Visitor, Chapter 41
Hello everyone, as promised, a new quick chapter ^^ chap 42 and 43 shall be out soon as well, but I'm still busy with 44. I hope that you like this one :) Finally, the battle is here! Thank you all for your kind reviews!
I'm not sure how much I will be able to write. I'll be going to Japan in two weeks and still have to do quite a bit of paperwork for that so I'll be quite busy for some time.
Enjoy
The first thing Harry noticed when he arrived on the large, rolling hills of France was how different this fight was from the last one. Having taken place in the narrow streets of London around Grimmauld place, the settling had been more suited to guerrilla tactics, something that was impossible here. He saw that they had the advantage of the sun for now, and while for him that wouldn't matter with the 360 degree vision he'd have when he would adjust his band, it would hinder their enemies. He peered at the next hill, not seeing anyone there yet, while their own army was appearing en masse.
For a moment, he thought that they wouldn't arrive… but then noticed something moving on top of the other hill, a scout that looked down at them and roared instructions to someone behind him, his voice magnified greatly by the wand pressed against his throat. Harry cursed when realising the other army was completely invisible to them, blocked by the hill, but on the other hand, it would mean that they would have to storm over the top before reaching them, as he knew that Marvolo wasn't exactly so stupid as to send his army uphill to meet the others.
He looked around but saw nothing in the landscape that could aid them except for the tall, dry grass in which one could let himself fall to hide, and a couple of scattered boulders. It was warm for January, so the grass wasn't slippery with frost, and while he knew that some people would be disappointed as it would give them an element less to work with, he himself, not having mastered any elemental magic and not wanting to become the victim of it, was merely relieved. While he could cast basic elemental spells and a few advanced ones, he didn't know what to do when hail would rise up from the grass.
Shadows moved around him, and he realised with a sudden jolt that it were the Vampires, who had run up the hill as quickly as they could. The rest turned and followed them, and he ran with them, embarrassed to not have noticed Marvolo's calling out to hide behind their own hill so their formation wouldn't be revealed yet. Harry thought it a bit strange... if one enemy would apparate over quickly to their side, they would be able to see their exact formation and run back again.
Good thinking, he heard in his mind. I'll send someone to their side in a second to do just that.
Smirking when having been able to contribute at least something already, he took his place, right behind the impatient dwarves, and he amused himself for a while by watching them rile each other up. Marvolo hadn't wanted him right up front, but he'd insisted, not wanting to be seen as a weakling. And, as he had pointed out, he was better in short than long range magic, as his force was better than his aim. He carefully constructed a shield around himself, a stronger one than the shield the Twins' robes provided. He'd refused his lover's offer to create long-term shields, as Harry knew they would eat Marvolo's magic away during the fight, and he didn't want the man to weaken, even slightly, on his behalf. He hadn't trained for months to be coddled…
Rodolphus came to stand next to him and Harry grinned, glad for it. He had trained so often with the man now that they were pretty much in sync, and they could react to something the other did before it happened by now. It really was a pity that Shay wasn't here now though… he clearly remembered how her knife had saved him during the last battle… Merlin, that hadn't even been long ago, and still it felt ages away. He hadn't even known Shay then, and Sirius had still been on the side of the Order. Things were happening far too fast. It reminded him of the whirlwind of happenings that always seemed to take place during the last few weeks of the school year, only now January wasn't even over yet.
Like last time, the high spirits and excitement, as well as the fear, was tangible in the air. The Dementors weren't here yet, thankfully, and would only arrive last-minute, coming from the other side to spread fear in the enemy ranks already before settling next to the Vampires. With any luck, some people might not feel well enough to fight and be discouraged so much that they would go down easily after. Harry shivered at the thought of his encounters with them, and hoped the Vampires separating them would keep him from fainting if they came too close. He wondered if his worst image would still be his mother screaming as she died…
Concentrate Harry.
He sighed, trying to clear his mind, not sure if the thought had been his own or Marvolo's, but glad to have his previous stream of thoughts interrupted. He was becoming impatient now, and he could see his impatience reflected amongst the ranks, especially in the dwarfs and werewolves. He peered at the left at the group there, their faces unrecognisable as they stood so far away, rows and rows of masked and robed people separating them, but even from this distance he could make out the slightly hunched stances. He knew that werewolves could transform half even if the moon wasn't shining, and it seemed that Greyback's pack especially had practised it so much that it had become a second –or third- nature to them. He wondered if Ryder was there with his pack as well or if he had not been able to convince his Alpha to support Voldemort fully and was now fighting among the magicians. Harry honestly couldn't remember what had become of the feud between those two packs…
Harry looked behind him and was surprised by the sheer numbers. Even at the grounds of Headquarters, where he'd been astonished by the size of the group, he hadn't counted this many people… and he now saw that not only Death Eaters were here, but also others, in regular robes, unmasked, of all different nationalities. It appeared they had more support than thought before, and Marvolo's words of people from other continents waiting for Europe to sort its business out might be true on the other side, but the fighters for freedom were all here, and Harry smiled as a group of native Americans appeared, holding staffs rather than wands, their naked chests colourful. A whole force of other people also arrived, people who were so black that Harry at first thought they were fully robed when they came running down the hill with surprising speed before finding a place amongst the ranks.
One of them came to stand near Harry, and the teen looked at the impressive man with slight awe and a great deal of curiousity, a wand far longer than he'd ever seen in the man's hand. Harry blushed and looked away when his gaze travelled slightly lower and he noticed that the man wasn't wearing anything but a thin, rather short hide to cover his private parts. These must be the African wizards Marvolo had spoken of, the ones who had to hide deep in the jungle to avoid Muggle eyes. He remembered little of them, as Marvolo had been more interested in the magic of the Mages in the Brazilian jungle than the African one, but he was certain that the mind-controlling mask Stryker had shown him before had originated among these people, and the rare occasion that Marvolo had mentioned them, he had spoken with appreciation for their skill, power and inventiveness. Harry was suddenly very glad that those practitioners of ancient magic were not standing on the other hill.
The fields suddenly went very still, though no sign had been given, and the teen realised that no noise of apparition had sounded for minutes. An unseen force seemed to hold everyone in its grip as Marvolo walked through the middle, his side brushing Harry's shoulder slightly as he walked past, though ruby eyes kept themselves fixated on the top of the hill he strode up. He looked... magnificent, there was no other word for it. Harry thought that, had the sun stood on the other side of the sky, the man might have looked even more impressive, a silhouette surrounded by an aura of sunlight. The thought made him bite back a slight laugh. The image would be far too deceiving.
Sensing that the fight was really going to start, he also fixed the band over his eyes that would allow him to see everything, and he blinked a few times to adjust to it, after having needed to look through the holes in his mask for some time. He gripped his wand as Marvolo turned around to face the army.
"My followers, friends, allies," he started, with a voice that carried far over the rows of people. "Thank you all for joining this fight today. Our cause has been challenged, the rights we wish the obtain are being disapproved of, and the governments of many countries are trying to trample us, but we won't give in. Show them what we are made of, and why exactly we are worth practising our magic openly, worth openly showing who we are, no matter whether we are magicians, Dwarfs, Vampires or otherwise. We have a right to be, and to be recognised! Fight today as if it will be your last, fight for your freedom, for your magic. For magic, my friends, is might."
Harry cheered just as hard as the rest, not sparing his voice as he raised his wand, gripped by the persuasiveness in that voice, moved to tears as he knew that here were hundreds, if not thousands of people who agreed with them, people who believed the same things as he did and who were willing to do everything in their power to realise their goals. And Marvolo… perhaps it was strange to idolise your own lover, but Harry couldn't help but do so when he saw how people clung to his every word, words which gave them the will and strength they needed.
The other saviour, he thought with irony. The real saviour.
"Their numbers are great," Marvolo continued as the sounds died down a bit. "It is true, we are outnumbered, but numbers count for nothing when I know that every one of you has enough power in him or her to fell ten men or more. Their armies consist only of humans and several Veela, which gives a large number of us an even greater advantage. They have an arrow formation with the Veela in front and magicians all behind those. Be careful not to be lured by those creatures' beauty… Wait for the Dementors to arrive, which will weaken their power, and then let the Vampires take those out first before we move on. That was all the advice I can give you for now… May magic be with you."
As one man, they began to move over the hill, and rather than fall back into the ranks like a normal leader would have done, Marvolo remained in front, confident in his abilities. They didn't move far, halting when half of the groups on front were over the hill, Harry thankfully far enough on front to see what was happening. He held his breath as he saw the other army running towards them already, unaware yet of the giant black cloud that was quickly gaining on them high up in the sky, faster and lower like a Seeker would dive for the snitch. The screams started before the other army was half-way their hill, Dementors dropping from the skies on them before making their way over to Marvolo's army, the Veela, who had been dancing wildly before falling silent for a moment and revealing their ugly, bird-like forms.
The Vampires, who had been waiting patiently, ran down the hill, quicker than anything Harry had seen before, mere blurs on the grass. No more than fifteen seconds later they were back again, arriving just in time to establish a barrier in between the magicians and Dementors, who were now floating in the right flank.
Anger rose within him as their enemies just trampled the fallen Veela, not even taking care to avoid or remove them, crawling over them as if they were mere fallen animals. He felt sorry for the creatures, for choosing the wrong side, a side that promised golden mountains without telling them it was black gold on which the creatures would burn. Using that anger to fuel himself, Harry broke out in a run, following others and being followed by others, somewhere in the back of his mind hoping he wouldn't trip and fall. He was clumsy enough for it…
Then, he didn't even have time to think anymore, having reached the front lines of the enemies, starting with the line of curses and spells he had practised for this exact moment. He blasted the first people who reached him back, using their moment of imbalance to set them aflame, the fire spreading out to the grass as they fell and tried to put themselves out. Rodolphus, who was still next to him and accomplished with the element, made use of his spell to control it further, making sure it went back instead of forward, quickly helped by some who seemed to do nothing at first, until harry realised they were controlling the air, most likely influencing the oxygen in it. It became a battle of control there, mages on both sides now trying to get the upper hand over the fire, until Harry, who couldn't do much with both elements, decided to release a poisonous smoke from his wand at a moment their side had the fire and the wind under control.
He felt victorious as he saw the effect it had, the mages on the opposite side falling to the ground, their hands covering their mouths and noses, defenceless to the fire that suddenly swept over them and burned most of them alive. Others, who were fast enough to cast a bubble-head charm and other means to protect themselves from the smoke, tried to put the fire out now it was clear they couldn't use it anymore, but a hoard of Dementors which came from nowhere dived down on them and feasted upon their souls as the mages around Harry took them out one by one.
By now, more people who had noticed their fight started to release poisonous fumes, the wind still controlled to be in their favour, and the effect was very successful until the enemy surprised them by concentrating only on those who were controlling the wind, knowing that the natural one came from their side. Harry cursed and cast both a bubble-head charm and a spell on himself that would temporarily make his robes fire-proof, something he should have done much earlier. The last appeared to be unnecessary however, as the last act of the wind-controllers was to cut off all oxygen supply at once, the fire dying instantly.
Rodolphus pulled him away as they lost ground, but Harry refused to retreat, afraid to be trampled by his fellow soldiers. Instead, he ran up to a somewhat open spot that was higher than the rest so the ground would make up for his lack of height. He had grown somewhat, but being forced to grow up in a small cupboard had stunted his growth to an amount of which he wasn't certain he could ever recover.
Now being on eye-level with most others, he started a difficult spellwork Devaki had taught him a long time ago, and he bit his lip in concentration as he pulled water out of the air and heated it until he had a ring of boiling hot water surrounding him closely. It was one of the many variations of one spell actually, and similar to boiling mist he had used against Eyolf the day he had gotten Dumbledore's memories. He gulped, the heat a tad too close for his liking, but he had limited space to with. He cried out as he evaded a stunner that was shot straight at him and he hit the water himself, burning his side. He nearly choked on his tongue as he tried not to lose it.
Finally succeeding to control the wobbly water and being sure it wouldn't go wild if he tried to push it in the direction he wanted, Harry felt relieved. He had to evade another curse and swore, but this time he saw it coming and was smart enough to move the ring with him instead of running into it again. At last, he chose his targets and flung small splashes of it towards the faces, glad they did not wear masks like the Death Eaters. He didn't stop to look at his work, but the screams told him he'd hit, and he kept manipulating the water with the only spell he knew, heating it up and throwing it towards his enemies. One by one they went down, until something rumbled and earth shot up, clasping around his ankle, the water falling down on the ground.
He fired spells at it to break loose, but couldn't use the usual spells for it in fear of injuring his own feet. The earth crept further and formed a hand, and his heart sank when he realised it was a Golem, a creature made and controlled by a powerful wizard. Who was here that could make Golems? Remembering Marvolo's advise about Golems he had received once, Harry looked it straight in the eyes, and while he had not expected to see anything he recognised – there were thousands of wizards fighting here after all-, he was frozen on the spot when familiar light blue eyes met his.
"Dumbledore…" he whispered. The Golem did not react on it, merely continued to immobilise him. A shiver went through him. While he knew it was a magically made creature, it did not diminish the feeling that he was quite literally in Dumbledore's hands again now. Help was not something he would get here now. All Death Eaters were far too preoccupied, and trying to avoid the Golem as much as possible. And then there was also the fact that masks could be handy, but also made it impossible to recognise him. He was just another death eater, and no-one was going to risk his or her life for him. He laughed bitterly, suddenly remembering words he had heard long ago, or it seemed that way at least.
"Every man and woman will fight for themselves and if someone covers you, that's great, but don't expect it to happen, because then you will be dead. The Dark Lord will have other things on his mind than to watch your every move, and you will be one of the prime targets of the Light."
It was true, wasn't it? He was here now, dangling in the air, and while he was surrounded by fighting people, he was truly alone. The mind-link was shut from his side, though not the other way around, and hammering on the iron doors of Marvolo's mind would only distract and potentially harm the man even, if he was fighting a dangerous enemy. It was as something heavy dropped into the pit of his stomach, Eyolf's words echoing through his mind.
"No-one cares about when facing hundreds of enemies, all trying to kill you."
And they didn't, all too pre-occupied with staying alive themselves. It was as if he were a ghost, floating through the people, not able to interfere. His heart sank when he saw the state of the battle. They were losing ground, and losing people fast… too fast. Their initial success was over, and the other army had more than made up for their losses. One thing they had not accounted for when seeing the formation of the enemies was that they had been ranked through value, with the best fighters in the back to save their energy so they could take out masses when their enemy was weaker. It was as if the lives of those in the front lines had meant nothing more than to save energy for a few.
" I have told you before that you have to use every means possible to stay alive when confronted with enemies. You cannot afford to not throw a dagger in someone's back during a battle if it gives you a chance to live a few seconds longer.If you are aware enough, and, no matter how little you may like it, play foul enough, you will survive."
Advise... the man had given him advice to get through this… after all the talk of how war wasn't glorious, how war wasn't honest and foul, he had been given a piece of advice of a value he had not fully recognised back then. He had not been aware enough, and had had to pay for that. As a result, the chances that he would survive had diminished greatly.
He looked at the fighting masses as he was carried through the battle, unable to move, and while he had not seen it before, perhaps not wanted to see it before, he saw now what Eyolf had meant. Before, Marvolo's words about worth and freedom had penetrated his mind, clouded it from reality, but he saw now the true horrors of war. Blood soaked the field, people were left dying where they fell, their enemies not even caring to give them a proper finishing blow, people went berserk in their last moments like madmen, burned and unrecognizable lumps of flesh. He had did this too, just now, burning people and leaving them, and he felt slightly sick with himself.
But indeed, no matter how little he liked it… he would have to fight, and he would do it in the nature of war: foul and full of risk. He would not get caught by Dumbledore ever again. A plan started to form in his mind when he realised that the Golem was probably bringing him there. He released a breath, something he'd better not have done, as the hand was around his middle now, and tightened like a snake, not giving in an inch, making him struggle to breathe. His hand was thankfully still clenched around his wand, and he used Dumbledore's own Golem to hide it from sight, jabbing it into the earth, thankful when finding it a bit loose, only held together by magic, not because it was so solid. Only the handle poked out now, and he touched it lightly with his fingers, filling it with magic until the time was there. There would be no dual for Dumbledore, no glorious speech for him to say, no mad twinkling eyes as he reprimanded Harry. He would simply… die.
Finally, he spotted the man, who was ironically duelling with Marvolo, who noticed the Golem and, naturally, Harry. The duel ceased as the Golem lowered Harry to the ground. Dumbledore came closer, a small smirk settling around his mouth.
"Harry, Harry… there you are." He said, opening his mouth to say even more. Harry did not reply, closing his eyes and swallowing slowly. So much could go wrong… so much…
I trust you to patch me up he thought, hoping with all his mind that it would reach his lover, pushing the thought forcefully into Marvolo's mind. I'm I'm sorry, very sorry, if this goes wrong.
Harry… Harry don't be stupid, whatever heroic thing you want to do, don't, don't!
Dumbledore had come even closer now, was standing next to him, his heart beating fast as the old man bent over him, over the hand that enclosed him. Now… there was no other chance. Now, don't be a coward Harry… Now…
"Bombarda"
Everything around him exploded, but he did not see, his own cries ringing in his ears as pain shot through him, through all of his limbs, Marvolo's fury and despair splitting his scar open as well, making the experience complete. The last thing he saw as he blacked out were giant silhouettes against the sun, as if enormous birds.
XxX
A shiver ran through his massive body as they approached the site of blood. It filled his nostrils, and from the corners of his eyes he was aware of souls seeking harbour above the clouds, few sticking around to become the bleak forms of non-life that inhabited the fortress of magic they had spent so much time near. The spiny naked paws of Dragonheart clutched his spikes as he dived, the other dragons following, the drums of war echoing through their blood, the shrieking of their ancestors calling from the earth for vengeance. This was what he had been born to do… To soar on the wind and hunt his prey freely.
At last they reached the blood-soaked hills, and he folded in one of his wings to evade a Man of the Mountains, who stared at him dumbly for a moment before trying to grab his tail. Xaphia twisted around and sent a straight jet of fire to his eyes, though making the flame not long enough to actually reach it. It was merely a warning, and he turned around again and flew on, easily spotting his enemies, clouds of hostility rising from them in a sickeningly pale yellow.
He saw the memories of the battle, hundreds of memories all twisting and turning on the field below, humans and other creatures falling to the earth while their souls parted from them, magic making the air a sizzling mass. Something exploded in front of them, and he rolled away to avoid clutters of earth that were blasted into the air. He snarled, but then noticed a powerful, bright blue soul drifting upwards, slowly as if reluctant to part. Xaphia slowed down as well, gazing at it, almost hypnotised, ignoring Dragonheart's poking against his side to move on.
At last, he dropped down to the earth, a sudden fear gripping him, and as he tumbled, he just saw one of the Black Horror's of Fear, one of the few creatures who could defeat a dragon, but instead of going after Xaphia, it clasped raw, ugly hands over the blue soul and brought it to his mouth, sucking it up incredibly slowly before it could escape.
Slowly, Xaphia turned away from the Black Horror, letting himself drop even more so he could properly hunt, claws outstretched towards his first victim. He tried to ignore the feelings the physical contact evoked in him, the curse of dragons to feel everything their victim did if the feelings were intense. And intense they were this moment, fear rising up from everywhere. Xaphia felt a few lesser dragons behind him flee to higher air for a moment and growled at them, pleased when they obeyed and returned. It seemed they had come on the right moment. If the burning orb of day had shifted towards the never ending line in distance only slightly more, the Lord of Serpents would have lost this battle… although Xaphia sensed that he already felt as if he had lost. This revelation puzzled him slightly. Their arrival had turned the tides, but the Lord was feeling oddly… detached.
New strength rose within him, his pride would not allow for this! With renewed vigour, he tore up his enemies while Dragonheart released his own magic through that odd twig of his. Must be a human thing… Humans cowered before him as he got an idea and attacked their twigs, becoming more and more satisfied with every branch that snapped in between his mighty jaws. He was in his element, now and then flying, but mostly running over the earth, using his wings to keep balance and to slightly go from side to side. A shadow kept up with him and Xaphia released a pleased, welcome growl as he recognised a fellow hunter. With silent communication, they took out an enemy before parting again.
At last, there were no more enemies to fight, having been either killed or fled, and he went to licking his own wounds, Dragonheart jumping off his back. Something still didn't sit well with him though, and he suddenly realised that the Lord of Serpents' mood had not improved. Xaphia, slightly annoyed, sniffed the air, tasting the wind to find him, and then carried off, only stopping when Dragonheart shouted at him, allowing his human on his back again before sprinting away, reaching the one he wanted to in no time.
The sight he was met with was not a pretty one, and at once, the reason for the Lord's distress became clear. The tall human turned to him, but the voice was flat and eyes dead as he spoke.
~Thank you for your aid, Lord dragon.~
Xaphia bowed his head nonetheless, the human had good reasons at the moment to not mind anything, least of all formalities. He had heard and seen much of this man through memories, a force to be reckoned with, having bound his soul to earth so it would not be able to escape, half his body made of human flesh, half of snake venom, and a form with which he could fly with dragons.
Now though, he merely looked defeated, sinking down to one knee as the mangled body in front of him moved. Xaphia leaned closer, wondering how much he would be able to understand. He huffed as the first two words interchanged were ones he was unfamiliar with, until he realised that they might be each other's names, and he waited. He did not understand everything, but enough to realise that the youngling at the man's feet was what Dragonheart was to him, and that he was accepting, even embracing death at this moment, with not even magic being strong enough to save him. Nothing short of a miracle would, and he was sadly unable to help. Nothing but a miracle would save that human now. Silently, he retreated again to give the humans their privacy in the youngling's last moments. He pulled Dragonheart back, who had jumped off his back and tried to reach the two. Didn't he understand the importance of privacy in mourning?
Finally, his human gave up, slumping against Xaphia's paw, suddenly turning to embrace his neck, and it was then that Xaphia realised that he had seen the boy's aura before, although it had been slightly different then, in the memories of the female who had taught him speech. No wonder Dragonheart tried to reach the youngling… he knew him, though they were not even as close as pack members, much less nest brothers, so he had no right to be here now, even if he wanted to.
Careful not to trod on his human, Xaphia turned and went over to the rest of the dragons, who had landed a bit further, as he left the Serpent Lord and his near-dead mate behind.
He was stopped, however, and raised his head against the sun as an unearthly, melodious sound filled the sky and warmed his heart.
Look forward to the next chap ;3
I was so tempted to end the chapter one sentence sooner but I think that then I would have been attacked with pitchforks so in the end I decided not to...
Also! I am writing an original story which I intend to try and publish once it's finished, and I'm searching for bèta-readers. Not for the grammar/spelling, but to help me with plot lines, tell me when it's starting to grow boring, answer polls over pairings and other such things and force me to update mostly.
I want about eight people for that, people willing to give me really extensive reviews in later chapters and whom I can count on to follow it until the end. The story is science-fiction, T-rated and follows the stories of a brother and sister, both with their own plot lines which sometimes come together. I do have nearly the whole story in my head, and nearly three chapters written out now, plus a general chapter overview...
If you are interested, please PM me with a ways of contacting you so I can send you the first few chapters. You can always say 'no' after reading those and finding the story not your thing.
Read and review!
xx GeMerope
