Chapter 19
Hogsmeade on the weekends that the Hogwarts students were allowed out was always busy, even without the addition of numerous Ministry personnel patrolling the village. Even when it was one of the last Hogsmeade weekends of the year and students should probably have been worrying more about exams, the village thronged with people enjoying themselves. Even if a change in the weather for the worse sent a majority of the students back up to the castle once the Three Broomsticks was packed to capacity.
I was in attendance, as I had been for every single Hogsmeade weekend since my meeting with Albus earlier in the year. Each time, I had met privately with Harry beforehand and bewitched him with a combination of a charm and a potion—both of my own design, and meeting Moody's approval—in case all else failed and we lost track of him. Harry was quite friendly about the process, even if he did keep asking for an improvement in the taste of the potion.
Harry and I had what I would term a loose acquaintanceship. We were moderately familiar with each other's names, habits and interests—me moreso than him, for obvious reasons. As a known friend of the Weasleys who had helped him in his first year, I had managed to further secure a position as someone trustworthy. Or, that's how I interpreted our interactions. Harry usually asked about how my shop was doing, whether I'd made anything new or interesting recently and sometimes for advice on a problem with his schoolwork. In turn, I made small talk and asked about his classes and for stories from around the castle.
Our conversations were never long, not when Harry had to submit himself to the aurors' ministrations as well. He had confided in me that he had rather more faith in my methods than theirs, a compliment I took with a pinch of salt. Even with Lupin acting as a competent Defence teacher that year, I had my doubts about Harry's abilities as an assessor of anti-abduction or -assassination techniques.
As nothing had yet put either my or the Ministry's defences to the test, I had allowed myself to hope that I would be in for a pleasant day in Hogsmeade. The rain didn't bother me once I put up some charms against it. I found it quite relaxing.
The earth-shaking roar and tide of darkness that engulfed the street not two metres in front of me was not relaxing in the slightest.
—tN—tN—tN—
The first thing I did, the reflex I'd trained into myself, was to pull out the communicator lighter—name still pending—and call "Albus Dumbledore!". Albus answered immediately.
"Poe, I could hear the noise from the castle. What's going on?"
"There was an explosion and someone released a load of what I think is Instant Darkness Powder, so I'm not sure of the extent of the damage. It seemed to have hit a few buildings though, so it's not looking good."
"And Harry? Is he still there?"
"I'm just checking now..."
I pulled out a different lighter—they were versatile devices—and flicked the flame on. The fire was a deep red but changed to a sickly green as I was watching.
"Harry's gone," I said, forcing myself to stay calm. "The Ministry's protections have been broken and he's unconscious, but he's alive."
"Understood. Stay in Hogsmeade and help where you can. I'll find Harry and bring him back safely."
"Bring help with you, Albus. And... To be on the safe side, warn Snape. If Riddle returns, then it'll look better if his spy answers on the first call."
"Good thinking. Now good luck."
The flame died and I began looking to see how I could help.
The spell and potion I'd used on Harry allowed me to tell his condition, whether he was protected or in danger and if he'd been removed from the area. But they could also be used to track Harry down. There were some prerequisites that I hadn't managed to iron out, but Albus could use a similar lighter to mine to triangulate Harry's rough location and then to override any anti-apparition or portkey defenses to reach him. It wasn't immediate, but it couldn't be blocked by any means I'd tested save for Hogwarts' defences. And even there Albus suspected it was possible.
It would take Albus a short while to track Harry down, time for his reinforcements to gather. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too late.
—tN—tN—tN—
Hogsmeade was a disaster area.
Several buildings had been levelled and people were still being pulled out of the rubble. Most were moving, some weren't. The scene as a whole could be mistaken for a Muggle terrorist attack save for the fact that bits of debris were floating through the air by themselves and a swathe of the village was covered in an impenetrable darkness.
Well, mostly impenetrable. I'd tracked down a sample of Peruvian Darkness Powder shortly after I'd graduated and subjected it to a number of tests. As expected, it resisted almost all forms of illumination and lacked any actual substance to be dispelled. It had taken me most of the time since then to create a charm that would burn away at the darkness bit-by-bit.
The tip of my wand flared purple and projected a cone of phantom flames ahead of me. Where they touched, the darkness melted away and let the healers, Ministry staff, and other assorted responders get at the newly-revealed rubble.
It was slow work. Albus was nowhere to be seen, presumably still searching for Harry. While I couldn't dispute his priorities, knowing as I did what the consequences of allowing Voldemo—no, Riddle—unfettered access to the boy were, his aid would have been greatly appreciated.
It took the better part of ten minutes to clear away the last of the darkness. My job done, I took a step away from the action, massaging my right arm. Holding my wand aloft for so long had not been fun.
It had actually only been twenty minutes since the alarm had first been raised and already the village was nearly entirely evacuated. The streets had been magically cleared of rubbles and those too injured to walk escorted away through a few heavily-guarded fireplaces. I knew that the response had only been so comprehensive because the Ministry was already on high-alert for the area, but it was still impressive.
The handful of Aurors stationed in Hogsmeade had been joined by over a dozen of their colleagues as well as over thirty more hit wizards. Unlike Aurors, who were trained for investigation and security—among other things—hit wizards were specifically trained for combat. While standards were significantly lower for the latter post, they still proved to be effective fighters and provided much-needed muscle in disasters such as this one.
We'd just hit the forty minute mark when a dull crack rang out. The Ministry witches and wizards going through the wreckage near me with assorted Dark Detectors started and turned towards the sound, wands drawn. It took me a moment to realise why.
Charms had been erected against Apparition into Hogsmeade, so for someone to Apparate in or out regardless of those...
I rounded the corner of the street alongside a half-dozen hit wizards. Unlike them, I froze when I saw the individual making his way towards us, towards Hogwarts. Unlike them, I recognised the narrow red eyes, the pale, hairless, skin and vicious expression.
Protego Maxima, Protego Horribilis, Salvia Hexia. The set of defensive spells leapt silently from my wand while the most senior official accompanying me—a tall witch scarred from her left eye down to where the skin of her neck met the hem of her robes and beyond—began to speak.
"Drop your wand and surrender to Ministry custody immediately. This area is under the control of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement pending an investigation. You are trespassing and need to come in for question—"
I didn't recognise the curse Riddle cast, only that it wasn't the Killing Curse and was still powerful enough to nearly break through the shields I'd erected in one blast that left spots dancing in my eyes. Thinking quickly, I levitated a segment of wall from a nearby pile of wreckage into the space between us and Riddle. A second later it disintegrated in a flash of green light.
"Go," I said, but I was shoved to the side before I could see if any of them had responded. The wizard who pushed me—brown hair with a streak of grey, blue eyes, pale skin with a dusting of freckles, not much older than me—passed into the space I'd been a moment before and was struck dead by the Killing Curse that tore through my shields like they were paper. He dropped on top of me, his momentum carrying his corpse into me even as my legs gave out.
One of the other Hit Wizards grabbed my shoulder and dragged me to my feet, pulling me away to cover. I was still staring at the man that had died in my place, replaying the moment over and over. The other Hit Wizards were falling back beside me, firing spells in the direction of where they'd last seen Voldemort.
Fumos, I thought, creating a smokescreen between us without a second thought. I was running on autopilot, the creativity and spark Albus had praised me for entirely absent. A man had just died, had just been murdered in front of me.
The Hit Wizard tugging me cursed—the expletive variety rather than a spell—when I conjured the screen of smoke but was hushed by the witch who'd ordered Riddle to surrender.
"He isn't pulling any punches, those were Killing Curses. He brushed off fire from three different squads like we were children practicing with spark spells—" I hadn't noticed other squads attacking. "—We pull back for the moment while he can't see us, get behind a wall or something so he can't just pick us off. And you—"
She flicked me on the nose, the sudden sting startling me.
"Get up and get moving. We can mourn later, but only if we're alive. You have a wand and can clearly handle it, so help us out for Fontaine's sake."
I blinked and pulled myself free of the hand that had been holding me, looking around for something to use.
There were some more chunks of wall lying around. Casting quickly, I charmed them to float and made them invisible.
"I—I've ordered those to get in the way of any other Killing curses," I explained to the Hit Witch in charge, who nodded approvingly.
"Good, maybe they can take a few hits for us. For the moment though, we need to regroup. He was heading in this direction and we don't want to be caught flat-footed like that again."
—tN—tN—tN—
There had been around fifty combat-trained Ministry officials before Riddle appeared, along with about thirty other witches and wizards such as myself who were permitted to hang around the village and help with the cleanup. I knew I'd been vouched for by Dumbledore and was specifically tasked with eliminating the darkness, but I had no idea who the others were.
When the survivors gathered at the edge of the village, a barricade formed from rubble our only defence against the approaching Dark Lord, there were only forty Ministry witches and wizards and just over a dozen of the rest still alive and able to fight.
"It's him, it's He Who Must Not Be Named," one old warlock was whispering over and over, gnarled hands trembling. He still held his wand though and would hopefully be able to fight.
"Regardless of who he is, he needs to be stopped," the Hit Witch who'd been with me insisted, though she didn't look so confident herself.
"Precisely," the most senior Ministry official present cut in. Rufus Scrimgeour was as harsh and tough-looking as the books had painted him. While he had proved less than effective as a Minister for Magic in canon, he was one of the few present who didn't seem shaken by the prospect of facing Lord Voldemort himself. Here on the battlefield, he seemed to be in his element. "Our opponent may or may not be the risen Dark Lord, all we do know is that his skills and power are comparable. He will be here in a matter of moments and when he does, we must be ready." His eyes ranged over us all as if looking for something.
"Stevens, you're on Killing Curse duty. Disillusion yourself if it helps, just make sure you stay out of our way. Mable—" he gestured towards the Hit Witch who'd spoken before "—tells me that you were quick on the draw when you first found the target, found a way of reliably intercepting a Killing Curse. You need to keep doing that. Block as many of his curses as you can, leave the actual fighting to us."
I nodded and let out a ragged sigh of relief. Hiding and focusing only on defending everyone else... It was far from glamorous, but I could work with it. While Scrimgeour addressed the rest of the gathered witches and wizards I made myself invisible and stepped away from the group, charming more blocks and walls into the air as I went. I concealed them as well for good measure.
"First of all, no heroics. Nobody strikes out by themselves. If you do, you'll likely die. Stick to the plan, even if I die or your neighbours are killed, got it? Right, Hit Wizards and Aurors split into pairs and spread out. Alternate which one of you is attacking and don't hold back. If you blow his head off then it'll make the paperwork more difficult but I doubt anyone will be crying over him.
"The rest of you, fan out and hide as best you can. When you get a line of sight, start throwing everything you can at him. Don't take any more risks than you have to, prioritise cover over attacking. The more people he has to worry about at once, the better off we are. Now get moving, he wasn't walking quickly but he'll be here sooner rather than later."
—tN—tN—tN—
The barricade was blown apart within a minute of Scrimgeour's speech. Flaming pieces of rubbles were scattered across the whole area and I heard at least two people crying out in pain, presumably from being hit. I deflected the bits that threatened me fairly easily and devoted the majority of my attention to the confrontation before me.
Scrimgeour was unmoved by the display of power and stood directly in Riddle's path. Riddle, for his part, had stopped mid-stride to consider his latest obstacle. Head tilted, he examined Scrimgeour for a moment before slashing his wand down towards the auror. The curse—whatever it was—shattered whatever shield Scrimgeour had thrown up and forced him to take a step back. It was not enough to mask the barked order.
"NOW!"
A volley of curses broke out from the concealed witches and wizards to either side of the street. Poking their heads and wands around walls, window frames and broken doors, they fired curse after curse towards Riddle, who—for the first time since entering Hogsmeade—seemed vaguely perturbed.
The first round of curses rebounded harmlessly off Voldemort's own shield before it too was breached by an auror with a keen aim. Then the Dark Lord was duelling, his wand a blur.
Incoming curses were met with Voldemort's own and found themselves deflected or overpowered. The mad sorcerer was light on his feet, swaying around a Blasting curse before reflecting a Cutting charm back at its caster. With a flick of his wand, he launched another Killing Curse, directly at Scrimgeour, but was foiled by the masonry I dropped in its path. I could do little to save the witch who fell screaming to the ground while leaping from one spot of cover to the next.
The next victim was a Hit Wizard who overextended from his hiding place for a moment too long and had his head taken clear off of his shoulders.
Snarling like the lion he resembled, Scrimgeour hurled a renewed salvo of curses at Riddle. The heavy detonations as they collided with another shield could be felt from where I crouched, almost twenty metres away. I intercepted another Killing Curse before it could find its mark in the warlock who'd recognised Voldemort before, just as Scrimgeour battered through Voldemort's shield, his stream of attacks not abating for a moment.
I wanted to join in, to add my curses and hexes to the rest of the bombardment, but I held my position and concentrated on blocking the deadly green jets of light. I was a bit too slow off the mark when Voldemort cast a trio of the deadly curses in quick succession and was unable to stop the third spell from claiming the life of another one of the non-Ministry wizards who'd been caught up in the fight.
The ground around Riddle and by several of his attackers' hiding spots was beginning to crack and scorch from the heat of the spells being exchanged, occasionally rupturing entirely where a curse was deflected into the earth itself.
But we were losing. One by one Riddle was taking us out, slipping curses home through shields and cover. Another Killing Curse streaked under a plummeting piece of stone to claim an auror a minute later.
The battle was the longest I could ever remember having to fight, not that I'd been involved in many such operations. Already we'd been trading spells for over five minutes. Riddle still stood in the open, bold as brass, while we skulked from cover to cover and tried to catch him unawares. He'd whittled us down from about eighty to just under fifty and we were taking more and more losses.
I liked to think that we were making it difficult for him though. He was no longer smiling as he once had and his teeth were now set in a strained grimace rather than a grin as he fended off another powerful curse from Scrimgeour. Then he let out a sudden snarl and whipped his wand in a circle.
My ears popped and several others let out startled shouts as they were suddenly buffeted by a strong wind that had risen out of nowhere. Riddle was still duelling, but now he was smiling again a cold and cruel smirk. The already damaged buildings began to groan as the gale threatened to bring them down and either bury or expose us. I reinforced the buildings around me and they seemed to steady a bit, but I knew it wouldn't last if the wind continued to rise as I was sure it would. And I could do nothing about the buildings across the street.
It was only when I tried to stop Riddle from using another Killing Curse that I realised that he'd also blown away my levitating blocks.
With a scream, Mable—the Hit Witch from before—was torn from her hiding place. Reacting faster than my thoughts could, I blasted her with a Knockback Jinx and pushed her back through an open window and out of the path of a curse. Swearing silently, I threw myself down to avoid the curse that obliterated the wall over my head as Voldemort locked onto my location from the spell I'd just cast. No followup was forthcoming, so he either thought he'd killed me or assumed I'd moved further afield than I had.
I dragged myself back to my invisible feet and cast another spell to protect me from the wind. I'd never thought a book of meteorological charms would prove useful in a duel, although...
A standard Finite Incantatum did nothing to the whirlwind, not that I expected it to. A Charm for calming gusts did make it abate for a moment and I repeated it over and over, trying to will the artificial storm to stop.
The gale was reduced to a faint breeze but threatened to rise again if I let up for a moment. I was back on defensive duty, albeit of a different kind. Without the conjured cyclone harassing them, Scrimgeour and the others were able to rally and resume attacking Riddle. The short window before I'd found a counter to the wind had cost us dearly though and I counted at least three more corpses on the ground.
Curses flashed back and forth, scorching the ground and cracking walls when they missed their targets. The only thing we seemed to have on our side was that Riddle didn't seem to be gaining any further ground. He may not have been tiring, but I thought his strikes were becoming more pointed and vicious, sloppier.
He was losing his patience. He'd expected to be able to destroy any that stood against him with ease and had instead been fought to a standstill for some time now. While few would see a failure to kill a small army as being a sign of weakness, it wasn't the cakewalk that he'd hoped for. Perhaps that was why he kept himself to such relatively simple means of attack as curses rather than the spectacular displays of spellwork he'd employed against Dumbledore after the battle of the Department of Mysteries. Maybe he saw it as insulting to have to resort to such tactics against lesser opponents, no matter how many of them there were.
Whatever pride restrained his full might, it seemed to be rapidly falling to impatience and pragmatism. Forcing his attackers into hiding with another concerted barrage of spells, he bought a short window to cast something bigger, drawing back his wand in preparation for a grander gesture.
What horror he intended to unleash, we never found out. In that moment of relative quiet, there came a crackle of flames, of kindling springing to life and the thud of a weight landing on earth.
Before Riddle lay the path to Hogwarts, but behind him—newly emerged from phoenix travel—was Albus Dumbledore, wand raised and ready for battle.
—tN—tN—tN—
Alerted to his rival's arrival by experience or some sixth sense, Riddle spun to engage the headmaster—or possibly flee—his previous foes forgotten.
It was the opening we'd been waiting for the whole time.
Riddle's remaining shields collapsed in an instant under the weight of more than fifty curses at once. Fuelled by anger, grief and the need for justice, my allies' spells sundered Riddle's body apart. I had to avert my eyes from the gore after the sight of his head literally vaporising after being struck by a Reductor Curse.
I forced myself to look back, remembering what would likely come after Voldemort was slain anew.
Sure enough, as the giblets of meat splattered to the ground, a dark haze congealed in the space the Dark Lord once occupied. It staggered and swirled in the air before forming into the rough shape of a person, a ghost's poor-resolution cousin.
It was wrong, in much the same way that a dementor was. It was a stain on the world that demanded to be erased but defied all attempts to do so—as Scrimgeour discovered to his dismay when a series of spells passed through the shape ineffectually.
I didn't know what Riddle's shade planned to do next and I didn't wait to find out. As silent as every other spell I'd cast in the fight, my patronus took form. The silvery black and white cat—born from the laughter of my first Christmas in Hogwarts—stretched in front of me before pouncing on the wraith. It sailed through the air and sent the shade recoiling. Riddle fled my cat on its tail.
It was not a game of cat and mouse that I would win, I doubted that my patronus had the capability to actually capture or harm the spirit. But it drove him away from Hogsmeade, away from Hogwarts, away from me. And that was enough for the moment.
I sagged to the ground, my concealments failing and letting me back into view.
The air had fallen still once more, the storm breaking with its conjurer's demise. There was blood in the air and corpses on the ground. We had paid a terrible price but—somehow—we had won. I saw Scrimgeour go to meet Dumbledore and presumably ask him where he'd been while the others resumed their previous task of clearing up wreckage—albeit of a different disaster.
I fell to my hands and knees and threw up repeatedly on the ground until my vision swam with dark spots and I collapsed.
