in the waiting area, waiting for a word with the healer. He got a chance to wash off and change into a clean shirt. Moody's condition was important, yes, but he couldn't stay much longer; it was far too dangerous. A ministry owl had already found him here, bringing messages of 'severe consequences' for using magic at the manor and all sort of crap, but he didn't give it a second of thought. He crumpled the parchment and threw it in the bin. Now was not the time for that, he had to warn Dumbledore in person. He stormed out of the emergency level and headed back down to the ground floor. The same prep-healer was there, obviously waiting for him to come down. She smiled brilliantly at him.
"Ooh, I can't believe you're actually here and I could meet you! I was at the Cannons match and you were absolutely brilliant! I have pictures of you in my scrapbook; I've been collecting them. Can I have your autograph? Please? Wait till Jamie hears about this!"
"I'm sorry, I don't have a quill and I really can't spare the time…" Harry said irritably, trying to skirt around her, but she was only blocking his path.
"I have one! Can you make it out to Mary? That's my name," she added unnecessarily. Harry reluctantly scribbled down his name and left it at that. "But you didn't put my name!" she lamented. He grabbed the parchment, obliged her, then jumped in the motorbike and sped away.
"He is soo bad!" she sighed, holding the parchment close to her chest.
Harry sped along on the huge bike, hoping no policemen would stop him. He would make his way to the train station, then use the flight gear to reach Hogwarts. He desperately wished Moody would survive, but he had his reservations, that wound had skewered him, it was a miracle he wasn't killed instantly. Finally reaching the station, and decided that here will be a good place to start following the train tracks. He took a moment to get off the motorbike, and really think of what had happened a few hours ago.
"This close, Harry, this close- it could have been me inside that hospital- or worse, the morgue. How many lives do I have left?
With a look up to the sky and a silent thanks to the one looking out for him from above, he resolutely got back on the motorbike. Poking around at the dials and switches, he found the flight gear. He turned off all his lights, and soared silently into the night. Trying to keep his true objective in mind, he flew on through the entire night without sleep, concentrating only on reaching Hogwarts.
"Minerva, look at this letter. Harry says he had another vision, and that Mundungus Fletcher was captured and is being tortured by Voldemort. That means that Tonks is in great danger. Last we corresponded, she was close to figuring out where he disappeared. It's peculiar that Harry could see the vision, isn't it? Hermione has done exceptionally well." Professor Dumbledore was talking to Minerva McGonagall in the corridor leading to the headmaster's office.
"Yes it is strange, maybe the occlumency used is also based on proximity; I heard she has gone back home along with the others to receive their grades. I wonder how Harry fared?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"PROFESSOR!" came a voice from behind them. She jumped, spinning around.
"Harry! What are you doing here? How did you get here?" her eyes narrowed.
"Sirius' motorbike. Listen! I have to talk to you both, it's very important!"
"We received your owl post, it was not necessary to come to Hogwarts by yourself. That was a very large risk you took, " Professor Dumbledore told him sternly.
"There was someone at the house. Moody was nearly killed," he gasped, breathing heavily from running up all the steps, "I still don't know if he'd make it."
"WHAT!" Minerva said.
"In my office, Harry." Dumbledore said, opening the spiral staircase into his chambers. They filed in and Harry bent over, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "Sit down, and take some deep breaths," he conjured some water from the kitchens. "Drink this, it'll help." He obeyed, and eventually settled himself enough to tell them the whole story, the dream, the Warlock, everything.
"Well our information was definitely wrong, that prisoner was no ordinary muggle. I cannot believe that there is still a Warlock alive after all these years. Why would he work for Voldemort I wonder? I think we should contact Madame Pompfrey to see if she could be of assistance at the hospital, Minerva." She nodded, and left the office. "Harry, that was a brave thing you did to bring Alastor back to the hospital. You have my gratitude and I daresay Moody's as well." Dumbledore peered at the young boy in front of him. Never before had he seen such potential.
"The spell you used may have saved his life, I must say it was an excellent improvisation of the Anti-Leakage charm." His face was grim, and he rubbed his eyes. "I think we should try and get some sleep, planning strategy when nerves are strung out is not the best of ideas. If you have problems calming down, take this potion. It's nearly one a.m., we will talk again in the morning, have a good night's rest."
Harry got up wearily, bid goodnight and left the office. Sleep did sound like a good idea right now; the journey was extremely exhausting. He ambled along the familiar corridors to the Gryffindor dorm rooms.
As he left and Dumbledore got up, wearily rubbing his eyes. That's why they couldn't find Fletcher- The Hunter had captured him and forced information on Harry's movements from him. No wonder Voldemort was able to ambush Harry with such ease at the stadium.
"Headmaster, Old and battered I may be, but I sense what others cannot see," the Sorting Hat said.
Dumbledore looked up at the hat, " What is it?"
"The power of old rests inside that one, he feels it surging as did Gryffindor's son."
"Yes, you speak of the residual magic that protected Solidus Gryffindor. I thought as much."
"It shall serve him well, many a danger he will face, and more will fall as the seventh moon calls."
Dumbledore nodded and leant back in his chair pulling his beard in thought. It speaks of the prophecy. And he senses that the time is near for it to come to pass. He got up, and with a departing look at the wise leather hat he went to his sleeping quarters.