Chapter 9

More Aggressive Recruiting


For two weeks now Dudley and his friends had been living in the Ancient and Noble House of Black. For two weeks they had been immersed in this world they did not belong in, along with the other "Muggles" and "Muggleborns" that had been kept prisoner there before the arrival of his gang. They had spent these two weeks widely. Training, studying and all around being a family. Or at least something that resembled one, broken people huddling in the darkness and being human together. Doing as humans can't help but do.

Dudley, as usual, took charge of his crew and did his best to bring them up to speed. Telling them all he had read about the spells, creatures and objects they might come up against. Of course, his little helpers, Eric Creevey and Jun Chang, who reveled in getting to contradict his misconceptions with the willing demonstrations of the wheelchair-bound Hestia, whenever she was conscious enough to do so.

The other wizards and witches of the house came and went with such irregularity that they barely had the chance to really get to know them. Theodor Tonks, Daedelous Diggle and Helen Bullstrode especially were rare to see in person, what with Harry sending them on missions that they were not privy to. But there was never a shortage of adult wizards passing through. Several red-haired men, Arthur, Bill, Fred, George and Charlie, would sprint through the place on occasion performing tasks for Harry. They all seemed to be related. There were others too, a black man with a voice so deep it made his ears orgasm, an elderly wandmaker, an albino man who apparently ran a magazine, some smuggler named Dung and a woman who reminded Dudley strongly of that crazy cat lady down the street from Number 4.

One time a beautiful blonde French woman visited with the Bill fellow and her mere presence knocked Dudley unconscious. Literally. When he regained consciousness, Hestia told him he had a PTSD attack of some kind. Dudley didn't say so, but the reason for it was because the French woman's magic reminded him so horribly of his run in with those dementors. He was sure she was a lovely person, but he made a mental note to tell Harry that he needed to not be near her.

Speaking of Harry, he kept himself locked up in the basement or blocked off study with that pizza boy. Something about the guy set Dudley's teeth on edge. Every time Dudley saw him he was like a different person. Sometimes friendly, oftentimes not. Sometimes feminine - VERY feminine, from the way he walked to the way he smiled - but always seemingly much older than he appeared. Harry's command to stay out of the Pizza Boy's way and not interact with him was one none of them had any complaints about following.

And so they trained for war. Trained to fight magic.

This training mostly took the form of dodging bright lights cast by either Hestia or the two house elves. That was most all they could do against a wizard, not get hit. Spells were slower than bullets, but in the case of most also much surer to kill you. Blood freezers and organ exploders and fiedfyre oh my!

Of course none of the spells cast were truly harmful. Mostly spells that paralyzed them or knocked them unconscious, or otherwise debilitated them by locking their legs up or robbing them of their senses. One, the confundus, simply made them feel inconceivably drunk, and Dudley was proud to have developed an immunity to it through practice. Only for Harry to come out of hiding to cast a spell called the imperius on them, one Dudley knew well and feared above all others.

"Unforgiveable." Harry explained. "That is the title given to three spells. The killing curse, the cruciatus curse and the imperius curse. One kills, one causes pain akin to crucifixion, and one gives the user complete control over the actions of their victim. Only the last one can be fought off. The other two must be avoided at all costs."

He then joined Hestia, Dobby and Kreacher in cast spells at them. It was a chance to work on his casting speed, he had said.

Dennis, and Gordon would later whinge about how much of a dick his cousin was. Piers would admit it was justice for their past treatment of them. Malcom admitted to liking his methods.

"This might be what we need to stay alive." He admitted. "It's also kinda fun in a way."


It was with great reluctance that Harry decided to bring Dudley and his gang downstairs to see his work. He had spent every waking hour learning from Peter and Regulus, with the occasional input from other long dead loved ones. And the result of one project had already borne fruit in those two weeks of training.

"I present to you, a complete set of the regulus revolver." Regulus announced to the teenagers from the Pizza Boy's body.

They had debated on whether or not to release him from the imperius and get a new, temporary victim for the souls of the resurrection stone to posses. But between the increased danger of revealing themselves by kidnapping new people every day and the fact that the man himself had a rather...checkered past, they decided to keep him for now. Until they could capture a particularly weak Death Eater. It became a moot point when Harry tried to release the imperius curse only to find that using a person as a vessel for the shades of the dead while under the imperius seemed to do... irreversible damage to their mind.

He was gone.

"Those are shotguns." Gordon corrected.

"They're also rifles and revolvers." Regulus explained, picking one up. "Through magic it is possible to alter the length and width of the barrel to allow different caliber rounds."

He demonstrated pulling a lever on the side that made the barrel lengthen and become thinner, until it landed on the divot indicated 5.56 rounds.

"You have to change the magazine to the corresponding caliber, but I'm working on creating one that can hold multiple enchanted spaces filled with every type of bullet." Regulus went on. "It's tough work. Spatial expansion was never my strong suit."

He handed one of the six to Dudley.

"It still has the cylinder for making it cast different spells?" Dudley asks.

"It casts spells?!" Piers asked.

"Well, it stores spells which can be fired later, but yes." Regulus answered. "Six of them. Fireball, thunderclap, blizzard, typhoon, acid and dousing. Typhoon and dousing are the only completely non-lethal ones. They can both knock a room full of people on their ass and could be useful in a whole host of situations. But they need to be charged ahead of time by a wizard."

Dudley nodded his head.

"How many charges does it hold?"

"One each." Regulus said solemnly. "That's the next improvement I plan to work on after solving the ammunition issue. But I think this will do for the Mark I."

A chorus of agreements answered his claim as he passed out the - thankfully unloaded and uncharged - Regulus Revolvers Mark I. Regulus demonstrated how to field strip them, clean them and put them back together. He even nerded out a little on the glyphs powering the spell charges, which Piers in particular seemed to actually... understand. Harry had no understanding of runes or arithmancy, so any attempts at learning from Regulus were doomed to failure.

Hence his studies under Peter.

"I would like to make a modification to mine, if you're free to talk sometime." Dudley told Regulus.

"We still have a whole week before we spring Harry's plan, so it shouldn't be a problem." Regulus told him. "But first get the hang of the regular model. Then we'll talk."

"Have Diggle escort you to the training room down the hall so that you might master these new weapons." Harry instructed.

Dudley stayed behind to talk to him alone. Noticing this, Harry dismissed Regulus and prompted his cousin to come out with it.

"A few days ago, a blonde woman visited this house." Dudley started.

"Ah. That would be Fleur." Harry told him. "I'm sorry to tell you she's married. And you never had a chance anyways."

Dudley shuddered, piquing Harry's curiosity.

"That is the exact opposite of where I planned on this conversation going." sad Dudley. "I need you to keep her away from me."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I realize she can be a little off putting, and potentially rude, but I would like to think that if you two had a confrontation both or either of you would have come to me with it by now." Harry said, genuinely hurt.

"We never even spoke." Dudley admitted. "But even being near her, it made me feel... horrible. Like dementors do."

Harry blinked at his cousin. That was... peculiar. Very peculiar. Veela ought to make men feel nice things. Wonderful things. But looking back, he himself had an abnormal reaction to the Veela at the Quidditch world cup. As if his own magic utterly rejected their influence and it had certainly been uncomfortable. Thinking back to the tournament, he remembered finding Fleur off putting and not being able to identify why. At that time, he had attributed it to her haughtiness, but now? Maybe Dudley was onto something. After a year surrounded by dementors and suffering such strong reactions to them, perhaps it built some kind of... immune response. Like an allergic reaction. It had been milder for Harry, due to him having more time to adapt and training to fight dementors in particular. But he had to remind himself that Dudley was Muggle and, despite his size and strength, vulnerable to all things magic.

"I'll talk to her. But you should know, the day may come where you may have to fight side by side." Harry told Dudley. "And I think you two would get along if you could overcome this reaction you have to her Veela powers, ask Hestia, and in time I will need you to try and adapt to her proximity."

Dudley nodded his understanding and nodded again when Harry motioned to dismiss him. No sooner did the door out of the basement close than did Regulus return. He left the Pizza Boy's body unprompted. With a twist of his ring Harry dismissed the Black soul and summoned that of Peter Pettigrew to take over the comatose young man.

"Harry."

"Peter."

"How much time have I been... beyond?"

"Not long. A few minutes maybe. Are you ready to continue our project?" Harry prompted.

He pulled aside the separators hiding the sectioned off area where Draco's corpse lay splayed across a table. Before the table where several potions Peter had been working on and trying to teach Harry the details of. Draco's shade stood beside the body and gave Harry a tired nod, which he reciprocated.

Harry removed the sheet covering Draco's body to examine the state of the runic arrays carved into his dead flesh. None had heeled over, as Peter feared they might now that he'd gotten his project far enough ling that Draco's heart had begun beating again, and warm blood once more flowed through his veins.

"How long until I live again?" Draco asked.

"You can live again now if you want to take over this nearly-vegetative body." Peter answered as he looked over his cauldrons.

"I will not lower myself to possessing the body of a literally brain-dead Muggle. Or squib for that matter." Draco shot back.

"Well, I should warn you that your old body will possibly be incapable of magic. It's all I can do to make it technically alive enough for Harry to cast the imperius on it, allowing you to possess it." Peter shared.

Both Harry and Draco frowned at the news. He had failed to mention that tidbit before.

"Then again, you might. This is all entirely new areas of necromancy never truly attempted before." Peter rambled on. "It's not even technically resurrection. It's resuscitation. Super-resuscitation. Resuscitation of a weeks-old corpse. Tough, but definitely possible. Especially with your foresight to try and preserve the body under preservation charms and a fridge."

Harry nodded. He hadn't been able to recover Hermione's corpse before they escaped Malfoy manor. And would never dream of recovering Ronald from his grave at shell cottage - not that it would do any good at this point - but it would have been nice to have Peter "super-resuscitate" them instead of only having them by his side in shade forms.

"I noticed you failed to answer the question." Harry prompted.

"Draco should be able to repossess his deeply scarred and disfigured body in time for your assault." Peter finally answered. "But I strongly recommend having him under painkillers to start. As it will take some time for him to heal from the surgeries. Well, dissections. And I'm sure if you re-summoned Mungo he'd advise bedrest."

Unfortunately, they didn't have time for bedrest. The plan required Draco. Alive. Or at least alive-ish. He needed a major victory, and so did his followers. Taking back Grimmauld place was a nice start, but not a rallying warcry to let loose the dogs of war in the chests of every silent supporter and disillusioned Order member. What few remained. So, he'd have Dobby steal morphine or something from a local hospital.

"You take quite well to necromancy." Peter continued. "You've advanced marvelously in the short amount of time you've been my helper. You have a talent for... death, as it were. A closeness and instinctual feeling for it. With proper training you could surpass me in a few short years. You could retreat and go into hiding on the continent, build a proper army of the undead and surpass my former master rather quickly. And build a formidable contingent of wizards and other warm bodies to compliment you."

Harry shook his head.

"It requires a great deal of arithmancy and runes, neither of which I studied and would take additional yeas to catch me up on." He countered. "I also don't have the disposition. The patience to brew or carve up bodies. Even if we had that kind of time. But we don't have years. We have weeks and months at best."

"Even so, will we have enough wands and guns on hand for what you have planned?" Draco's shade asked.

"Nearly. I have one more set of recruiting to do before I feel completely comfortable with pulling this off. And they too will need to be brought up to speed." Harry explained.

Just then Hermione and Ron's shades came downstairs through the ceiling.

"And I do believe Arthur has just found them. Bring him down, Regulus."


Albert Runcorn sat huddled beside Mafalda Hopkirk in the damp cottage near the cliff.

It was a meeting place for refugees and their families, trying to flee into France. Or in his and Mafalda's case, alone. Lo they were surrounded by dozens of intact, or nearly intact families, she and he clung to each-other as their only life supports. Lo they were both married, these weeks on the run together, being turned away and nearly turned in by everyone they once loved, they had grown close in a way that he could never have imagined being with another woman besides his wife. A wife that had tried to murder him after his apparent betrayal of the Thicknesse administration.

He held her close as he watched the other 'people'. It was a word he still had trouble attributing to these halfbloods and less that now kept his company. Mafalda had warmed him up to them somewhat, and he found himself quite liking the good humor and upbeat moods of the children, he still felt bile at how their parents chose to remain as ignorant as said children in regards to their ways. It was a way of living that had lead to such animosity, contention and societal decohesion that a monster like Voldemort could take charge.

He blamed them, and that would never change. But he didn't hate them. Didn't think of them as subhuman. In his heart of hearts, he never had.

And so here he was, holed up with people he himself had investigated and found guilty of defrauding entire family trees. But unlike him, they were here with the entirety of their social circle. From the Cresswell clan to the whole Cattermole family. Reginald, Mary, Alfred, Ellie, Maisie and Marie's parents, whose names he never learned. He and Mafalda had been tied to them at the hips ever since Harry Potter and his jolly band kidnapped and impersonated them. And thus his life had come hell, but no more hell than he had knowingly made theirs.

Perhaps that was why he gritted his teeth and suffered these conditions with an honest smile on his face. Soon enough they would be in Spain and he would get a job. Possibly as a Muggle fisherman. He and Mafalda could start anew. A new life, a new home, maybe even start a new family. It was a fantasy, and definitely jumping the shark, but it was the kind of nice fantasy that helped him sleep better at night.

GONG!

The wards rang out their warning, a warning that had up until this point heralded food and supplies brought in by allies of the Ferryman. But it was a warning that Albert always took as a sign to prepare for a fight. And so his want was in his hand despite Mafalda laughing into his chest at his paranoia.

For once his paranoia proved true a the THING following behind the Ferryman wasn't the good-natured Arthur Weasley, or chain-smoking Mundungus fletcher, but a hooded man whose magic and demeanor almost made him think Voldemort himself had visited him. Were it not for how short the hooded figure was he would have turned the wand on Mafalda then himself instead of allowing themselves to be captured by the dark lord himself. As it was he merely pointed his wand at the newcomer, green light already sparking from the tip. He wasn't the only one.

"Now everybody just calm down!" Said the Ferryman.

"You sold us out!" Screamed a man from across the room.

"He did no such thing." The hooded figure said calmly.

The voice was that of a young man, barely an adult if not still in Hogwarts. And when he lowered his head covering they found out why.

The hushed whispers of surprise met the sight of his face as everybody lowered their wands.

"Harry Potter!" Screamed Mary who left her husband, parents and children in order to run up to the dark lad.

He was visibly taken aback by her embrace and blinked away his confusion as he examined the woman's face. Recognition dawned soon enough.

"I had hoped you and your family might have escaped Britain by now, Mrs Cottermole. But it is still good to see you alive after my friends and I went through so much trouble to save you from the toad." Harry Potter said to the woman.

He raked the crowd with the eyes, looking for anybody he might recognize. His gaze stopped on Albert and Mafalda, but he did nothing further to indicate recognition before moving on.

"I come with news, and my story. If you will permit me to tell it?" He offered and, when his answer was a chorus of agreements, took a seat.

He pulled out long length of rope, a portkey and waved an arm around the room before continuing.

"For the last year I have fought alone, with only my two best friends to help me." He began.

"Ah! The good kisser?" Mr Cottermole joked, looking at his wife who blushed furiously at the jest.

Harry Potter laughed. A genuine, heartfelt laugh. Lo the joke was lost on them the happiness in his voice filled the mall up. As if by magic.

"I'm glad to know you aren't angry at Ronald or smooching your wife. But yes. And for years before that they were the majority of my aid, with very little else. And it was through our sacrifices that most of you yet live. Do you all know what that means?"

Albert closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. He did know what that meant. And the confusion of his companions told him that - as with the rest of his culture - the concept of life debts was lost on them.

"It means your lives belong to me. And I'm here to collect."

And like that the tone shifted inexorably from the curious, even joyous mood Harry Potter himself had set to one of anticipation. As if the crucible were about to come down and behead them all. And like that, all wands were drawn again, though not yet pointed at the threatening young man.

"You're here to kill us?" A young girl, no older than fourteen, whispered in freight.

"No you ignorant mu... gmmm!" Albert stopped himself mid-sentence with a deep breath. "It means he is here to recruit us. To call in the life debts most of you owe him."

"Correct." Harry Potter confirmed. "The time for a proper war has come. I have prepared. I have learned great things. Terrible. But great. And with this knowledge I am equipped to fight him. And win. I can do it alone, or with you. But I would rather do it with you all."

"If you don't need us, then why recruit us?" Mrs Cresswell dared to ask.

"Because it will be a longer and much more painful war, both for myself and others, if I don't have a proper army." Harry Potter answered. "And I have suffered alone enough. Is it not time that some of you adults pitch in?"

Most of the crowd broke off into their own whispered conversations at the news.

"And what if they refuse?" Albert asked the unasked questions.

"Then I leave them here to continue fleeing the snatchers and Death Eaters for the rest of your lives." He said.

"And what of after the war?" He asked.

Harry Potter tilted his head as if confused by the question.

"I know you remember me, just as you remember the Cottermoles." Albert said. "If they neglect their debts and flee, you will remember them. And their betrayal. When the war is over, and you win, you will still remember us all. But will you come for us?"

He didn't understand why the question came for him. Something about the Chosen One's aura warned him of eminent death. It screamed "Fuck with me and die." And warned of swift justice for all who did wrong.

"I don't know." Harry Potter answered after some hesitancy. "I honestly haven't decided on what to do after the war. I have thought about the exact scenario you just said, but I haven't sorted my feelings yet. Ask me again after I suffer through the rest of this war and I'll have an answer for you then."

Albert gulped at the answer as Potter glared into his soul.

"But I do not believe you owe me a life debt, nor does miss Hopkirk." He went on. "In fact, I recall destroying your lives. Losing you your jobs."

Albert waved the implied apology away.

"It was a shite job anyways." He said.

"Dreadful. Even before You Know Who." Said Mafalda.

"In hindsight it's hard to tell which was worse to work for. The incompetent beurocracy of Fudge, or evil genocidal regime of Thicknesse." He added.

Harry Potter laughed again, and all remaining tension left the room.

"Well then, my time is short and I need a decision from you all. Whether you owe a life debt or not I ask that you join my ranks and take hold of a length of this rope." Said Harry Potter. "I will train you for war and lead you to victory. I swear it."

Albert stepped forward with the rest only for Mafalda to grasp his arm tightly and held him back.

"We don't owe him. And with all of them going we will be top of the list for the Ferrymen." Mafalda whispered urgently. "We may be in France by tonight! Our new life ready for us."

Albert thought before answering, watching the others meander towards the savior.

"But I have done such horrible things." Said Albert. "I may not owe him in particular, but I owe so many others."

She shook her head jerkily, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You owe ME. You made a promise to stay with ME. You're all I have left, and I you." She pleaded.

By now she was no longer whispering and when Albert turned back around it was to find the entire contingency of those siding with potter watching him. Including Potter himself.

"I am offering redemption, but I cannot offer peace nor safety. The choice is yours." Warned Potter.

Albert looked between Mafalda and the young man. And between the two crowds. Those remaining were of a much smaller number than those holding the rope. Potter held out a hand, an offering of redemption. Of heroism, and Albert felt himself reaching out towards it. But the whimper of the woman he had grown to love stayed his hand.

"I can't join you." Albert admitted. "But, perhaps I can make amends in other ways. You will have allies across the Channel, and we will help in every way we can. That I can promise."

Mafalda clung to him then as if her life depended on it and he clung back.

Harry Potter nodded his understanding and addressed his new allies.

"Very well. Everybody hang on to the portkey with all of your might. When I say the pass phrase it will take us to our new home. Where we will make ready for war." He explained.

He then looked Albert dead in the eyes and his next words would turn his blood cold.

"The activation phrase is... Voldemort."

And with a whoosh they were gone, as were the wards protecting the Ferryman's lodge.

Albert and Mafalda looked at each other in horror as the sound of snatchers apporating in filled the night. They shared one last kiss before he went through with his earlier plan.

A single cutting curse took her life. Then he turned his wand on himself.

Harry Potter had given them a choice. Had given the entire wizarding world a choice. Join him, or die. They had chosen poorly.


Become a Patron:

NonsensicalRants

- Patrons who pledge 3 Dollars get all future chapters 2 weeks early and a link to the discord server. They also get access to all commissioned works, which is the only source of X-rated scenes from me. I'm not holding them hostage; I just don't want my name tied to X-rated stuff. I keep it PG-13 unless paid to do otherwise. If enough people pay me, I'll become a fulltime smut writer and make it public. Wear it with pride. It's also just not allowed on FFnet.

- Patrons who pledge 10 Dollars get the right to vote on story choices, what story I update next, and access to the source code for my Fangame projects.

Commission Me:

- I take commissions for $20 per 1000 words, less if you provide me with a half-decent outline. I don't just do fanfiction either. I will ghostwrite what you pay me to ghostwrite.

/NonsensicalRants