CHAPTER 2: All The King's Men
"GO! GO! GO!" Shells exploded, and the splintering crack of sniper fire echoed in the silence between salvoes. Black smoke and haze drifted across the urban wreckage of Diagon Alley, and Ron did as he was told, shielding his pregnant wife with the heavy red and gold robe of the Order of the Phoenix he wore. Hermione brandished her wand, but he pulled her away as the soldiers who shouted at him piled into the breach in the wall. Automatic gunfire roared deafeningly close, and black-garbed soldiers hunkered down against shattered bricks as their comrades bellowed spells across the street at the Death Eaters in Florean Fortescue's. Noise and smoke and shouts and screams – Ron staggered as the wall beside him exploded, sending him flying along with Hermione. He scrambled to his feet on the cobbles to protect her where she lay, dazed and cradling her swollen stomach. Three masked Death Eaters advanced on him, and his ears were ringing too much to tell if the laughter was their's or just in his head. He twirled his wand to hex the one on his right but a spell from his left slammed into his chest, sending him to his knees; he felt ribs crack. He scrambled for his wand – and then dragon-hide combat boots landed in his field of vision, buckles burnished black.
Green light shot wordlessly from the soldier's wand and a Death Eater dropped where he stood. The other two moved fast on the man's left, and a second burst of green light felled the one closest to him, but now more Death Eaters were on the scene and one seized the soldier's wand arm – he dropped the wand and twisted under the jet of a spell from the Death Eater still coming on his left. It hit his comrade and the soldier hurled him down. Ron saw the man's left hand, strong forearm streaked with dirt and sweat, find the grip of a fish-knife in his belt as he threw himself to the side, rolling on his shoulder to avoid another spell. The short, wicked knife snicked free and the soldier grabbed the Death Eater's wand arm, pulling him forwards and spinning under and around his arm, slashing the knife up and across his throat in a spray of blood. The 9mm leapt from his thigh holster to buck in his hand as he fired steady shots into the two more Death Eaters sprinting down the street. No more were heading away from the soldiers Ron had left at the breach in the wall.
Ron coughed and struggled to his feet, turning to help Hermione. The combat boots and black BDUs were back in his field of vision.
"Sir, you need to come with me right now." The English voice was deep and slightly familiar, and Ron lurched up with Hermione's arm slung over his shoulder – and stopped. The man before him was taller than he remembered, and his face was lean, as was the rest of his body below powerful shoulders. The black, military issue t-shirt was tight across grime-streaked, muscled arms, and the Kevlar strapped tight across the soldier's torso served only to heighten the impression of strength and speed. Sprayed but faded across the chest was the ghoulish white skull and wand emblem of the Elite Ministry Guard – the best of the best the army had to offer. The 9mm was holstered at his thigh and his wand was back in its chest sheath across his chest, along with the fish knife at his waist. There was a faded scar that wound around his right hand and wrist. One eye and cheek were bruised and blackened, and his head was shaved, but the lightening bolt scar on the left of the man's forehead was unmistakable.
"Harry?" gasped Ron.
"We don't have time for this, sir. Can you carry her?" Harry – for Ron was sure it was Harry now – motioned to Hermione, and Ron shook himself.
"Yes, yes, I-"
The wand came out of its sheath again. "Good. You look after her; I'll take care of things on the way to the Cauldron. Stay behind me and do exactly as I say." Harry stepped past them and in close to the wall, and Ron followed close behind him. They made their way furtively down the street, Hermione mumbling incoherently, Harry leading, now with both wand and 9mm drawn. Ron saw that there was a sawn-off shotgun tucked into straps on the Kevlar across his back. Two grenades sat in straps on the back of his belt. Abruptly Harry stepped away from the wall and fired to quick shots and a flash of soundless green light at two Death Eaters across the way. They dropped without a sound. He moved back in close to wall.
"Are you alright, sir?" It was surreal, Ron thought, but he answered anyway.
"We're fine." They were almost at the Leaky Cauldron now, and Ron wondered if the evacuation point had been overrun yet. Maybe – Harry half-turned and shoved Ron into a doorway.
"Stay down!" Then he was off and moving, cross-stepping as he moved steadily across the street, firing as he went. Death Eaters seemed to have sprung out of the wood work, and Ron knew it was an ambush; how cruel it would be to get this close to safety and then be captured. He wanted to leap up, to help, but to leave Hermione exposed…
Harry dropped behind an overturned table of wares and let fall the used clip from his handgun, sheathing his wand and loading another magazine with a snap. Spells hissed over his head and bullets sparked on the cobbles by the table he sheltered behind – then he reared up and fired two-handed, arms on the wood. Short, sharp shots carefully aimed and timed, each followed by the clatter of a body falling into the assorted wreckage of cauldrons and rubble strewn across the street from shops. He tore a grenade from the back of his belt and jerked out the pin with his teeth, hurling it over hand down the street. He ducked again as red light whistled past his ear, still firing indiscriminately as he tapped his ear, speaking into a slender mouthpiece that came half-way down his cheek from the radio in his ear. An explosion roared and shook the ground, and then Ron could hear him shouting over the racket. Radios hadn't been advanced enough to avoid magical interference before this war had started.
"This is Black Dog to Apache! I repeat BLACK DOG TO APACHE, REQUESTING IMMEDIATE BACKUP OUTSIDE THE EXTRACTION POINT!" He dropped the handgun and leapt up, firing wordless spells of assorted as he went and still speaking into the earpiece. "WE HAVE TWO FRIENDLIES FOR EVAC! I NEED SOME FUCKING HELP NOW!" Harry hurdled the table and moved smoothly forward, sending two Death Eaters flying with a vicious slash of his wand – then he was dueling two more, wand a blur, and now he was shouting incantation that were two guttural for Ron to make out. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" He arched his back and fell down, narrowly avoiding a purple jet from his second opponent's wand. He landed heavily on his back and his feet swept out, hooking the Death Eater standing over him and scything him to the ground, then Harry was on him and hands closed around the masked jaw - muscles bunched and then with a violent twist and a sickening crunch the man lay still. Harry vaulted to his feet, only to be thrown to the side when automatic fire thudded into his Kevlar. He dropped and rolled behind a hunk of concrete and brick, then came up smoothly, drawing the shotgun from his back in the same motion and firing once, twice, the shots heavy and muted. Ron heard a body fall to the ground in the doorway along from his.
Booted feet pounded the pavement and Harry twirled his wand elegantly – then golden light hissed and crackled from it and with a great whoosh a fireball irrupted from the rubble before him, his hands tense and arms corded as he sent it hurtling down the street. There an almighty roar, and then the world blitzed out – Ron hugged Hermione to his chest, eyes squeezed shut, and metal splinters and hellfire hurtled towards him when he opened them – but there was a shield, someone else was there, a great silver dome covering him and Hermione, another pair of combat boots sliding on the broken glass and dust of the street against the strain of holding the shield. Then it was over. The second soldier dropped into a crouch before him. Ron's breath caught in his throat for the second time that day. He wore the same equipment as Harry right down to the fish knife, and his blonde hair was shaved too, the white skull and wand emblazoned across the chest of his kevlar vest; his sculpted forearms were tense and his grip on his wand made Ron nervous. Draco Malfoy's pale eyes gave him a quick once over.
"We're almost there, sir. Let me help you." Ron could only gape as Malfoy heaved Hermione up into his arms – he was taller too – and carried her like a child. A smoke blackened shadow appeared above Ron and hauled him to his feet. Harry's un-bruised cheek was sliced open over where the bone should be, and blood seeped from a laceration at the line of his shaved hair. The knuckles of the hands gripping his arms were cut and dirty, and a cut high on his biceps smeared blood onto Ron's hand as he was spun towards the Leaky Cauldron
"Let's go, sir." Harry hustled Ron after Malfoy and Hermione, past soldiers gathering on either side of the brick entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. He stopped, pushing Ron behind him as he turned to face the alley, tapping the radio in his ear again. It was quieter now, Ron realized. After three hours of hiding in shops and playing cat and mouse and watching soldiers and Death Eaters blown to bits, was it over? "Black Dog to Winter Soldier, the evacuation point is secure. What's your status?" Indistinct voices crackled over the radio. "Copy that, Winter Soldier. Rendezvous at the extraction point. I have two squads ready to start cleanup, and the Colonel had already started combing things over with his men." More noise, and Harry nodded. "Copy that. Over and out." He turned to the soldiers kneeling and crouched around the entrance. "Threat's been neutralized. Bigby, take your squad and start cleanup." A stocky, heavily muscled man – no white skull on his Kevlar nodded and motioned to the men around him. They moved off down the street, jogging along, stopping to cover those who ran past them, then running past them in turn. They picked through the rubble, shots echoing occasionally from guns pointed at writhing figures. Spells cleared the smoke the soldiers were vanishing into, but before Ron could get a proper look at the carnage of the alley Harry had hauled him through the brick archway, leaving silent soldiers on one knee, weapons up, to guard it. Harry pushed the pub door open before Ron could get to it, and he stepped through into the – for once – well-lit interior. Maps were spread out on a line of tables in the centre of the cleared room, and a bath-tub of floo powder sat by the empty fire place. Hermione had been laid out on the bar, and a military medic was bent over her. Ron shouldered past Harry, his heart clenching – the medic straightened and smiled, looking up at him. "She'll be fine, sir, just fine. She's unconscious. No damage to the baby," he continued, twizzling his wand between his fingers. Ron's throat clenched and he breathed out in relief. He bent to kiss his wife's forehead softly, and the medic continued. "I'm shipping her to St. Mungo's straight away just to be sure, Mr…?"
"Weasley," blurted Ron, "Ron Weasley, I'm with the Order of the Phoenix, and this is my wife Hermione." The words came out breathless with relief, and the medic turned away from him to scribble on a notepad. "I'll…follow along shortly, I need to take care of some…things," he finished lamely.
"Of course, sir," the medic nodded again. Ron glanced once more at Hermione – he'd see her shortly, and she was fine, he told himself, and then turned to look over the room. Five men were bent over the maps on the long makeshift table, speaking quietly into radios, jotting things on the maps in bright ink. The room was empty apart from that – it seemed the evacuation had either finished or lulled here. The far side of the room, away from the bar and closest to the street entrance, was occupied by a sort of makeshift armory – guns lined neatly on racks and automatic rifles – and a kind of field check-up made up of a table and two medics. Harry was standing still as one of them stitched the worst slice, the one on his arm, and the other wiped at the cut on his cheek before applying butterfly plasters to it. Ron made his way quietly over to where Malfoy stood, dumping his empty clips into a bin by the gun-rack and selecting new ones from a neat stack. The blonde ignored him until he'd finished stowing things in the pockets of his BDUs and sliding his wand into the holster across his chest. Then he turned, cold grey eyes fixing on Ron's.
"Hi, Draco," said Ron quietly. "It's been a while." He held out his hand, and to his shock and surprise Malfoy took it, grip firm. He didn't smile, but his eyes seemed to lighten.
"It's been a very long while, Mr. Weasley." He didn't let go of Ron's hand for a moment. "Congratulations on your wife's pregnancy. I hear she's been doing very well for herself." Ron couldn't help but grin. "Hermione Granger, Wizarding Barrister. Who would've guessed, eh?" Draco did smile then, a faint ghost of a thing which nonetheless reached his eyes.
"Oh, I don't know." The voice was soft, deep and had a rough edge to it. "She was always good at talking." Harry stepped up behind Malfoy and put a hand on his shoulder. "Alright, Draco?" Ron glanced briefly between the two men, watching as their eyes met and messages passed that didn't seem to need words.
"Better than you, Cap." Ron started. Captain? "The Major'll be back soon. He's talking things over with Colonel Shacklebolt now." Harry smiled, and again it was faint and like paper, as Draco's had been. He squeezed Draco's shoulder lightly, then his hand fell to his side again as his gaze lit upon Ron.
"Ron Weasley." He stepped forwards and held up his right hand, the line of scaring twined faintly around it. Ron clasped it tightly. "It's been a very long time," he said quietly, echoing Draco's words. "It's great to see you." Then he yanked Ron forward into a hug that had him wheezing as he tried to breathe through it. "So, you remembered me then?" Harry said jokingly. His voice was different, thought Ron. Harder, harsher. He remembered Harry the boy, his best friend in the whole world, young and naïve and idealistic, as he had been on the steps that last day. Perhaps it was a good thing he had remembered that boy, because there was only a ghost of him here now.
"'Course I did, you prat. 'Course I did." Harry's smile was far more real now, less hard-edged and brittle. "I have a son, you know. Harry. Harold Ronald Weasley." Now the smile lit up his eyes. "Got a second one on the way."
Harry's voice was softer again.
"That's fantastic, Ron. Really fantastic." There was something in his green eyes that Ron couldn't quite identify. "I knew you'd use what I gave you." Draco was watching him now too, eyes intent, a smile dancing about his lips, and Ron felt vaguely uncomfortable. "I have a week's leave coming up in couple of days. Would you…that is, would it be alright if I came by to see you? I haven't really been in these parts for a while." Ron smiled and the tension left Harry's shoulders.
"Sure. Whenever you feel like it. We're still at the Burrow, by the way. The whole family's there." Harry's eyes fixed on something over Ron's shoulder, then he looked back at him.
"Right then. You should go, sir." Ron was left standing abruptly alone by the fireplace and the flood powder as the pub door opened again. A single man came in, and – this was getting repetitive. Harry and Draco walked over to Snape, whose hair was messy and matted with sweat and dirt, short, but unshaven like the other soldiers. Ron sighed and turned away to the floo. He could ask Harry all the questions he wanted at the weekend. If he was still really Harry at all, but then, who was he to judge? He hadn't seen the man in six years.