Chapter 14 : Attrition

You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake. - Jeanette Rankin

"Argentum Sagittis!"

A rain of silver fell from the sky.

Greyback snarled as he conjured a gleaming golden above himself, reverberating with a gong-like sound as shards of metal clashed into it and splintered to pieces. Rafe lowered his wand calmly, his eyes blazing. "Don't count me out yet, Rufus."

Three werewolves hadn't been quick enough – they tore at shards of metal that sizzled and sputtered were they hit, the lethal metal searing a wound into their skin that would not heal properly – One had lost his wand, grasping fitfully with his other hand as his hand contorted due to the pain. Silver could do a lot of damage to werewolves. Greyback glanced aside to take in the new wounds. "You would try and kill us? Fratricide?"

"You deserve no less," Rafe answered in a low voice, staring at the other werewolves one by one, taking in their expressions; several were fidgeting or looking away, especially the ones that'd just been hit; others were grinning widely, their wands ready. This wouldn't be pretty. "I don't care whether you're a werewolf or not. I care that you ally yourself with a despicable piece of crap."

Greyback raised his hand as one of his werewolf followers stepped forwards threateningly, his hackles up. "So very – uncouth. Yet they call me the savage one!"

Remus wasn't usually an aggressive man – indeed, he'd generally elect violence as a last resort, intentionally distancing himself from what he knew his more vicious half would do; his moon-touched self. Now, however, he stood opposite Fenrir Greyback, follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort and the creature that had infected him; bit him as a mere child, cursed him to share his monstrous existence as someone less than human. His wand raised seemingly on its own, his lips bared as he growled. "Sphaera Ignis!"

Greyback's shield held, but only just – a sphere of white-hot fire crashed into it forcefully, breaking into smaller spheres that rained down around him, singing the grass and staring small fires. Greyback threw himself aside as Remus readied a second attack, stalking forward with an indescribable look of fury on his face, his eyes seemingly burning like hot coals. Immediately ten stunners headed his way – ten Death Eaters sought cover, though there were precious few places to find here, out in the open. A third explosive spell crashed between them, unhindered now by the shield spell. "Come on, coward!"

Greyback snarled, gesturing to his followers. "Come on, you lot - meat's on the menu." His wand was trained on Remus who was panting after several powerful spells in quick succession. "Crucio."

Sidestepping the curse was easy, Remus found – his quick reflexes came in handy as he sent a quick stunner back, forcing Greyback to dodge as well – Rafe was behind him, an incredibly powerful shield – almost visible – suddenly extending around the two of them. Twisting a bracelet on his arm, Rafe brought up his wand again, nodding to Remus.

"They're incredible," George whispered to his brother as the two took cover behind one of several low walls that marked the end of the military base. "I never figured him to be, y'know…"

"He was Professor for Defence against the Dark Arts for a while," Fred pointed out. "Of course he had to know a bit of defensive magic – I just never figured he'd go all mad like that… Did you see the look in his eyes? Terrifying!"

Hestia Jones approached cautiously, staying low to the ground and glancing up nervously as fiery spells passed over their cover; although Rafe was keeping them somewhat safe with that preposterously powerful shield of his, a single lucky hit could be disastrous. "That's Fenrir Greyback out there – notorious for biting children and turning them into werewolves," she said. "He's responsible for both of their… conditions, I believe. I've heard Remus mention it before."

Fred cursed, peeking over the wall at the two. "Can we help them out? No matter how powerful that Rafe fellow is – he's gotta run out of juice sometime, right? What if these folks start throwing the Killing Curse around?"

Hestia nodded uncertainly, staring worriedly at the two. "I don't know many combat spells… I wouldn't be of much help out there. You… don't have any more of those explosives, do you?"

"A couple," George said, wincing as an explosion went off with a shuddering crash, mere feet away from them and showering the three with rock chips and dust as a great cloud of smoke billowed upwards. "How do we get near?"

"We'll need to get behind them, or at their side," Fred considered, peeking over the wall again – Rafe and Remus were must closer to the other werewolves now, though he could only see about six of them from this vantage point. They actually seemed to be holding their ground against eleven enemies!

"They know we're out here," George observed, grimacing. "We'll have to leave someone behind, otherwise they'll suspect something."

"I'll stay – after all, I count for two," Fred joked, rubbing his arm tiredly – a stunner had passed over it early on and it still felt rather numb from the experience. "Miss Jones – how good are your illusions? You did hide us back on the road…"

Hestia smirked. "I can get us out of eyesight, I'm sure."

"Good. I'll stay here then and give those two some cover; you two go around those greenish buildings and kick their asses." He twirled his wand in an exaggerated motion, nodding with conviction in response to his brother's worried look. "I'll be fine."

"You'd better be, Fred." George said with a thumbs-up, quickly making his way along the wall towards a collection of tent-like structures that flanked the large plaza before the entrance that was currently a battlefield; Hestia followed him closely, muttering disillusionment spells under her breath as she went, though they would not fool anyone for long if one went out in the open. Fred stared after them for a moment longer, suddenly remembering where he was as another explosion went off nearby, shrapnel flinging itself against his Protego shield charm. "Oh, right."

Remus admitted to himself that we was severely outclassed; both Rafe and Greyback were throwing around curses that he'd never even heard of before, busier with deflecting each other's assault than taking notice of him. His most powerful curses couldn't hold a candle to Rafe's and they took a lot out of him, so Remus concentrated on taking out the other werewolves that were present, stepping quickly over the unconscious body of a Death Eater that'd been knocked out earlier as his stolen cutting curse flashed out again and encountered a hastily conjured shield that vanished instantly under the strain.

'These fellows really aren't the cream of the crop,' he thought distractedly as he slammed his wand downwards, a cloud of dust bursting upwards and sending several spells far from their target. Although Greyback was certainly a legitimate threat, these others… they were new at this, barely tested in combat if at all.

Remus could only come to one conclusion that made any sense - this was a diversion. That meant very bad things for Snape and Regulus, as they'd sneaked in somewhere on the other side of the base and might be running into whatever trap had been set; perhaps that too had been anticipated. Clearly Voldemort had known a little more about what the Ministry and the Order would do than either had even dared fear.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Remus had but a split second to widen his eyes and flinch away as a green bolt of light slammed into the soil not two feet from him, blasting it upwards as a snarling Greyback cast another; his brief distraction had been enough for three wizards to corner Rafe between them, allowing their leader a free shot at his second target. Not thinking about what might've happened, Remus ducked under the lethal spell and threw out the first curse he could think of in the spur of the moment – and one of the nastiest he knew. "Sectumsempra!"

He watched with morbid curiosity as Greyback flinched backwards as a spray of blood erupted, grasping at his side where a long and wide gash had been cut; it bled profusely, spattering the ground with a trail as the man quickly moved away. He had only used that curse once before; it'd been many years since he'd seen it in action at all, in fact. Severus, he had to admit, had a knack for coming with potent spells if he set his mind to it; he hoped for his own safety that the man never found out his old school rival had copied it.

Greyback made his way behind some of his followers, clutching his side – given his lycanthropy he'd be fine, healing in a far shorter time than any normal person would, Remus knew. He was out of the fight until he stopped that bleeding, though – Remus grinned viciously, firing that curse again – he felt only slightly guilty that it probably counted as dark magic.

"We should go left here. No, right!" George muttered, standing beside one of several oddly shaped buildings – low and green and made of some kind of soft material that imitated plants, though definitely not alive. They were entirely empty and set up in a pattern that he couldn't quite discern, though it did thankfully shield them from enemy eyes. Sounds echoed strangely between the walls, the battle sounding simultaneously close and far away depending on which way you faced.

"Right, then left, I believe." Hestia hesitated, raising her wand and narrowing her eyes. "Point me." It twirled around on her open hand, facing slightly right and ahead of them. "We're looping around quite a bit – I think we actually went the wrong direction at the start there."

"I don't care, let's go!" George urged, his hands searching his pockets for suitable traps. He'd already found several unused gas bombs deep in his pockets, hidden behind the folds; besides them he still had several Portable Swamps and a little other surprise. Palming three of the red spheres he'd used before he followed Hestia's directions, approaching the on-going battle from behind. Greyback was on the side-lines, casting something on himself; three werewolves were on the ground, felled by Rafe in a single blistering blast.

"Crucio!" snarled one of Greyback's men, finally pissed enough to resort of Unforgivables; his spell passed by Rafe and Remus easily, not even coming close; neither of them paying it any mind. They reacted with sudden horror as Fred cried out in agony, collapsing sideways from behind his cover, twitching and trembling on the ground as the torture curse connected with him; he'd been in mid-cast of a particularly nasty hex and it fizzled out.

"Fred!" George shouted, jumping out from behind his cover and reflexively throwing all three of his explosives at the one that'd cast the curse; an explosion of smoke erupted, the man collapsing to the floor with an overdose of sleeping solution in his system, his breath laboured and eyes staring blindly upwards. George froze in his tracks as several pairs of vicious animal-like eyes turned in his direction, their owner's wands aimed at him in an instant.

He probably should've thought that out better.

"We have to hurry, it sounds like there's a bloody war going on out there," Harry said, glancing deeper into the military base – at the far end was a tall building, entirely metal, having the look of sort of silo with incredibly thick walls. A bunker, perhaps? It was certainly large enough to hold a couple dragons, though he'd figured the large hangars would be used for that.

It was strange, Harry thought – here he was, in another country with the teacher he'd loathed most, actually going around and fighting Death Eaters. He was terribly new at this – and yet Scrimgeour sent him anyway, evidently confident that everything would turn out as it should. He wished that he had the same certainty; his hands trembled slightly and he was glad that Snape hadn't yet mentioned it, intent as he was on getting himself under control.

'I'm doing what I set out to do,' Harry reminded himself, thinking back to summer, when he'd promised himself that he'd take the fight to Voldemort; that he'd make himself stronger, ready to take on that bastard like Dumbledore did. To become the second wizard that Voldemort feared.

Here he was, mere months later, doing exactly that. He was terrified and really out of his depth – but he was fighting nevertheless. With renewed confidence he stepped forward, his strides strong and certain. He was the bloody 'Boy who Lived' – he was going to show these bastards that they couldn't ignore him any longer. A crooked smile made its way to his borrowed face and Snape raised an eyebrow, evidently curious about his sudden boldness, though not intrigued enough to actually ask.

"That's where we are going. I believe," Snape observed as he motioned for Harry to stop. "The Dark Lord most certainly left behind protection, and I cannot afford to be seen." he said, slipping a bottle of Polyjuice Potion from his robe, already prepared. He swallowed it in a single gulp, shuddering briefly before he once more stood perfectly still – his robe covered his face admirably well but Harry noted that the man had suddenly filled out some, no longer emaciated, nor his hands thin and pale. Snape nodded, wand ready once more. "You might consider doing the same – then we can proceed."

Harry briefly contemplated copying Snape's actions, but he was quite aware that though he had numerous samples of hairs with him for use in Polyjuice Potion, Scrimgeour didn't have any of that in mind when he gave that collection to him. There was one particular person's hair that the Minister had included that couldn't possibly be there by coincidence; hidden well among the others, seemingly innocuous. He'd have need of it, Harry was sure – already the sample was ready for use, a yellowish goo left behind in the little bottle that Snape had supplied. This time, he'd play the Minister's little game - Scrimgeour had better have a good explanation for it, though.

"Come." Snape ordered, quickly making his way towards the rusted bunker that towered over the hindmost part of the base, flanked on both sides by steep hills covered in a great many trees, their branches growing through the fencing in numerous places. Sticking to the shadows, he kept his eyes peeled for any motion. Harry followed swiftly, knowing that any disillusionment spells that might be present would be his responsibility to spot – thankfully, there appeared to be none. This was, admittedly, even more disturbing than if there'd been dozens of Death Eaters around every corner, as the silence and calm lulled them into a false sense of security.

Approaching the huge building at last, Harry noticed that the humongous door that was evidently used to enter and leave the structure – the door was easily two feet thick and equipped with huge locks – was ajar, leaving a small opening through which a thin beam of light made its way. Some smoke streamed out along the edges of the door and disappeared into the sky; several openings higher up belched more substantial amounts. "This is definitely where we need to be," he muttered.

A large empty field stretched out between them and that entrance – short grass dominated it as it grew from between cracks in the concrete, small plants making their way up the rusted sides of the nearby buildings that had seen better days. Harry fitfully made sure his cowl was up, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the feeling that he was being watched.

Harry sensed it before even Snape did, it seemed; with a yell he threw himself backwards, a shield up around the two of them before he had properly thought about it. A viciously sharp green light seared by him mere inches away as he gasped and turned to look at whomever attacked – Snape was already crawling back on his feet, blasted off it by Harry's sudden mad dash. A mad dash that had saved him from a Killing Curse.

"Now, let's not be hasty," a Death Eater said as he left the shadows of the bunker, skull-like mask reflecting the light eerily. "Who do we have here, brother mine? Little heroes?"

"The Minister's Finest," the second Death Eater commented as he dropped from a rooftop directly behind Harry and Snape; the latter quickly turned to cover that side of them; Harry briefly thought it was hilarious that they – Harry Potter and his worst teacher – would end up back to back. "What a pity it would be for them to … die."

"Who are you?" Harry growled, glaring. "If you know what's good for you… leave."

The first Death Eater laughed, a clear and high-pitched tone, turning quickly into a cackle that sounded quite mad. "Who we are, he asks. Yet he himself has not introduced himself, and so rudely fought his way into our domain!"

"Such fools," the second said with a much lower voice, malice poorly concealed in his voice as he sneered. "Let us make them a little more… pliable. Crucio!"

The spell was quick and brutal – Harry didn't have time to defend himself, quite aware that shielding wouldn't have a point. The spell connected and Harry collapsed to the ground, a ragged scream making its way out of his throat as his very being felt like it was set on fire, sharp and intense. For a brief moment, he panicked; then, he suddenly realized what to do.

Snape looked horror-struck at Harry who was writhing on the ground, glancing nervously between the two Death Eaters that were seemingly ignoring him entirely. He was about to try and set off an explosive charm – anything to break the pain curse and get Black – however distasteful a person as he was – back on his feet. Then… the screaming stopped.

It was very lucky, Harry thought, that this Death Eater didn't control his Cruciatus curse as well as Voldemort did; under that one, he'd had no defence, no way to respond; merely mindless pain, too intense for thought. Unfortunately for him, Harry had gained some experience in dealing with intense pain. Between Voldemort's attempted possession and the intense fiery visions of the summer, he knew what to do; he brought all his will to bear on the one technique he'd been using for months now to combat this weakness.

The pain wasn't –gone- Harry thought, as he got to his feet; he couldn't see the Death Eater's faces but their body language said enough, clearly caught off guard by the fact that Harry was getting up while under the Cruciatus. He forced himself to smile – though reflections of the pain echoed through him like phantoms, Harry no longer had to let them control him and this – this could work. He'd need to be quick though, as he felt his mental fortitude crumbling quickly.

"What in the name of –"

"Pathetic excuse for a wizard," Harry spat, finally leading to the Death Eater breaking the connection, mere moments before it would have failed, sending Harry back to the ground – relief flooded his body as the pain finally fled, leaving it pleasantly numb, and he remained in that void, a sort of stillness in his mind induced by the Occlumency. Still, he reasoned, cutting off what little Occlumency prowess he had now would doubtlessly get his muscles screaming at him in protest, preventing him from going on.

Snape had an intensely curious look on his face as he cautiously kept an eye on both Death Eaters, backing away and dragging Harry along.

"That's impossible," one of them snarled. "The Cruciatus is undefeatable!"

"Only a properly cast one," Harry retorted. "Preposterous amateur. The Dark Lord lets even the weakest of wizards into his ranks now, doesn't he?"

Harry wasn't quite prepared for what he saw beside him – it was barely visible under the dark hood, but Harry saw the unmistakable signs of a smile. It took a moment to click. Snape was smiling. Harry realized why just as quickly as he noted the man's hawk-eyed stare; the Death Eaters were visible upset, fuming even; and anger made mistakes much more likely.

"What would you know of it?" the taller Death Eater asked finally, sneering. "Judging by your accent, you're from Britain – one of Dumbledore's people, then? That pathetic Muggle-lover can't hold a candle to Lord Voldemort's power!"

"I know plenty about the bastard," Harry started. "I served him for many years. He was pathetic even then, and I abandoned his ranks before he even managed to get himself defeated." It was a calculated risk to unveil his fake identity; he'd already known that it would soon be compromised, given that rumours had made their way around the Ministry almost instantly, even if he'd not shown his face, so it was a matter of time. Knowing him, Scrimgeour might've actually been the one to spread them. Here, now, Harry could make use of his enemies' ignorance still. He pulled back his hood, his smile wide and somewhat deranged. "Regulus Black, at your service. Now would you tell me your names, fools?"

The two looked stunned, the taller one reacting first, furious. "BLACK? Regulus bloody Black?"

"That is my name," Harry replied smoothly, a nasty smile making it onto his face. Harry felt strange – his forced use of Occlumency to ignore his pain was making him a little loopy, and he thought uncomfortably back to the warnings given by Moody about what extended use could do to a man. It wasn't much prettier than extended use of the Cruciatus.

"You're dead!" the second Death Eater said, hand trembling as he pointed at him with his wand. "You – you're- you bastard –"

"Deprimo." Harry intoned, forcing the man to his knees; it was a testament to the Death Eater's surprise about his survival that the second didn't even react, staring dumbly at Harry. "Do not insult your betters, scum." He intoned, releasing the charm and allowing the Death Eater to slump to the ground. He could've tried stunning them then, but he was uncomfortably aware that they were unlikely to fall for it. Improvisation, then.

Harry had begun to form a hypothesis – one of the two enemies had called the other brother, and he knew of only one such pair in the Death Eaters. He vaguely recalled that he'd stunned one of them in the Department of Mysteries, the year before. "Bow to your betters, scum. Since you refuse, I'll have to introduce you, won't I, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange?"

The taller wizard snarled, ripping his Death Eater mask off; he had a broad face, his dark hair streaked with grey and hanging in clumps across his forehead. He sneered as he looked with narrowed eyes at Harry. "Regulus, you traitorous bastard!"

Harry smirked as Rodolphus made his way shakily to his feet, the thin and sallow man removing his own mask to glare at their target, exposing a face similar to Rabastan's if much narrower, his hair evenly black and tied into a ponytail. "I don't know how you survived, Reggie. It doesn't truly matter - if you're against us, I won't you show you any bloody mercy."

"Likewise." Harry glanced to Snape who had wisely kept his mouth shut. "Well, shall we show them a little about proper duelling?" Harry asked him, smile curling around the edges of his mouth as he felt his Occlumency begin to take its toll – a deep pain in his bones made itself known though it was still too dull to be a hindrance – in due time he'd be incapable of moving a muscle; for now, he could soldier on.

"Like old times, eh?" Rodolphus said as Rabastan trained his eyes on Snape.

"Let the best wizard win," Harry whispered, repeating one of the many phrases that portrait-Regulus preferred.

Rodolphus Lestrange actually smiled at that, his hand twirling as he nodded regally. "It seems that our little duelling club just go a little more real, eh?"

Harry had but a moment to parse that sentence before cold dread seeped into his bones. He was a half-trained Unspeakable with only basics of Moody's fighting technique and half a dozen effective spells. He was a Death Eater and now – apparently – a trained duellist.

"Crap."

"Expulso!" Remus snapped, his spell smashing solidly into one of the wizards that had turned to look at George, suddenly appearing from a completely different direction than he'd last been and throwing Weasley Wizarding Wheezes like there was no tomorrow. Rafe was behind him, he knew, holding off Fenrir who was throwing around Unforgivables like they were candy. "Oh no you don't!"

It was odd, Remus thought, how invigorating this was. He twisted away from a cutting curse, another catching him in the arm, though it was merely a gash – too weak to do any serious damage. One of the werewolves tried to bite him, his teeth yellowed and vicious-looking; thankfully the worst that these folks could do, even on their worst night, would have no more effect on him. The next cutting curse found its mark and the savage wizard crashed to the ground, unmoving.

"I'm getting tired," Rafe muttered as he passed by, his shield charm renewed as eight enemy wizards remained; Hestia had made her way to Fred during Remus' assault while George hid himself and threw Portable Swamps and small explosives at anyone who dared to come anywhere near him. Fred looked out cold. "We need to get Greyback alone, at least. We'll all be dead if this keeps up. No time for pussyfooting."

Remus nodded uncomfortably, thinking back to the First War, and how reminiscent this was of that moment. Then, it had been towns and villages, much like earlier this summer; Voldemort had been out in force, but the Order of the Phoenix wasn't merciless, stopping them in their tracks without outright killing them. One of the reasons that they made little progress was their refusal to use lethal magic for that reason, instead electing to lock up any Death Eaters to be tried or shipped off to Azkaban.

It hadn't lasted the war – at some point Scrimgeour, then Head Auror, had allowed the use of Unforgivable Curses in serious altercations, knowing full well that one side working with a handicap would be a serious problem. This time around, there were no such rules. The Death Eaters presently following Voldemort knew what they were getting into, and the Dark Mark would not take hold on an unwilling individual – even if they might retrace their steps later.

The next curse he cast – a particularly nasty concussive charm known to have potential lethal effects – took the enemy by surprise. Granted, he'd been using a cutting curse that doubtlessly could be classified as dark, but at least that could be defended against; concussive effects by their nature were much more difficult, requiring a technique to pierce and split them apart rather than to merely block them, as that would mere amplify it. Two of the werewolves immediately crumpled to the ground, their hands clasping their ears; ruptured eardrums, no doubt. A second blast and they were still, unconscious.

Rafe – Rafe conjured a twenty-foot fiery whip from his wand. Even Greyback stood in awe for a moment, still surprised by the wizard's incredible feats of magic. It lashed forward, slashing its way across the midsection of the tallest of Greyback's followers and sending him howling to the ground, fire biting through his clothes as he desperately worked his way out of them.

"You've gotten serious, it seems." Greyback commented, exposing a yellowed set of sharpened teeth. "How… interesting. I'd never thought you'd have the guts to do it, either of you."

"You'll die here, monster." Rafe said. "You and all your pitiful excuses for followers. What did you do, raid the bargain bin for these amateurs?"

The last of the werewolves looked at each other uncertainly as Remus cut in as well. "We'll cut this base to bits and take back what you stole."

Greyback looked on blankly for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Take back? Our Lord has already long received what he required, you imbecile! Do you truly think that it would take him this long to take what he needed? No, what is left here is merely a lure. A decoy, if you will." He smirked widely. "Fell for it, too. Within the hour, there will be nothing left here – and both the Ministry and the precious Order of the Flaming Chicken will lose their people in a tragic accident."

"We're too late," Rafe cursed, looking nervously in the direction of the rest of the military base; Snape and Regulus were out there, somewhere, and they didn't know. Death Eaters, left behind to stall or kill any pursuers before erasing all traces of the base. Probably intending to let the Romanian government take care of who's left.

"Now then, children of mine," Greyback said, scowling. "Let's make this a little more fair, shall we?" The cutting curse was away before any of them realized – Fenrir had said no incantation but the reddish blade of magic slashed into Rafe's wrist with unusual intensity, only barely stopped by the glowing bracelet he was wearing on it. With a horrified expression Rafe grabbed at it; the object snapped open, detaching from his arm and clattering to the floor as a spray of blood erupted from the wound left behind. He crashed to the ground with an agonized cry, his other hand immediately grabbing his wand as he backed away, dragging Remus along.

"That was easier than I'd thought," Greyback continued, raising a hand to stop his followers from interfering as he picked up the bracelet, now looking quite harmless once more. "Let me guess – this little thing – an Amplifier Artefact." He smirked as Rafe paled, furiously pressing his hand over his wound which was seeping blood all over him. "I thought so. Let's see how you like it when it is used against you, shall we?"

Harry faced Rodolphus Lestrange with quite a bit of trepidation – not only was the man smiling viciously at the opportunity for a duel, but he knew next to nothing about the man aside from the fact that he'd known Regulus and knew how to use a wand. Snape sized up Rabastan, the two carefully circling each other. Harry stood his ground, narrowing his eyes.

"I hadn't expected to ever get this chance," Rodolphus said softly, licking his lips. "So many times you beat me – and now here we are; you a traitor, I the loyal follower of our Lord – and we shall see what oath-breaking has done for you."

"One cannot break an oath that's not worth the ink it's written with," Harry said, making sure to rub his fake Dark Mark – Rodolphus didn't miss the gesture. He kept talking, meanwhile desperately trying to come up with a plan – the only people Harry knew how to duel had never gone all-out on him. "While you licked your master's boots, I was free. Even over all these years where Voldemort-" Rodolphus scowled at the use of the name, and Harry smiled, thinking back to the many creative insults that portrait-Regulus had used when describing his particular schoolmate. "When Voldemort was a pathetic spirit-creature, I was free. You chose poorly, Red-nose."

"Don't call me that, Black bastard," Rodolphus barked. "Crucio!"

Harry flung himself aside, a Reducto flung at Rodolphus before he'd even fully thought it through; it tore through the air with fury, exploding against the wall with enough force to kill a man. Rodolphus was briefly stunned by the violence, immediately whipping his wand through an intricate pattern. "Viscus Relinquo!"

Harry ducked under the searing yellowish spell, his own wand cutting forward swiftly. "Deprimo!"

"Really now?" Rodolphus mocked as he effortlessly swatted it aside. "Once, maybe. Twice? Who do you think I am?"

"A cocky ass, that's what," Harry answered, narrowing his eyes as he concentrated on his duels with Moody. Yes, he's relied on the gravity-manipulation spell often, but that was because he used it creatively – how could he apply that here? There was nothing above him to stick it to, but perhaps – ah, that'd be interesting. Harry swished his wand again, glancing to his side. "Deprimo!"

"Again? What are you – " He stopped suddenly as Harry ran at him – but not across the floor as he'd anticipated, as any rational person would've thought. He sprinted right across the wall, climbing six, ten feet upwards, his wand trained at his feet; Rodolphus raised an eyebrow and followed him with his wand, but Harry made himself as small a target as possible. Now, if only he could…

Rodolphus lashed out, a concussive curse blasting against the wall as granite rained around them in great chunks; a Killing Curse passed them by, courtesy of Rabastan who was locked in furious combat with Snape. Harry focused on Rodolphus and suddenly whipped his wand over to him, the charm he'd been using on himself transferred to a new target.

Rodolphus didn't have time to think about what his enemy was doing – one moment Harry was running, bizarre as it was, on the side of the building, using a gravity manipulation spell to force himself sideways onto the wall. The next, he jumped down to the ground – and his victim found himself suddenly violently twisted sideways, desperately grasping at the ground as he found that the wall was now the floor – and it was quite far away. He plunged sideways, landing painfully with a clear snapping noise.

"Sorry about that," Harry said morosely, just as Rodolphus lashed out, a blast of magic enveloping him as he tried casting with a neatly broken wand. Harry nevertheless was forced to jump backward to avoid the effusion, quickly conjuring a Protego shield.

"That could've bloody killed me!" Rodolphus exclaimed, fishing into his robe; Harry realized worriedly that he'd pulled out a second wand. "You're not Reggie, are you?"

Harry gulped, trembling. He'd seen through the disguise? How? He glanced at his hands – yes, still those of Regulus, which certainly meant the glamour spells were still up. How?

"Don't be an idiot, Rodolphus," Harry muttered. "It's been many years and we're on other sides of the war – you knew I'd go serious. You even admitted as much yourself."

"You'd never kill me, I know that much. You were always the 'reasonable' one, after all," the Death Eater mocked, forcing himself back to the floor and breaking Harry's curse in the process. "You know well the agreements made between our families – the burning of the blood ritual, if you recall? If you pass – I might tell you where you can find that wonderful cousin of yours. She's so anxious to see you again, I'm sure…"

Harry's mind raced; he'd read this. It had been somewhere in his manual, a ritual among Pureblood clans from the 1700's, long considered too old-fashioned. A ritual bonding of blood so that the mixing of the two would catch ethereal fire, symbolizing the bond they shared. Also allowing each family a potent weapon against the other, thereby allowing any disagreement to be settled quickly and decisively. Something a mere glamour didn't imitate.

"If you want my blood, you'll have to claim it," Harry said, wincing as sharp pain made its way through his extremities.

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he searched for cover; Snape and Rabastan were still firing off potent spells and both looked beaten up, but the Potions Master actually seemed to be holding his ground, moving far more fluidly than he'd ever anticipated from the man; sometimes he forgot that Snape was only in his thirties or forties, not nearly old. Between him and them was only grass; he'd have to make his own shelter.

"Come on, Reggie – not afraid to toss out the nasty stuff, are you? Never did find them very tasteful, though you seemed to have little problem with them before…" Rodolphus taunted, firing off simple concussive charms as Harry backed away. The Death Eater laughed as he approached, mere feet away from his foe as he started, "Avada…"

Harry froze, realizing that he'd have no way to dodge. He needed to get away – needed to get Rodolphus away. He hadn't fully thought it through, but an option appeared to him; a spell he's been practicing of late, though never considered actually using in a duel. No incantation – that was the whole point. Harry forced his mind into the state required; calm, relaxed. He waved his wand in a complex spiralling shape, his eyes flashing as he forced his magic to do his bidding.

The effect was more dramatic than Harry had anticipated; in an instant a sphere of air appeared around him, forcing everything away in a sudden explosion, Rodolphus bouncing off and a vast swathe of earth gouged into the soil below him as the air encountered resistance; apparently this was what happened when you overcharge a spell designed to avoid a vacuum. Harry tiredly dropped into the hole he'd created – almost four foot deep. Rodolphus was slowly making his way upright, blood streaming freely from his scalp. Realizing suddenly what an opportunity this was, Harry fished the little bottle of Polyjuice from his robe and chugged it back in one go – the eerie feeling of crawling flesh was as he remembered and he suddenly found himself somewhat farsighted; the spells he'd been using to temporarily fix his eyesight and allow him to go around without glasses were no longer effective.

The Polyjuice Potion had had no apparent effect; Harry grinned, nodding to himself as he rose from the hole, just as Rodolphus appeared at the edge of it. He raised his hand, showing a bleeding gash he'd gotten moments earlier, courtesy of one of his enemy's nastier attacks. "It seems we're even."

"Let us see, then." Rodolphus said, spattering his blood across the floor as he quickly went about mending it, keeping a sharp eye on Harry; the blood on the floor flared up with a bright bluish flame; after mere moments the conflagration died down again. "Huh."

Harry grinned, thanking Scrimgeour for his foresight. It'd been quite a surprise, really, for Scrimgeour to even have this was remarkable – he'd not said where he retrieved them from, of course. The Minister had samples of the hair of the original Regulus Black.

"Well, then." Rodolphus said, straightening. "I… Reggie, this doesn't have to end like this…"

"You know it has to," Harry answered sadly. "I have obligations, you have your own."

"That's not what I meant," Rodolphus answered. "Listen…"

Greyback studied the dull, unadorned bracelet curiously; he'd seen it in action moments ago and was quite aware it was powerful, perhaps monstrously so. It didn't look it.

"You can't use it," Rafe said, wincing as he held his wounded wrist. "Don't… don't."

Greyback grinned, examining the object further. George looked on worriedly as Hestia stood up, quickly crossing the distance between herself and Rafe. Several of Greyback's followers following her approach with growls and narrowed eyes. Remus kept his wand at the ready for any sign of treachery as she moved to Rafe's side, carefully closing his wound with a medical spell she muttered softly under her breath.

"You brought your own healer?" Greyback observed in amusement, his eyes narrowed at her. She was about to move off when Greyback snarled at her: "I didn't say you could leave."

"Let her go, Greyback. She's not involved in this," Remus stated with conviction. "You and us – that's where this'll stay. It's how it's supposed to be, Lycanthrope to Lycanthrope."

"You consider me noble? I think not." Greyback said mirthlessly, clasping the bracelet artefact around his wrist with a quick movement and barking : "Incendio!" Rafe jumped aside, trying to intercept the curse with a cry that sounded more like a howl.

A two-foot wide column of fire burst from Greyback's hand; he cried out and dropped his wand in an instant, screaming as he grasped his charred limb, the skin burned straight off the bone by the overpowered curse; Hestia was on the floor, twitching, her robe on fire and smoke rising from her fallen form. Remus cried as he rushed to her side; he didn't need to check if she was alright; nobody could survive that much damage.

"You monster," Remus snarled; Rafe hadn't been quick enough to intercept the blast and his grief-filled look turned into rage as Greyback howled and his followers backed away nervously. Rafe picked up the bracelet again that had been blasted off the poor user's wrist when he tried unsuccessfully to channel magic through it, burning himself out after only a single spell. He clasped it back on his own arm and raised it to his enemies, who looked uncertainly at each other. Remus cried over Hestia's fallen form; she'd died instantly. Rafe hadn't known her well, but a rage welled up from deep inside him nevertheless; Greyback had used his tool, his artefact to do this horror – that was unforgivable.

"Fenrir Greyback – 'maker' of mine – you didn't think that an artefact such as this one would work without effort? Like a wand, only stronger?" he said, his voice soft but dangerous. "This has a cost – a cost no wand, not even the strongest, required in payment. I was willing to sacrifice part of myself to wield it – that's why it'll work for me. You – you will never use that hand again. That'll scar – and it'll be a cursed scar, permanently seared into you."

Greyback howled in fury, grasping his wand in his other hand; it was still smoking slightly from the fire-spell he'd launched. He slashed it sideward; nothing seemed to happen, but Greyback formed a slight smile, glancing back towards the centre of the base; great clouds of billowing smoke rose from the top of the tallest building, high into the sky. "I won't have to wait long for my vengeance… I am no stranger to this land. Farewell, children."

Without another word, he vanished – he and all the living werewolves apparated away with dull cracks, leaving a weeping Remus and furious Rafe behind, staring impotently at the devastation. Fred, finally having regained consciousness approached, as did George, hesitantly moving from their positions of safety. Fred limped, still experiencing the after-effects of his Cruciatus experience; neither of the brothers knew what to say, quickly making their way to each other – for a moment they merely stared at each other, before they hugged each other briefly, relieved that both had survived.

Snape found himself in a bit of a bind – though he was quite capable of a great many nasty curses, he found himself limited in his choices, as his personal repertoire was far too recognizable for his opponent, Rabastan Lestrange, to miss. If he used even one Sectumsempra, he'd be under suspicion – anything else he'd come up with and Rabastan would outright know who he was. Faced with those limitations, his spell choice turned out to be remarkably limited.

"Inflammare!" he said, his spell glancing off the tall wizard's shield and bursting on the ground; the embers quickly died out as they did not find suitable fuel and Rabastan snarled; the duel had become somewhat repetitious, neither one particularly prone to pulling out their best just yet. He glanced at Black –he stood at wand-point with Rodolphus Lestrange, though they appeared to be talking – if he hadn't known the man had sworn an Unbreakable Vow, he'd suspect treachery.

"Expulso!" Snape tried; not a spell he used often, it'd probably been the first time he used it since Hogwarts; it found its mark and Rabastan stumbled back as he gasped and covered his abdomen with his hand, covering the spot he'd been hit. "Give up yet, Lestrange?"

Only an incoherent yell came in return and Snape backed off, making his way towards Regulus – hopefully a little extra firepower would be enough here, even if he risked making it a two-on-two fight; his reserves were getting low and he couldn't keep this up for much longer. He was a Potions Professor foremost, and his physical abilities had never been his strong suit.

He was caught off guard as instead of a curse, Rabastan suddenly stormed forward physically, his full weight colliding with him and sending him scooting back, sliding dazedly into a hole – what was a hole doing in the middle of a perfectly good field? Everything was spinning – why was everything –

Harry cursed as Snape sailed by between him and Rodolphus and collapsed unconscious at the bottom of the hole he'd made with his air bubble technique; Rabastan panted loudly as he slid to a halt himself, taking deep breaths and attempting get back on his feet as he held a hand to his bleeding side. He grinned at his brother. "Got him."

Rodolphus looked apologetically at Harry before he nodded determinedly. "Seems that this is the end. I'm sorry… I suppose it won't work out, then."

Harry was panicking internally and the pain in his limbs was beginning to edge on debilitating – only his feeble grasp on Occlumency allowed him to remain upright at all, let alone appear collected. "It doesn't have to end like this."

"No," Rodolphus agreed silently, as he raised his wand. "But it will."

In a last-ditch effort, Harry threw all that he had at his secret weapon; the one thing he knew nobody expected, especially from Regulus Black, it seemed. He'd used it reflexively a few times now – pulling and pushing and levitating a few things haphazardly. Now would be the ideal time for his magic to be helpful and listen. He concentrated as well as he could, trying to ignore distractions as he brought his empty hand forward, lowering his wand as if admitting defeat.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Rodolphus asked as Rabastan finally stood upright; they flanked each other, and Harry saw his opportunity. With a strangled yell that was half a battle cry and half pain he slammed his empty hand forward, forcing the strongest magical blow he could manage without a wand.

Rodolphus had only a moment to respond with an incredulous gasp as he was thrown violently backwards, colliding painfully with his brother and sending both skidding backwards across the floor, crumpling over each other. Harry panted, immediately firing stunners at the duo; Rabastan was knocked out immediately and was partially on top of his brother who couldn't quite manage to get out from under him, looking in panic at Harry's approaching form, his sharp grey eyes narrowing as he sent another stunner that slammed into Rabastan's body.

Something changed in the air – Harry didn't quite know what but from one moment to the next, it was different. Rodolphus went from panicked to relieved in an instant, smiling cheekily as he waved – between one moment and the next he vanished, loose parts of his robe twirling to the ground in his wake. That feeling has been the wards going down – including the apparition wards. The Lestranges were gone.

"Is there anyone still here?" George asked uncertainly – Fred was limping beside him, his limbs still refusing to cooperate properly as they occasionally twitched – whoever did the curse had been quite proficient at it, it seemed. "It's so quiet…"

"Something's burning up there," Rafe said, subdued; Remus and he were dragging a stretcher along on which their fallen comrade rested. "When Greyback released the apparition wards, they probably all fled and lit the place up on fire in their wake, I'd imagine. We'll just have to see if the mission was successful."

"I dearly hope so," Fred muttered to his brother, looking uncertainly at Remus, who seemed heartbroken, gazing repeatedly at Hestia Jones' body. "If this was all for nothing…"

"Lupin," said a gravelly voice; Snape was propped up opposite the tall bunker, his arm hanging limply beside him and his eyes dull. "Black went in – he's trying to save what he can, in there. Told me nobody else should risk it. He told me to take the Portkey back." He coughed and winced. "He knocked out both the Lestrange brothers; saved my life."

Remus nodded, staring again at Hestia. "We … we lost her."

Snape looked disinterested but he acknowledged Remus, slowly rising to his feet and looking at the distraught Weasley twins and Rafe, who appeared exhausted. "How many did you fight?"

"About twenty," Rafe answered, rubbing his hand through his hair nervously. "We did well, considering."

"Greyback got away!" Remus snarled. "He should've… I should've…"

Rafe put a hand on his arm and nodded in understanding. "We'll meet him again, Remus. You know that it'll be one of us that takes him out, right? This time, he merely lost his hand. He'll not be so lucky next time."

A sudden implosion interrupted them – a large section of the bunker buckled inwards, fire bursting through the wall immediately afterwards and exploding outward in great streams of fire that eerily resembled serpents, fangs outstretched into the sky.

"Fiendfyre!" Rafe exclaimed, eyes wide. "H- Black went in there?"

"'The rash idiot," Snape muttered. "Should've been in Gryffindor."

Harry cursed as he avoided a metal beam crashing down from the ceiling – though the fire hadn't spread very far yet, it was ferocious, and he had no trouble telling what it was. Someone had cast Fiendfyre here, just after the Lestranges left; it would consume and burn until it had no fuel left, and this base contained a LOT of fuel.

"Anyone here?" Harry called out as he coughed and worked his way through the thick smoke and awful smell; he cast a more subdued version of his air sphere spell and found that it served quite well as a makeshift bubblehead charm , allowing him to take some much-needed deep breaths.

"Help!" Harry heard from somewhere in front of him – remarkably close, actually. He looked up, realizing that about four feet above him hung a panicking wizard, strapped hand and feet to a bar and looking slightly singed; not by Fiendfyre, thankfully. The man called again, desperately, in some foreign language.

"I'll get you free," Harry said; he quickly put a cushioning charm on the floor and a simple Diffindo severed the iron bar that the man was hanging from; he landed with a slight bounce, quickly making his way to his feet, though he was smoking slightly. "Three. Three." He said, gesturing. "Three people."

Harry nodded in understanding, gesturing towards the entrance. "Get to the exit, I'll fetch the others." He saw the small man go – if he remembered his briefing correctly, that had to be 'Dob', one of the missing members from the Reserves.

Speaking of Dragons – though giant pens were here, clearly designed to hold the gigantic lizards, none were present. Harry saw clear depressions and scratches that suggested they'd been here recently; they must've been moved as little as an hour ago, straight to Voldemort. They had been too late – just by a little.

"Anyone there?" Harry called out again, casting a more powerful air sphere charm that unfortunately had rather the opposite effect than he'd anticipated; though smoke was blown away, the Fiendfyre reacted ferociously to the new oxygen and flared up dramatically, quickly beginning to spread towards the ceiling. Harry thought he could hear someone crying out in pain, though, and headed for the sound.

"Up here!" the voice called and Harry found a second wizard, bound like the first; he felt relief flood his system as he recognized the dirty and tired man as Charlie Weasley, his eyes wide and desperate as the Fiendfyre approached. "Get me down!"

The flames grew higher still and there was no more time; without even thinking of a cushioning charm Harry cut away the bar and caught Charlie haphazardly in his arms, lowering him to the floor where he managed to barely keep himself upright. He dragged the man along – molten metal began raining from the ceiling and he's recognized what was up there – a single glance had been enough.

Bombs. Lots of bombs. He heard another cry in the darkness – he briefly considered going back but the vicious Fiendfyre cut off his way back and he had to take Charlie to his brothers; ignoring his conscience he moved onward, Charlie barely conscious in his arms as he crashed through the gap in the bunker's huge door where Dob was waiting for him; they stumbled into the sunlight, Harry coughing his lungs out as Remus and Rafe quickly made their way over, helping him to the ground and casting what seemed to be some kind of healing charm. Fiendfyre burst out of the door and flared high into the sky, dragons and lions battling for dominance before the flare subsided; Harry imagined he could hear a dreadful scream echoing inside before it was silenced and he vomited across the floor, shuddering.

Fred and George were at Charlie's side, shaking him – Dob lowering himself to the floor and cried, his tears soaking into his ragged robe as he realized that he'd survived – but not everyone had.

Finally, Harry managed to get his bearings and looking at the people gathered around him – everyone was there, even Snape, except for – "Where's Hestia?"

"I'm… I'm sorry," Remus said sadly. "She… didn't make it."

Harry shuddered, realizing that there were more deaths than just whoever he'd left inside. He looked guiltily at the burning bunker behind him, suddenly realizing how close they still were to it, and what it contained. "We need to get out of here!"

"Right now," Charlie agreed, coughing wildly as Fred and George sighed in relief as he got to his knees and nodded at 'Regulus'. "The dead man's right. There's plenty to bring this whole place down around us in there, I'm certain. Fiendfyre's going to be quicker than normal fire in setting those off. We need to leave, now."

"Portkeys." Snape intoned.

Harry nodded distractedly, his mind on Hestia, on the building behind him, on the man he'd wandlessly pulled through a deadly ward. He'd been dealing in a lot of death today. "Let's leave."

It took Harry only moments after the Portkey activated and a wave of heat followed them – they were just in time, it seemed - to realize what had slipped his mind there, when they'd decided to evacuate a doomed military base. Two more wizards remained bound and under stasis, stashed under one of the planes in the hangar they'd first crossed. He'd forgotten all about them.

He felt sick.

Author's Note : Well, there we go - actionheavy and with some nasty losses for Harry's side, as he's for the first time personally confronted with how nasty a war can get, even in a battle between only a few people.

References here include the chapter quote obviously, as well as the bracelet, inspired by Ter'Angreal from the Wheel of Time series and gone into more detail about soon; the price is rather high, I'm afraid.

Next chapter, Aftermath, will deal with some of the repercussions of this chapter, including Harry going back to Sirius' house to deal with his part in the events, as well as more Kreacher. Regulus Black also finds himself with an invitation to the Weasley residence for dinner, and he's uncertain how he's going to go about lying outright to the family he loves most. Then, there's the wandless magic... that talk with Dumbledore had better be soon.

See you all in Romania - Aftermath.