Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its universe.
A/N: I apologize for the long wait. Real life is a pain, but I am back. Onto the show!
Shoutouts: Thanks to Darkness Enthroned, Sakkiko, x102reddragon, Honorversefan, KitWillow and NerdDragonVoid for their awesome beta work. Check out their stuff!
The Shadow of Death
Chapter 5: Carpathian Chase
The last of the sun's rays illuminated the alley's swirling dust, painting it a brilliant orange. The beams of light were at the assassin's back, shadowing Albus' view of him.
"Where did you send them for their mission?" Harry's question was rushed, giving Albus pause. "The letter was short, rushed."
Weary, yet alert eyes studied the shorter, younger man. This would be their first joint mission, the first true test for Harry in the upcoming war. Unsurprisingly, the assassin was perfectly composed. Albus looked at Olympe's hurried letter.
"You assume I am to accompany you, Harry?" Pulling his wand from his robes, the headmaster tapped the wrinkled missive. It glowed a bright blue.
"You are not the type to leave a person in need, particularly a friend." Harry's reply was terse, though his body was motionless. "Where are they, Headmaster?"
Holding out the wrinkled parchment, Dumbledore replied, "They are in the Carpathian Mountains in Romania and have been for some weeks now. Walden Macnair's sudden death may have upset the natives. Severus mentioned him parlaying with the giants there around a week prior to my meeting you."
An unfortunate happenstance. It was a tad strange that the giants would take his death so poorly. They did not form close bonds amongst one another, much less with humans.
"How many giants are chasing them?" Harry reached out to place his finger on the proffered parchment.
The tip of Albus's wand hovered above its surface.
"Olympe was uncertain." Shadows covered the headmaster's eyes as the sun began its descent. "The ICW was aware of as many as fifty in the area. I do not believe either of them would have contacted us for assistance unless they were sure of our relative safety when we arrive. Nevertheless, we should be wary."
The younger wizard's cowl twitched when he nodded. Without another word, Albus brought his wand down to touch the parchment's surface.
*BREAK*
With a feeling akin to a hook behind his navel, Harry was dragged up and over the surface of the Earth. Locations, entirely indiscernible, blurred beneath, above and around him.
Thankfully, the portkey travel was over almost as soon as it had begun. His feet landed upon harsh, rocky ground, his knees aching at the sudden impact. His stomach lurched and twisted in his abdomen.
'This is wrong. There is something...just there,' he thought. The night was still.
The Elder Wand loosed seductive whispers in his mind as he drew it. He stamped down on them as he surveyed the snowy terrain for threats. Harry noticed his master doing the same.
Sharp whispers met his ears, hurried and agitated. Harry's narrowed eyes came upon a cave hidden behind low hanging icicles. Muscles tense, the young assassin watched as Dumbledore crept to the cave's mouth with his wand held before him.
Loose snow crunched beneath the man's feet, a veritable avalanche to Harry's sensitive ears. The sounds emanating from the cave's mouth silenced at the headmaster's approach.
"What did I say to Madam Maxime on the night of the third task?" Dumbledore's voice was low, barely audible over the icy mountain winds.
"You told me to watch out for my students," a melodic, female voice called out from the cave, "for it would not be long before ze Dark Lord's gaze would turn upon France's shores."
Harry watched his companion's shoulders relax at the reply. Appeased, Harry continued his vigil over the freezing night. Wind bit at his prickling skin. Harry paid it no mind. He had endured worse.
"Wha' did Albus Dumbledore tell me af'er 'e found Moody's body?" The deep, booming voice was obviously British, but it was one that bespoke a humble upbringing.
"We were at the Hog's Head." Harry noticed the catch in Dumbledore's otherwise even tone. "I told Rubeus Hagrid that the occasion was only one of three times my brother, Aberforth, had ever given me a free drink. Also, that we had lost the best of the prickly bastards among us."
"Aye, ye did, at tha'."
A choked sob escaped the cave before what sounded like a wet horn blowing followed. Harry winced at the noises, his eyes leaving the looming darkness for a brief second. The wind's sorrowful song amidst the lonely mountain met the noises from the cave.
The young man looked at his white-haired partner. Dumbledore lowered his wand and allowed a fond gaze to cross his wrinkled face. Harry, ever vigilant, went back to scanning the darkness. It yielded nothing.
"And that, my boy, is more confirmation that Hagrid is in that cave than mere words could provide." A sharp, bitter wind struck them to the bone. "No other person alive could replicate that sound."
Harry shook his head, his eyes catching movement within the darkness. It was nothing he could identify. His eyes sought out the Elder Wand trapped in his white-knuckled grip. Its whispers grew. A warning, a promise.
They had long outstayed their welcome.
"As heart-warming as this reunion has been, Headmaster," Harry groused, his eyes fixated on an indiscernible spot, "I'm afraid it will have to wait until we are back at Headquarters. We have-"
Harry felt it before the others. The magic, raw and powerful, wrapped around him. It was tight, as if he had been wrapped in cold steel chains. The assassin closed his eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Wards.
The magic was oppressive, powerful. It prevented magical travel and he could not use his form of apparition in tandem. The group was too far from London to call for a house elf.
Worse yet, they spread for kilometres in every direction. This had not been done on a whim. It was premeditated, thoroughly planned and sourced.
A trap.
"Headmaster, Fawkes." Blood roared in Harry's ears, drowning the sounds of wind striking ice and stone. His eyes scoured the area. Nothing. "Can you call him?"
"No," the Headmaster replied. Walls of stone, snow, and ice surrounded them. "Fawkes could not flash Hagrid and Olympe so far a distance, much less the four of us."
Harry followed Dumbledore's gaze to a small, craggy area to their south. A lone figure stood atop the tallest outcropping of stone, garbed in black. The assassin had not sensed him until just now.
"Then we must fight." The young assassin readied his wand, his muscles taught.
The older man nodded. Five additional figures in black robes crested the rocky terrain. Deep rumbling, a profound disturbance of the mountain's crust, boomed behind the Death Eaters.
How had Harry missed them?
"So good of you to join us, Dumbledore." The voice was gravely, heavily accented. The Death Eaters shifted. "The Dark Lord assured me that you would come, but I did not expect an extra. It does not matter. You will all die soon."
A chilling gale tore at Harry's cloak, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. The dark wizard's stance was loose, his wand held at his side.
Deep, resounding bellows, their source unseen, shook the stone beneath them. The situation was grim at best.
Harry let loose the reins on his magic, free to do so since they had been discovered. The wards restricted his keen senses, but Harry knew the Death Eater was powerful.
"Who are you?" Harry's voice was strong, confident. The cloaked figure bowed his head but never took his eyes off them.
"Emanoil Debrescu," the Death Eater replied. "I am sure you have heard of me, Mister…"
"Debrescu is dangerous," Harry whispered. "A Romanian dark lord. I need you three to focus on the rest. I will handle him."
"Emanoil." Dumbledore shifted, his voice sharp as goblin-forged steel. "There is no need to shed blood on Voldemort's account. Leave now and no harm shall come to you or yours."
A sinister laugh rang out over the small, snow-covered field. The crumbling of stone echoed through the small valley. Debrescu's hooded gaze took in the odd-looking quartet.
"You have grown weak with age, Dumbledore." At Debrescu's words, the Death Eaters spread out around the small group. "And I shall relish your death at my hands!"
The addressed man shifted, the crunching of snow beneath feet loud amidst the din from below. Debrescu lowered the hood of his robe, his deranged smile growing.
"No?" Debrescu hissed. The dark wizard leaned forward. "I suppose not. Your acquaintance, Dumbledore. He is strong, but I will take untold joy in ending his life as well. Unless, of course, he would be willing to join the Dark Lord?"
The Elder Wand spat red sparks, its whispers growing in Harry's mind. Paying them no mind, Harry's eyes narrowed beneath his grey cowl.
"I cannot be bought by the likes of you, Emanoil Debrescu." Harry walked to stand in front of his compatriots, one hand behind his back displaying three fingers. "It would have been more prudent for you to begin your ambush whilst we were unaware of your presence. Your mistake shall cost you dearly."
Three.
Debrescu sneered at the casual dismissal. The Death Eaters hissed. Three sets of feet behind Harry shifted, digging into powdery snow.
Two.
"Death." The Elder Wand's whispers were a din in his head. "The power to defeat the Dark Lord...Submit, young one...The blood of our enemies shall flow as rivers at our feet."
A dusting of snow, carried by the wind, floated to the ground. A moment of calm suspended in time.
Runes carved into his body years ago thrummed to life under coarse, grey fabric.
One.
"DESTROY. BLOOD... Death."
The assassin's fist closed as Debrescu raised his gnarly wand. It was slow in the harsh cold of this desolate place.
Too slow.
Harry dissolved from sight, leaving his opponents staring in confusion. Blue eyes wide, Debrescu scanned the snowy field.
Even his eyes were slow.
Reappearing amid the group, Harry centred his magic, gathering it for his first volley. His first lesson on what to do when outnumbered ran through his mind: divide and conquer.
Six wands swivelled as if they moved through oil rather than air. Their opening salvo was tempered by time's sluggish crawl.
And so began the allegro of his symphony.
An invisible wave of magic burst from Harry's body. His foes were sent tumbling through the snowdrifts. A Death Eater fell over the embankment with a shrill scream. The sounds of tearing flesh, accompanied by screams, filled the air.
The Elder Wand, its whispers a deafening roar, flourished in harsh patterns.
"Fiendfyre." A torrent of shapeless hellfire spewed from the Wand's tip. With one sweeping wave of the Elder Wand, Harry formed the hellfire into a wall of flames at the edge of the embankment.
Snow, once white and pure, hissed and spat from beneath the infernal flames. Ice became steam and flowing water. The rock beneath twisted, warped, and blackened. Orange sludge wound its way down the cliff, the mountain crying molten tears.
Keeping the flames under his control would take significant willpower and concentration. The fire attempted to take shape against his will. The creatures he sensed below would not seek to pass through it.
Harry noted his accompanying trio fighting the Death Eaters to incapacitate. Movement in his peripherals drew his gaze. Debrescu's crazed eyes were taking him in with interest. The dark wizard drew a second wand.
"Kill the spares, Headmaster! If you hesitate, you die!"
"Submit to me, young master, and we will lay waste to your foes until only those you deem worthy remain!"
'Be silent,' Harry replied for the first time. 'I surrender to none so easily, least of all to a wand.'
The whispers stopped, but the wand, usually warm, cooled in his hand. The wall of hellfire faltered, indistinct shapes emerging from its depths. It battled for control. Harry would not allow it.
Harry continued his mental battle of dominance with the Fiendfyre as he assessed Debrescu. Powering his runes was draining him. Doing so while maintaining the cursed fire would not be tenable.
Time returned to its normal flow as he stopped the flow of magic in his runes. The hellish screams escaping the wall of Fiendfyre grew and battered against his ears.
A dark, gnarly wand rose to the sky, tendrils of oozing shadow leaking from its tip. The sounds of battle raged behind him. Eerie orange flickered against the snow as fire hissed and spat.
The dark miasma flowed like ichor at Debrescu's feet. Decayed arms of shadow and fetid flesh sprouted, grasping at the air in grotesque, morbid hunger. The spell's advance, while slow, would be deadly.
Necromantic magic of the darkest origins.
A deep crash broke through the din, accompanied by a piercing yell of pain. Roars of agony and triumph rose into the air. Spellfire fizzed and boomed. The air thrummed and whistled as the symphony of battle reached the second movement. Chaos rained from above and below.
Harry dismissed the realization that one of his allies had fallen as Debrescu's spell neared.
Gnashing, rotted mouths formed on the decayed limbs as the drums of battle beat their sforzando into the night.
Harry moved to his left to avoid the dark magic. A boulder crashed to the ground in front of him, a spray of snow blinding and staggering him. The creatures below had found a way to join the fray despite his barrier.
Shouts of anger descended from the sky. Spellfire lit the air around him as Harry ran.
Feet pounding against the soft snow, Harry was forced to dodge or shield spells from Debrescu. The dark wizard's laughter was shrill, almost manic. The rotten appendages clawed at Harry's legs and boulders rained from the sky.
All the while, the hellfire battered his mind.
The assassin saw shadows zipping across the snow-covered field and looked up for a scant second. Debrescu's reinforcements had arrived.
Limbs continued sprouting from the ground like perverse flora just behind him, a sea of death and gnashing teeth. He stopped and cast a shield, spells extinguishing against it in harsh hisses. Harry's eyes traced the field of battle as he twirled around the magical shield to greet the approaching necromantic magic. He saw it all in an instant.
Wispy, greedy tendrils in the form of arms created a forest of macabre limbs that raced toward him. Groans of torment and hunger escaped their mouths.
Spellfire rained down on Dumbledore and Maxime as the former felled the last ground-based Death Eater with a piercing hex to the heart. Sorrow sat stark on his wrinkled features. The old wizard looked up, readying himself to face the Death Eaters on brooms above.
Dark outlines of large stones appeared from behind the wall of hellfire only to thunder onto friend and foe alike. A low flying Death Eater was dislodged from his broom by one such stone.
Hagrid moaned in agony, his right leg trapped beneath a jagged boulder.
Debrescu, his blue eyes filled with psychotic glee, watched as his spell reached the assassin. His gnarly wand held aloft channelled the dark spell. His second wand was held at his side.
A morbid symphony. Harry readied himself for the crescendo.
The young wizard's eyes flicked to the Elder Wand in his right hand, its tip pointed at the wall of flames. It was a losing battle. Cerberus heads had begun to form along its edges. Its hellish screams at being confined to another's will had turned to hungered howls.
His control of the sentient fire would not hold much longer.
Moving his left arm, Harry thrust his hand toward the dusky sky, a bright, silver ball of light flying from his fingers. Beams of light pierced the orange gloom, forcing Debrescu to cover his eyes. Inhuman shrieks beat against the heavy thrum of battle, the miasmic arms jerking in agony.
It would not destroy the spell, but it would stop its spread.
Harsh wind buffeted the assassin, nearly uprooting him. Debrescu, unprepared, was blown into a large snowdrift. The gust, born from Maxime's wand, had blown the half-dozen Death Eaters from their brooms. Most fell to their deaths in the cliffs below.
One of the ambushers landed amongst the limbs. The crunch of bone and tearing of sinew were audible over the boulders' crashing. Harry watched as cursed hands grasped the fallen man. His screams were silenced as the greedy hands ripped and consumed. Blood and entrails painted the ground a sickly red.
Harry looked between the Fiendfyre and the drift Debrescu had been thrown into. The headmasters needed time.
He swept the Elder Wand forward. Cursed, orange fire surged over the swathe of limbs. The partially-formed cerberi hungered, and the necromantic magic was consumed.
Jumping to the side to avoid a boulder, Harry tumbled. He ran toward the edge of the field, jaws of flame trailing him. Skidding to a halt at the edge of the ten-metre drop, Harry's eyes fell upon ten giants.
The giants ceased their climbing. The Fiendfyre's hellish screams grew in his ears. Harry's emotionless gaze bore into them from beneath his hood.
Elder wood swept through the air to point at the loose formation of creatures. Orange filled his vision, the roar of flames filling his ears as the cerberi tore past him. The hellish creatures snapped at the grey monstrosities and the giants fought the flames with crude weapons.
Rough, grey skin blistered under the intense heat, but they were not consumed.
Their shouts of anger and pain echoed through the field, a deafening cacophony. Harry cancelled the Fiendfyre with iron will and rolled to the side. The wards dampening his magical senses had done their job well. A transfigured spear of ice streaked by him, tearing the skin over his ribs.
"The giants will be upon us soon, Headmaster!" His body shimmered as magic coursed through the assassin's runes and the air around Debrescu darkened. "Debrescu is mine. Can the two of you fight ten giants?"
The old wizard and his taller companion paled and shook their heads.
"Steel yourself, Headmaster." Harry's words carried on a breeze as he vanished.
His body invisible, Harry ran into the murky shadows. Harry had no real need for his sight. The assassin trusted magic to guide him, despite the wards.
"Show yourself, coward." Debrescu's hissing voice came from all directions in the oppressive darkness. "You may have bested my followers, but you will meet Death soon enough. Why delay the inevitable?"
The words were ironic coming from a man who hid himself in shadows. Harry crept forward, the sounds of battle muted. His master and Maxime would have to fend off the giants alone.
Snow shifted beneath his feet and blue eyes locked onto his position. Spells launched from the gnarly wand in a blistering salvo, forcing Harry to leap to the side.
Harry leapt to and fro within the darkness, never returning fire. Inch by inch, he pressed forward against the onslaught. When the older wizard grew frustrated, Harry pulled a pistol from his cloak.
The air crackled and fizzed from the sheer magic covering the area. Harry's hair stood on end and the smell of ozone filled his nostrils.
Harry inched closer with each spell cast. When he had come close enough, Harry pulled the trigger of the Sig Sauer twice. Its shots blasted through the air and forced Debrescu to cease his casting.
Waving the Elder Wand, Harry took control of the darkness. It moved to cover the cliff, hampering the giants' movements. Though less taxing than Fiendfyre, it still split his attention.
Debrescu looked at the assassin with scarcely concealed fury. Blood leaked in sluggish rivulets from his gut and left leg. The Sig Sauer disappeared in the folds of Harry's robes.
Debrescu's injuries would slow him for a few moments, but not for long. The older wizard seemed able to ignore the wounds.
"You dare use muggle weapons against me?" Debrescu seethed, his straining teeth stained red. "Who are you? I want to know the name of the man whose head I will place at the Dark Lord's feet."
"Nothing more than a shadow, Emanoil Debrescu."
Jerking the Elder Wand, Harry grinned as four stone golems rose from the ground around Debrescu. A twitch from the Wand reinforced the five-metre-tall constructs' magical resistance. A final flourish placed a steel maul wreathed in blue flame in the constructs' hands.
Each golem raised its weapon above its head and brought it down in a thundering crash. The tell-tale pop of apparition came from within spewing snow.
Harry ran behind the golems, placing them between himself and Debrescu. Looking over his shoulder, the young wizard saw Dumbledore and Maxime struggling to contain three giants.
He placed the tip of the Elder Wand against the back of a golem and engraved an Elder Futhark rune cluster. Harry did not have enough time, so he settled for a linking rune on each of the other three.
With a mental nudge, three of the constructs tore across the snow-filled plane, leaving plumes in their wake. The golem with the primary rune cluster stayed near him.
Another crack of apparition. Shrieks of rage echoed amidst the crashing of steel into stone. Debrescu was suitably distracted.
Turning, the assassin saw two more giants had joined the fray. Maxime jabbed her wand toward the closest of the five.
A spear wreathed in black flame pierced the creature's neck. It fell to the earth with an almighty crash, gurgling its death throes. Dumbledore and Maxime stood before it, breathing heavily.
Two giants took their dying ally's place and charged the headmasters.
Hagrid's groans reached Harry's ears, drawing his attention as well as two of the giants.
Harry stowed the Elder Wand, its wood cold as ice. A decision had to be made. Hagrid or his master?
The darkness covering the cliff dispersed at his command. His attention had been split too far. Even for Harry, giants were a serious threat.
The test of Voldemort's forces was over. He knew the players' limits and it was far past time to end this farce.
Harry ignored the sounds of Hagrid's bones snapping, his flesh being torn apart, and dissolved into nothing.
Reappearing on the shoulders of a giant attempting to catch Maxime, Harry jammed his right fist into the creature's ear canal.
"Imperio." The creature's mind, filled with primal ferocity, met his own. It fought like a cornered beast but Harry's iron will overtook it. "Kill the other giants."
Harry leapt from the giant's shoulders, his arms pointed toward the giants still tearing Hagrid's mangled body. Clouds gathered above the field of battle as a bright blue spell left his fingers.
The boulder that had pinned Hagrid exploded. Large shards of stone tore into the two giants. Though not fatal, it was enough to stagger them.
After reaching the ground, Harry brought his arms down in a sharp gesture. The dark clouds above shuddered and groaned, swirling in violent movements.
Dumbledore and Maxime looked to the thundering noise. The Imperiused giant tackled the creature harrying Dumbledore and they all disappeared in a cloud of white.
Lightning clapped from the swirling clouds to strike the two giants near Hagrid's corpse. They roared and fell to the ground in convulsing fits amongst Hagrid's remains.
"They will not stay down long!" Harry looked at his golems. Two had been destroyed. "Finish them quickly!"
Turning, Harry saw the five remaining giants scaling the cliff. Thrusting his arms forward, Harry forced the rocks at the edge of the cliff to burst out and up. The giants tumbled down the stony wall with furious yells.
The assassin felt Dumbledore and Maxime cast powerful spells that would fell the two injured giants behind him. Though they were tiring, the two had things well in hand.
His form dissolving, Harry reappeared on top of the extended cliff's edge. The five giants below were recovering from their descent. Catching sight of him, the giants yelled angry, guttural expletives.
Harry duplicated the snow beneath them until it reached their waist. Another wave of his hand saw the snow turned to solid ice.
The last of the young wizard's golems was destroyed in a pique as he appeared behind Debrescu. Breathing heavily, he turned to face Harry. His blue eyes were bloodshot and manic.
"I grow tired of this game, Wizard." A pale hand rose to point the gnarly wand at the young wizard. "Avada Kedavra!"
He spun away from the acid green spell. Scowling, Harry weaved a magical shield into existence between them. He had long since tired of this game.
Sparks rippled over the shield's blue surface as Debrescu's curses struck it. Dissolving, Harry appeared twenty metres to Debrescu's side. Spells surged from Harry's stationary body toward the older wizard, forcing Debrescu to disapparate.
The wizard appeared behind Harry, who raised a wall of blue flames between them. With a flick of his wrist, Harry launched a volley of dark, rotting spears through the fire.
A screech of pain.
Perfect.
Blue flames flickered to nothing and Harry sent a severing curse at Debrescu. The older wizard was pinned to the ground by the spear and took the curse fully on his chest.
Harry stepped through the slush created by his enchanted fire. Debrescu's wheezing filled the temporary silence.
The effects of the deadly magic began to spread from the dark wizard's leg. The spears had been cursed with a slow-acting rotting curse. Harry knew Debrescu was not long for this world.
Harry looked over to Maxime and Dumbledore. They stared at him, tired from their bout with the giants, but mostly unharmed. The two remaining giants continued to wrestle far from them.
Mottled, grey arms appeared at the edge of the field. The giants would soon be upon them.
Raising his arms, Harry pushed his magic up the side of the tall mountain. The young wizard closed his hands, his knuckles white, and pulled. The vessels in his arm revolted against the strain.
The mountain trembled and the Earth protested. It fought him, stubborn and unyielding. But, in the end, it too broke beneath Harry's will. Snow, ice and rock screamed as it fell from the mountainside.
The two wrestling giants were silenced, buried in a tomb of stone and ice.
Looking back at the prone, twitching form of Debrescu, Harry was surprised when the man began to laugh. The effect was lessened by bouts of coughing in between.
"You've killed me, Wizard," Debrescu grunted, blackened blood dribbling from his grinning mouth. "But the Dark Lord will kill you. I will win in the end."
Without a word, Harry pulled a dagger from his cloak and plunged it into the man's neck.
Debrescu's gargling laughter continued as his black blood stained the snow in a macabre portrait. Within seconds, the man breathed his last, his blue eyes forever filled with his zeal.
It was time. The crescendo had passed, giving way for the climax.
*BREAK*
Lord Voldemort watched as the last of the giants clambered over the edge of the cliff. The largest among the giants roared in anticipation of a slaughter.
From far above the field of battle, the Dark Lord had watched as his foes fell into his trap. It should have been obvious, but Albus Dumbledore had once again proven he was nothing more than a soft-hearted fool.
What should have been, however, had not come to be. Dumbledore and his friends, minus Hagrid, lived. More than that, they were winning.
The man once known to a select few as Tom Riddle watched with growing interest as the man in the grey cloak killed Emanoil Debrescu. It unsettled the Dark Lord.
Not the fact that Debrescu was dead. No, the Romanian wizard was a mere pawn. The Dark Lord had only needed his followers. And now he was free to take them for himself.
What was concerning, however, was that a wizard of Debrescu's calibre could be so easily defeated. Powerful wizards did not stay secret for long. Somehow, this one had.
Lord Voldemort's eyes darted to Dumbledore and the remaining half-breed. They stood shakily on their feet. The two had employed a great deal of their strength to rebuff the previous wave of giants. They would soon die, regardless.
But for the first time, Lord Voldemort began to wonder if his plan had been enough. His right eye twitched.
Five giants remained from the original ten. The two who had killed that oaf Hagrid had been felled by large spikes of ice protruding from their chests, courtesy of Dumbledore and Maxime. The remaining two from the previous wave had been killed by a controlled avalanche caused by the unknown wizard.
Voldemort continued his vigil from above. The unknown wizard danced and dived across the field of battle. All five of the remaining giants had focussed their attention on him, throwing boulders at his retreating form.
An invisible wave of magic slammed into the giants. The Dark Lord felt it from atop the tall mountain. It did little more than make the giants stumble in their unwavering advance.
The frontmost of the creatures opened its mouth to release a terrifying roar. The Dark Lord felt the reverberations in his bones. It would have left most opponents trembling in fear, but this mystery wizard was unlike most.
He was in a league of his own.
A small plume of purple flames raced from the wizard's outstretched hand and into its target's gullet. Seconds passed by with the giants frozen in shock as their leader, the largest among them, fell to the snow. Its liquified innards spilled from its still open mouth.
The grey wizard allowed the purple flames to continue unabated, the fire slowly consuming the carcass. Lord Voldemort was not familiar with the spell.
And to cast it wandlessly? It was a cause for concern. This wizard was powerful. It made him wonder...
The unknown wizard finally began to show signs of tiring. It was not obvious, only showing in the smallest of details. But Voldemort's keen eyes always found their opponents' weakness.
The wizard's breathing, while not laboured, was no longer rhythmic. His movements were no longer as fluid as they had been. His legs trembled. Voldemort's newest enemy had expended a great deal of magic already.
The giants charged, swinging crude weapons of stone and wood. Weapons, some of which still bubbled from the Fiendfyre, smashed into the snow. Pluming snow blocked Voldemort's view.
But their target had already vacated the area. Voldemort knew his wards would prevent apparition.
Pouring magic into the cloud of snow, the grey wizard began to transfigure it into a shapeless, icy mass. Slowly, the ice began to enlarge, wings sprouting from its surface. Legs followed as the mass elongated. The giants had not noticed the icy Romanian Longhorn forming above their heads.
Panting from his exertions, the wizard disapparated and appeared on the back of his newest magical construct. It was nearly twelve metres from horn to tail. The dragon flew higher into the air with a deafening roar. The giants, aware their foe survived, hurled rocks into the air. A useless tactic.
Pushing aside his now obvious exhaustion, the wizard began carving runes into the dragon's back with a silver dagger.
The Dark Lord pondered the breed of dragon the grey wizard had chosen. Romanian Longhorns were an aggressive species known for their preference to engage enemies in close quarters. Why not a breed that would attack at range?
Nevertheless, it was an impressive creation. The Dark Lord would have been hard-pressed to replicate it and remain standing.
When finished with the rune carving, the wizard sliced the palm of his hand. Blood magic. An interesting and powerful, yet morally grey choice. Many would consider such an act dark in nature.
Magic rolled off the man in waves as he powered the runic clusters and weaved enchantments into the ice.
Something about the unknown wizard bothered the Dark Lord. His actions thus far had been familiar, yet so very foreign. A deep ache met his mental inquiry.
"Who are you, Wizard?" Voldemort's skeletal right hand raised to stroke his sharp chin, his hairless brow creased.
Ozone permeated the thin mountain air, its taste thick in Voldemort's mouth. A moment later the dragon flew toward a small outcropping of stone that overlooked the battlefield. The grey wizard rolled off the dragon and fell to the hard ground in a heap.
Voldemort watched the Romanian Longhorn land before the four giants with an earth-shattering roar. The two headmasters moved to stand beside the grey wizard's prone form.
The draconic construct struck first. Charging, it impaled a giant on its large, crystal horns. Not one to be outdone by a wizard's creation, the giant raised its stone mace above its head and brought the weapon down with all the force it could muster.
Ice splintered and cracked under the force of the blow. The dragon roared, an ice-filled mist escaping its maw and pelting the pierced giant. The other three giants began clubbing its body and wings with their crude weapons. Unfazed, the dragon pulled its head back and struck. It closed its jaw around the giant's head, crushing it in a shower of gore.
Dumbledore spoke to the wizard but Voldemort could not make out the words.
The Dark Lord knew what this wizard was. Rather, he had an idea. Only one such as him could have taken a full day's worth of memories from the Dark Lord.
The grey wizard took a moment to gather himself, rising shakily to his feet.
'Soon,' he told himself. 'They are so very close.'
Voldemort leaned forward, his grip on his wand tightening.
The three continued to converse, unheard by the Dark Lord, as the dragon continued its fight. Roars of pain and fury accompanied stone rattling strikes. Voldemort could not be certain who would win the engagement.
So he watched, his eyes narrow. The Dark Lord waited for the perfect moment.
The dragon, slowly crumbling beneath the strength of the giants, swept its tail. It caught one of the giants unawares, which fell to its back. Roaring its victory, the dragon impaled the large creature through the throat with one of its horns.
Twisting around, the dragon took to the skies to prepare to engage its next foe. It faltered in its flight.
Once it had ascended high enough, it opened its mouth full of sharp, glistening teeth and loosed a mighty spew of ice and mist. The giants were fully hidden from view. The dragon's flight faltered again.
When the mist cleared, only one giant remained. It had used its fellow as a shield. The creature's limp body, riddled with sharp ice, collapsed with a deep thud. Thumping its chest with a fist, the lone giant grunted its challenge.
The dragon did not have enough magic left for another blast. The group should have used the opportunity to flee.
His moment was coming. The Dark Lord could feel it in his very bones. His muscles contracted, preparing for the strike.
Icy wings flattened against a glimmering body and the dragon dove toward its target. The giant grabbed its stone maul in both hands, bringing the weapon behind its back.
The dragon roared its victory.
The giant's neck strained, spittle flying, as it yelled its challenge.
Ice sunk into hard flesh as stone crashed into frost. The giant stumbled, roaring its victory despite the broken horn piercing its gut.
The dragon collapsed and let out a piteous moan before it crumbled, leaving behind a mound of glistening shards.
And, with a twist of his body, Lord Voldemort disapparated.
*BREAK*
Knees trembling, Harry watched as his creation was destroyed.
He blinked. His very bones weary, Harry cursed his blurring vision.
Time slowed, but not of his own accord. It happened fast, too quickly for Harry to react.
An explosion of ice met his ears, though Harry could not see its source.
He fell to the ground.
Dumbledore gasped, his wand raising. He was slow, painfully so.
Maxime gawped, transfixed and rooted in place.
Magic gripped Harry and he found himself flying toward the lone giant.
Its beady eyes narrowed as it raised its fist.
The young assassin could do nothing but accept his fate. The creature brought its fist down onto his torso. He slammed into the hard ground.
Harry closed his eyes. Rattling, wet breaths escaped his mouth. Metal was on his tongue. Pain consumed his very existence. He could not move.
A fierce wind buffeted his ears. A guttural yell of pain.
Ozone, thick as soup.
A thunderous crash.
Magic shattered like glass dashed against stone.
Silence.
His eyes were heavy, but he forced them open. Dumbledore and Maxime, to his left, collapsed from bright red bolts of magic.
Footsteps in the snow, slow and daunting. A blurry figure in black.
Bitter cold bit his broken body.
Stars winked at him from the heavens.
The stench of burnt flesh and viscera. An ignoble end in a place none would ever find.
A high-pitched laugh and a flash of red eyes.
Voldemort, the symphony's final movement.
The man's face appeared in his vision, his serpentine visage unnatural. The Dark Lord spoke, a sinister grin appearing on his lips. Harry could not make out the words beyond the last.
"Have you any final words, Wizard?"
Movement from the corner of his eye.
"Tom," the assassin croaked, blood leaking from his mouth onto the snow. "You… speak too much."
The Dark Lord's head tilted in contemplation. He smirked
The taste of defeat, bitter on his tongue.
"Death," whispered the Elder Wand. It mocked him in his final moments.
His vision darkened.
He was too late.
" Avada Kedavra!"
A rush of cold wind.
And all became black.
A/N: This brings us to the end of Arc 1. There will be four arcs in this story and about 60 or so chapters, all of which is planned out in an outline. Think of this arc as a very extended prologue. I felt it necessary to flesh out Harry's character, or lack thereof. Arc 2 begins in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!