Harry stepped through the open door, noting the way the heels of his boots thumped ominously against the hard, stained, wooden floorboards, and took in the sight before him.
An entire platoon of Amelia's finest Aurors lined the walls, each standing to attention around the circumference of the room, their wands in their hands, though all pointed at the floor, rather than any of the occupants of said room, and their red cloaks stood out clearly against the dark shadows cast by the candlelight and hearth.
Four men, who had previously been sitting at the lone table, the only furniture in the room beside the assortment of chairs spread around it, immediately got to their feet. All were well dressed in doublets and were well groomed; he knew each of them personally, but even then, he had to struggle to reign in his temper at the sight of them.
The first he noticed was Lord Xenophon Lovegood, his shockingly blonde hair, wisps of which fell in loose waves over his high cheekbones and framed his aristocratic features. His pale eyes were kind, and crinkled in the corners, and even as he remained in his place in the doorway, Harry could clearly see the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
The second was Lord Griffin, with his thick head of dark curls, and broad shoulders. He had a kind, private, smile on his face, and he nodded proudly in his direction as he entered the room. His eyes darted over his shoulder, where, Harry realised, Cai trailed after him.
The third man was Lord Massey; he was smaller than both Griffin and Lovegood, though he had a barrel-chest, and a thick head of strawberry-blonde hair, and a matching beard that was as bushy as it was long. He was the most visually expressive of the four men, grinning widely and hooking his thumbs into the front pockets of his doublet and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Harry had met the man on a number of occasions over the years, and each time, he had been left stunned at how boisterous he could be; Lord Massey was never one to shy away from expressing his opinion, asked for or otherwise, but he could always be counted on to be true and honest – something that couldn't be said about many.
The final man, Lord Hawke, was familiar in that he was one of the few Bannermen that Harry had, that regularly moved between Britain and their ancestral home – he was a strong voice within the Ministry's Wizengamot, advocating for many of the same beliefs that he held himself; Sirius had always had good things to say about him.
He was a broad-shouldered man, of average height, but with a thick head of black hair, an equally dark, full beard, and a slightly crooked nose; he didn't smile, nor did he display any kind of reaction to his arrival – just a subtle, polite nod of acknowledgement, as he tucked his hands behind his back.
Harry took a few more steps into the room, the quiet shuffling behind him announcing everyone else's quiet, subdued arrival. The past twenty-four hours had been tense; his mood had been sour, and more than once he'd had to clamp down on his magic, lest he accidentally destroy a room.
It had been one thing to finally have the confirmation that it was him that Greyback wanted dead, but an entirely different one to have his friends put him into the position they had. Purposefully, he kept his gaze on the four men on the other side of the table – he said nothing, and, as the silence continued, he found a private delight in watching them begin to squirm, anxiously shifting their weight from one foot to the other, even as subtle as they all were. To the passive observer, he had no doubt that they would miss the subtle, anxious energy of his Bannermen – it was a minute thing, a twitch here, a flex there, but they were each like an open book to him.
He took two more steps forward, coming to a stop just behind a chair in the middle of the far side of the table, directly across from Lord Lovegood, and hardened his gaze; he could feel his jaw muscles twitch and flex, his teeth quietly grinding together.
"Sit." He commanded; there was no hesitation in his voice, and the hardness in it surprised even himself. As one, each of his Lords sat – Lord Massey placed his arms on the table, his hands much more obviously fidgeting than they had when he had been standing; Harry watched out of the corner of his eyes as they flexed open and closed, his fingers rubbing against one another as they did so.
Around him, everyone else sat; Remus and Amelia took seats to his left, while Sirius took the chair to his right. Behind him, he heard the shuffling of feet as Cai and the others took up quiet positions against the wall behind him between the Aurors.
Harry didn't slide into the seat, though. Instead, he remained behind it, his hands snaking out from beneath his cloak and wrapping around the back of the simple chair. He wore a pair of dark leather gloves, so he couldn't feel the wear of the stained piece of furniture, nor could he feel anything but the largest chips and grooves in the grain. The thumb of his right hand tapped against the edge, and his grip tightened until he was sure his knuckles were white beneath the gloves. Sirius shifted in his chair.
"My Lord," Lord Massey said at last, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Perhaps you'd like some refreshment?" He offered, gesturing to the small platter of crystal goblets and silver pitchers; it seemed Madame Rosmerta had gone to great lengths to accommodate them – he hadn't realised that she could even afford them. As popular as the pub was, it was often dark, dingy, and more than one table had an uncomfortable amount of alcohol soaked into the wood, leaving it in a constant state of stickiness.
"I didn't give you leave to speak." Harry snapped, glaring at the man; each of the adults from him paled noticeably, even Lord Lovegood, who was already naturally quite pale, whitened considerably. "You all summoned me here…" He continued, slowly, sweeping his gaze across them. He felt his jaw clench, almost painfully, as he levelled his glare at Lord Griffin. "Me."
Harry glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on those along the wall behind him for a moment longer than he truly wished, before returning them to the men across from him. "As you can see, we have some unexpected additions to this meeting, so, I expect each of you to keep that in mind. You all know their heirs to Houses Longbottom and Greengrass, I assume?"
The men nodded, and behind him, Harry heard the shuffling of both Neville and Daphne; Neville had most likely bowed, and Daphne would have curtsied. It was the next two that bothered him the most. "With them, are their own guests, Miss Tracey Davis, and Miss Hermione Granger."
Harry's grip on the chair increased, and he had to make a conscious effort not to channel a little of his magic into his extremities – it would do no good to destroy the chair. Not only would it give the wrong impression, that of an angry, childish thirteen-year-old, but it would all but scream his displeasure at their presence. As it was, he was hoping that the Lords would continue to assume his anger was directed at themselves – it was, and he was justified in thinking that way, but after everything else…
He was terrified.
"As you can all see, I've been escorted by the Ministry's finest Auror Platoon, under the command of both Amelia Black, and one Rufus Scrimgeour." Amelia sat a little straighter when he mentioned her name; in many ways, Amelia often reminded him of Sulyard – particularly when it came to the men and women each woman was responsible for.
The men nodded, and their eyes swept the men and women that lined the room; Harry's eyes lingered on Dora on the far side of the room, and beside the small twitch of the corner of her mouth, there was no other reaction from her. She'd grown up in the last few years – he barely recognised her from the wedding.
Harry shrugged off his cloak and draped it across the back of his chair before sliding into it himself; idly tugging at the bottom of his doublet once he settled in an effort to prevent it creasing, though he kept his gloves on. Beneath the table, he crossed his legs at the knee, before idly placing one hand on the table, his fingers absently drumming a slow rhythm on the pockmarked surface. "Now, you may speak." He said at last, once he'd allowed the crackling of the hearth to fill the silence of the room for a few long, tense moments.
It was Lord Griffin that spoke first, his voice croaked at first, though he quickly cleared it with a quick, polite cough. "We apologise for overstepping, but you must understand, Lord, that after the tragic news of the past week, now, more than ever, we're all concerned for your safety."
The men nodded gravely, and Lord Lovegood sat forward, his arms resting on the table, and hands clasped, though he said nothing. "You did overstep though, didn't you?" Harry said, coldly. "My safety aside, this is the second time now that I've had a similar meeting with you in particular, Lord Griffin – I suppose I should count myself lucky in that, at least this time, I was at least alerted to your desire to speak to me, rather than you simply showing up out of the blue?"
"I wouldn't presume-"
"But you did." Harry snapped, quickly balling his hand into a fist, and banging it against the table. He sat forward, his other hand resting against his thigh. "And now, regardless of your worry, desire, or ambition, I am no longer within the Wards of Hogwarts – do you understand me?"
Lord Griffin swallowed thickly and bowed his head. "Yes, My Lord. I apologise."
"We'll see to your apologies," Harry paused, sweeping his eyes across those before him. "Later. Right now, my main concern is to appease your own, and then return to the castle before a threat could arise."
"We're all anxious to return." Sirius said, quietly. Harry turned his head to look at the man next to him and found himself a maelstrom of conflicted emotions. On the one hand, he knew Sirius had simply been trying to protect him, as any parent would, but it hadn't done much to soothe the initial pang of hurt.
Sirius and the others hadn't lied to him; well, they had, but it was a lie of omission, rather than one of deceit. They had skirted the truth, said as little as they could, and promptly changed the subject where they were able. He didn't blame them, not really – Sirius least of all; with the murder of his parents, and more recently, the murder of Arcturus, Sirius had always been highly protective of him. Sometimes, Harry privately revelled in the knowledge that Sirius was as protective as he was, but other times, particularly more recently, since he'd started attending Hogwarts, it could feel stifling, restricting, even.
It was another very real reminder that in only a few short years, Harry would have to step out of that comforting, protected, little bubble that Sirius had built around them, and deal with things himself. The knowledge gave him equal amounts of excitement and anxiety in the bottom of his stomach; even now, sat at the table and staring into the eyes of the man Harry loved the most, he could feel the familiar, restless energy begin to settle into his limbs, like it always did when he thought of his future.
"I would suggest we get this over and done with as quickly as we can." Sirius continued, offering Harry a small nod. It was a simple gesture that conveyed so much – there was pride, that was clear, but also acceptance and deference; the first time that Harry had ever witnessed such from Sirius of all people.
"Very well." Harry sighed, blowing out a lungful of air from his lungs through his nose. His finger was tapping against the wood of the table again. "Say what you have to say, and then we'll discuss the consequences of your collective actions." When Lord Hawke went to open his mouth, Harry held up a hand, and set his jaw. "Believe me, there will be consequences."
Lord Hawke drew in a deep breath before nodding resignedly. "Yes, Lord."
"Now," Harry said, gesturing to the group opposite him. "Speak."
"Lord Potter," Lord Massey began – he'd always referred to him by his future title; even in their very first meeting, shortly after he had sworn his fealty all those years ago. "Your other Vassals and I are simply concerned for your safety – we understand your desire to attend Hogwarts, but there are safer…" At this, Lord Massey hesitated, his eyes flicking over Harry's shoulder to no doubt where Hermione and Tracey silently resided, before darting to the many Aurors in the room. "Places than here. You would be well-taught, safe, and surrounded by men and women loyal to you, and you alone."
"You don't trust the security of the school?" Harry asked in a flat voice; he barely trusted the security after the previous two years, but with the increase in staff, and Sirius and Augusta's sweeping changes in the past year, he had started to feel more optimistic. "I can't imagine why." He added, sarcastically and with a roll of his eyes.
"I believe we all have a justified reason." Lord Lovegood smirked. "Why, one such reason hangs within Arpton as a trophy, by all accounts."
"I can assure you, there are no Basilisk's wandering the halls of Hogwarts now." Remus said, politely clearing his throat. "Lord Black has installed me at the school with the sole responsibility of looking after our Lord. I'm not the only member of House Black within the school, either – one of the Healers, Andromeda Tonks, is a daughter of House Black and is very protective of Harry."
"But neither of you can guard his back all day every day. At Arpton, he would be surrounded by men and women who would give their lives to defend him!" Lord Massey responded, leaning forward in his chair as he spoke. "At the school, Lord Potter is surrounded by political allies and enemies, and if he were to find himself in trouble, not a single man or woman loyal to him could arrive to help."
"That's not strictly true." Sirius said, frowning. "I'm loyal to Harry, and I can get to the school as soon as word reaches me, it's just our men that can't step foot in Hogsmeade or the school. He has friends – allies – who are just as loyal and protective of him."
Lord Massey snorted and waved a hand. "A child that swears no oath can't be counted on in the moment."
"Would you have me swear me and my House to Lord Potter, Lord Massey?" Neville said from the wall behind him. Harry didn't turn in his seat like the others did, and instead fought the urge to smile as he stared at the table before him, his index finger tracing the deep ridges and grooves. "I assure you, Lord Massey, I'm just as loyal to Lord Potter as he is to me. We are brothers."
"House Greengrass will stand beside House Potter." Daphne added, her voice cool and icy. "We were there when you were not, Lord Massey."
Harry glanced up in the ensuing silence and found Lord Massey red-faced. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flared, and his fists trembling. For all that he appreciated Lord Massey's honesty, he was always quick to anger.
"Lord Potter can speak for himself." Harry said, quietly. "And you shall hold your tongue, Massey. One word against the future Lady Greengrass, and I'll take it from you myself – am I understood?"
"Yes, Lord." Lord Massey grunted, the colour slowly fading to a more natural colouring as the man reigned in his fiery temper. "I meant to offer no offence."
"I'm sure you didn't." Daphne hummed, and he could almost picture the look on her face as she said it; he imagined her most severe glare – her blue eyes would be narrowed, as sharp and cutting as any weapon he knew of, and a set to her jaw that could be down-right terrifying at times. Neville would be beside her, arms folded across his chest, and his feet set a little more widely apart than they usually were.
"The security within Hogwarts has increased during the current threat – the school hired almost a hundred new members of staff, and recently I've been given leave to post Aurors within the halls themselves." Amelia said, her tone clipped and business-like. "The Ministry also deployed their… Dementors at the start of the academic year in an attempt to dissuade Greyback from making a move on the school, and last week the order finally came through to remove them from the grounds; they're more trouble than they're worth and have done nothing to indicate they've had any sort of influence on Greyback thus far."
"Can't even tell friend from foe." Lord Hawke grunted, and for the first time, Harry shifted uncomfortably; he didn't need to be reminded of the effect those things had on him, he didn't need to hear his mother's screams echo in the back of his mind, nor the haunting, sickly green light in the corner of his vision.
"Yes, well," Harry said, straightening in his chair and clearing his throat. "According to Amelia, they're due to be removed tomorrow by a team of specialists from Azkaban. Sirius and Remus have spent the last few nights scouting the nearby forest for any sign of Greyback, but they've found nothing so far. It's possible he's retreated to a safer location."
"Lord Black?" Lord Hawke asked, cocking his head slightly to one side. "You have been looking for Greyback yourself?"
"I'm an Animagus – probably one of the few that's relatively safe from the beast." Sirius shrugged. "And if it protects my son, then I'll do whatever is necessary."
"But he's not your son, Lord Black." Lord Lovegood said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands into his lap; his shoulder-length hair hung freely about his shoulders, with a pair of thin braids on either side of his face. He held up his hands a moment later in a placating manner. "I meant no offence, Lord Black – merely stating the obvious."
"He's my son in all but blood, Xenophon." Sirius growled, dangerously. "He may not have my name, but I raised him. More than can be said of any of you."
"The both of you, shut up." Harry snapped, glaring at the two men. "I won't have this become a pissing contest. I'm as much a son of House Black as I am House Potter; my parents entrusted me to the care of Sirius Black, and he's done nothing but rise to the challenge. Speak your mind Xenophon."
Lord Lovegood bowed his head politely, his eyes flickering back and forth between Sirius and Amelia for a moment before returning to meet his own gaze. "There is a growing concern that House Black has too much of an influence on our next Lord, and are being remiss in their duty to protect you. After all, in the three years you've now attended Hogwarts, you've almost been killed, what, two, three times?"
"And where were these concerned Lords and Ladies, Lord Lovegood? Were they rushing to my aid, or were they whispering to one another in each other's halls?" Harry asked, scowling at the Lords across from him. "In fact, if it wasn't for my reckless behaviour last year, I wouldn't have had to enter The Chamber of Secrets; I could have simply opened the doors and allowed professionals to handle it, including the man sat next to me."
"And the previous year? I believe you were attacked by a Mountain Troll? And something about an artefact? I don't mean to imply that Lord Black, and by extension his entire family, have been anything but the best family you could have asked for, but you have to see our concerns." Lord Hawke said, leaning forward against the table; his dark eyes almost black in the dark room.
"I don't have to do-"
"The Mountain Troll was my fault." Hermione said from behind him. Harry stopped and closed his eyes, bowing his head to rub his fingers along the space between his eyebrows in quiet frustration.
"Miss Granger, yes?" Lord Massey asked, cocking an eyebrow curiously when Harry opened his eyes again a moment later. "I don't recognise the name."
"I'm a Muggle-Born, sir." She responded, haltingly. Her voice was a full octave higher than usual, and in that same clear, clipped tone she often used when speaking to the professors. For the first time since he walked into the room, Harry turned in his chair fully, and looked to his friends.
Hermione was dressed smartly in a white blouse, which he was sure was one of her school shirts, and one of her longer skirts; she wore no tie, and her hair was neatly tied up at the back of her head, much like how Daphne had styled her own. Loose strands hung on either side of her face, curling around themselves in loose spirals of glossy hair, and her face was dusted with the slightest amount of make-up; her eyes were darker, and her cheeks slightly more rosy than normal. She looked… Well, she looked grown up.
She had been standing next to Neville – the shit had invited her along in an 'advisory capacity' after inviting himself to the fucking meeting. Daphne had done the same with Tracey, despite his constant protests; Daphne and Neville he couldn't really deny, both of their Houses being close, staunch allies of House Potter, but Hermione and Tracey?
"The Mountain Troll had cornered me in a bathroom," Hermione said, her eyes focused on the Lord Massey, though he noticed the way her fingers twitched as she clasped them before her, that she was equal parts anxious and terrified.
He'd been in a piss-poor mood with his friends ever since he'd left the Headmaster's office on Thursday; he had obviously told each of them what had been confirmed to him – in no small part thanks to his invoking of the Family Magic on Sirius, something that definitely hadn't been appreciated by the man himself. Not one of his friends had hesitated in declaring their intent to join him on his trip to Hogsmeade, and while it had made his heart nearly burst from his chest, he'd put his foot down and denied them.
Then, Neville and Daphne had declared themselves as having vested interests at this meeting as heirs to their respective Houses. That had been when Daphne had turned on her heel and invited Tracey along as her personal advisor. Neville hadn't batted an eyelid before doing the exact same thing to Hermione.
He'd stormed off, ranting to himself about his friends, and stewing in his anger and frustration – he couldn't have cared less if it was just him taking the risk; not that he had much of a fucking choice in the matter – but now there were people he cared about in just as much danger as he was. This wasn't like the year before, when they were on the hunt for Slytherin's Chamber, or trying to work out what was attacking the students; this was Fenrir Greyback, a man almost as feared as the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort.
Only, Greyback had a much higher, and much more successful body-count. Oh, Voldemort had wiped out entire families, and had turned brother against brother in his little crusade, but Greyback was the stuff of nightmares.
How many times had Greyback's latest victims been documented in the papers? It was said that over three quarters of Britain's Werewolves were directly created by the monster himself, and he infected a lot less than he killed and feasted upon.
"Harry saved my life." Hermione continued, pulling him out of his spiralling thoughts. "He saved my life again at the end of the year when we were… Well, when we were in a spot of bother."
Sirius snorted, though there was very little humour in it.
"Thank you, Miss Granger." Lord Griffin said, smiling politely at her as Harry turned in his chair to face his Bannermen once more. He imagined that in the past day, Daphne had done her best to teach both Hermione and Tracey the proper etiquette; the slight rustle of clothes behind him suggested that Hermione had once again curtsied, and despite his frustration, he found it difficult to keep his lips from twitching. "We appreciate your candour."
There were a few shuffled steps behind him, and he assumed Hermione had resumed her place beside Neville. "Each of us has been by Lord Potter's side during each of the events in the past three years." Neville said, his voice echoing around the room. Harry bowed his head and fought the urge to massage his temples.
"We don't deny that claim." Lord Hawke said, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm sure you've all been the staunchest of allies in your time here, but there are simply safer places for the sole heir of House Potter to continue his education."
"You mean Arpton." Harry scoffed. He looked to Lord Griffin. "I thought we had this conversation over the summer. I distinctly recall telling you, in a much more polite manner, to shut up."
"Harry…" Remus said, warningly.
"No, I'm tired of this same discussion." He snapped, glaring at the adults around him. He levelled a finger at Lord Griffin, his jaw muscles twitching. "I have your heir watching my back as best as he's able, and your niece no doubt doing the same." Harry said, snapping his eyes to Lord Lovegood.
"She hasn't been instructed to do so." Xenophon said with a small shake of his head. "If she is, then it's been of her own mind."
"I could care less." Harry growled. "Luna and Cai are lovely people, and I've had some good moments with both of them over the past year but understand this: I am staying at Hogwarts."
In the back of his mind, he could feel the Family Magic stir – it wanted to answer his call, to enforce his will on those that were sworn to him, but he wouldn't let it; he clamped his eyes shut and bowed his head for a moment, forcing it to remain dormant, though he doubted any of the men, and Amelia, in the room hadn't felt the subtle stirring of the magic.
He let out a long, slow breath. "I could return to Arpton, you're right. But do you think I would have the same opportunities, the same challenges, as I would here? I am the son of James and Lily Potter, grandson to Charlus and Dorea, and I will not be coddled and handled like a doll."
"You wouldn't-"
"Wouldn't I?" He snapped, interrupting Lord Griffin with a sharp, humourless laugh. "I'm the sole heir to my family's lands and title – there isn't another Potter in the world related to me. If I die, my House dies; with that alone, do you really believe that I could push myself to be the best that I could be behind the walls of the castle?"
The room was quiet for a moment, and Harry took the opportunity to adjust his position in the chair and lick his lips. "I appreciate that you're concerned for my safety, but I refuse to be coddled. In three years – less than that, really – I'll become Lord Potter in truth, and believe me when I say I'll do whatever is needed to secure my House for the future. But right now, I have to be the best that I possibly can be, and that means remaining at Hogwarts."
"And Greyback?" Lord Hawke asked, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"If Greyback continues to remain a threat this time next year, I think it would be fair to suggest a revision of that particular decision." Sirius said, levelling his eyes upon Harry; and he could do nothing but reluctantly agree. While he was the future Lord, and in a lot of respects, he was overstepping his current authority, Sirius was both his parent and his Regent.
"That, at the very least, is a compromise I can live with – for now." Lord Griffin sighed, wiping a tired hand down his face. "My son has kept me informed of your safety this past year, as was agreed upon, and I simply wish that you would allow him to continue watching over you."
"That's agreeable with me." Harry nodded, pursing his lips. "I enjoy his company."
"I'd offer my heir also, but I think he's a little too old to be going back to school." Lord Massey chortled from behind his thick beard, which earned a quiet snicker from behind him, where he remembered Tracey having been.
"Now, if Greyback remains at large for the foreseeable future, what measures are being taken to assure the safety of our Lord?" Lord Hawke asked, threading his fingers together as he leaned on the table, his eyes flickering between the three adults next to him – he pursed his lips and glanced at both Sirius and Amelia out of the corners of his eyes.
"I can answer that, for the most part." Amelia answered, mimicking the way Lord Hawke had positioned himself. He watched as Amelia tucked an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear that had escaped her tight up-do; unlike himself and Sirius, Amelia was dressed in her Auror armour, matching those that were positioned around the room. "I have enough men, and, since this past weekend, the blessing of the Headmaster to install three whole platoons of Aurors within the school at all times. There's already a considerably-sized taskforce in place to hunt down Greyback; unfortunately, he's as smart as he is dangerous."
"Could he get into the school?" Lord Lovegood asked, frowning, and folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back in his chair.
"There are a number of entrances to and from the school that I discovered along with James and Remus when we attended, but they've all since been sealed and collapsed. We have one or two tools at our disposal to make sure we know who's who within the grounds." Sirius said, glancing subtly at Harry; he knew what he was alluding to – The Map.
The map, that Harry had left in his room when he'd been forced to leave it behind – he had nothing large enough to hold it for the duration of the meeting, and he certainly didn't want to advertise its existence to anyone beyond his family and friends. He'd considered shrinking it but thought better of it – he had little to no clue how that may affect the spells imbued into the parchment; he'd rather it didn't blow up in his hands.
"You trust these tools?" Lord Griffin asked, rubbing the short stubble along his jaw absently.
"With my life." Sirius nodded, without hesitation. "Beyond that, Remus, and Andromeda watch over Harry when they can, and the entire staff take turns patrolling the grounds each night. So far, it hasn't had an effect on the school schedule, nor their work, so I think it safe to assume that we can continue that."
"Quidditch has been cancelled for the rest of the year, as have trips into Hogsmeade." Remus added. "Though Harry hasn't often ventured into the town – he prefers his books, most weekends."
Despite himself, and the sour mood he was still in, Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at the comment.
"I can attest to that." Cai offered, cheekily, from behind him, and a series of quiet snickers, and awkwardly attempted coughs gave away his friend's amusement.
The Lords before him all shared a look, though each had small, subtle smiles on their faces as they looked to him. He shifted in his seat, awkwardly, and fought the heat he felt creeping up his neck. "Yes, well, there's nothing wrong with getting my homework out of the way." He muttered, wishing, for a moment, that the floorboards would open up and swallow him whole.
"What's the Headmaster's opinion on all of this? He's a War Hero, is he not?" Lord Massey asked – of all the Lords before him, Lord Massey was the one that spent the least amount of time in Britain; in fact, Harry genuinely struggled to remember any mention of him being in the Isles before today.
"He is, but he isn't the young man that he used to be." Amelia said, quirking a brow at the Lord. "While powerful, and certainly knowledgeable, I couldn't see him facing down Greyback and being able to keep up. He's made it quite clear that his responsibility is to the school and the students within, though he's happy to help where he can. I think the Aurors are going to be our best resource."
Lord Hawke snorted, a strange sound, given that his nose was crooked. "I mean no offence, but Aurors are hardly capable of managing Greyback."
"Mine are." Amelia hissed, her eyes narrowed, and Harry could see the tension suddenly gather in her shoulders; it was the way she became absolutely still; her fingertips pressing themselves flat against the wooden table.
"I can have two hundred men assembled in two days." Lord Massey offered, pursing his lips.
"No." Harry snapped, slapping his hand on the table. "I won't have you calling your Banners over something like this; not only would it cause," He paused and glanced at the Aurors in the room, who had all reacted in their own little ways at the previous comments, but never before had Harry been so aware of Hermione and Tracey's presence in the room. "Problems, but any men sworn to me, cannot set foot in Hogwarts with the intent to protect me; Lords and Ladies are fine, as are heirs – it is a school and fighting men are strictly forbidden."
"As much as I loathe to admit it, he's right, otherwise I'd have assembled men myself." Sirius said, nodding sharply. "We've got no choice but to rely on the Aurors for this."
"I've got nothing but my best people on it; Harry's well-being is just as important to me as it is to the rest of you." Amelia added, and Harry found himself smiling slightly at her – for all that he was vexed over the current circumstances, he knew Amelia was trying her best. She returned the smile, and he felt himself relax, slightly.
"I trust Amelia to do the best job that she can, and ideally I would still be within the grounds of Hogwarts right now, if I hadn't been summoned like a dog." Harry sniped, unable to resist the comment as he looked at the men across from him. "I'm aware of the danger to my life, and right now, the four of you, have each increased that danger, well intentioned or not."
"Lord, I-" Lord Hawke tried, only to be silenced by his glare.
"Those around me are doing their best to make sure I'm safe, and frankly, this entire farce could have waited until the end of the term or been done through a handful of letters. I think this is a good opportunity to discuss the consequences of your collective actions." He said, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table slowly, allowing the silence to linger for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. "The taxes you all pay will be increased by five percent for the next six years; I think I'm being rather generous, all things considered."
Lord Massey's face turned the colour of puce, and as he made to speak, Harry cut him off before he could start. "Ah, ah, ah, Lord Massey; you'll accept this, or I'll be much less forgiving with the other ideas I had in mind – for example, your daughter; I'm sure I could arrange an extended stay at Arpton, along with someone from each of your households, my Lords?" He said, sweeping his gaze across the other Lords across from him. "Luna would be more than welcome within Arpton; I would arrange her marriage to a good husband, of course. While you have no other children, Lord Griffin, I believe the next in line after Cai is a cousin, no? I'm sure Bonifer would enjoy Arpton as well – and Lord Hawke, well, do I need to say any more?" Harry spread his arms lazily to his sides, and Sirius shifted in his chair next to him.
It had been a point of contention between the two of them; Harry had been quite adamant as to how he felt when it came to the summons by his Bannermen. He knew the consequences of such an action if he allowed it to go unpunished, and while Sirius had thought his responses to be harsh, Harry was in a less than forgiving mood, and he wanted to make that clearly known.
There were rumours, he knew, that he answered to each one of House Black's whims, that he was their 'Tamed Wolf' – it was bad enough that those rumours were circulating, but if word got out that he was becoming subservient to his Bannermen? He wouldn't be a Lord for much longer – perhaps it wouldn't even happen within his lifetime, but still, it was an eventuality that he wouldn't allow to occur.
He was their Lord, and while they may very well have been well intentioned – he hoped it had been, and the meeting had implied as much, but he'd long-since learned not to take people at face-value when it came to politics – they had overstepped their authority, had reached beyond their station, and not only drawn him into a situation where he was vulnerable, but more importantly, they'd inadvertently put his friends in that same danger, and that, he wouldn't stand for.
Lords Griffin and Lovegood shared a look, each of the four across from him palling in the candlelight of the room. "We understand, Lord Potter." Lord Lovegood said, thickly. "There's no need for Wards – we understand and accept the consequences of our actions."
"Good, see to it that each of you remembers this in the future – usurp my authority again, and I'll be far less accommodating, is that understood?"
A chorus of "Yes Lord," rang throughout the room, and Harry nodded his head sharply at the men across from him. He pushed his chair back after a moment and got to his feet.
"Now that that's settled, I'm anxious to return to the castle, and you're all eager, I'm sure, to return to your families." He said, as those at the table all rose a heartbeat later; Sirius straightened his doublet, and quickly stepped around both himself and Remus as he moved to whisper in Amelia's ear, while Remus himself smiled down at him – it was a small thing, just a twitch of the corner of his mouth and a tightening of the corners of his amber eyes, but it was there.
He glanced over his shoulder, and he looked upon his friends – much of his ire had been spent during the meeting as it was, and now, he felt only the relief at seeing them all safely surrounded by the Aurors along that wall. Neville was dressed much the same as himself, in a doublet with the sigil of House Longbottom emblazoned on his breast, though he'd kept his cloak on, and unlike Harry, his hair was loose and hung thickly about his shoulders. Daphne wore a long, dark emerald dress that was almost black; her thick hair was tied up in an intricate do, similar, but looser than Hermione's own – her face was dusted with a faint coating of dark make-up, which made her eyes stand out even more against her pale skin. Tracey, like Daphne, wore an elegant dress, no doubt loaned to her by the other Slytherin – where Daphne's was a dark emerald, Tracey's was a slate grey, and her hair was tied back in a long, thick ponytail that he knew fell to almost the same length as Daphne's own.
It was Hermione that his eyes lingered on, though – he'd noted her appearance before, but now that he was simply focused on her, and not managing errant Lords, he noticed other things that he hadn't before; like the small pendant that she wore over the top of her blouse, the same one that he'd gifted to her, and the small, silver chain earrings that dangled from her ears and sparkled in the light cast by the hearth.
He moved over to his friends, shrugging his cloak on, and settling it about his shoulders with practiced ease. "I hate having to do that." He said, by way of breaking the tension that had been built over the last few days – surprisingly, it was Daphne that laughed, holding her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle it.
"You were terrifying." Tracey said, her voice low and whispered as her eyes darted past him to the Lords that lingered and continued to talk to themselves, Sirius, Amelia, and Remus. "Awesome, but terrifying."
"I thought it was all a bit eccentric – you know, something people did." Hermione said, eyes wide and blinking slowly – she looked stunned. "But it's actually real – you really do rule them." She paused and looked between Daphne and Neville. "You all do."
Harry hesitated, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. "It's… an old system." He sighed, "A hallmark of even older time."
He paused and then looked at Hermione more directly, his head cocked to one side. "You thought it was a game? Something that we did as an affectation? For propriety's sake?"
"What? No! I just, it's so… so, strange!" Hermione said, quickly, waving her hands, and Harry frowned before he could stop himself. "Christ, I'm not helping myself." She muttered, burying her face in her hands.
"Just take a deep breath." Neville chuckled, rubbing her shoulder from behind.
"Sorry, Lord Potter, I mean, no, Harry." She stammered, half-dipping into a curtsey that she'd obviously been taught by Daphne; he recognised the hallmarks of a Greengrass Crash-Course. Behind her, Neville turned away and coughed into his hand, trying to stifle his laughter, while Daphne smirked – Tracey paled slightly and dipped into a quick curtsey a moment after Hermione.
"Stop, stop, stop – the last people I want calling me that are you lot, though Neville can feel free to remember it every now and then." Harry said, forcing his cheekiest grin, despite how uneasy he still was about their presence at the meeting and in the town. "Might do him some good."
"My apologies, oh mighty Lord of Potter!" Neville cried, pompously, sweeping a wide arm out as he bowed low. That got a genuine grin from him, and he returned his eyes to Hermione, though he made sure to look at Tracey as well.
"I'm just Harry to you two; so are Neville and Daphne too."
Hermione began chewing on her bottom lip, like she often did when something was troubling her. He reached out a hand and gently squeezed her arm and gave it a gentle rub. "It's just…"
"A lot." Harry hummed, glancing around the room; Cai was with his father, the two of them smiling and talking quietly between themselves, while Sirius seemed in a deep conversation with Lords Lovegood and Hawke. Remus was in a corner with Amelia, Dora, and Lord Massey, no doubt discussing his future security. "I hope Greyback's caught soon – I have the feeling the next year's going to be pretty dull otherwise."
"Nothing's ever dull around you, Potter." Tracey snorted, rolling her eyes, and giving him a playful nudge with her elbow. "Best decision of my life, going with Daphne to sit with you lot. Though, I am sorry you caught heat for me getting curious about the Occamy in first year. I should've said something."
Harry shrugged his shoulders, and allowed his hand to drop from Hermione's arm, though it lingered by her own, their knuckles brushing, and one of Hermione's fingers reached out to hook around one of his own. "Wouldn't have made much difference – they're worried, so I can't blame them too much."
"Would you really take… what was it you called them? Wards? Arrange a marriage for Luna?" Hermione asked, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him.
He nodded, pursing his lips, and forced himself not to look back at the men that had summoned him. "If they overstep again, yeah – I could take land from them too."
"He'd be justified too." Daphne hummed, her impossibly bright eyes darting over his shoulder. "My father would have been far less generous."
"But marriage?"
Harry winced, and for a moment, he looked pleadingly to Neville, who simply held up his hands and shook his head. The coward. He let out a long sigh and rubbed his jaw with his free hand, unable, or, more accurately, unwilling, to release the small hold he had on Hermione's own. "Marriage is… tricky. For us, I mean." He said, slowly, indicating himself, Neville, and Daphne with a wave of a finger. "Anyone with a title and lands, really – it's the best way to secure an alliance. Most of us don't come into any sort of inheritance until we're middle-aged, like Arcturus was, so it's not usually any real kind of rush to marry. That said, Neville and I come into ours when we turn sixteen."
"But Luna-"
"Is his Vassal." Daphne said, shrugging a shoulder indifferently. "Regardless of who she marries, Harry has to approve it – Ward, or, more accurately, hostage, or not."
"You could be a little less blasé about it, you know." Neville snorted, folding his arms as he leaned back against the wall.
"Awh, look at you with your fancy words." Tracey grinned, scrunching up her face in much the same way she did when she saw a cat. "I'm so proud."
Daphne rolled her eyes at the same time Neville did, though there were small smiles on their faces. "I'm not being blasé, Longbottom – simply honest. Harry, and we, by extension, have a lot of say over how people live their lives – that isn't to say he wouldn't make sure Luna was happy, in fact, being as soft as he is, I think it a fair bet to say that Harry would make sure she was happy above anything else." She paused and pursed her lips thoughtfully as her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Lord Lovegood doesn't know that, though."
"Luna's sweet." Harry shrugged, awkwardly, feeling the warmth creep up his neck once again. "And nobody should be with someone they don't want to be."
"There's hope for him yet." Tracey sighed, dreamily. "The ladies won't know what hit them, Potter."
Harry was just about to say something, when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Sirius approaching; the heels of his boots heavy and thudding on the wooden floor. "May I have a moment?" Sirius asked, his eyes sweeping his small assembly of friends once he came to a stop – they each looked awkwardly at Harry, but he nodded once, quickly, and they shuffled away to another corner. Close enough that they were still nearby, but far enough away that they wouldn't hear what the two of them talked about above the rumble of the room.
His eyes flickered past Sirius, to Amelia, who was still engrossed in her conversation, and then back to the man before him. Sirius was close – closer than normal, and his back remained to the room, his hands clasped before him, the fingers of his right hand wrapped around the wrist of his left; two fingers drummed anxiously.
Sirius was wearing his cloak, having put it on at some point that Harry hadn't noticed. It made him seem impossibly broad, and the dark, fur-lined collar caused the loose strands of hair at the nape of Sirius's neck to disappear. His stormy grey eyes were piercing, and for a moment, Harry thought he might have been in trouble.
"You did well." Sirius said, nodding once and licking his lips. "I'm as proud as can be with how you handled yourself today. Arcturus would be…" Harry felt something flutter in his chest as Sirius paused, seemingly at a loss for words. "Well, he'd be just as proud, I think."
"Thanks." Harry croaked; his throat suddenly uncomfortably dry. "I thought I was in trouble for a moment."
Sirius snorted, and clasped him on the shoulder, squeezing it with as much affection as he could – in the small confines of the room, and with some of Harry's Bannermen present, there was a certain level of affection the two of them were allowed to display; as much as he wanted to wrap his arms around Sirius in that moment, neither of them could do it. "Maybe tomorrow." Sirius said, offering a cheeky wink. He glanced over his shoulder to the Lords. "They want to come to Hogwarts – Xenophon wishes to see his niece, and Arron wishes to see some of Cai's accommodation and meet his friends."
"Hawke and Massey?" Harry asked, frowning.
"Want to speak to Dumbledore about your security; I'll be attending that meeting myself. I'll keep them in-line."
"Was I too harsh?" Harry asked, suddenly. His gloves creaked as he clenched his hands into fists and relaxed them beneath the folds of his cloak. "Or too lenient?"
Sirius pursed his lips before blowing out a breath of hair. "It's a tough line to walk, you know. I think in this case, you did well, but there'll be times when you struggle."
"Like you do with me?" The question had been sudden, and he hadn't even really given it much thought before it had even passed his lips. Immediately, he regretted the words, and he wished he could take them back.
The man before him blinked, twice, before flinching imperceptibly – Harry was only aware of it because of the hand still grasping his shoulder. "I-" Sirius tried, before clearing his throat. "Yes – like I struggle to do with you."
Harry was momentarily struck by the honesty, and while a small part of him was grateful for it, another, childish, part of him wished that Sirius had instead lied. "I don't want you to struggle with-"
Sirius chuckled and drew him closer still, and for the briefest of moments, he felt Sirius press a quick kiss into his hair, decorum be damned. "I am so, so incredibly proud of you, Harry. You're a Potter, but you're also a Black. Remember that. I know I'll never be James, but-"
"I don't want you to. Be him, I mean." Harry interrupted him, quietly.
Sirius smiled down at him; it was happy, but there was that familiar air of melancholy that appeared whenever his parents were mentioned. "And I don't want you to be anything other than who you are, Harry. I'll never stop trying to protect you, no matter how big you get – you'll still be that little boy with a snotty nose that used to beg to ride on Padfoot's back."
"Didn't have a snotty nose." Harry denied with a grumble, glancing down at the floor, and self-consciously rubbing his nose.
"But there'll come a day," Sirius continued, ignoring his quiet protest. "Where you'll be your own man, and that day is coming far quicker than I'd like. I'll be by your side, checking you for bumps and bruises along the way though."
Harry nodded, knowing exactly it was that Sirius was referring to. "I don't want to turn sixteen. Can't I just be a Black?"
Sirius laughed, but it wasn't mocking, or in any kind of humour – it was affectionate, and Sirius shifted his hand so that it was gently entwinned with the loose strands that had escaped the knot at the back of his head. "You've no idea how many times I tried to get Arcturus to name you a Black. You may not have my name, but you are my son, just as much as you're James and Lily's, do you hear me? Don't ever think otherwise."
Harry nodded, the warm pleasure of the words washing over him in a wave strong enough to make him shiver. It was nothing that hadn't been said between them several times before, but hearing the words always had the same effect on him – he had been raised in a caring, loving home, surrounded by a family that loved him unconditionally, but there were still times when he felt almost entirely alone, and, as always, Sirius was always there to make everything better.
"But use the Family Magic on me again, and you'll be helping the Elves around the house for a month." Sirius added in a whisper; it wasn't a true threat, Harry knew Sirius well enough to know when he was making light of something, and when he was actually putting his foot down.
"I didn't mean to." Harry sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "I just wanted the truth."
"I know, and I-"
Whatever Sirius was about to say next was interrupted by a distinct roar of flames from the large room that theirs was connected to, and the barked shouting that came through the walls. The Aurors around the room herded everyone behind some sort of cover, their wands out and levelled at the door with a speed that Harry couldn't have measured, even if he had wanted to. Sirius stepped between himself and the door, wand drawn, his free hand gripping the front of his cloak in a white-knuckled grip.
Neville appeared beside him, his wand also in his hand, the colour from his face drained, leaving only a pale pallor behind – it made his eyes seem darker. "What's going on?" He whispered into his ear. On the far side of his best friend, he could see the three girls, each with their wands out, though Tracey and Hermione looked far more nervous than Daphne.
"No clue." Harry mumbled back, flexing his wrist, and feeling the Vinewood handle of his own wand slap into his palm; his heart was thumping violently in his chest, and he felt the energy begin to pool in both his arms and legs. "Can't be good, though."
"Could it be Greyback?"
Harry shrugged, straining to hear past the ruckus being made around them – one Auror was shouting into a radio, while his Bannermen began barking questions, their own wands in their hands; Cai appeared behind him, his own weapon in hand, and his eyes steely. "Too quiet for that." Harry said, shaking his head. "We'd know if it was him."
The door opened suddenly, though none of the Aurors, or any of the other adults immediately fired a spell. Tracey, however, in a high-pitched, nervous squeak, shot off a Diffindo that gouged a deep line into the doorframe, causing the Auror that had initially opened the door, to scramble back into the other room.
"Friendly, damn it!" The voice of a woman shouted through the doorway. "Watch your spell-fire!"
"Sorry!" Tracey squeaked, her eyes wide and her free hand clasped to her mouth.
More words were audible through the now open door; bellowed orders to get on the floor, and to relinquish any further weapons. Harry frowned and moved to step forward, when he felt Sirius' grip on his cloak tighten – the Auror poked her head back through the doorway, this time much more nervously. "We've got a visitor, Ma'am. Came through the Floo."
"Do we have a name?" Amelia asked, stepping out of formation with the rest of the Aurors. She looked every inch the formidable Auror Harry knew she was, head of the department or not.
"Nicholas Flamel – claims to have made the journey to see Dumbledore; unannounced, of course."
"Shit." Amelia cursed, though anything else she said was lost as she swept through the doorway.
"Flamel?" Hermione hissed, spinning to look in his and Neville's direction. "As in, Philosopher's Stone, Flamel?"
"The what?" Neville frowned, turning to look at her, his wand still clutched tightly in his hand, though pointed at the floor, much like Harry's own.
"It was the stone that Quirrell was after in first year – don't you remember Dumbledore telling us?" Daphne hissed. "That's what he wanted from the mirror!"
"Oh, that mirror." Harry scowled, remembering both encounters with the artefact vividly; sometimes, he would fall asleep at night and re-live one or the other, sometimes even both. While his first encounter had been wonderful, now, only two years later, it felt hollow, empty. The second encounter… Those memories always left him feeling cold, and he'd always wake up trembling. He absently touched his free hand to his hairline, where the glass had shattered and cracked when Quirrell had slammed his head into the mirror – there was no mark, no scar, beyond the one he'd gained over his right eye that cut through the end of his eyebrow and down over his cheekbone, but he could still recall the sharp material slicing through his skin and getting tangled in his hair, further cutting him each time he moved.
"You think he's here to rake Dumbledore over the coals?" Tracey asked; the earlier humour entirely gone from her face. She looked as pale as Hermione, Daphne, and Neville, though unlike the others, a light sheen of sweat had broken out across her brow. "Demand some compensation or something?"
"He's left it too late to do that, don't you think?" Harry asked, frowning, his eyes darting to the open door once more.
"You never know." Hermione said. "I'd be pretty annoyed if my stone got blown up."
"That was an accident." Harry scowled, crossing his arms across his chest. "I didn't even know it was in the mirror!"
"He might not hold you responsible." Daphne offered with a shrug of a single shoulder, her free arm wrapped around Tracey's shoulders, gently squeezing the other girl. "I'd assume he loaned it to Dumbledore, so it would still be the Headmaster that's responsible."
"Come on, you lot." Sirius said, interrupting their quiet conversation. Harry looked at his Godfather and blinked, confused. "Amelia says it's fine, and we should get you back to the castle sooner rather than later. No more risks."
"Are we still…" Harry asked, tentatively, giving Sirius a pointed look.
"Count on it." Sirius nodded, smirking. "Now come on."
Harry followed Sirius and his Bannermen out of the room, with Cai and the Aurors trailing after them. The room they entered was just off of the main pub that Madame Rosmerta managed and was a simple lounge for those wishing a little bit of quiet, away from the hubbub that the pub generally tended to create. It also happened to be the location of the Floo.
The décor was mostly the same as what could be found in the rest of the building, and hosted, at present, an entire Platoon of Aurors, if he didn't count those that had followed them in from the previous room, Amelia, and a tall, lanky man with narrow features and a thick head of white hair.
The stranger, who he assumed to be the famous Nicholas Flamel, wore a set of fine robes – not the usual doublet style favoured by those in Britain, but long, flowing, floor length robes much like those that Dumbledore wore, though these clearly had trousers that were visible through long slits. There were several layers to them, and the soft, velvet-like material shimmered in the warm light of the hearth; the bottom colour was white, and the upper two layers were two different shades of blue, though they looked the same upon first inspection. Upon his breast, was the sigil of House Flamel; a triangle bisected with a horizontal line two thirds of the way up, and in the centre, was a single, large red crystal, no doubt meant to represent the famous Philosopher's Stone.
Upon their entrance in the room, Flamel got to his feet; for being as old as he was rumoured to be, he looked no older than Dumbledore himself, though the man's beard was much shorter, and far better groomed – he actually reminded him of the French Ambassador he'd met, Raoul Chastain. His skin was well tanned, and his smile was charming and friendly.
"Lord Potter?" Flamel asked, his eyes darting to Harry's breast, where the sigil of his house lay. "I 'ad expected to see you at the castle." Flamel's voice was deep and resonated throughout the room. Harry was a student of Alchemy, so of course he was fully aware of the man before him, and all of the incredible things he had achieved in his life.
Despite his advanced age, the man radiated magical power; it thrummed and pulsed throughout the room, and for a moment, Harry was sorely tempted to simply close his eyes and bask in it. It was like stepping outside for the first time on a warm summer's day. "I was required here for some business. What brings you to Britain? You haven't left France in over a hundred years."
Flamel pursed his lips, and his head slowly moved side to side. "I also 'ad to settle some affairs. Per'aps a good thing, no?" He asked, clearly amused as he looked at the room full of Aurors, most still with their wands trained on him.
"It's not safe beyond the Wards of the castle right now, Lord Flamel." Harry said, his eyes darting to the single window in the room; they were on the ground floor of the pub, and the square beyond the window was clear, besides the small caravan of carriages and the Thestrals that pulled them along. All along the perimeter of the square, he could see the red robes of Aurors.
"Harry, we really must be going." Remus whispered in his ear, his hand clasping his shoulder. "Continue this conversation inside Hogwarts."
Harry nodded, and all around him, activity resumed. A pair of Aurors moved to flank Flamel on either side, and he heard a deep, husky voice say, "You'll be riding with us, Lord Flamel. Second carriage in the column when we get outside."
He spared one last glance at Flamel as he was ushered out of the room by Cai's firm hand on the small of his back, his friends close behind. Due to the limited seating of the carriages, he would be returning to the castle with his friends in the third carriage – Sirius, Remus, Amelia, and two Aurors would be in the carriage behind them, while his Bannermen would be in the one behind them; Cai would no doubt ride with his father, and his quiet presence would be missed.
The pub was entirely empty; a unique benefit of the population of Hogsmeade still residing with the Dwarves in the nearby mountain. They hurried through the empty building, and before they knew it, the brisk air of Scotland was whipping his hair about his face; it seemed colder than usual, but he paid it no mind as he pulled his cloak tighter around his body and hurried into the warm of the carriage.
It was a sealed carriage, one of the ones used for when the weather didn't justify riding bare to the elements. The bench was cushioned comfortably, and before he knew it, he found himself closing his eyes and reclining against the headrest, stretching his legs out before him. A knock to his knee indicated one of his friends had taken up residence opposite him, and when he looked, it turned out to be Hermione. Her hair was a little more frazzled than it had been since the commotion with Flamel, and she still looked a little self-conscious each time she looked at him, but she smiled, nonetheless.
Tracey and Daphne took up positions next to her on the bench, with Tracey in the middle – her hands were still trembling slightly, no doubt from nerves. Daphne seemed the most normal of the three, though there was no possible way that he would ever understand what was going on inside that head of hers. Beside him, Neville slid along the bench, his teeth chattering, and shoulders shaking slightly.
"Cold today." He muttered, earning quiet nods from the rest of them, including Harry. Beyond the windows of the carriage, Aurors hurried back and forth, some mounting brooms, while others hopped onto the benches at the front of the carriages in twos or threes. There was a sudden, sharp whistle, and before they knew it, the Thestrals were moving.
The ride through Hogsmeade was quick; they passed empty shops, and abandoned homes, and before they knew it, they were on the single road back to the castle. He allowed himself to breathe a little easier the moment they passed the boundary to the town, and he turned to look at his friends, ignoring the repetitive sight of tall pine tree, after tall pine tree.
"So…" He began, lamely, scrunching his limbs together and staring at the toes of his boots. "I guess now you know a bit more."
"I always knew you were important, Harry, but seeing it…" Tracey muttered, rubbing her forehead. "I'm not one of you three – I come from a regular family. All this Lord and Lady business is a bit beyond me."
"And me." Hermione squeaked. "Muggles don't really have any of that anymore, and if they do, it's more for show."
"We know." Daphne smirked, reaching around Tracey to squeeze Hermione's knee. "But we'll answer what we can – we've never hid anything from either of you, and we won't start now."
Harry eyed Hermione's fingers and saw how she wrapped them around one another nervously in her lap. There was no doubt in his mind that she had a dozen or more questioned planned for the second they got back to the castle. "Who do you think you'll marry?" Hermione asked, suddenly, looking at Neville.
Harry's gaze snapped to the boy next to him, and he couldn't help but grin at the way the colour crept up his neck and into his cheeks. Neville opened and closed his mouth a few times, though no sound came out, until finally, he said, "I, I don't know – not really given it much thought, to be honest."
"And you?" She asked, whipping her head to look at Daphne.
"A second or third son, probably." Daphne shrugged. "Can't be an heir because they'd have to take the Greengrass name. Who knows, I might even get my claws into a tasty Muggle-Born." Daphne grinned, offering Hermione a cheeky wink.
"What about you, Potter?" Tracey asked, cocking her head to the side enough that she could lean it on Hermione's shoulder. "Got your eyes set on anyone?"
He shrugged. "I've had offers, in the past." He said, his eyes briefly flickering to Daphne before returning to Tracey. "Sirius and Arcturus turned them all down though."
"Why?" Hermione asked, quickly. Beside her, Tracey smiled, but rolled her eyes – no doubt she had been waiting for Hermione to pepper him with questions.
"I want to choose for myself." He said, patiently. "House Potter, in recent generations, hasn't really done the whole betrothal thing. Don't get me wrong, we've married into other Houses in the past – Neville and I are even distantly related – but that's generally only been after the potential between bride and groom has already been established. At least, that's what the journals I've been reading from my family have gone on about."
"There's been some bizarre marriages with House Potter." Daphne snorted. "Really turned some heads over the years, apparently."
Neville snorted. "Sounds about right, all things considered."
"Maybe he'll continue the trend of marrying a Muggle-Born." Tracey smirked, her hands now still, and the colour returned to her face. Beside her, Hermione's face turned the deepest shade of crimson he'd ever seen, and he felt his own wasn't that far behind. Beside him, Neville laughed loudly.
He coughed into his fist and cleared his throat. "Yes, well, that's really none of your business." He managed.
"On the contrary, despite whoever it is you marry, I think it's quite clearly my business."
"And how'd you work that one out?"
"Bridesmaid, duh!"
"Do you have those? I don't remember one at Sirius' wedding." Hermione frowned, and Harry breathed a little easier at the change of subject. "I just remember you lighting the tent up, and then the ceremony."
"Susan helped her get ready, but no, we don't really have them. Our ceremonies are pretty simple. Turn up, say your vows, share all your food and drink for a week or so." Harry said, crossing his feet at the ankle and shifting in his seat as the carriage bounced particularly violently over a stone.
"I think I'd prefer the Muggle way." Neville muttered, pulling his cloak around him some more. "I'd rather not share my food."
"Oh please, you're the most devout of all of us." Daphne sighed, rolling her eyes. "If there's anyone that's likely to have a traditional marriage, it's you."
"You're religious?" Tracey and Hermione asked at the same time, both wide-eyed and with open jaws. "Seriously?" Tracey added a moment later, disbelievingly.
"Insomuch as that I think there's an afterlife and stuff… yeah." Neville shrugged, uncomfortably. "Arcturus and Sirius let Harry choose if he believed or not, but Gran's pretty devout in her own way. Says prayers and everything every now and then."
"I wasn't expecting that." Hermione mumbled, blinking slowly. "Not sure what I was expecting, but, well…"
"Are you religious?" Harry asked, cocking a brow at the girl across from him.
She shook her head. "Muggles aren't that religious anymore – they still practice it, but it's mostly personal choice, and some countries and ethnicities more than others. Britain's a lot less religious than America, for example. I've read the Bible, though – it just left me with more questions than answers though."
"What about you?" Neville asked, looking at Tracey.
"Not really." She shrugged. "Mum and Dad aren't religious, and I could never get into it. What about you, Daphne?"
Daphne's answering snort was all the answer any of them needed. A comfortable silence fell upon the carriage after that; the journey between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade took only a quarter of an hour by carriage, and they were already approaching the now-familiar half-way point.
It had been Hermione that had pointed it out on their first trip into Hogsmeade, when they had ridden in the carriage – a single stone marker rose proudly from the cobblestone road; it was made of smooth granite, though the soft, rounded edges were noticeably weather-worn and beaten from years of exposure to the elements. Clumps of moss covered the top, and the small plinth it sat upon always seemed to be covered in dried leaves and other woodland detritus.
Harry's eyes tracked it as they slowly passed, resting his elbow on the shelf beneath the window and propping his chin upon his fist. A shadow passed overhead, followed quickly by three more – Aurors on their brooms. Amelia had told them they were their air-support, meant to spot any trouble before it found them, though he personally wondered what use that was with the forest on either side of the road.
He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand as he continued to watch them pass overhead in slow, looping circles. Their movements were hypnotising, and after a few quiet moments, he found his eyes growing heavy.
Movement beyond the treeline caught his eye, though it was gone before he could blink. Several flashes of light ahead of them lit up the sky, followed immediately by shouts of anger and surprise from beyond the carriage windows. The Aurors that he had been watching plummeted to the ground, their brooms either entirely destroyed, or trailing blazing flames – one Auror screamed as she tumbled past the carriage and suddenly silenced as she struck the cobblestone road, her skull striking the stone and splitting like an overripe melon.
Before any of them could react, for now everyone in the carriage was transfixed on the happenings beyond their windows, the two carriages ahead of them burst into flames, flying through the air end-over-end. The Thestrals pulling their own carriage halted, panicking, and trying their best to divest themselves of the harnesses they were strapped in to.
Several further flashes of light caught his eye, and there was a brief, red mist visible through the small window that allowed them to see where the carriage was going, and then their own carriage was flying through the air.
They were weightless for a moment, though for Harry, it felt as if everything were happening in slow-motion. Hermione and Tracey screamed in surprise and terror, while Neville and Daphne gave startled shouts of alarm and surprise – oddly, he simply grunted. As they continued sailing through the air, Harry pushed himself from the wall that had been behind his seat and pulled Hermione into his chest, tucking her tightly against him, making sure the top of her head was just beneath his chin. Beside him, he eyed Neville quickly scooping both Tracey and Daphne into his own chest, and not a moment too soon, as the world returned to its normal speed as the carriage struck the ground.
It rolled several times, end over end, and with each strike, Harry felt his back and sides connect violently with the interior of the carriage. Glass shattered and flew through the air, and he clenched his eyes shut and tucked his chin into his chest, forcing himself to keep his mouth shut, even as what little air he could suck into his lungs in their brief moments of weightlessness was forced from him as he was crushed between the carriage and Hermione.
Eventually, just when the bones in his chest felt like they could take no more, the carriage stopped its tumbling, and instead slid the last few metres. There were several wet thuds around them, and the window above them was obscured by a mass of slick, short black fur – the hide of a Thestral.
Groans filled the sudden silence after a moment, and Harry shifted his arms to release Hermione. She scrambled from him, and he winced as he flexed his limbs – just like Felix had taught him. He moved his feet first, and then his fingers, and continued to progressively flex muscles and joints – nothing was broken, though he ached something fierce.
"What was that?" Neville groaned, rolling to the side as Tracey and Daphne rolled in the opposite direction. The carriage had come to a stop on its side, and so all four of them had landed in a heap atop broken glass – luckily Harry had kept his cloak on after leaving the pub, as had Neville and Daphne. Glass tinkled against the floor as it fell from their clothes and hair.
"Is everyone alright?" Daphne asked, her eyes sweeping across them all, though she lingered on Harry for a moment longer.
"My back." Tracey groaned, twisting her arm around to massage her lower back. "I'm sore but I'll be fine."
"The Aurors…" Hermione whispered, her face pale, and her eyes wide. Harry locked eyes with Neville, and the both of them scrambled to the thin window that had been at the front of the carriage – it was smeared with crimson blood, but they could make out some of what was going on around them.
Aurors lay scattered on the ground, unmoving, and in some cases, in pieces. Two large fires roared from where the first two carriages had come to a stop, and already the smell of charred flesh was making its way in through the smashed windows and cracks. Shouts could be heard from all around them – men and women in pain, screaming, and others barking orders; he thought he could hear Sirius.
Spell fire suddenly zipped back and forth across the road; some came from the shadowed darkness of the treeline, and others from where their carriage lay, no doubt where Sirius and the others were. They scrambled from the window as a handful of spells came too close to the carriage – one even going so far as to strike the wheel above their heads, startling more surprised shrieks from the girls, and a loud curse from Neville.
"We have to get out of here." Neville said, crouching low and panting. "We'll climb out the top and make a break for the others."
"How do we even know they're out there?" Hermione asked; her voice was tight with stress, and a small cut on her forehead was trickling with blood.
"I know they're out there – I can feel Sirius and the others." He said, his voice hoarse and scratchy.
"Alright, Harry, help me move this." Neville said, standing and reaching above him to begin shifting the Thestral corpse above them – the slick coat had only grown slicker, and the slow drip of blood striking the wooden frame beneath their feet reached his ears.
Harry snatched a hand at the front of Neville's doublet, bunching it in his fist as he pulled him back down into a crouch. "You stick your head out of there, and we're all dead. We can't leave that way."
"It's the only way out!" Tracey cried, throwing out an arm.
"We'll make a new one." Hermione said, with a nod in his direction. "If we went out the door, we'd have to go one at a time, and I don't feel like getting killed."
"Daphne." Harry said, looking at the Greengrass heir; her hair was wild, and her dress had a few noticeable tears on her skirt and bodice. "You make the hole, I'll put up a shield. Ready?"
Daphne nodded, flicking her wand into her hand in time with the rest of them, and for a moment, Harry felt an eerie calm sweep over him. He wasn't helpless this time – he could help his friends; he would help his friends. The wand in his hand thrummed, and his magic roared in his veins, ready to do his bidding.
"Reducto!" Daphne shouted, snapping her wand up. A brief flash of crimson light lit up the interior of the carriage for a heartbeat before, what was previously the roof, disappeared in a cloud of splinters.
A sickly yellow-green spell impacted the cobblestones just in front of the new hole, sending up a shower of stone fragments into the air, and Harry immediately raised his wand and cast one of the defensive spells that Felix had taught him. White-gold light erupted from the tip of his wand, and a dome-like barrier appeared between themselves and the outside world; the chunks of stone bounced off the shield and tumbled back onto the cobblestone.
"We all go at the same time." Hermione said, resolutely. She gripped his left forearm tightly, and he nodded, though he kept his eyes on the spell he was busy holding – several spells struck it from the side, and he winced as it battled against his control.
Sluaris was a tricky spell to get right, according to Felix, and even though he'd only been able to practice it a handful of times, he had never been able to hold it for long under continued fire – the last thing he'd been expecting when he had last practiced it, was to be using it in a life-or-death situation. The year had been going so well.
"You all go first; I'll use the shield to protect us. Run straight for the Aurors." Harry said, wincing slightly as another pair of spells struck the shield. "Ready… Go!"
His friends didn't hesitate; despite the fear and the terror he knew they must have all been feeling – because, deep down, he was feeling that same thing – they each took off at a sprint out of the carriage. He released his hold on the spell at the last possible moment, just before Neville would have struck it and broken his nose.
Harry was right after them, ducking beneath the top of the toppled carriage and quickly swatting away an incoming spell, and twisted his body to avoid another. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the grouping on Aurors, ducking out of their makeshift covers to fire back on their attackers, and most importantly, he saw Sirius, Remus, and Amelia in the middle of them, their wands flicking back and forth – they were like giants.
He hissed as a Diffindo came too close to him, and caused a shallow wound along his side that drew his focus back to his own situation. He ran backwards, his wand moving left and right, up and down, side-to-side as all manner of spells were thrown his way. Behind him, he could hear Hermione's shout for him to keep up, and to hurry. He grimaced, batting away a violet-coloured spell, sending it high into the sky, where it dissipated harmlessly.
From behind him came another fresh wave of spells, which forced his attackers to duck back behind their own cover, he spied, through the darkness of the trees, three shadows fall. He didn't hesitate in spinning around and sprinting the last metres, diving behind an overturned carriage, whose roof was pock-marked with impact craters.
He was panting by the time he rolled to a stop, his blood roared in his ears, and as he stared up at the sky above him, he struggled to keep his eyes from darting about. Voices around him were muffled, and it felt like he was hearing everything from underwater, or at a great distance. Faces appeared in his periphery, but he quickly slammed his eyes shut and forced himself to regain control of his body. His wand was clenched tightly in his right hand, and as he violently pushed the bases of his palms into his eyes, his fingertips curling around the hair along his hairline, tugging at his scalp, he felt the warm wood against his forehead.
It helped, in a strange way, to ground himself. A few moments later, his breathing was more even, and the world around him was clear and in focus when he opened his eyes. Hermione was above him, as were his friends and Sirius.
"Harry!" Sirius breathed, grabbing his shoulders, and heaving him into a sitting position. "You're alright?"
"I got a shallow cut on my side from one I couldn't dodge, but apart from that, I'm fine. What happened?"
"Ambush." Sirius grimaced, glancing over his shoulder. "Most of the Aurors are down."
"Dora?"
"She's fine – she was with Amelia. The two of them are leading the counter-attack."
"Greyback?"
"Hasn't made an appearance yet – we've got no clue who this is." Sirius shook his head. "Come on, we need to-"
An echoing boom shook the entire road, and several nearby Aurors fell over – one, a woman with a long cut running down the side of her face, threw herself to the ground and covered her head as debris rained down around her.
"I want counter-fire now! Move it people!"
"Left flank, left flank!"
"Auror down! Healer!"
"They're moving up the right!"
"Where the fuck are reinforcements?"
Harry glanced to his right – Hermione had thrown her arms over her head when the ground had trembled. Daphne, who had been crouching, had tumbled backwards, while Neville and Tracey used each other to steady themselves. "Are you all alright?" Harry shouted over the noise, his eyes darted back to Sirius, who nodded – none of them were injured, then.
"Potter, what the fuck is going on?" Tracey screamed over the cacophony of noise.
"Don't look at me, I've not done shit!" He shouted back. "Are my Bannermen alright?" He asked, looking at Sirius.
"They're fine and helping the Aurors; they're with Remus on the right."
"I'll fucking kill them!" He growled, ducking instinctively as the carriage was struck so hard that it actually rose and threatened to right itself for a second. Harry, who had been leaning against the under-carriage alongside his friends, with Sirius crouched before him, scrambled away from it the moment he felt it move. "This is their fault!"
"Let's get out of this, and then you can kick their arses!" Sirius shot back. "We can't stay here!"
"No shit!" Daphne snapped.
"This is insane!" Hermione yelled as the carriage was struck again – her wand was clutched to her chest in a white-knuckled grip.
"Harry, I need you to stay here-" Sirius began to say, pushing himself to his feet.
Harry scowled and leapt to his feet, his chest heaving. "Fuck that, Sirius! I'm not going through that again!"
"Like hell you're fighting!" Sirius shot back, furiously, his eyes flashing. "This isn't the time!"
"I can fight! You know I can! And we need all the wands we can get!" Harry snapped, throwing an arm up to cover his eyes as a spell arced through the air and impacted into the cobblestones in the middle of the semi-circular arrangement of the few remaining carriages. Two Aurors were thrown through the air, parts of their bodies flying in different directions.
Without waiting for Sirius to say anything further, Harry shrugged his cloak over his head, discarding it on the floor at his feet. He wore no armour, only a doublet with the sigil of his house emblazoned upon it, some plain, dark trousers, and his regular boots. "Daphne, help the Healers – Tracey, you go with her. Neville, we're going to help. Can you fight, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking at his friends, pointedly ignoring Sirius' angered shouting.
"I'll do what I can." Hermione sniffed, resolutely. She looked up at him from her position on the floor – she had pulled her knees up to her chest, her clothes were ragged and torn, and dirt and blood was smeared on her face. Everything had happened so quickly; he hadn't noticed it before. He grimaced at the sight he must have looked.
"You listen to what I tell you, alright? I'll protect you as best as I can." He said, holding out his hand for her. She nodded, wiping the back of her hand against her cheeks, erasing the few tears that had been crawling down them. She took his hand and got to her feet, though, there was a moment where she wavered, and he thought her legs might give out. He felt a surge of pride in his chest as she visibly steadied herself, and that familiar glint returned to her eyes.
Neville, likewise, had shrugged his cloak off – though he hadn't had the training he had been blessed with, he knew that Neville had been taught how to defend himself ever since Harry had first returned to Nottingham with the desire to learn how to fight. Their initial lessons had taken place side-by-side, though, as the years went on, and their schedules began to misalign, Neville had taken more and more of his lessons at his own home.
Daphne had been taught how to defend herself as well, though never to the same extent as both himself and Neville. If he could make sure she stayed away from the fighting with Tracey, he would feel a bit easier. Ideally, he'd tell Hermione to stay with them too, but between the three girls, Hermione had the most victories at the Duelling Club, as loath as he was to admit it.
An Auror was sent spinning through the air, his red cloak snapping through the air after him. Harry's eyes trailed after him, even as another Auror appeared and dragged him away along the floor with the back of his collar, though his legs, from beneath his knees, remained behind. Miraculously, the Auror, who Harry didn't recognise, continued to cast spells.
"Daphne, go!" Harry said, waving at her to follow after the injured man. She nodded once and sprinted after him, Tracey hot on her heels. He turned back to Sirius, who had moved to help the Auror that had thrown herself to the ground earlier, and shouted, "I'll be with my Bannermen!"
Sirius ducked back behind the carriage next to their own. He was panting heavily and a layer of sweat glistened in the sudden light of the various spells all around them. "No! Get back here! Harry!"
"Like hell!" Harry shouted over his shoulder, launching from his cover. He had no doubts that, should they all survive, Sirius would be furious for the foreseeable future, but he wasn't going to be helpless again. Everything was too similar to the last time for him to sit there and do nothing. "Dobby!" He called, sliding to a knee behind the next carriage as the Elf appeared; his eyes were wide, and he trembled with terror. For all that House Elves were powerful creatures, they weren't fighters.
"Master Harry!" Dobby shouted, hopping from foot to foot. "It not bes safe! Dobby must get you to safety, Sir!"
"No!" Harry said, quickly, shaking his head. "I need you to go to the Ministry, and then to Hogwarts! Tell them we're under attack – we need help! You're the only one that can do it, do you understand me?"
Dobby grimaced, but nodded his head, and disappeared with a pop. With that sorted, Harry drew himself up to his full height and allowed his magic to fill his body; each of his fingers twitched with anticipation, the power dancing just beneath the skin.
"What about Clara?" Neville asked, stepping up next to him; his shoulders were thrown back and his head was held proudly. If the both of them died today, which Harry was believing more and more might be a genuine possibility, he didn't think there was anyone he would rather have at his side.
"If she burns after taking a spell, she'll be vulnerable, right?" Hermione asked, wrapping her fingers around his own and giving them a squeeze.
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "I'm not risking her – she's not too happy that I'm not letting her come." He said, frowning as he felt the displeasure from the bond; she had wanted to come at the first sign of danger, but if anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself.
She had been there the last time he had been ambushed, but it was nothing like this one. There were too many people, on both sides of the conflict. If she was forced to burn, and she was struck as a chick, she would be helpless. He wouldn't risk it. "Come on." He said, flexing his fingers around the handle of his wand.
Getting to the far side of their position in the road was harder than it had initially looked. Half a dozen carriages made up their impromptu barricade, all in various states thanks to the spells constantly striking them. Twice, Harry had to pull Hermione into his side to avoid a spell, and while normally the simple action and proximity would be enough to make his heart feel like it was about to erupt from his chest, now, it only heightened his anxiety.
Neville, he knew could fight – he'd fought Neville a few times over the years, and while the both of them had suffered losses at the Duelling Club, neither of them used anything other than the taught spells at Hogwarts. He had very little doubt in his mind that Neville had a small library of spells he had learned through digging through the Longbottom Library over the years, even if he hadn't practiced some of them. Hermione, on the other hand, he knew had only ever duelled in the club. He trusted her, believed in her, but the idea that she could get hurt…
Then again, if Dobby couldn't get help from the Ministry or Hogwarts, they were all dead, and it wouldn't matter where she was during the fighting.
A pair of Aurors, who were taking cover on either side of the small gap between the carriages, nodded to him, and he nodded back. The two men swung out of cover, their wands already launching spell after spell into the treeline, and Harry didn't hesitate to use the cover their spells provided to make the last sprint to his men.
His men.
The idea made him feel queasy, but his duty in the situation was clear – sole living heir or not, he represented House Potter and it was his duty to stand alongside those worn to him. He came to a stop beside Cai Griffin, who was soaked in sweat, and had smears of dirt across his face.
"Harry!" Cai blinked, surprised. "The fuck are you doing here?" He panted, his eyes looking past him for Sirius.
"My duty." He answered, ducking as another spell arced overhead to impact behind their line of overturned carriages. Luckily, nobody was injured this time. "What's it like?"
"What's it like?" Cai repeated, disbelievingly. "We're in the middle of an ambush, what do you think it's like? The hell are they doing here?" He asked, pointing at Neville and Hermione.
"If we die, it's not going to matter where they were!" Harry snapped, looking past Cai to his father, just as he ducked into cover.
"My Lord!" Lord Griffin called. "As much as I'd rather you anywhere other than here, I'm glad you're alright. We feared the worst when your carriage was hit."
Harry nodded and drew his shoulders back, feeling himself stand a little taller. "Thank you, Lord Griffin. I'm here to stand beside you – where do you need us?"
Spell fire struck the carriage they were taking cover behind like a staccato, each hit so closely followed by the one before it, that Harry had to momentarily wonder if it hadn't simply just been on large, continuous impact. "Where you are is fine, Lord! We'll get through this yet!"
"Hold fire! Hold fire!"
The bellowing order travelled up and down their line, and Harry found himself trading places with Cai, as the boy hurried to take up position next to his father behind the next carriage down the line. Silence fell upon the road as the spell fire came to a halt on both sides.
Thick plumes of grey-black smoke rose as fires burned all around the road; the carriages still burned brightly, and small fires had begun in the treelines on either side; in the centre of the road, slowly walking toward them, was a large figure, with a smaller one fighting feebly in its grasp.
A heartbeat passed before he heard a nearby Auror curse. "That's fucking Greyback!"
"He's got someone!" Another hissed, this one a woman.
"Hold your fucking fire!" Someone bellowed.
The wind picked up, and the temperature dropped noticeably as Greyback stepped into view. He was huge, taller than almost anyone he'd ever met, and as broad as an oak. His clothes were tattered and ripped, though he wore a large, old trench coat – his feet were bare.
Fenrir's entire body was in a partial transformation; while his face remained the shape of a human, his mouth was wider than was natural, and as he bared his teeth at the Aurors, all of his teeth were those of a wolf. Thick tufts of hair and fur sprouted from his clothes, matted with old blood, and, in some places, rotten flesh from previous kills and meals.
The stench of rotten flesh wafted under his nose, and he realised, after a moment, that what he had thought to be dirt and grime that covered both his clothes, and what little visible skin there was, was in actual fact dried blood, old and caked so thickly in places, that it was more a dark brown than red.
Amber eyes swept over the carriages – they were cold and calculating, and while Harry had always wondered just how Greyback had been so dangerous, it was with a chilling realisation that he now understood.
Greyback came to a halt and forced the man in his grasp to his knees before him, throwing him around as if he weighed nothing at all. His right hand, which was now free, wrapped itself around the man's throat and forced him to look up.
It was Flamel.
He was almost unrecognisable, if not for the half-head of hair that remained atop his head, the rest having been burned away, leaving nothing but blackened, blistered skin, and half a melted ear. Flamel continued to struggle in his grip, though his attempts were weak, and he looked on the edge of consciousness.
Greyback twitched an arm, and before Harry could blink, Flamel's throat was ripped out – the man, famous the world over, and who, only a few minutes prior, had been such a presence both physically and magically, blinked as his throat gushed blood onto the cobblestones like a fountain. Greyback released his hold, and he slumped forward onto his face, twitching for a moment before falling completely still.
"Bastard!" He heard Lord Lovegood snarl, and behind him, he heard Hermione gasp, and then immediately empty her stomach.
"Open fire!" Amelia bellowed, and a wave of spells sailed down the road toward the Werewolf, but he was too quick. Harry tried to track Fenrir, but he moved like a blur; one moment he was standing over Flamel's corpse, grinning viciously, and the next he was charging toward them on all fours, gnashing his teeth.
Harry's heart was in his throat as Greyback leapt over the carriages and landed amidst their line – with their collective backs to him, if they didn't stop him, they would be torn apart. There was a beat of silence as everyone realised what had happened, and then Greyback moved again.
Before he could so much as blink, Greyback had launched himself at a pair of Aurors, disembowelling them both with quick swipes of his hands, and, as a third attempted to throw herself at Greyback, the beast simply tore her throat out with his teeth.
There was a moment of stillness, and suddenly, Greyback looked directly at him. Fresh blood coated his teeth and was smeared around his mouth – it dripped from his chin, matting in the short fur that covered his face. Greyback launched himself at him, and, to his horror, Harry found he simply couldn't move.
He had read about all the things Greyback had done, heard all the stories whispered in the corridors, and in the family room's when the adults had all thought he'd gone to bed, and now… now he was going to die. He closed his eyes, and offered one last, final prayer that it at least be quick.
The blow never came, and, when he tentatively opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Remus, half-transformed, tumbling along the cobblestones as he tried to tear the creature to pieces. While Greyback's fur was a deep grey, with flecks of black, Mooney's was white and brown – the two Werewolves snarled, snapped, and swiped at one another, their fight much more akin to wolves than that of humans.
"We can't stay here! Not with them fighting!" Someone shouted as spell fire erupted around them all once again – a nearby Auror took a pair of spells in the chest and slumped backwards, their innards trailing after them and pooling around them.
"Willow, protect the wounded! Everyone else, into the trees! Take the fight to them!" Amelia bellowed, and with a shout of defiance, the Aurors increased their attacks and began to make their way to the closest treeline.
Harry was moving instantly, darting to the treeline as quickly as he could. Spells impacted the ground around him on all sides, kicking up clouds of dirt, stone, and plant matter. A fern two metres ahead of him burst into flame as a spell passed through it, and he was barely able to twist his body to avoid the spontaneous fire.
Neville drew alongside him, his arms pumping violently as the two of them crashed through the underbrush; a large oak sat in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by the large pines and birch trees that made up the forest – shafts of light broke through the overhead canopy, making him wince as he passed through them, briefly disorientating him.
The two of them dove behind the tree, and a moment later, were joined by Hermione and Cai, the trunk large enough for all four of them, and offering the best protection that Harry had been able to see in their mad dash.
He glanced around their surroundings, taking in the large boulders overgrown with moss, and the thick pine trunks that would easily be able to cover an adult. His breath was panting, though it wasn't from the exertion – his blood was up, The Wolf's Blood, as Brandon had called it some years back, and all of his senses felt clear and sharp. He was excited.
There had been a ridge to their right as they had made for the oak, and he turned his head to look up at it. He had been taught strategy by Felix and Sulyard – though the latter had dominated those lessons – and he knew they needed to get it before their enemy did.
"Massey, Hawke!" He called, spying both men as they ducked behind their own trees, spell fire peppering them as they did so. "Take some Aurors and take that ridge!"
"Sorry to tell you this, but we don't take orders from no-one but Lady Black!" An Auror yelled from behind a rock; though when Harry turned to look in their direction, they were leaning to the side and firing a slew of spells into the underbrush.
"You answer to Lady Black, and Lady Black answers to me." He snapped, flinching as a spell struck one of the higher branches of the oak, showering them with smoking leaves.
"I don't fancy getting fucked in the arse if they get smart and take it first." Another Auror said, grimly. "You'll have my squad, Lords."
Lords Hawke and Massey nodded in Harry's direction before swinging from their cover and firing spell after spell past his oak. Distant screams and curses followed a moment later, but it was all the time needed for the Aurors to dart from their cover and follow the Lords up the ridge.
Harry watched them go, grimacing as two Aurors stumbled in the loose soil, and one caught a spell in the side, launching them into a tree with a sickening crack, where they remained, unmoving, in a twisted heap.
"They're charging!" Someone yelled, another Auror. There was only a handful of red cloaks that he could see, poking out from behind trees and large boulders.
"Take as many down as you can!" Lord Lovegood bellowed, darting around his own trunk, and firing off a quick pair of violet-coloured spells.
Harry glanced at Hermione, who was immediately next to him, Cai and Neville having placed themselves on the far side of the trunk. "Make every spell count, don't linger. Fire your spell, then get back, alright?" Harry said, briefly gripping her shoulder. She stared at him for a moment, her lips pinched between her teeth, but nodded, nonetheless. "I'll be right here."
Hermione shuffled a little closer, and after a heartbeat, the two of them spun from the trunk, their wands levelled. Hermione called out her spells, like they had been taught, and how they had fought at the Duelling Club these past two years. She used Bombarda and Reducto to splinter tree trunks, and kick up clouds of woodland detritus, though none hit her targets. Intermixed were other spells: Expelliarmus, Immobulous, Deprimo, and a particularly impressive Diffindo that sliced clean through the trunk of a birch tree.
While she hadn't hit any of her targets, she did create an opportunity for Harry. Most of their charging attackers were aptly deflecting spells into the tree canopy, or off to the sides, well away from their allies; one even managed to send a spell straight back at the Auror that had fired it, cleanly removing the Aurors head in a pink mist of bone, blood, and brain matter.
There was one, however, that had stumbled when a spell, sent by Hermione, had impacted at his feet. Harry didn't hesitate in using the spells Felix had taught him. His Eviulsis spell leapt from the tip of his wand, the purple-white fork of lightning let out a deafening crack as it soared over the impromptu battlefield and speared the man through the gut.
It was with a grim satisfaction that he watched the man topple over like a puppet with its strings cut. There was no cry of anguish, or dramatic fall; he simply fell, and didn't rise again.
The two of them ducked behind the trunk as a pair of spells came their way, impacting with such force on the other side of the trunk, that the entire thing trembled ominously for a moment. More leaves, singed and burning, fell from the canopy all around them.
Another Auror screamed as her arm was blown clean from her body, though it was cut short when several spells impacted her chest and stomach. Her body twitched and danced with each impact as she stumbled backwards, before tripping over a tree root, and crashing to the floor. He grimaced as he watched trails of smoke rise from her body, before returning his focus to the fight at hand.
Light from the top of the ridge illuminated the trees, though no spell fire came down to meet the charging enemy. Distant shouts and screams echoed in the forest, and he realised that their enemy must have also sent men to take the advantageous position.
They were losing too many fighters, and he had no idea how many remained in the charge. He'd seen a handful fall but hadn't thought to count them. He hissed a curse and clenched his fists at his side, resting his head briefly against the trunk of the tree. The remaining Aurors, and both Lords Griffin and Lovegood continued to fight, shouting their defiance into the chaos around them.
He reached down, into his boot, and pulled his dagger free, both Neville and Cai copying his action as they took cover, grimacing as more spells continued to pockmark the trunk. "They'll be on us any moment!" Cai hissed, drawing himself to his full height and grimacing. "This is going to turn into a knife-fight."
Harry looked at Hermione, his jaw flexing and his teeth grinding together. "You find a place to hide, and you do it now."
"I can help!" She cried, her eyes wide and her brow furrowed. For a moment, Harry was briefly reminded of a moment he had said the same thing to Sirius. He shook himself. "Harry!" She tried, again. "Let me help."
"No!" He snapped, pointing at a boulder they had passed on their charge into the trees. "Hide behind that – now!"
Hermione jutted out her jaw stubbornly and glanced around; he could see that she was trying to find support in Neville and Cai, but both boys shook their heads, their hands flexing on the handles of their blades with nervous energy. Eventually, she nodded, albeit reluctantly, and sprinted for the rock.
"Some have got swords." Cai whispered in his ear, shuffling closer to his side. "And familiar armour, if you know what I mean."
Harry looked at him sharply. "You mean-?"
Cai nodded, glancing nervously at Neville. "Does he know how to use that thing?"
"He does." Neville scoffed. The shouts from the oncoming charge were louder now, and much of the spell fire had stopped as everyone prepared themselves. "If we don't make it through this, Harry…"
"We will." He muttered; his lips pressed firmly together. He began to bounce on his toes, and magic crackled up and down his arms as he flexed his fingers. "We'll make it."
"Of course we will." Cai grinned, though there was little humour in it. "I want to ask out Fawcett."
Harry snorted, and nodded slowly, working his jaw from side to side. "This is it."
"Last one alive, bury the rest." Neville muttered; it was an old saying, from a time when Lords would regularly war with one another in a bid to expand territory, and in that quiet, tense moment, it felt fitting.
Harry locked eyes with his Bannermen, their grim faces of determination helping to somewhat settle his nerves. The first of their charging assailants passed their tree, and he waited a moment longer, before spinning around and meeting the next, his dagger raised defensively, and his wand at the ready.
It was a tall, broad woman with familiar armour, though she wore no sigil, and hefted a staff with a wicked blade. She didn't hesitate, her lips curled into a snarl as she spun the shaft to bring the blade to bare; he ducked under it, using the blade of his dagger to deflect it up high. When he brought himself back up, the other end of the staff connected painfully with his sternum, throwing him backwards.
He gasped as he landed in the soil, his lungs having had all the air forced from them and blinked dazedly up into the canopy above. His body ached, but he forced himself to move – if he remained still, he was dead. He rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet, spitting a mouthful of dirt onto the ground, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
His breathing was still laboured, but it was becoming easier. The woman across from him didn't give him further time to gather himself, however, instead choosing to level the foci of her staff at him. His wand snapped up, and he cast Morego, another of the spells Felix had taught him, to absorb and deflect the magical lance of energy.
It careened off to the side, detonating violently. He darted forward, knowing that he was at a disadvantage at a distance. He ducked right, throwing his torso back at the last moment and feeling the blade of the staff slice through the collar of his doublet, though not enough to slice his skin. He dove to the left, coming up under her guard.
Her knee came up, and he stepped to the right to avoid it, and instead drove his dagger into the meaty flesh of her thigh – there was a sharp jolt that travelled up his left arm as the blade bounced off of the bone, and the woman screamed in agony, toppling to the side as she clutched at the wound. The dagger was wrenched from his grasp as she fell, and he stumbled after her, barely managing to keep his feet under him. He levelled his wand at the writhing woman and quickly silenced her with a pair of Reducto's.
With his opponent dead, he quickly retrieved his blade, and looked around at the battlefield around him. Cai was atop his opponent, slamming his dagger down again and again into the man's throat, bellowing a war-cry as he did so. His face was splattered with blood, and a deep cut ran from the top of his temple, and down to the back of his jaw.
Neville was duelling his own opponent, though the two of them were using spells rather than bladed weapons, dancing around one another, and ducking behind trees where they could.
The last of the Aurors fell, though it seemed they had all at least taken their own opponents with them; two were injured, groaning, and writhing on the floor, while the rest lay unmoving.
Lord Lovegood stumbled backwards, clutching his face as his own adversary used the pommel of his sword to smash his face. Harry darted forward, seeing that his Bannerman was stunned, and about to be killed. He fuelled each of his strides with magic, forcing his legs to speed up and close the distance. Everything moved as if in slow motion, and before he knew it, he was sailing through the air, and tackling the man from the side.
The two of them tumbled over one another, the man cursing as they crashed through the underbrush. Harry snarled, gnashing his teeth together as he kicked and punched at the much larger man.
"Little bastard!" The man snarled as Harry's fist broke his nose. The two of them came to a stop, thankfully, Harry hadn't been caught underneath his latest opponent, and was able to at least get to his feet.
The man was quicker though, ignoring his broken nose, and already on his feet, though his sword lay discarded somewhere. His fist connected with Harry's cheekbone, and he found himself stumbling after the strike, his back slamming against a tree. His vision swam with stars for a moment, and just as they cleared, the man's hands wrapped themselves around his throat, bodily lifting him from the ground, pinned against the tree.
He gasped, his eyes bulging as his lungs fought for air. He kicked at the man's legs, but he was unfazed. Harry blinked quickly, the corners of his vision already darkening, and brought the dagger down on the man's forearm. It scraped against the steel armour, and so he tried again as the pressure on his throat increased – the man screamed and yanked his hands free. Harry landed on his knees, hacking and coughing, wheezing as his lungs fought for air.
"Cunt!" The man screamed, clutching his arm as Harry looked up. Harry didn't know how the blade had caught him, but by the way the man was screaming and cursing, it had been in a painful spot in his forearm, near the crook of his elbow. The blade hadn't gone deep, that much was evident by the simple fact that it had remained in his grasp. "I'll kill you, you stupid-"
Harry didn't hesitate, lunging forward and swiping the blade across the man's throat. There was a warm spray of blood, and a gargling, choking noise as the man slumped to the side, his hands coming up to attempt to stem the bleeding. Harry fell in the opposite direction, exhausted, and sprawled on his back between two ferns.
He lay there, panting for a moment, ignoring how his throat burned, as if someone had poured molten metal down it, and how his lungs ached with each breath. As he remained there, sprawled out, with his dagger clutched in his left hand, and his wand in his right, other sensations began to make themselves known; his fists ached, something was slowly trickling down the outside of his right thigh, and the back of his doublet was damp – but not the cold damp of sweat, but the warm, sticky feeling of blood.
Slowly, he forced himself into a sitting position, grimacing as his chest throbbed from where he had been struck by the woman's staff, and it took further effort to push himself to his feet, though he allowed himself a moment to lean against a nearby tree and glare at the now still corpse by his feet. He rolled his tongue in his mouth, before spitting out a globule of saliva and dirt in the direction of the body before forcing himself to his full height.
The two of them had rolled down a slight incline, but he could still clearly see the fight still taking place at the top of it. Lord Lovegood had moved to assist Lord Griffin, who had been fending off a pair of attackers, while Cai and Neville were back-to-back, facing off against another pair. Silently, he prayed that Hermione remained safe – he'd never been one for religion, but if there was ever a time for the Gods to listen to him, it was now.
He broke back into the clearing at a slow jog – his face still ached, and some blood was threatening to seep into his right eye. He wiped it with the back of his doublet's sleeve and charged at the back of the closest of their attackers.
The woman had her back to him, obviously focused on Cai and Neville. He leapt upon her back, driving his dagger into the gap in her armour at the base of her neck. She screamed as the blade sunk into the flesh, though fell silent half a second later. She sunk to her knees, and Harry landed on his feet, giving it a sharp, violent twist, before yanking it free.
He looked up as she toppled face-first into the dirt; her ally hesitated for a moment, and Neville capitalised on it. A powerful Reducto later, and the man collapsed to the ground without his head, a small mist lingering in the air after him.
Harry remained towering over the corpse at his feet, panting, as his eyes swept the clearing. Bodies lay everywhere, though the injured Aurors had managed to crawl and prop themselves up against nearby tree trunks and boulders. Lovegood and Griffin were still fighting, though both were clearly winning the fight – he glanced up at the nearby ridge and grimaced at the continuing flashes of light that illuminated the canopy in bright colours.
"We should help them." Neville groaned, bending at the waist, and resting his hands on his knees. "They could be getting killed."
"And we'll get killed if we run into a fight in our condition." Cai grimaced, wiping his hand down his face, though all it managed to achieve was smearing blood everywhere. A scream, which was quickly silenced, echoed in the quiet of the clearing caused the three of them to spin, their wands levelled. Griffin and Lovegood had killed one of their attackers and were quickly finishing up with the final one.
"We'll wait for your father and Lord Lovegood." Harry sighed, leaning back against the trunk of the oak, and resting his head against it, tiredly. His eyelids felt heavy, and it took everything in him not to slump to the ground. The smell of charred flesh, and burned ozone permeated the air, and caused his stomach to roil uncomfortably.
The two other boys joined him at his side, each taking up a position either side of him, with Neville on his left, and Cai on his right; they both slumped forwards, their elbows on their knees. Both looked worse for wear, covered in cuts and smeared blood, though how much was their own was difficult to discern.
"It was them or us." Neville said, quietly, running his hand down his face. "Them or us."
"You did well – we all did." Harry sighed, gently clapping Neville on the back.
"Your first kills?" Cai asked, cocking his head slightly. "Human, I mean." He added, rolling his eyes, and smirking at him.
"You've killed before?" Harry asked, flexing his fingers around the shaft of his wand, rolling it between his fingers. He allowed his dagger to fall into the dirt at his feet; it had grown heavier and heavier the longer he held it.
"River pirate, a year past." The older boy shrugged, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood on the ground. "Father and I tracked them to a cove in Lake Guinevere."
"Could've used you in the Chamber, then. I'm glad you were here today." Harry sighed, tiredly, grimacing as he pulled his gloves from his hands, hissing as the insides stuck to his knuckles with slowly drying blood. A moment later, the dull thump of the last attacker falling into the dirt signalled the end of the battle.
Cai pushed himself to his feet first, no doubt eager to be with his father. With the exception of the distant spell fire over the ridge, and on the far side of the road, everything was suddenly very quiet. It was strange, after the chaos of the ambush and the battle; he hoped Daphne and Tracey had remained safe and were continuing to tend to the wounded.
Harry pushed off from the tree a second after Cai, and after a few steps, there was the distant crack of twigs. Cai spun on his heel, and Harry began to twist his body to look in the same direction.
"Look out!" Someone bellowed, and before he knew what was happening, he was flying through the air, spinning end over end, completely weightless. The moment was brief, and the world snapped back into focus the instant his body impacted the dirt, where he continued to cartwheel and roll, until his body struck the twisting roots of a tree.
He groaned, clutching at the part of his side that had initially landed, and writhed on the floor for a moment, forcing his body to still, and to bring the pain back under control. It took a herculean effort, but eventually, he was able to focus his mind and body. He had been thrown through the air, and dirt continued to fall around him.
His eyes, which he hadn't realised had been closed, opened slowly, and it took a second for him to realise what he was seeing. A deep crater had appeared at the base of the oak, revealing the singed, and in some places, burning roots of the ancient tree. Neville was writhing on the ground on the far side of the clearing, clutching his side – Lord Lovegood was kneeling over him, his wand moving this way and that. Cai lay with his head propped against his father's thighs; his eyes were closed, and his skin was blacked on the left side, along with all of his clothing. His eyes were closed, and his father was weeping, his fingers pushing thick, matted strands of hair from his forehead.
Cai's left arm had disappeared just beneath the elbow.
Harry glanced around the clearing, looking for where the attack had come from, and caught sight of movement between the trees. Whoever it was that had attacked them, they were making a break for it. He grimaced, forcing himself to his feet, and shaking his head, ignoring the ringing in his ears.
The first two steps, he stumbled, his free hand clutching at his side, but out of stubborn determination, he forced his way through it, and began the chase. He was slower than whoever it was that was running from him, but somehow, he managed to keep pace, even with his limp, and laboured breathing.
Eventually, the figure stopped running, and came to a halt on a rise overlooking a nearby lake. He wasn't sure how far from everyone they had gone; he could still sense them all, but the sounds of battle were further away than it had been before. He slowed, his wand held up cautiously before him – his wounds pained him, but they were nothing that couldn't be quickly fixed with a few potions and some spells.
The man, for he was simply too large and broad to be a woman, became clearer as Harry approached from behind, stepping over fallen branches, and a boulder that was as tall as his knees. He wore the familiar, spiked armour plates that he was so familiar with, though these were more wicked looking than any he'd seen before. Long, brown hair fell in thick braids down the man's back, clasps of silver pinning them together.
"Stay where you are." Harry ordered, setting his jaw, his magic ready to put the man down in a heartbeat should he move as much as a muscle.
"It seems you've caught me, Pup." The man said, amusedly. "What be you – tamed or wild?" He asked, turning to glance over his shoulder.
Elbert Crane.
Rage boiled up inside him as Crane turned to face him fully – missing was the staff he had brought into Arpton the previous summer, with its sharp, angular edges. Instead, clutched in his large fist, and lazily pointed at the ground, was a dark wand, its wood black as night with fine, almost invisible runes carved along its length.
"You bastard." Harry snarled, glaring at the man before him. "I gave you Guest Right!"
"Oh aye, you did. Thank you, by the way – your ale's better than most."
"What are you doing here? Are you working for Greyback?"
Crane laughed loudly, his free hand resting on the armour over his stomach, the metal clinking against itself with each movement. "You think that beast capable of all of this?" Crane asked, finally catching his breath, and spreading his arms wide, slowly turning on the spot. "You think that dog bright enough to draw you away from your friends?"
"I chased you down." Harry said, firmly.
Crane smirked, slowly stepping to the left. Harry paced to the right. "Oh, did you now? And what a mighty job you've done, little wolf, chasing me down, injured and limping as you are. Where's the rest of your pack, hm?"
"They'll be along shortly."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk – that just won't do." Crane said slowly, pursing his lips. "I've got such fun planned for the two of us."
"You stay where you are, or I'll put you down myself." Harry warned, continuing to step to the right as Crane stepped to the left, again, and again, and again. It wasn't long until they'd done a full circle, with Crane's back to the lake below.
Crane chortled, merrily. "Oh, I think you'd quite like that, wouldn't you? Be a proper wolf. Have you seen my latest acquisition, by the way? This little thing?" He asked, holding up the wand before him so that it caught the light. "Granted, it took some getting used to – not quite as useful as a blade, or as powerful as my staff, mind you, but remarkably accurate."
Harry said nothing, his eyes flicking to the wand for the briefest of moments. It looked familiar.
"Perhaps I should show it to Lord Black – I did, after all, take it from the hand of the last one. Before I strung him up, of course."
Cold dread filled his stomach, and his eyes, which had focused back onto Crane once more, snapped to the wand in his fist. He peered closer at it, and, after a moment, he recognised it. Crane wasn't lying – it was Arcturus' wand!
It was Arcturus' wand.
Hot rage swept over him, banishing the cold that had settled into the bottom of his gut in an instant. Magic lanced up and down his arms, dancing visibly across his skin, and for the first time since he had caught up to the man, Crane's mocking smile disappeared.
The smell of burned ozone filled the air, and before he knew it, Harry was throwing spell after spell at Crane. He had no particular one in mind, only that he had to destroy the man before him; he had to avenge Arcturus.
They had been searching for his killer for over a year, and every trail had gone cold – there were no witnesses, no crime scene, nothing to indicate just how Arcturus had come to be displayed in such a manner in the middle of Diagon Alley.
And now, now his self-proclaimed killer stood before him, batting his spells away with the very wand that Arcturus had used all his life. With each spell deflected, images of the proud, powerful man flashed in his mind.
The two of the traded spells; it was clear from the beginning that Harry was at a disadvantage – his side ached, and his leg trembled with each movement.
He ducked behind a nearby tree, throwing himself into the undergrowth and rolling through dried and rotten leaves as a particularly powerful spell blew the trunk to pieces.
Crane snarled as Harry scrambled to his feet, his wand flicking up as another spell leapt from the tip; he wasn't sure what it was, but it was enough to put Crane on the defensive for a heartbeat – long enough for him to catch his breath, for what good it was doing him.
Harry flinched as Crane threw another spell at him, the bitter aftertaste of the magic smothered his senses for a second, dulling the others dangerously. It was so different, and yet so familiar at the same time – there was Crane's presence in it, but also the lingering feel of Arcturus.
He could remember ever brush of Arcturus' magic; every time the Black Patriarch would remove a stain from his clothes; the way it would wrap itself around him when he'd had a nightmare, and the way it had thrummed in the back of his mind when Arcturus would ruffle his hair.
Before him, throwing spell after spell at him, was the man that had taken that from him; stolen the long years they would have had together. His heart began to beat quicker, and the sound of his blood rushing in his ears drowned out all others.
He dove forward, tucking his battered body into a clumsy roll as he narrowly avoided another spell – it passed so closely, it singed the nape of his neck. He rolled to his feet; his wand already raised.
Crane scowled, firing off a pair of different coloured spells, and for a brief moment, Harry ducked behind a nearby tree, hissing angrily as his offensive was interrupted.
The second the two spells passed, Harry swung out once more, advancing on Crane boldly. His spell-work was sharp and tight, the movements little more than a flick of his wrist this way and that. Crane backed up slowly, wincing as one spell broke through his guard and caught him in his armoured shoulder, while the other barely missed his ear.
Crane rallied, however, and fired another spell, this one a pale pink, that connected with Harry's own purple-white spell. The two physical manifestations of magical energy warped and wrapped around one another in the middle of the two of them, locked together.
Harry ground his teeth together as the world around the two of them faded away; his only focus was Crane. He poured more power into the stalemate – something he briefly remembered Arcturus referring to as Priori Incantatum: locked wands. It occurred when two spells collided in mid-air, not dissimilar to swords locking together; it wasn't a desirable position to be in, and the battle of strength could often be taxing.
Elbert Crane was a large, powerful man, and for him to have bested Arcturus, that meant he was also a powerful wizard. Harry knew he had to give it everything he had if he wanted the chance to avenge the man that had given him everything.
And so, he focused. He remembered the feel of every single time he had drawn on his magic – it had always answered his call, and there had always been more it could give. He recalled his stand-off with Quirrell and Voldemort in his first year, he remembered Tom Riddle and Ruhxu the year before, and now, he thought about Crane.
His magic answered him with a roar, and he roared with it. The tip of his wand exploded with light, and the roiling mass of magical energy leapt at Crane. There was a deafening crack-boom, followed by an agonised scream of agony before Crane fell backwards, tumbling down the slope to the lake below.
Harry didn't hesitate leaping after him, his left hand still clutching at his battered ribs from his earlier tumble, though he made sure to keep his balance as he slid down the bluff.
The waves of the lake lapped gently at the shore, and Crane lay next to it, on a small stretch of muddy sand, groaning and clutching at the side of his face. The smell of seared flesh and burned hair filled the air. Crane was on his side, facing away from him, and when Harry approached, his wand levelled at the man, he rolled him over with a vicious kick.
The sight that greeted him was pleasing, deep down. The entire right side of his face was a bloody, charred mess. The thick beard and long, braided hair was gone on that entire side, replaced with blackened skin and hideous, burned skin that already oozed. Gone was the man's ear, and he held up a hand as he panted, his face twisted in agony.
"Y-you win." Crane gasped, panting, though his lips pulled back in a flash of a grin. "Y-you're no Pup."
"I'll kill you for what you did to him." Harry hissed, his teeth grinding together. Spittle arced through the air and landed on the gambeson between Crane's armoured plates. He placed his boot onto Crane's chest and pushed him firmly onto his back.
Crane laughed, though it was short and sounded more like a hiss than anything else. The man laid his head against the damp soil and let out a long sigh. "He died quick; I made sure of it."
"You displayed his body in public! You desecrated him! He was good, and kind, and you killed him!" Harry screamed, fresh tears dripping from his jaw.
"Aye, boy, I killed him."
"Tell me who ordered you to do it. You're Trevelyan's man, are you not? Speak now – speak your truth before you meet the Gods." Harry said, drawing himself up and steadying his trembling wand hand.
"I have nothing more to say." Crane sighed, closing his eyes, and letting out a long breath that fogged in the air above his mouth. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."
It was clear, even through his grief and his rage, that Crane would say no more. He drew himself up and levelled the tip of his wand at the man's throat – without a sword, or similarly bladed weapon, his magic would have to do. "In the name of-"
Sickly, pale green light flashed in the corners of his vision, and the temperature, which had been chilled to begin with, plummeted. The water along the shore began to frost and freeze, the ice cracking and snapping. The wind picked up, and with it came a deep, piercing chill.
He stumbled backwards, blinking rapidly, and pulling his wand up as he scanned the trees around him – they rocked back and forth violently, their branches scraping against one another as twigs and leaves fell to the ground. His breath fogged before his eyes, and his pulse quickened. There was only one thing that had an effect like that.
Dementors.
He snarled to himself, quickly swiping at his cheeks as he backed away from the lake, his wand moving back and forth. Crane shifted in the sandy soil, though he didn't move any further, his own head moving back and forth, searching for the source of the interruption.
"Harry!" A familiar voice called, coming from the direction of where he had duelled Crane. He spun on his heel to see Hermione sliding haphazardly down the slope. Her skirt was torn, as was her blouse, and smeared with dirt and blood, and he prayed it wasn't her own.
She collided against him roughly, her arms wrapping around him and threatening to break him in two. "I was so worried – you ran off, and then I heard the fighting, and… is that cold what I think it is?" She asked, her eyes growing wide and face paling even further.
He nodded, grimly, and turned back to face Crane, though when he did, the man was gone. A lone, large bird disappeared over the trees on the far side of the lake, just as the first of the Dementors appeared.
"We should run." Harry said, lowly. "Make a break for the carriages."
"We'll never make it." Hermione whispered, her hand wrapping around his free one. "They'll run us down."
Harry worked his jaw but didn't say anything. His hair had long-since fallen from the tie he'd put in when he'd gotten dressed, and it danced and whipped around his shoulders. Slowly, he nodded. "So we stand our ground. Remus taught us how."
Another flash of green light in the corner of his eyes.
"-ake Harry and run!"
"Not Harry, no!"
He swallowed and let out a long breath through his nose, forcing the images to stop flashing through his mind. Hermione trembled at his side, but she brought her wand up in her left hand and held it steady, the fingers on her right hand intertwined with his own, and he brought his wand up to match her own.
"Expecto Patronum!" Hermione cried, flicking her wand as the first of the Dementors broke away from the mass of shadowy cloaked figures, gliding low across the lake at a breakneck pace.
A faint wisp of light illuminated the space before them, with tiny particles of ghostly white light fading into nothingness a moment later. Again and again, she tried, and Harry watched her, mesmerised.
He watched the way her brow was scrunched up, and how she pushed her shoulders back defiantly, even in the face of overwhelming defeat and failure. Her chin rose a fraction as she tried again, and her jaw had that familiar, endearingly stubborn set to it that always appeared whenever she set her mind to something.
If this was the last thing he saw, he was glad this was it. This was Hermione in her element, unafraid of failure, persistent, and stubborn enough to persevere until she got it right. Her hair, matted, tangled, and filled with dirt, branches, and stray leaves, whipped about her head, but she remained unfazed.
She was solid, immoveable, a force of nature unto herself, and Harry clung to that.
He didn't think about his parents, or the mirage that he had lived through in the Mirror of Erised, or the dance with his mother; he thought of Hermione, and all the little times she had steered him right. The way she would make sure he did his homework, and the way her nose would scrunch up when she smiled at him. He thought of her perfume, and the way she would stretch her body out as she yawned in the Gryffindor Common Room, and how she shouted and cheered the loudest when he played Quidditch. It was the little things, he realised, that all stood out to him, that made up the whole of who Hermione was. She was his friend, his companion, but even those words felt inadequate.
Unbidden, an image of the two of them, dancing in a large tent, appeared in his mind. They were spinning slowly around the dancefloor – just the two of them. They were older than he remembered, appearing as they did in that moment. Gone was her elegant, pretty red dress with lions on it, replaced by a tattered and stained blouse, caked in dirt, blood, and sweat, with an equally shredded skirt, and scuffed knees. She smiled at him, and her eyes sparkled in the warm light of the tent, and he couldn't help but smile back.
Despite everything, all the death he'd seen, men and women torn and blasted apart, the men and women he'd killed himself either with his magic or with his dagger, and even the horror of discovering the killer of Arcturus… despite all of that, in that moment, with her, he was happy. Not content, but truly, genuinely, happy.
His fingers clenched around the handle of his wand, and his magic pulsed. It was heady, and more than he'd ever brought to bare – he thought that what he had levelled against Crane had been a lot, but the sheer power that answered him in that moment left him feeling breathless and excited.
Hermione let out a strangled cry as a Dementor came too close, brushing aside her attempts to drive it away. The panic in her voice cut through the flashes of emerald light clouding his vision. With a snarl, he pulled her into his chest, her arms wrapping around his bruised and battered middle, his arm finding its place around her waist.
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry cried, thrusting his wand into the air above both of their heads, and a brilliant, pure white light erupted from the tip of his wand. It lit up the lake, and for a moment, there was nothing, no sound, no movement, it was as if the entire world stood still, holding its breath for the next second.
A rush of air, neither cold, nor warm, blasted his face and a mighty thwoom rang out, echoing off the distant mountains – but it didn't hurt like he had expected it to. There was no sudden urge to clamp his hands over his ears, or to cover his eyes. Along the edges of the lake, entire trees were launched into the air by the force of the detonation, or thrown back so violently, that they simply folded as if a large hand had reached down and swept them back.
The Dementors screamed; it was a horrifying, unearthly sound. Some, that had been the furthest from the light, turned and fled with an alacrity that surprised him – he'd never seen one move so quickly before. Others, which had been much closer, simply disappeared, with only a handful of tattered, dark cloth drifting to the lake's surface any indication that they had previously existed.
Slowly, the light retreated, and Harry lowered himself to his knees. He felt Hermione follow next to him, shifting her grip on him until her right arm was around his waist, and his left arm was draped over her shoulders. Still, he couldn't look away as the light faded into a shape in the middle of the lake, and when he finally blinked, it was to blink away tears.
"Dad." He breathed, despite himself. There, in the middle of the lake, standing proud, was the magnificent image of a silver-white stag with large, wide antlers, and a noble countenance. It wasn't his father, he knew that – Remus had taught them all about a Corporeal Patronus, and what was known about their chosen forms, but it didn't matter. Not then. Not in that moment.
The stag approached, crossing the surface of the lake with determined, measured strides, until it was before him. He could feel its breath against his face and feel the dampness of its nose as it sniffed at him – even the wet, fuzzy feel of its tongue as it darted out and licked his cheek.
He laughed, despite everything, and rose to his feet, shifting his weight awkwardly as his bad leg threatened to give out, but Hermione's grip remained strong, and helped steady him. She was whispering something, but he couldn't focus on it – instead, his entire mind, his entire being, was focused on the corporeal creature before him. The stag pawed at the sand for a moment and stopped when Harry ran his hand up and down the flat of its nose and up between its eyes.
"Prongs." Harry whispered, into the quiet. "You're Prongs."
The stag pawed at the ground one last time before drawing itself up to its full height and faded away. His breath left him in that moment, and once more, he found himself on the ground, though this time, he simply sat there, in the wet soil, with Hermione next to him, a concerned, and equally amazed, expression on her face.
"I can't believe it." She said, at least, her chest heaving and her breath coming in excited pants. "You did it."
"I did it." He repeated, dumbly. Something nipped his arm, and he turned, only to see Clara staring at him; they were eye-to-eye, and he didn't hesitate in pulling her into his lap. "When-" He began, turning to look at Hermione with a frown.
"Just before you cast your spell." She answered him, resting her head against his shoulder, and trailing the back of her own fingers down Clara's breast. "She threw herself at the Dementors – I think she was trying to do her best to save you."
"Save us." He said, shifting his arm around her shoulders to pull her into his side a little more. He turned his face into her hair and breathed deeply as he closed his eyes. "Is Cai…?"
"He's going to be fine." Hermione said, inching closer herself. Clara sang softly in his lap, rubbing the side of her face against his jaw. "Did you see who did it?"
"Aye, I saw him. Had him dead-to-rights before the Dementors showed up. Same person that-" His breath hitched, and his chest lurched painfully.
"That what?" Hermione asked, sitting up and turning her body to look at him properly. "You can tell me."
"It doesn't matter." Harry sighed after a moment, glancing over his shoulder to the rise behind them, and then returning his gaze to the spot where Crane had been sprawled in the sand. "It doesn't matter." He repeated, more softly.
The two of them fell into a silence after that; with the explosive power of his Patronus, it was as if absolute silence had fallen on the lake, with the exception of their breathing and Clara's soft trills in his ear as she continued to rub her beak along his jaw affectionately.
The trees barely rustled in what slight breeze ghosted over the lake's surface, and the waves barely rippled along the shoreline. The acrid scent of scorched ozone wafted through the air, and Harry found his lip curling at the smell.
After a while Hermione began to tremble, her entire body shaking; Clara shifted from her position in his lap as he pulled Hermione even closer to him, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her to his chest. He whispered quiet sounds into her hair when he tucked her head under his chin, and the pads of his thumbs moved back and forth – his left hand was wrapped around her shoulder, and his right had settled at her waist, and he absently noted the soft feel of her skin through a tear in her blouse. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and he tucked them beneath his arm.
"You'll be alright." He whispered, pressing a long, lingering kiss into her matted hair. "You'll be alright."
"I hurt people." She croaked, her voice hoarse and weak – a stark contrast from the determined tone she had used only minutes before. "I hurt people." She whispered again with a sniffle. There was no feeling of dampness on his doublet, though there was so much blood and dirt covering it, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to tell regardless.
Her face was hidden from him, but he continued rocking her back and forth slowly regardless. "I hurt people too." He said, feeling his throat tighten uncomfortably. "I killed four people today – it would have been five if not for the Dementors."
Hermione didn't say anything, and he was content to remain there, sitting uncomfortably in the sand with Hermione in his lap and Clara at his side for as long as was needed. He could remember vividly how he felt following the ambush on the road – it had been the driving force behind much of his life; the entire reason he had learned how to fight, how to defend himself, and inevitably, how to kill.
Would Felix and Sulyard be proud of the way he handled himself? Would Sirius, Remus, or Amelia? Were his friends disgusted by him now? Would Hermione smile at him again?
He shifted uncomfortably in the sand as the thoughts ran rampant in his mind, and he felt his breath quicken, and his heart thumped so hard in his chest that he thought it might burst out at any moment. He adjusted Hermione in his lap and couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped his lips as the wound in his side made itself known once more.
"I'd have never let them get anywhere near you." He said, after a while, staring out across the lake. "You know that, right?"
Hermione nodded, and she gave a light, wet, sniff. "I know." She said, quietly. "It's just…"
"A lot." He finished for her, his thumb still tracing back and forth against the soft skin of her side – his thumb felt rough and scratchy against her skin, but it was nice. It reminded him that the fighting had stopped, that they were safe, and that they could simply recover from their ordeal. At least, for now. "I know what you're thinking."
She shifted slightly; but said nothing.
"You're thinking that if you'd done things differently, people might not have been hurt. You feel helpless, right? Like, if you'd have just known a few more things, you could have made the difference?"
Hermione shook her head and pulled her knees closer to her chest – her breathing was quick, erratic, and she had yet to stop trembling. "It's everywhere." She whispered, her voice tight and strained.
"It goes, with time." He promised, pressing another kiss into her hair. "I promise."
"How do you know?"
He hesitated, rolling his lips between his teeth for a moment, and closed his eyes, his face still pressed into her hair. After a moment, he drew back, feeling his jaw clench and unclench in a painful back-and-forth. "Ask me again sometime, and I'll tell you." He said, after a tense moment. "I promise."
She nodded and moved to stand – Clara tilted her head at the two of them when he glanced at the Phoenix – and he followed her, gasping as his leg gave out when he put weight on it. He hissed as he fell into the sand, clutching at his injured side and clenching his jaw. Clara and Hermione were at his side in an instant; his Phoenix looked as if she were preparing to cry for him, but he waved her off – he didn't want her weakening herself for him, especially not when they had no real clue as to who had lived and who had died. Just because they were safe for now didn't mean they would continue to be – besides, he could feel that nothing was broken.
Hermione, on the other hand, looked just as determined as she had before – there were clear streaks down her dirt-stained face where tears had run down her cheeks, and her eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. She was on her knees in an instant, helping him back to his feet as she ducked under his left arm, wrapping it around her shoulder and helping to take some of the weight. It left his right hand free to use his wand if he needed to use it, though, if the need arose, he doubted they would last long in the state they were both in.
He glanced up the rise as their fingers wrapped around one another – Hermione's grip was tight, vice-like, and he never wanted her to let go. He closed his eyes for a moment and visualised Arcturus' wand, willing it to react to his magic, to obey his summons as he stretched out his hand. He held it there for a time before letting out a long, mournful sigh, and returning it to his side. "Worth a try." He muttered; one more thing that Crane would be held responsible for.
"Come on – we should see how Cai and Neville are doing." Hermione said, her voice flat. "We'll make for the road."
"Sounds like a plan." Harry grimaced as they took their first, tentative step forward. He forced all thoughts of Arcturus' wand from his mind and simply focused on placing each foot in front of the other. It was slow going, especially stumbling up the rise – much of the soil had been shaken loose from Crane's tumble, then his sliding down it, and finally, Hermione following after him.
When the two of them reached the bluff, they paused for a moment, panting, and sweating from the effort. He grimaced as he clutched at his side – something had got him good in the explosion, but it was manageable. Pain was good. Pain meant he was still alive. He focused on that; used it as his motivation for each step, each ragged breath.
The two of them set off again, Harry doing his best to mute his grunts and hisses of pain when he would inevitably strain one of his injuries. Hermione was quiet, though her thumb traced slow circles on the soft, blood-smeared flesh, between his thumb and fingers of his left hand.
Clara flew above the pair of them, lazily sweeping back and forth between the trunks of the trees; the flames of her tail thankfully avoiding the hazardous materials that surrounded them.
"You did well, you know." He hissed into the silence, hobbling over a small, half-destroyed branch that had fallen to the woodland floor at some point. Its leaves were all long-since fallen or eaten. "Today, I mean."
"I don't want to talk about it. Not now. Please." Hermione pleaded, pinching her lips between her teeth, and looking at him with large, begging eyes. "I just-"
"I'm not on about the fight." He said, quickly, grimacing as a stone shifted beneath his foot. "I was on about before – in the pub."
"Oh." Hermione said, slowly, lowering her eyes and focusing on their feet. "I thought-"
"I know what you thought. You don't have to talk about that until you want to. Gods know I understand that."
"Well… thanks." She murmured, lamely. "It was weird." She added, after a moment of quiet.
"I'll bet." Harry snorted, though he couldn't find it within himself to feel any kind of genuine amusement or humour in it. "You did well though – I mean it. It's not often someone outside of the Lords sits in on those kinds of meetings."
"Do you have them often?" Hermione asked, some of her natural curiosity coming to the fore.
"Occasionally. My Bannermen are usually well-behaved. Houses Bunner and Hulbert are a constant pain in my arse, though."
"Why?"
"Well," He paused, wiping at his nose with his doublet sleeve and sniffing. "House Bunner has always wanted what House Potter has, and House Hulbert has been bitter for the last several generations; I think there was some scandal or something involving a Potter man and a Hulbert woman?"
"Oh." Hermione said, quietly. "Are you worried about them? Will you have to do what you did today?"
"Probably not. House Bunner would probably like to see me dead, but they're loyal enough. The Family Magic will ensure they don't go and get any stupid ideas. House Hulbert's current Lord is a coward – bitter, but a coward. The other Lords keep them in line, really."
Hermione looked as if she was about to say something more, probably another question that her curiosity demanded an answer for – he would have been only too happy to answer what he could; anything to keep her mind from spiralling into that void he knew awaited her – but they had finally reached the treeline.
The two of them shared a glance before poking their heads out from behind the thin trunks of the silver birch trees before them and shared a collective sigh of relief when they saw Aurors moving back and forth, policing the dead and seeing to the wounded.
Spread out before the two of them was utter carnage – the cobblestone road was pockmarked with craters of all sizes, and debris littered the ground. Blood had seeped between the cobblestone, and where it wasn't stained, or covered by dirt and detritus, it was blackened and scorched.
They stumbled down the small bank at the side of the road and made their way to the thickest congregation of Aurors and adults. The smell of charred ozone, the coppery tang of blood, and the stomach-churning aroma of seared and burning flesh permeated the air all around them, and Harry felt his stomach roil uncomfortably, though he somehow managed to keep from throwing up his last meal – Gods, how long had it been since the meeting with his Lords? Hours?
The light was fading, but the unmistakable sight of Dumbledore issuing orders and gesturing in different directions caught his eye. He sagged against Hermione for a moment as the relief swept through him. He was safe. They were safe.
Dumbledore held himself tall, and for the first time Harry could ever remember, he thought he caught a glimpse of the man the Headmaster had once been. He knew his history; how Dumbledore had led armies to face Grindelwald; how he had fought on the front lines with his men; how he inspired those around him. He blinked, and, for a lingering moment frozen in time, Harry understood completely why Arcturus had followed the man to war and why Voldemort was said to have feared him.
Slowly, the two of them made their way to the man, their joined hands trembling with the panic and stress that his mind was only just becoming aware of. He wanted to cry.
Dumbledore exuded power and confidence. His orders, as muffled and inaudible as they were, were crisp and simple. The Aurors around him scrambled to go about their duties, their faces grim and determined.
"Harry!" Shouted a familiar voice; it was Amelia. He hadn't noticed her beside Dumbledore, also issuing orders and setting people about their tasks. Everyone halted in what they were doing, turning their heads and bodies to look in their direction. Amelia pushed past a pair of Aurors and sprinted to the two of them.
Amelia pulled him from Hermione's desperate grasp and into her own, his brow thudding against the scorched armour over her breast, and he felt her press a long kiss into his matted hair. She pulled back, Hermione instantly retaking her place supporting him, the older woman's hands cupping his face as she swept her eyes over him, noting each of his injuries, how the blood soaked one side of his doublet, and how Hermione had to keep him from falling.
"You're hurt." She breathed, brushing her thumbs along his eyebrows. "What happened? We've been looking everywhere for you."
"I fought with my Bannermen and got separated after we got ambushed. I went after the man that hurt Cai and Neville – where are they, are they alright?"
"They're up at the school – Tracey's with them. Daphne's around here somewhere; she wouldn't leave until the two of you were found." Amelia smiled, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear from where it had fallen into his face. "I'm so glad you're safe."
"Where's Sirius and Remus?" Hermione asked, and Harry peeked at her from where Amelia had hugged him to her once again. "I don't see them."
"At the school with the other injured – they're fine, don't worry. Just battered and bruised."
"What happened?" Harry asked once Amelia released him once again. Hermione was already ducking beneath his arm and taking up her previous position again. "Everything happened so quickly."
Amelia pursed her lips and breathed out a long, drawn-out breath as she placed her hands on her hips and glanced around at the carnage that surrounded them. "They were waiting for us. The carriages at the front got hit at the same time the Aurors on the brooms did. When we saw your carriage go flying, we feared the worst. After that, you probably know the rest."
"Prisoners?"
"Not a one." Amelia said, shaking her head. "All fought to the death or killed themselves if they were injured. Remus got Greyback though, so there's that at least."
Harry blinked. "Remus got Greyback? You're serious?"
Amelia nodded, her lips quirking into a sad smile. "He won't bother anyone ever again."
"What's the Headmaster doing here?" Hermione asked, tilting her head to the side as he noticed her looking past Amelia. "Shouldn't he be at the school?"
"He's who tipped the battle, actually." Amelia hummed, glancing over her shoulder. "Hit them in the back and routed them with a pair of squads from the school and the other Defence professors – the students are all safe."
"We were lucky, then." Harry sighed, wincing as he felt the pain dance up his side again. He glanced up into the sky where he could feel Clara, who had left the treeline just before they had, moving back and forth in long, gliding sweeps – he trusted her to keep an eye on them; there was no telling if there was a straggler out there somewhere. Crane had escaped, after all – it wasn't unreasonable to think another might have escaped.
"Harry! Hermione!" Another familiar voice cried out: Daphne. He peered around Amelia and felt the blood rush from his face as he took in Daphne's battered appearance – he had thought she would be safe with the injured, helping the Aurors where she could. If Daphne looked like she did, Gods, what did Tracey look like?
"The injured were attacked in a last-ditch push." Amelia murmured at his questioning glance. "Tracey took a spell meant for her."
His eyes travelled back to his friend, who was sprinting toward the three of them. Her hair was barely in the up-do it had previously been in, wild curls stuck out in all directions, though many were plastered to the skin around her temples and along the sides of her neck. Dirt and dried blood covered her face and dress, and there was a wild-eyed look to her as she took the two of them in – no doubt they looked just as bad, if not worse in his case.
There were large rips and tears in her dress, and one particularly long one that revealed the taught muscles of Daphne's stomach and side from her left hip to the upper right of her ribs. She crashed into the two of them bodily, neither he nor Hermione having the time to disentangle themselves, though if he were true to himself, he doubted he would have been able to remain standing if they had.
"Gods, I was so worried!" She cried, her face buried between his and Hermione's head, her arms wrapped around their necks. She pulled back, her hands coming to rest on the backs of their necks, and he noticed that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, dulling their usual startling blue. "You're hurt!" She gasped, taking in his battered state with wide, panicked eyes.
"A little bruised, aye." He grimaced, relieved to see her safe at least. "I've been through worse."
"Stop trying to be funny, arsehole." Hermione huffed, in a rare moment of vulgarity, as she pinched one of his fingers.
"And you – what happened? Are you alright?" Daphne asked, looking to Hermione.
"I'm fine – just scrapes and bruises. I… I didn't really fight for a lot of it."
"I told her to hide." Harry grinned, despite the pain racing up and down his body, relief flooded through him; his friends had made it, maybe not entirely whole, but they were alive. "What happened to Tracey? Amelia said she took a spell for you." Amelia had stepped away a small distance, though her gaze remained fixed on the three of them. Daphne, if it was even possible, paled even further.
"I… I don't know. One moment I'm helping this Healer, and the next, Tracey's pushing me out the way. When I got back up, Tracey was on the ground clutching her stomach. I-I think that's where she got hit. After that, Dumbledore showed up, and Tracey was sent back to the castle with the others, but I wouldn't let them send me with them, not until I knew-"
Harry pulled Daphne into a one-armed hug as her shoulders began to tremble and her eyes began to shine. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he felt Hermione wrap an arm around her friend too. There was nothing he could say; it was clear that Daphne had been worried sick about the two of them – after all, everyone else their age had been hurt in one way or another. "Shh," He whispered, squeezing her to him as she sniffed into his right shoulder. "We're alright."
Daphne pulled back sharply and swatted him angrily in the chest. "Don't you ever send me away again, Harry!"
He winced at the strike but nodded and pulled her back into him. She resisted for a moment, but eventually, Daphne wrapped her arms around the two of them once again. "I promise."
"Come on, let's get you back to the castle." Amelia said, appearing at their side.
"I can help." Harry frowned, wincing as his leg shifted beneath him uneasily. The three of them disentangled themselves, though he noticed Hermione shifted a little closer to him than she had been before. "I can-"
"No." Amelia said, forcefully. "You've done enough – Gods, you shouldn't have even been involved."
"But my Bannerm-"
"Are safe and sound; Lords Hawke and Massey are in one piece, Lord Lovegood is up at the castle, and Lord Griffin is with his son."
There was a tense silence as he stared up at Amelia for a moment before, finally, he nodded and looked away, clenching his jaw uncomfortably as he felt the energy leave him in a rush. He glanced up at the sky where Clara was slowly making her way down. "I'll have Clara take us straight up to the hospital then. I've had enough of carriages today."
"Good idea. Make sure that you do everything Andromeda and the other Healers tell you, alright? You don't look like you've got anything that a potion and a spell won't fix, but I don't want you to downplay anything, you hear?"
He nodded and breathed deeply as Clara came to a hover above them, her powerful wings snapping in the air to keep her aloft. With a silent command, there was a burst of warm light, and then they were in the hospital, surrounded by hurrying men and women as they bustled this way and that carrying trays of potions and vials.
His head moved from left to right, searching for Andromeda from within the crowd. He spied Sirius and Remus, laid out on beds with Healers working over them – both men looked to be unconscious, and were covered in various cuts, bruises, and burns.
Further down the row of beds, he saw Nymphadora, laying on her front with her head half buried in her pillow, looking in their direction. He watched as she tensed and let out a muffled cry of pain as something was pulled out of her far side. He wanted to race to all three of them, to make sure they were alright, but knew he would just get in the way of the Healers doing their jobs.
To his right, he eyed the three beds out of over a dozen that held his friends. Neville, Tracey, and Cai all lay perfectly still; their faces pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat as Healers worked on them. Beside Neville, a silver tray hovered next to a Healer that was busy pulling fragmented splinters of wood from his best friend's gut – a large splinter, the length of Harry's forearm, dominated the tray and was covered in blood.
Tracey was completely still, and looked, for all intents and purposes, like she was simply sleeping. She looked battered and bruised, and in much the same state as Daphne. Healer Dew was working on her, weaving her wand over Tracey's stomach, and pausing every so often to gently coax a vial of viscous liquid down his friend's throat. Daphne darted to her side instantly, sliding into a chair between hers and Neville's bed and threading her fingers through Tracey's limp hand.
The last bed of note was filled by Cai, with his father staring lifelessly at his pale, gaunt face, clutching his remaining hand tightly between his own two, much larger hands. A Healer, no doubt one of the many Aurors with such training, was busy cleaning and debriding the stump of a left arm. The copper-iron tang of blood in the air was thickest near Cai's bed, and Harry worried at just how much blood the older boy had lost.
He blinked, and Andromeda was before the two of them, gently ushering the two of them to a spare bed, away from most of the wounded. There were less than he had thought there would be. "Where is everyone?" He asked, giving voice to his thoughts. Clara settled on the metal frame at the head of the bed, beneath the windowsill.
"Most are at the nearby hospitals." Andromeda said, her voice detached – he had never heard it so flat before. Though, he reasoned, he would be going insane if he had to remain professional if his only child was screaming into a pillow at the far end of the room, having something pried out of them. "Sit still." Andromeda commanded, whipping her wand out and waving it over the two of them; Hermione had yet to release his arm from around her shoulders, and despite everything, he was glad for it.
Andromeda levelled a finger under his nose; her eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and her skin looked sallow and dull compared to the usual healthy glow he knew her to have. Her lips were dry and chapped, and her hair barely remained in her braid. "You'll stay here while I go and fetch the potions you need; do you hear me?"
"Yes, Andromeda." He muttered, nodding quickly.
She pressed a kiss to his forehead; it was a desperate, rough one, and, after a moment of hesitation, pressed another one to Hermione's. "I'm glad you're both safe. Now, stay there." She said, spinning on her heel and hurrying down the aisle that separated the two rows of beds.
He sat there, absently swinging his uninjured leg, and leaned into Hermione, resting his head atop her own. Her other hand came up to clutch at the hand she already held, and for the first time since the day had started, Harry allowed himself to relax. He was safe; his friends were safe – injured, but safe, nonetheless.
Silently, he resolved to remain in the hospital wing at their sides until they recovered; even if he had to fight the entire staff of Hogwarts and Dumbledore himself, he wouldn't be removed from their sides until they were all recovered.
They had to be okay.
They were his friends; his Vargarnir; his pack.
They were wolves, every last one of them.
