Disclaimer: J. K .Rowling owns Harry Potter and his world.
Chapter 12:
The following Tuesday, little Damien Blythe told his uncle that they were going to Grandfather Harry's on Saturday, for the Quidditch match. Damien's parents had never learned the skill of apparating with a passenger, so they went by car. The car was followed, discreetly, and its destination marked. The followers repeated the address and directions again and again to each other, even using a touch of magic to try and overcome the enchantments that had people forgetting what they had learned of the whereabouts of the hidden home.
It took a week to organise. Bellamy was to be finally overwhelmed and killed. He could bat aside a spell with his hand. He would surely not be able to bat aside a hail of bullets. Even divided among eighteen wizards, the reward was large. Any survivors among the medj helpers would have their memories modified. That way they could not claim any portion of the reward, and would not even need to be paid. It was to be a duel attack. Wizards with wands, and medj killers with powerful firearms, the medj force to go first. Endeavours were made to get more information from five-year-old Damien, but he said that they weren't allowed to tell, and closed his mouth very firmly.
Sunday night, a week and a day after the Quidditch match, forty-three men, including eighteen wizards, walked quietly through the hospitably open gates of Bellamy's property. There were some last minute doubts. Surely the great wizard would not have named his property Emohruo! And hadn't it always been said that he lived in France, somewhere close to the coast?
It was a cold February night. No-one was about. Three dogs raced toward the intruders, barking furiously. They were quickly dealt with, two with spells, and one with a bullet, but silenced. The wizards fully expected Bellamy to have a force of security guards, alert and dangerous, and they advanced stealthily.
But out of Bellamy's employees, there was not a single young fighting wizard. The Barnes and Clare were Medj, and others were old. Even Caradoc was middle-aged. In the small home furthest from the big house, and furthest from the men, Caradoc blinked open his eyes. He hadn't really heard anything, and it was cold outside. Half asleep, he went to the toilet, and was returning to bed, when a horse whinnied, then another. He paused. It wouldn't hurt just to have a look around. His wand was close. It always was. He threw a cape over his warm pyjamas, and looked outside the door. Nothing was visible, so he stopped and put on socks and boots.
Another horse whinnied, a high-pitched neigh that conveyed alarm. Bellamy had bred his horses for intelligence, as well as speed and athleticism, and now others took up the cry. Strange men should not be creeping around at night.
Caradoc hurried. Something was going on, and long ago, Caradoc had been an auror. Clare stirred and sat up. Caradoc said, "Something's wrong! Take no chances, but rouse who you can." He started to open the door, but turned again, "Phone Bridon and Diane."
Clare phoned Bridon and Diane, and then the phone rang in the big house. The boss was the one that needed most to be woken. The noise of the horses was rattling the attackers, and when one jumped the fence and galloped toward the men, snorting, a short burst of fire brought it down.
Bellamy, asleep in bed, was arguing with Ginny again, tossing and muttering in his sleep. He didn't hear the horses, the burst of muffled gunfire, or the phone. There was too much noise in his own head. Julie was being irrelevant. She was just telling him that he wasn't allowed to cut his hair. And Bellamy spoke aloud, fretfully, "All right, I won't cut my hair, but you've got to let me die!"
Chris was up now, and called to Will to use the side entrance. There were men at the front door, but Chris and Will, followed by Tracy and Chrissy filed quietly though the door that led into the gymnasium.
"They're trying to kill the boss," said Will, and forgetting prudence, he went as fast as he could toward the bedroom.
The sound of the phone finally penetrated the dreams of Bellamy, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Outside, Caradoc was behind cover, and was methodically stunning all those he could see, helped after a time, by Melissa and Klaus, in spite of their age. Klaus found that he could no longer make a stun spell, which required some force of mind. He switched to the Body Bind spell, which was easier. A burst of gunfire made them all dive to the ground, and two of the attackers, attempting to get behind the defenders, were hit. And then a shrieking of pain added to the noise.
Bellamy emerged from the bedroom, wearing only sleeping shorts, and flooded the house with light, as men with guns tumbled over themselves through the front door, and then into the room where he stood. Bellamy was a born fighter, and comprehension was quick. Three men dropped, but more were pushing into the room.
Will, entering from the other side of the room, gave a cry of rage, and launched himself in front of his boss. No-one was going to kill his boss.
Bellamy wrapped an arm around his friend, intending to disapparate with him, taking him away from danger. He was too late. A burst of fire ripped through Will's chest, and took Bellamy in the left shoulder. They both fell.
Bellamy's view was blocked, but he could feel. He felt for his attackers, exerted his will, and one, then another, fell unconscious. There was another burst of fire, and Will, and Bellamy under him, were hit again. Tracy brought that man down, and now both Melissa and Caradoc entered, behind the attackers, from the direction of the front door. Tracy, who'd never before fought in her life, nearly stunned them too, in spite of the obvious night attire.
Bellamy had his head back, an arm still wrapped around Will. He was concentrating, pushing away the pain of his wounds, and causing more men, still outside, to drop unconscious. Caradoc turned, leaving the boss to the others, and he, too, was finding and stunning more attackers, most of whom were now beating a quick retreat. Bellamy was concentrating on the ones with guns, as they were more likely to be lethal. Caradoc was brought down, then Lillian, luckily only stunned. A burst of fire hurt a few horses, killing one, apparently pure spite. Klaus was doing well, five men with guns were now down, struggling impotently against the total body bind. Klaus was a cook, and old. He'd never fought before, either.
Bridon and Diane apparated from the apparation zone where they'd appeared, to just outside the front gate. They accounted for the last three, who'd been trying to flee.
Except for continuing moans from two wounded men outside, it became quiet. Someone revived Caradoc, whose training had made a resurgence. He competently disarmed and tied up all the attackers, taking charge.
Chris, Chrissy and Tracy were with Bellamy and Will, who lay in a spreading pool of blood. Beau arrived, leaning on his crutches, aghast at the mess. Bellamy was talking to Will, soothing, reassuring, telling him what a wonderful thing he'd done, that he was all right now, that he was warm and safe. Will was dying, and the damage too great for magic to repair. Will turned his head to his boss, made a pitiful attempt at a smile, and the big, feeble-minded man died, convinced that he'd saved the life of his boss. And in spite of battered face, his age, and the ragged pyjamas he wore, there was a dignity in his death.
Bellamy put back his head and closed his eyes. His big friend had died for him. No-one else was dead or much hurt. He'd counted them off in his head, and they were all fine, if shocked. Simon arrived. Simon was a heavy sleeper, and had been slow to listen to Naomi when she insisted she heard something. The boss was lying with his eyes closed in a pool of blood, the body of Will still on top of him.
Chris said, in a voice that came out slightly high-pitched, "We'd best move Will."
But when they laid hands on the body, Bellamy tightened his grip, and said, "No, I have to look after him."
Caradoc entered and took in the scene. Will obviously dead, Bellamy badly wounded. "I'll fetch the aurors, and a healer, too."
Chrissy knelt by the side of Bellamy, who still firmly held the body of Will. "He's dead, Boss," she said.
But Bellamy answered, "I know he's dead. I have to look after him."
Tracy knew some first aid, and Bellamy was bleeding badly from the shoulder. He didn't protest as she told him that she'd just make the bleeding stop until the healer arrived. They didn't argue with him about Will. Chrissy just stroked his forehead. He closed his eyes again. His head seemed to be buzzing.
"They killed my horse, I think," he said, sadly. And then he looked at Chrissy, panic suddenly in his eyes. "You won't die, will you?" Chrissy was eighty-three.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, and promised. "I'll try not to for a little while."
Graham arrived then, together with three aurors. The secrecy of Bellamy's home was obviously a thing of the past, and they needed the aurors, and they needed the healer. A uniformed auror, whom Bellamy didn't know, was observing the scene. Bellamy looked at him perfectly calmly. "Would you mind modifying the memory of each of the attackers? They should not remember how to find me."
The auror almost saluted, as he agreed.
Chrissy said persuasively, "You have to let Will go now, Harry, Hermione is waiting. She'll look after him, now."
Bellamy smiled, and said that he should have remembered. Hermione would look after Will for him.
Graham looked at his shoulder, and said that he'd come back to him, that there were wounded outside, and that someone had done a good job stopping the bleeding. Simon and Chris gently pulled Will away from Bellamy.
Ten minutes passed. "Chrissy?" said Bellamy, tentatively. "They said I'm not allowed to make myself die. But it's all right if someone else kills me, isn't it?"
Graham had returned, and waited, listening for the answer. The shattered shoulder would be easy enough healed, but there was more wrong with Bellamy than a wounded shoulder. Chrissy said that she didn't think it was all right for Bellamy to be killed. Bellamy started talking, in a tired voice, saying more than he had in weeks. The arguments he was using when Ginny and Luna came to him. "They say I'm not allowed to die. But it's too hard to see everyone else die." And he looked at Chrissy again, still close, pleading, "Please don't die yet, not you, not Chris, not Klaus - I don't think I'm strong enough for any more."
Again Chrissy said that she didn't think any of them would be dying yet. Bellamy's voice was getting very tired, but going on and on. He was too tired, too old, it was time he died. And suddenly, complaining, "Even Julie, she never liked to think about Ginny and Luna when she was alive, and now they've teamed up. They're all against me!" And he looked toward where Will lay. "And Hermione! She says I should have no trouble getting better. But I'm tired of getting better, I want to die. I'm not strong enough to live. It hurts too much to live when everyone else dies."
Graham interrupted finally, having a close look at the wounded shoulder, before getting out his wand. Bellamy quieted, looking again at a spot just above Will. Spells healed the shattered bone, spells started the job of repair of torn flesh. At Graham's request, a bowl of warm water was brought. The light faded from the room. Melissa flicked the switch, and it was light again.
Graham was surprised. "Who was making the light then?"
"I think I was," said the tired, old voice of the man he was treating. His shoulder was bathed. Bellamy looked again toward the body of Will, and spoke, "Hermione says you're to have a look at my leg."
Graham made an exclamation. He'd assumed the blood that covered the thighs of his patient was from Will. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought it was Will, I thought it was his hurt." It was only the fleshy part of the inner thigh, but the wound was still bleeding, and severely. A part of Bellamy's fatigue was loss of blood.
Graham treated the simple, though quite severe wound, and said in a bracing tone that Bellamy would be better in no time. Bellamy said slowly, tiredly, that he knew, that he always got better. Graham was rather appalled, though, when he did the Niscos - both the LV and energy levels were way, way down. Bellamy had lost a lot more blood than he'd realised. It was Sybil, the housekeeper, who'd been perfectly routinely cleaning up the blood with spells. He might have realised sooner, otherwise.
Will was buried on the estate. He'd been in his early twenties when he came to Harry. A big young man with a battered face, taking his courage in his hands, walking fearfully up the drive, and roughly, it seemed aggressively, demanding a job. Harry had known his fear, felt the memories of abuse, and the shame that he felt, and had taken him under his wing. But Harry had benefited as well. There had been severe illnesses, and it had been Will whom he had relied on at those times. It was always Will whom he wanted when he was sick. But Will, too, was in his eighties when he'd been killed.
Tom Davenport, in his role of head of the auror department, visited Bellamy on Monday. It was just after Will's funeral, and Bellamy was in bed, very tired, as he'd insisted on attending, even though a wheelchair had to be found for him. He was questioned about the attack, as was his staff. Two days later, Tom returned. Kate Potter, Minister for Magic, came also, and presented several of Bellamy's staff with Orders of Merlin. There was even a posthumous one for Will, who had thrown himself in front of Bellamy. Kate wove her magic of charm and beauty. They all adored her, each of them feeling as if they'd been singled out for extra attention.
It was obvious that too many people knew of his home. Will had been killed, as well as three dogs, and two of his beloved horses. His staff and friends had been threatened. Grandfather Harry wrote to each of the members of his extended family, and said that, regretfully, the Quidditch matches were to cease.
Spells and enchantments were renewed, and when Tom tried to return to check on a few details, he found he could no longer remember how to get there. Nor could Kate. Nor could, it seemed, any other. Only Graham still visited, very proud to be the trusted healer of Bellamy. And when Kate demanded to be told, again, how to get there, Graham held firm, and refused to say. Kate looked at him, utterly surprised that there was another, beside her grandfather, willing to defy her. For a moment, she was angry, and then she relaxed, smiling at Graham to his profound relief, and said that he was probably right.
Graham visited daily for a week. It took longer than he'd expected for his patient to be fit enough for work again, but Bellamy explained that potions never seemed to work with him - blood replenishing potion was useless. He just had to get better himself. His left shoulder would take a few weeks to be free of pain, and his right leg refused to support him for a time, but as he'd so tiredly said he would, he did get better.