Author's note: Fair warning: this chapter is 50% of the reason for the Mature rating (the other 50% is chapter 9) and contains torture, language and darker-than-usual themes.
Part 1, chapter 6: The Glorious Battle for the Hog's Head
28th December, 2010, 11:47 a.m. X removed to S':
They walked slowly on the small path, which was covered in ice and snow. It was almost noon, but the temperatures were well below zero. They could see their breath, spiralling in white mists in front of their faces. It didn't help that the path was rocky and hard.
Just what we need, Harry thought gloomily. Someone to fall and break their neck before we ever made it to Hogsmeade.
Approaching Hogsmeade was easier than London. The Ministry did not place the same restrictions on the village as it did the much-busy city. Perhaps they thought that any action would target London, rather than the small, pastoral Scottish village. Perhaps they were right. But their opponents were just desperate enough to try and make this work.
They Apparated, one by one, to the old cave where Sirius had once hidden himself. Luna told them that this was the place they all escaped to once Malfoy took over. After a small survey of the cave - some old dirty clothes in one corner, old canned food in another, and a strong smell of dampness and still water - Harry walked out to the road, the rest of the group behind him. They were fifteen people this time. To his great surprise, everyone who had survived the Ministry insisted on coming to Hogsmeade, too.
He didn't expect them to. When he explained the plan Ron and he came up with the night before, he fully expected accusatory looks and disbelief. He fully expected them to remind him he had already led them to one ambush. They would have been only right to say so. He didn't even try to hide it from them. "This isn't another excursion on the Ministry, guys," he said sombrely. "And I'll be honest - I don't think it would make it better. If we start this... we don't know where it will end. We don't know that we can end it."
"You're talking about taking control over the one wizard-only settlement in Britain," Anthony said simply. "The Ministry won't let it pass, even if we do succeed. This means war."
"Yeah."
"Well," Dean said, "I'm in."
"Me too," Padma joined in, and after a short nudge, so did Parvati.
"Yeah," Luna smiled. "Time we fought back. Really fought back."
Anthony was the last to speak, but even he agreed in the end. "Count me in, too," he said.
A part of Harry felt he should be worried: worried at how easy it was to convince them, much easier than it was for Ron to convince him; worried that they did not hold the failure in the Ministry against him; worried that the idea of war did not seem to scare them half as much as it scared him. But that part was vetoed by the rest of him, which pointed out they knew what they were getting into. Much better than he did, in fact. Perhaps what he should have been worried about was why he was so willing to go through with it. And now it was too late to turn back.
On the road to Hogsmeade, he grabbed Andromeda before she slipped on the ice. "Whoa, careful."
"Thank you," she said.
She was very much like he remembered her, years and years ago. Cold, haughty, still very much Black, so similar to her sisters. They've grown to know each other quite well over the years, of course - she was raising Teddy and Harry was practically a family member at his godson's house. These days, they got along very well. They even liked each other - most of the time. But at the beginning she was very cold, very formal, and never quite seemed to know how to accept him in her life.
"How long have you been in Azkaban?" he asked quietly. What he really wanted to ask was where was Teddy in this nightmare of a world. But he didn't think that would be the best question to ask. He was afraid of the answer, as much as he was afraid of her reaction.
"Two years," she said curtly. Her voice was cold, unfriendly, uninviting of more questions. He ignored it.
"What happened? I mean, you lasted that long..."
"Same as Aberforth." Harry shot a look at Aberforth Dumbledore, who was walking forward, leading the small group towards his pub. "We were allowed our freedom when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in control. It was my status as a pure-blood and a Black that saved me, despite my marriage. For Aberforth, I presume it was his willingness to let any scum into his pub, as long as they were paying." She didn't sound as if she approved of Ab much.
"Then what happened?" he asked.
"Voldemort fell, Potter, and Malfoy took his place. And Malfoy has different ideas about what consists a danger to his reign. They rounded up all of us and sent us to Azkaban - rather at the same time as he destroyed the camps. This was all a camp here, a few years ago," she gestured around them, at the snow-covered earth. "For all those people Voldemort had deemed unworthy of magic." Her head jerked lightly towards Dean. Harry remembered Dean's reaction their first night in this place.
"So Malfoy let the Muggle-borns go?"
"No, Potter," she said bitterly. "He didn't let anyone go."
Harry froze in place. She couldn't possibly mean -
"I reckon Thomas and Granger are the only Muggle-borns still alive in the whole of Britain," she said, confirming his worst fears. "Wherever it is Granger is."
His mind wandered briefly to the Creeveys, to Justin Finch-Fletchley... "Malfoy did that?" he whispered. He thought of the coldness in the eyes of the man he had met here, the man who had tortured him with a smirk on his face. But could he actually do that? The Malfoy he knew, for all his many, many shortcomings, was not a killer.
"Didn't anyone tell you?" she now sounded almost amused. "He used this lot to get rid of Voldemort. Fed them information for years."
"But that doesn't make any sense - if he was on their side - "
"Did I say he was on their side? The only thing they had in common was their will to get rid of Voldemort," she said. "If anything, it was because they had worked together that Malfoy realised what a danger they could pose to him. So he did everything he could to... discourage them, shall we say? From fighting against him. He destroyed whatever little we had left of our world, whatever little Voldemort had been willing to let us keep," her voice was now full of bitterness. "He killed the Weasleys - Voldemort had kept them alive, trying to stop Ron, or perhaps because they were pure-blood, I don't know. My dear nephew didn't care. He killed them all. Killed anyone who could help Granger and Weasley form a power base, all the Muggle-borns and sympathisers. He left them completely alone."
Harry stared at the snow, seeing nothing. He couldn't quite understand what she was saying. He wasn't determined to defeat Malfoy just in order to get home anymore. He was determined to defeat Malfoy now because these people deserved it.
He knew now that he had been wrong before. It wasn't a nightmare, this world. It was hell.
"What happened to Teddy?" he asked after a while. The answer couldn't possibly be worse than what he had already heard.
But as he looked at Andromeda, he was forced to change his mind. For the first time in the past coupe of days, the first time since he had seen her here, she wasn't bitter or cold or angry. She looked heartbroken. "Voldemort took care of him," she said quietly. "He wasn't even a year old, and they took him away. Part werewolf, you see."
Harry thought of Teddy as he had last seen him, getting off the Hogwarts Express and talking incessantly about the odd Christmas decorations that had been put up by Hagrid and how much he hated History of Magic and why did they have to study it in the first place and how he was going to convince Andromeda to get him a new broom and maybe he would make it into the Quidditch team next year.
"He's a great kid," he said quietly. He hoped the words served some comfort to her, rather than make things worse. He couldn't tell anymore - her jaw was set, the coldness was back into her eyes, and she looked as haughty as ever. She wasn't one to want words of condolences, even if she needed them.
By now they had almost reached the village. Harry could see the outline of the pub, in front of them and growing larger. He rushed forward, to catch up with Ab.
"Doesn't look like anyone's suspecting," he said.
"Doesn't look like anyone's taking care of it," Aberforth grumbled. Harry smiled despite himself.
The current owner of the Hog's Head was none other than Gregory Goyle. Harry probably should not have been surprised - Goyle had been a friend of Malfoy's since before Hogwarts, and it only stood to reason he had some favours with the current administration. Once Ab was arrested, when Malfoy took over, and his pub was seized by the Ministry, it was fair game to be given to anyone Malfoy pleased. Harry knew all this before. And still, the idea of Gregory Goyle owning the Hog's Head was enraging. All of a sudden, Harry was not so sure they would have plenty of food and drink there. At least, he thought, they could definitely count on Goyle's stupidity and their plan would work.
They had planned their attack before Apparating to the village. The pub had a back door, one that faced the same path they were now walking, and with any luck, they could enter the pub without alerting a single soul.
Ab held them back for a moment as he turned his wand to the back door. After a moment, he smiled and whispered an incantation. It wasn't Alohomora. It wasn't any spell Harry knew. But whatever it was, it worked - the door opened quietly.
"My own little charm. Apparently Goyle never even tried to open this door," Ab muttered.
They tiptoed one after the other into the pub. It was a large pantry - large and cold and empty. Ab was the last to enter, and closed the door behind them.
"Straight ahead there," he whispered, "goes into a room behind the bar. Should give us a good look around."
Most of their little group stayed behind. Ab, Harry and Ron walked slowly towards the door Ab had indicated. They opened it, just an inch, and peered outside.
The pub was deserted. The only person there was Goyle - Harry would have recognised him anywhere, his large frame, his trollish features, and looking much better fed and groomed than any of the people they had seen so far. He was perched on a chair in the middle of the room, snoring slightly.
Ron laughed softly behind him. "Perfect," he said.
"What d'you know?" Harry said. "It appears the glorious battle for the Hog's Head will be won without a single spell cast."
"All the better," Ab muttered.
The three of them left the room and walked into the pub. Goyle didn't stir. They surrounded him then: Harry grabbed his wand, Ron covered him from behind, and Ab tapped his shoulder lightly.
"Wha - what d'ya want?" Goyle said in a confused voice, before focusing on Ab. "Hey, I know you!"
"Damn right, lad, and I've come to get my pub back."
"What d'ya mean, your pub? Ain't your pub, this place, s'mine, government said so." Goyle shook his head and seemed to focus a bit more. When he next spoke, his speech was a lot less slurred - now, there was trepidation in his voice. "Aren't you supposed to be in Azkaban anyway?"
"Broke out, lad," Aberforth said. Finally, Goyle realised something was very wrong. He reached for his wand, but it wasn't there - instead, his hand met Harry. His eyes widened in recognition and fear.
"Hello, Gregory," Harry said coldly. In his memories, in his world, Goyle was in Azkaban. One of the only people stupid enough to have been let off the hook by the Wizengamot the first time only to try and continue to follow the Death Eaters' ideology later.
This Gregory Goyle didn't strike him as any cleverer.
Goyle tried to jump from his chair, only to feel Ron's wand at his neck. "I wouldn't try anything," Ron said calmly. "Incarcerous!" he called, and Goyle was engulfed by thick ropes.
"That's better, innit?" Ab said. He went to the back room, to call the others. Harry took advantage of that to look around.
He never thought he would say it - or even think it - but the Hog's Head looked better when Aberforth was its owner. Aberforth was never much for cleanliness, there was no denying that. At its best, his pub could be described as dingy, dirty, and suffering from a lingering smell of goats. The glasses always looked as if they'd just been used, and the only reason Harry thought any wizard had ever agreed to sit there was because they were banned from the Three Broomsticks, or wanted to conduct shady business. It was, therefore, nothing short of surprising that the pub under Gregory Goyle actually looked worse.
The lingering smell of goats had given place to a sharp smell of rats. There was mould all over the walls. And it seemed as if instead of being covered by a thick layer of dirt, the floors themselves were made of dirt. He threw a glance at the various glasses, and saw that they, too, looked much worse than they did when Ab owned the pub.
No wonder there was no one here, he thought. The place was a health hazard.
"Blimey," Ron spoke out loud what Harry was thinking. "This makes Ab look like the best barman in the world."
Harry snorted. "Just don't tell him that."
The rest of the group had walked into the pub now. "I think this calls for a celebration!" someone called behind them - Parvati, Harry thought, or perhaps Padma.
"Well, let's see what that bastard keeps in his cupboards, eh?" Ab said, sounding much too enthusiastic for Harry's liking.
"Oi!" he called. "We still got a lot to do today. No alcohol, right?"
"Fine, Potter, fine," Ab grumbled, and Ron stifled a laugh. "We'll just keep the alcohol for tonight."
Yeah, Harry thought, assuming we won't be ankle-deep in Ministry wizards by the night.
Ab started passing Butterbeer bottles along. Harry took one, too - they had won that victory without a single curse, not counting Ron's Incarcerous curse. It was worth celebrating. After all, from now on, things would only become harder.
The Butterbeer bottle was halfway to his lips when he noticed Dean. Dean didn't take any drink, nor did he stand with the rest of the group. Instead, he was facing Goyle, his wand aimed at Goyle's chest, his expression scary.
Harry exchanged looks with Ron, who was just as confused.
"Dean?" he asked gently. He didn't think Dean had even heard him.
The rest stopped laughing as well, and stared instead at the two of them, Dean and Goyle. Harry took a step closer. Now Goyle was no longer hidden by Dean's back, and he could see his face clearly. If he looked scared before, when he was captured by the three of them, it was nothing compared to his expression now. Harry had no words to describe it other than sheer terror.
"Dean?" he said again.
Padma put her hand on Harry's arm, as if to stop his progress. "Before he got this pub, Goyle used to be a guard in the camp here," she said quietly.
Harry's head shot from Padma to Dean. "Dean, don't do it," he said, no longer gentle. He searched for Ron. On the other side of the room, Ron nodded and started approaching Dean.
Dean ignored him.
"Dean..."
"Stand back, Harry." There was nothing in Dean's voice but pure hatred.
"It's not worth it."
"Oh, yeah? And what do you know, exactly?"
"What do I know? I know that this can't possibly be the answer. I know that I know you. You're not a murderer, Dean, and this, whatever this scum has done, that's cold blooded murder, and you're not - "
"Shut up, before I curse you too."
"Dean, I don't presume to tell you to - "
"Shut the fuck up, Potter."
Harry stared. It wasn't Dean this time. It was Anthony. Both he and Padma took a step closer - not towards Dean, towards Harry. And Luna's wand was aimed at Ron, who had sneaked half the way towards Dean before being caught.
"Luna..." Harry started saying, looking for some shred of sanity. Luna couldn't possibly be onboard with this.
But she shook her head sadly. "No, Harry," she said. "This is Dean's call. And he'll decide whatever he wants to, and we'll back him up. Whatever he chooses to do."
"But you can't possibly - "
"Harry, please. This isn't your war."
"He does have a point, though, Dean," Anthony said all of a sudden. Harry turned to him, hoping beyond hope that somehow things will make sense again, but his hope had vanished with Anthony's next words. "Just do him and be done with it. No need to prolong it, we've still got work to do."
"No," Dean said. "He doesn't deserve a quick death."
"Okay, then take him to the cellar and do whatever you want to do with him, but we really need to start getting things going."
"Fine," Dean said, then waved his wand and forced Goyle on his feet.
"No," Harry jumped, standing between Dean and Goyle. "I can't let you do that."
"Not your call, Potter," Dean looked at him coldly. There was no sign of the man who, only the night before, believed him when he promised they would find a way. And now, for Harry, that way seemed farther than ever.
"Doesn't matter, Dean. This is wrong. You can't do it."
If before Dean's wand was aimed at Harry by accident, because Harry had jumped between him and Goyle, it was now aimed directly at Harry, on purpose. "Not up to you to tell me what I can or can't do."
"Well, that's just the way it is," Harry said, aiming his own wand at Dean.
He was so completely focused on Dean, that he didn't see the movement next to him. "Stupify," someone said, and everything went black.
28th December, 2010, 1:20 p.m.
In Harry's dreams, people were screaming. Ron screamed as Voldemort rose from the dead and used the Cruciatus curse on him. Hermione screamed as she was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. Andormeda Tonks screamed as they took her grandson away. And Gregory Goyle screamed and screamed and screamed.
Harry's eyes flew open.
He was sitting, his back against the wall. Someone must have put him there after he was hit with the curse. Next to him Ron sat, pale as a ghost. Harry made to stand up, but a hand stopped him, and Ron shook his head. He looked as if he was about to vomit, desperate and horrified.
"Where's my wand?" Harry asked, as he realised all of a sudden that his wand was nowhere to be found.
"They took our wands," Ron said quietly. "And they locked the door to the cellar."
Harry jumped to his feet. Parvati was leaning on the door to the cellar - blocking it, he suspected. Dean, Anthony, Padma and Luna were nowhere in sight. From beyond the door the screaming continued.
"Have a glass of water, Harry," Parvati said in a sympathetic voice.
"Give me back my wand," he said coldly.
"No," she said.
He took a step forward, but she now pulled her wand. "I wouldn't, if I were you," she said, her voice still pleasant. "I'm sorry I had to curse you earlier, and I'd be even more sorry to do it again. Please don't make me."
"I am not making you do anything," Harry almost shouted. Even shouting wasn't enough to drown the screaming.
"Please, Harry," she said again. "Just sit down."
"No," he moved forward another step. Her wand was now directly in front of his heart. "I am going to try and stop you. Maybe you can justify to yourself what they're doing to him down there, but can you justify to yourself what you'll have to do to me?"
"Yes," she said, her hand steady, her wand never wavering, her eyes locked on his. "I'm not going to like it, but yes. Please don't move towards me again."
Harry took another step forward. Ron got up as well now, and stood side by side with Harry. Parvati didn't look alarmed or worried, but rather amused. "I really can curse the both of you again," she said simply.
And then the screaming stopped.
Ron and Harry looked at one another. "Get out of the way!" Harry shouted, and now Parvati shrugged and moved from the door. Harry started struggling with it - but it was no use. Like Ron had said, the door had been locked by magic. "Come on come on come on!" he said, shaking the door. All of a sudden, it flew open - Parvati had said the counter-curse. Harry raced down the stairs.
At the bottom step he was stopped by Luna and Padma. "Get back up, Harry," Luna said quietly. "It's over." There was blood on her trousers, blood all over her shoes, blood on Padma's shirt.
He ignored them and charged forward. "Dean!" he shouted. There were three of them, not two - Dean and Anthony and Andromeda Tonks and the smell of blood everywhere. "Dean!" he shouted again, and then they moved and he saw the body behind them.
Nausea took over him. He doubled back and started retching all over his shoes, the smell of his vomit mixing with the smell of blood.
"Come on," someone said, and steered him away from there and towards the stairs. "You shouldn't be here." He felt himself pushed up the stairs, slowly, gently, until they walked through the door, until a surge of fresh air hit his face.
Only then he looked at the man who had helped him up - Dean. "You alright?" Dean asked in concern. "You looked like you were going to faint there for a moment."
Harry couldn't focus on his face. His eyes were drawn to Dean's hands, that had a red tint to them. Blood. Goyle's blood. He looked down at his own shirt, and could see the blood smeared on it where Dean held him up, helped him get away from that cellar. He looked at his face again, the face that suggested nothing but genuine concern. None of the anger of before, none of the hatred. "You alright?" Dean asked again.
Harry stumbled back, shaking. He couldn't find his voice, couldn't find the words to answer Dean.
"Come on," someone said behind him. Ron. The only ray of sunshine in this miserable place, the only remnant of humanity in this whole stinking world. His only connection to a world that was feeling more and more like a dream. "Come on," Ron insisted and led him to a chair. He put a glass in front of Harry, then poured something in it, an amber liquid. Firewhiskey. "Drink it."
He took the drink with a shaking hand and downed it in one gulp. The sting of the alcohol did its work, and Ron's face swam back into focus.
Someone put something else in front of him. A stick of wood. A wand. He looked up and saw Dean, standing next to him. Anthony gave Ron his wand back, too.
"You can curse me now, if you want to," Dean said.
Harry shook his head. "I don't want to curse you," he said, sounding like a stranger to his own ears.
"Good," Dean said, then sniffed. "Because we still got a few buildings to take over today. And I bet it won't be easy as this was."
"What?" Harry shouted and got to his feet. Now he could find his voice again. "You think I'm still going to help you after - this?"
"Harry," Ron said behind him.
"Yes, Potter, I think you are," Anthony said.
"Well, fucking think again, Goldstein - "
" - Harry - "
" - Because I have no intention whatsoever - "
" - Harry - "
" - D'you really think you can just - "
"Harry!"
Harry stopped shouting. Ron stood there, as pale as he was before, but with a determined look on his face. "Can I have a word?"
Anyone else at that moment, Harry would have dismissed. Anyone at all. But not Ron. He nodded, glared at Anthony for a moment longer, then stepped aside with Ron.
"What?"
"I know how you feel, Harry, I feel the same way. So please don't bite my head off. But we can't afford not working with them."
"You haven't seen what they did, Ron - "
Ron looked nauseated for a moment, and his eyes fixed on the blood on Harry's shirt. "I know," he said quietly. "Harry. They're our only way out of here. It's them or nothing. It's them or staying here. We work with them, we get the hell out of here, we put this entire place out of our mind and never think about it and about them again. Deal?"
It was a long moment before Harry could nod. Every bone in his body rebelled against this decision, rebelled against the idea of cooperating with these people. But Ron was right. They had no choice. "Deal," he said finally, and they returned to the group.
He and Anthony stared at each other for a while. Harry was the first to speak. "You don't do that again. Ever."
Anthony raised an eyebrow, challenging Harry. Before he could explode with anger, though, Ron intervened. "You don't do that again while we're here, okay?"
He looked at Anthony, then at Dean. "Okay?"
"Okay," Dean said finally, reluctantly.
Harry glared at Anthony. "Okay," Anthony said.
They soon decided on a plan of action - try to convince as many people as possible to join them. Harry suggested going to the Three Broomsticks, which at this time of the year was the most likely establishment to actually have people in it, but the rest shook their head. Madam Rosmerta, Aberforth said in irritation, was not likely to take chances, nor were her customers. That would have to be their very last target.
They decided to start with three places: the post office, the cauldron shop round the corner, and Zonko's. Zonko's was further down the road and a bit of a risk, but the owner had long since been a friend of Aberforth's and, according to him, would be very likely to sympathise with their cause. Within half an hour, they had contacted all three establishments successfully. They only added some six people to their ranks, but, as Harry had pointed out, that was more than a third of what they had started with.
Having new people with them helped, just for a bit. Harry could look at their faces, and whenever he did, that was one more moment he didn't look at Dean's face, or Anthony's, or Luna's, or Padma's, or any of the others. He couldn't help but wonder how many of the people who had now joined them would have taken a willing part in Goyle's death, given the chance.
Honeydukes, the Magic Neep, and Dervish & Bangs were contacted next - and now, when they had Hogsmeade wizards on their side, it all seemed easier. Another hour, and almost all of the shop owners down the Hogsmeade main street were with them.
"Time to knock on Rosmerta's door," Aberforth said grimly.
They could hear the noise coming out from the pub already in the street. Unlike the Hog's Head, the Three Broomsticks was full. Their only comfort was that by now they had more of an advantage. With their numbers, they could now cover every exit - and with enough people as to discourage anyone from trying to fight their way out. They all assumed that within the pub there would be some people who would, if not join them, at least not fight them. And to top it all, Zonko knew the incantation to prevent Apparition in and out of a certain space. While getting all of Hogsmeade was beyond him - "Can't do that unless you're the Ministry" - he could at least prevent any of Madam Rosmerta's patrons from leaving and alerting the Death Eaters.
"Alright, it's show time," Harry said after Zonko had finished casting the spell.
Aberforth and Ron were the first to enter the pub. "Hello," Aberforth said loudly, announcing his presence to the entire pub. The noise died down, almost immediately, as people stared at him and Ron.
"You dare show your face here?" someone shouted - Rosmerta, if Harry wasn't much mistaken. His guess was immediately proven correct by Aberforth's reaction.
"Now, now, Rosmerta. I know we've had quite the stiff competition over the years, but surely you can appreciate me as an old friend after you haven't seen me for so long?"
"You're supposed to be in Azkaban!" someone else said. "And you..."
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Ron's voice was heard next. "We're really not here on our own."
That was their cue - The rest of the group now walked in.
"Now wait just a moment, what the hell is going - " Madam Rosmerta paused mid-sentence. Harry wasn't surprised - her gaze had just fell on him.
"Hello, Rosmerta," he said. "I'm afraid rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated."
Ron groaned. "Really?" he asked.
"Why not?"
"It's a cliché!"
"It's Mark Twain!"
"Who's Mark Twain?"
"Anyway, what chance will I ever get to say that?"
"Oi, we're in the middle of something here! D'you mind?" Dean cut their discussion prematurely. Harry ignored him.
Someone started coughing uncontrollably, gasping for air. Next to Harry, Dean smiled a mirthless smile. "I would suggest you all stay here under Madam Rosmerta's hospitable roof and not try to Apparate," he informed the crowd. "We made sure you won't be able to do that. And now, if you don't mind, we'd like you to - "
He didn't get to finish his sentence. Having learnt that they won't be able to Apparate out, some of the Death Eaters in the room decided to try and fight their way out. The first curse almost hit Harry. "Protego!" he shouted out of instinct. It did some good - the next curse had almost hit Dean, but was blocked by Harry's shield. On Harry's other side, Ron was already sending curse after curse, disarming their opponents.
Green jets of light shot towards him. Green jets of light shot from their location as well. He wasn't quite sure who on their side was using the Killing Curse, but he wasn't surprised anymore. He made sure to Disarm or Stun every person that came his way, and do it as fast as possible. He didn't want to give any of the others a chance to kill.
Someone was crawling right past him, towards the exit. "Stupify!" he shouted, a red jet of light leaving his wand - and meeting half-way through with a green jet of light that was also aimed at the crawler. Harry swore and tried to Stun the man again, this time succeeding. He raised his eyes to meet a look of sheer disappointment from the small and harmless Dedalus Diggle. Diggle shrugged and turned back towards the room.
Another green jet of light crashed above Harry. "Stupify!" he shouted, without even realising where he was aiming his wand. But he got whoever it was - Harry suspected it was Yaxley.
Next to him, another Stunning spell hit a Death Eater. Harry looked around in relief for the person who was acting in a logical, rational way, and his eyes met Ron's. They jumped back into the room, capturing two more Death Eaters.
It was all over within five minutes. The Death Eaters were defeated - some of them Stunned, some of them with their bodies lying limp on the floor, dead. They were about half of Rosmerta's customers, and Harry hoped beyond hope that all those who were hurt were ones who fought back. In the middle of the room, a group of people huddled together, too scared to move, unwilling to fight the rebels.
"What do we do with them?" someone asked - Andromeda - gesturing at the group.
"How d'you mean, 'what do we do with them'?" Harry stared at her.
"I mean we can't let them go, Potter. We don't know where their loyalties lie."
"They didn't attack us."
"No, they didn't. They also didn't fight with us. And there's nothing to say that they wouldn't leave here and go straight to the Ministry."
She was right, of course, but right now there was absolutely nothing in the world that would have made Harry agree with her. "So what, you want to kill them too? Curse them?"
"No, Potter. But we should at the very least take their wands and stick them somewhere where they won't get in the way," she said angrily.
"Actually, that's a good idea, Harry," Ron intervened. "We won't hurt them. Just make sure they can't do any damage."
"Okay," he said and collected their wands. He recognised some of them - there was Madam Puddifoot, who owned a coffee-shop in Hogsmeade, with what seemed to be like her family; Bathsheda Babbling, who used to teach at Hogwarts; a tall man who Harry was sure Cho Chang had married, at least in their world; and even Ludo Bagman, who spent the entire time staring in amazement at Harry. "Sorry about that," he muttered to Bagman. Bagman didn't reply.
"Alright, on your feet, all of you," Dean ordered them, much less gently than Harry. They got up, somewhat scared, a bit relieved, and were led by Dean to the large pantry together with Madam Rosmerta. He locked the door behind them.
"Now what?" someone asked.
"Now we start going door-to-door," Harry said. "Take over the entire village. That was the plan, wasn't it?"
"Sure."
The Hogsmeade residents had a good grasp of who lived where, who was likely to help them, and who could pose a problem. They checked one street at a time, trying to be as quiet as possible. On their first street, they knocked on the doors of those they knew would help - only once did Zonko get it wrong, and they were greeted with curses instead of sympathy. No one was hurt, but Zonko himself had killed the man he had mistaken for a friend. The rest of his family was sent back to the Three Broomsticks pantry.
The second street proved more difficult. They had less allies, more opponents, and by the fourth house, the fight was carried down to the street. The took over the street, but this time, the price was a full family, as one of the houses collapsed upon itself from the curses. Harry didn't even know whether the people inside had been for them or against them. It took all of his willpower no to punch someone when the consensus turned out to be that it didn't matter.
By the third street, the opposition was ready and waiting.
Ron was the first one to fall.
Harry was busy duelling a witch, who was much more persistent and skilled than the wizards and witches they had met so far. Their opponents were much better organised, too. They must have heard the battle raging on in their neighbouring street.
She tried to kill him; he tried to Stun her; she tried to kill him again and he almost got hit by the curse and in the end he managed to get her with a full Body-Bind Curse. And that was when a jet of light hit Ron, who was duelling another wizard right next to him.
"Ron!" Harry shouted. "Ron!"
But he couldn't check on him, not yet. The battle was still going on, and with Ron down, the wizard had turned his attention to Harry. Harry wasn't even sure which curses he was sending down the wizard's way. All he knew was that he had to get rid of him, had to get to Ron. After what seemed like forever, he managed to hit the wizard. Usually, he would have tried to take the wizard's wand, to make sure he couldn't do any more damage. But Ron was more important.
"Ron," he crawled to where Ron had fallen. He was still breathing - Harry gave a sigh of relief. He wasn't dead. But his breathes were shallow, his skin clammy, and he didn't stir, eve when Harry called his name and shook him.
All around him, the sounds of battle were dying down. They won again. It didn't matter anymore. "Ron," he shook his friend again. Nothing happened.
Someone stood above him now - Goldstein. Harry was prepared to start shouting again, but Anthony's voice was worried and stressed. "Shit, don't tell me he's - "
"He's alive," Harry managed to say.
"Thank God," Anthony said. "We need to get him to the Three Broomsticks."
"I'll take him."
"You're going to need help."
Harry shook his head, although he knew he'd need the help. "I'm fine. Stay here with the others, we still have the last street." He was being foolish, he knew it. Once again, he needed Anthony's help. He just really didn't want it.
"Nah, Zonko says it's mostly friendly. They can do without me for a few minutes. Come on." Anthony waved his wand to get Ron up from the road, and they moved him back to the centre of town, back into the Three Broomsticks.
All through the streets there were bodies. They didn't have time to sort through them, find out who's who, dispose of the dead. They didn't even have time to check through the people of the town and see if anyone was missing. By now Harry was sure someone must have got through to the Ministry. They would have to go one by one later, Harry knew. Identify the bodies. Make a list.
Finally, they made it to the pub. Parvati, who had stayed behind to keep an eye on things, greeted them with a worried expression. "How come the two of you are back - oh," she said, finally registering who they were carrying with them. "Is he..."
"He's alive," Anthony said, and Harry was grateful that he didn't have to say the words again. Every time he even thought them, the word 'still' found its way into his mind.
She helped them arrange a space on a few tables. Harry flicked his wand, conjuring a blanket and some cushions, and then they let Ron softly on the makeshift bed.
Now he had the time to give Ron a more through check-up. His pulse was erratic. His eyes had rolled back in their sockets. His skin still felt clammy and cold. Harry tried some of the few diagnostic spells he knew, and once again cursed the Auror training programme, that had not given him a more thorough knowledge of healing spells beyond the absolutely basic first aid ones. Of course - what little Aurors knew of first aid only served to stabilise the patient until they could move them to St Mungo's. Who'd ever imagined that St Mungo's would be completely unavailable, enemy territory, and he would have no healer in sight.
"First thing I do when I get back is devise some first-aid programme with Kingsley," he muttered to himself.
"Kingsley Shacklebolt?" Parvati asked in interest.
"Yeah."
"He's alive in your world?"
"Yeah - he's the Minister."
"That must be nice," she said gently.
"Yeah, fat lot of good it does me now." He didn't mean to shout at her. But he couldn't see how to make Ron better. The very few spells he knew had proven useless. Ron did not wake up. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to snap at you like that. Listen, what about the Hogsmeade Healer? There has to be someone here, they couldn't possibly send everyone to St Mungo's, that's too far."
"They do," Parvati said, but she didn't sound cheered by the thought. "That's his body, right there in the corner."
Harry swore.
"There's another Healer next to Hogsmeade, though," a new voice said - Luna.
"What are you talking about?" he snapped.
"Madam Pomfrey. She still works at Hogwarts."
28th December, 2010, 6:20 p.m.
They decided Harry would go into Hogwarts on his own. The others were either all too easily recognised, or their presence at the school would be immediately questioned. When Dean objected on the grounds that Harry was the easiest to recognise of them all, Harry pointed out that as everyone believed him to be dead, he had enough of the element of surprise.
"If I don't come to them with a drawn wand and cursing my way in, they'd probably think they're hallucinating or something," he said, and Dean was forced to agree.
"Be careful," he told Harry before Harry left.
After everything today - after the fights, after Goyle, after the incomprehensible switches from a man who appeared an angry heartless monster to the one who felt exactly like the man he had known since age eleven, Harry didn't even know how to answer. He just shrugged and left the pub.
Luckily, Hogwarts' security wasn't as tight as it used to be. There was no reason for it - as far as Malfoy and the current Headmaster were concerned, the rebels were a small, ineffective bunch, incapable of causing any real damage anywhere, and with a huge list of target in which Hogwarts was never even included. He didn't even need to stop at the gates of the school - all he needed to do was fetch a broom from Rosmerta's and ride it high, directly to the Astronomy tower.
No one saw him coming. No one was alerted to his presence.
For a moment, he was filled with doubt. The school looked almost deserted - of course it would, it was still the Christmas holidays. Was it possible that Madam Pomfrey was not there? He remembered that at his time at Hogwarts she had always stayed in the school during the holidays, but this was a long time and ago, and so far away.
Still, there was nothing to it. Not if he wanted to help Ron.
He tiptoed down the familiar corridors. The school, even after more than a decade of Death Eater education, still looked the same. The same corridors, the same hidden doors, tapestries and moving staircases. The path to the hospital wing was the same.
And there - someone was there, he realised. He peeked inside, worried, then relaxed. It was Madam Pomfrey.
He walked into the hospital and closed the door behind him. There was no one else but her. She was humming to herself, completely unaware of what was about to happen. Well, it was now or never.
"Madam Pomfrey," he said quietly.
She stopped humming. "Who's there?" she asked, suspicious. Then her eyes met him.
It would have been almost comical, if there wasn't so much at stake. At first, she just looked at him in confusion. "Who are you?" she demanded. But as he failed to answer, he could see realisation slowly dawning on her face, and her eyes made that famous movement, all the way to his forehead.
She shook her head. "Can't be," she whispered.
"Madam Pomfrey, please. I need your help."
"Can't be," she said again.
"It's me, it's really me, and I really need your help. It's Ron. Ron Weasley. He's at Hogsmeade. Something's happened - please. I don't know who else to turn to."
"We can't leave the school," she said. "They'll see us."
"I came with a broom," he explained. "Through the Astronomy tower. Please."
"If they find out..."
She was terrified. Of course she would be. In this place, who wouldn't?
"We'll protect you," he said. "Please."
"He said... all those years ago, he said... we thought you were dead."
"It's a long story," he said. It was longer than anything he could ever tell her.
"Why did you leave us to him?" she asked then, finding her voice.
"I didn't - I'm not - I'm sorry," he said at last.
And then she did something completely unexpected. She collected him for a hug. Awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around her in response. "Oh, Harry," she sobbed on his shoulder.
A moment later, and she gained control over herself again. She detached herself from him wearing the stern expression he remembered so well from his many visits to the hospital wing. "Now," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "we better take as many potions as possible, we probably won't get the chance to go back here again. What did you say was wrong with him?"
He described the symptoms, and she started collecting different pills and bottles from all over the place. After a while, she started picking up other potions they might need, until he pointed out that they still had to carry all of these themselves. She gave some of the bottles a worried look, before she agreed to give them up. They sneaked out of the hospital wing together, all the way to the broom he had left at the Astronomy tower, and they were off, off to Hogsmeade.
She rushed to Ron's side as soon as they walked into the Three Broomsticks. Harry had noticed that two others had been laid there, next to him - Angelina Johnson and Dedalus Diggle. In a different corner he saw Aberforth Dumbledore, unmoving.
"Aberforth?" he asked Luna, who shook her head sadly.
"A Death Eater got him."
Harry closed his eyes. He started pacing back and forth, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. Everything was becoming an annoying tinge of red around him, then getting darker and darker. It felt like no oxygen was getting into his lungs.
"Harry!" someone said, he didn't even notice who, then he was forced down into a chair.
Luna. It was Luna. His sight was slowly going back to normal. Except it wasn't Luna. Not really. It was some twisted caricature of Luna. A cold Luna who didn't have time to care about Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorcacks because she was too busy killing people.
She was still Luna enough to worry about him, though, and pushed a glass of water into his hand. He drank it. He didn't realise how thirsty he was until that moment. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"Listen," someone else said - Dean. Not Dean. "We've got a bigger problem."
If Harry had more oxygen in his lungs, he would have shouted at him. But he only nodded wearily. "What now?" he asked at last, weary.
"We went through the houses and the prisoners and the bodies and everything. Three people aren't accounted for."
"Did you check, er, there was that, I mean, that collapsed house, did you make sure they're not there?"
"Yeah, we checked. They're on our list. Four people there."
"Maybe some people left for Christmas."
Dean shook his head. "No. We asked around, they were definitely here this morning."
Harry's mind went blank.
"The Ministry knows, Harry. And - " he exchanged glances with Luna. "Anthony tried to Apparate and he couldn't. They've already started putting up the spells. They'll be coming here. Soon."
Something kicked in. Harry's mind was still blank, as far as he could tell, but now a part of him was offering solutions automatically. He tried to focus enough to share them coherently with the people around him. "We, erm, some safe space. We need a safe space. We need to use Zonko's spells. So they won't be able to Apparate right inside where we are and start killing everyone. Something that they can't get past. Any chance we could do it to the whole village?"
Dean shook his head again. "No chance. We've already asked Zonko. I mean, if we still had Ab..." his voice broke. "No chance," he said again after a moment. The hint of sorrow, of humanity in his voice disappeared. All that was left was cold practicality.
"Then safe spaces. More than one. Don't have just one. If we can somehow connect them some way. We need places with provisions, someplace we could sit out anything they'd throw at us. Er. Make sure we take control of the alleys, too. Force them into the light, the centre of the village. That way we can ambush them. Not the other way round. D'you know how long we've got?"
"No," Luna said. "Anything from minutes to hours, I guess. It's our luck it's Christmas, half the Ministry is at home or on holiday somewhere. It'd take them a while to get everyone to come here."
"How many people are we expecting?"
Luna and Dean looked at each other again. "Could be hundreds," Luna answered quietly.
Hundreds. Ministry employees with the full weight of the Ministry behind them. And they were, what? Thirty, forty people? Hiding in pubs and - and - and post offices. What a stupid idea this whole thing was. How did he ever believe they had a chance to succeed?
He knew the answer, of course. Ron had suggested it, and when Ron said it, everything sounded possible.
But Ron was lying on a makeshift bed, unconscious, and they were soon to be overrun by Malfoy's men.
It was over.