Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any original plots, ideas, and characters are mine.
AN:
Important: I'll be addressing the comments left for last chapter at the end of this one, so that I won't be giving anything away beforehand. No one likes spoilers ;)
Hope you enjoy this one! Another long chapter for my faithful and patient reviewers, you always keep me going :) :)
Part I: Chapter 47
The truck was slowing down, as Harry kept waving his arms in the air for them to stop, as he kept yelling in the best German he could manage, as he paused for a bare second to glance down at Ulysses, who remained tucked and hidden under the Slytherin scarf and the layers of jerseys, checking that his Scorcrup had understood the whispered instructions he had given him.
"Halt, bitte!" Harry bellowed again, pulling an expression of immense distress over his face as he kept frantically waving his arms over his head. "Mein Bruder ist verletzt! Helfen Sie uns, bitte!"
He knew his pronunciation was atrocious, he knew he wouldn't fool them into thinking he wasn't in fact a foreigner, but that wasn't the point.
Hopefully there wouldn't be any need for explanations. Hopefully, it would only be necessary for the Nazis driving the truck to understand that he was asking for help, for his injured brother.
For a moment, however, he thought that perhaps his German wasn't as clear as he had counted on, because the truck had slowed down yet was still moving forward.
It was then when he realized that perhaps Tom was too good an actor.
Indeed, his brother was still writhing in the middle of the road, clutching his chest as if he had been pierced by bullets, screaming in agony that was too convincing, sounding as if he was in the throes of death.
Maybe the Germans would think that Tom already looked like road-kill so running over him would be a matter of no consequence, like putting him out of his misery.
Harry blanched at that, but didn't dare turn around to show any apprehension to Tom. If his brother got the barest hint that there was any true danger to his life, Tom would be up on his feet in the bat of an eyelash, no matter the need for a plan that had to work without a hitch.
Nevertheless, Harry thought that if the Germans did attempt to run him over, Tom really just had to roll to a side. Honestly, it wasn't that bad.
"HALT!" he then shrieked at the top of his lungs, because the truck was almost upon them, the motor was still roaring, the heavy wheels still churning, the exhaust pipe still puffing clouds of smoke, and he was standing there with arms in the air, trembling, in an insane show of mindless bravery of putting himself in the way so that his brother wouldn't be trampled over.
There was an abrupt, ear-splitting screeching sound and a burning smell, and with his heart lodged in his throat, he opened his eyes, not having realized he had scrunched them shut.
And he blinked, finding that the truck had stopped, its gigantic grilles an inch from his chest.
Harry stared at it, at what would have been smeared with his blood and flesh if the Germans had slammed on the brake but a second later.
His arms fell to his sides shakily, as he let out the most potent exhalation of sheer relief.
He didn't have much time to savor the fact of still being alive, alas. Two Nazi soldiers climbed out of the truck's front cabin, roaring angrily in such a quick German that Harry barely understood a word.
Thankfully, though, it was clear that the truck was one that carried provisions instead of transporting soldiers, and after that reassurance, he instantly remembered his role.
He blinked twice, effortlessly making tears roll down his cheeks, as he stared up at the German soldiers with impossibly wide green eyes filled with heart-wrenching plea and despair, as he pointed at Tom and wailed, "Helfen Sie ihm, bitte!"
The two men looking to be in their early twenties, with neatly cropped blonde hair, impeccable uniforms, and fair of features, frowned, with rifles in hand.
One snapped a question demandingly, something that was utterly incomprehensible to Harry, while the other was casting looks at their surroundings – at the forest at either side of the road.
And Harry understood then, why they looked so stiff, wary, and suspicious. They thought it could all be some ambush ploy, from some rebel group crouching in the forest before leaping out, perhaps.
They clearly didn't consider Harry and Tom to pose a threat by themselves, because the two men didn't even look at them, but kept scanning the forest with their gazes, rifles aimed.
"Norweger ihn erschossen!" said Harry in deep anguish, hoping that if he blamed Norwegians for his brother's state the two German soldiers would feel a mite more relaxed and inclined to give aid. He gestured at Tom once more, who was sly enough to just then let out a scream of intense suffering. "Helfen Sie ihm, bitte!"
The two soldiers shot him a frown, before they whispered hurriedly between themselves.
At last, they seemed to reach a decision, and moved forwards. One still keeping an eye on the forest with rifle aimed, the other advancing towards Tom, his brows furrowed.
It was just then, the moment after they both had their backs turned to Harry, when he finally whispered urgently, "Now, Ulysses!"
All happened in mere seconds, his Scorcrup shot out of Harry's jerseys, propelling himself through the air, a series of clanking noises accompanying his tail's transformation, landing on the back of the soldier eyeing the forest, and striking with his stinger at the back of the man's neck, just as Harry leaped at the other man, jumping high as he yanked the gun out of his pocket and struck the muggle's head with the butt of the gun's handle, with all the strength he could muster.
Nearly instantly, the soldier limply crumbled to the asphalt unconscious, while Ulysses' victim went as stiff as a board, falling on his back with a loud thud, because his familiar had done precisely as Harry had asked, not to use his stinger's lethal poison this time, but the petrifying one.
To cinch the matter, Ulysses was quick to strike the unconscious one as well, at Harry's motion of a hand.
Breathing heavily, Harry stared at them with a surge of triumph and relief, just as Tom shot up to his feet, eyeing him nonplussed.
"Why have you done this?" demanded Tom, frowning. "What's your intention?" His dark blue gaze darted to the truck, a look of horrified, dawning realization spreading over his face, before he glowered and snapped sharply, "Absolutely not. You are not driving that contraption!"
"I am," said Harry, feeling unaccountably cheerful, "because I'm the only one who knows how." He shot his brother a toothy grin. "Shouldn't have turned your nose up when Hutchins offered to teach you as well, should you? So now you have no other choice. You're stuck with me as the driver."
Tom's face twisted, as he hissed out, "I'm not getting on that thing-"
"No time for arguments," piped in Harry hurriedly. "Come on, help me drag them out of the road."
They did so, first one, then the other, Tom grabbing them under their arms, Harry by their ankles. They huffed and puffed with the effort, since both men felt as if they weighted a ton each, but finally managed to lay them side-by-side, hidden in the forest behind some trees.
Now and then, Harry kept shooting the road apprehensive looks, because if it really was one of Norway's main ones, they couldn't count for it to remain without transit for much longer.
"What are you doing?" said Tom sharply, when Harry began to divest both men of their upper clothing.
"We need to change into their uniform's coats and jackets," replied Harry hastily, as he continued with his task. "Once we're inside the truck, that's all anyone will see. We can pass ourselves off as Nazis as long as no one peers at us too closely."
"I gathered as much, you dimwit," spat Tom irritably. "What I meant is why haven't you shot them first."
"What?" Harry paused, glancing up at him as he remained crouched on the ground, by the side of the soldier he was stripping, as he said utterly dumbfounded, "Whatever for?"
"Because they've seen too much!" hissed out Tom impatiently. "Your Scorcrup transformed-"
"They didn't see him!" interjected Harry loudly. "I gave Ulysses the order to attack precisely when they had their backs turned to us, for that very same reason–"
"-and they've seen us," continued Tom in a hard tone of voice, ignoring Harry's interruption. "They've seen too much. We can't leave any loose ends behind-"
"They aren't loose ends!" snapped Harry angrily. "They didn't see Ulysses, and even if they had-" he gestured wildly with his hands "-who would believe them if they began raving about some kitten with a scorpion's tail!" He shot him a firm look. "And by the time their petrification fades, we'll be long gone. Let them run screaming for the hills, for all I care. They present no risk to us-"
"They are a liability, you idiot!" snarled Tom furiously, glaring at him.
"They aren't," gritted out Harry, his exasperation rising, as he added sharply, "What about your little speech, what you said, the difference between committing murder and killing out of necessity-"
Tom advanced on him, making a sudden lunge for the gun Harry had tucked in his belt, yet Harry was quick to dive to a side, roaring angrily, "Stop!"
"To cover our backs is a necessity," spat Tom seething, apparently desisting in trying to get the gun by force. He tightly grabbed Harry by an arm to pull them close, giving him a contemptuous look as he sneered scathingly, "I would have thought you would have no scruples about killing Germans. After all, you've always been saying how terribly evil they are, for being on the 'bad' side, for being Grindelwald's puppets-"
Harry let out a mirthless bark of laughter at that. "Are you off your rocker? How could I possibly still think in those terms after everything that's happened? The Norwegians were supposed to be good, and look what happened with them!"
He grimaced, before he pointed at the two Germans splayed on the ground, his voice lowering, "And they were supposed to be bad, yet they stopped the truck. They didn't run us over, or shot us and asked questions later." He fulminated his brother with a piercing, hard look. "They didn't attack us, so I'm not killing them. And I'm not letting you do it either. Enough is enough!"
Tom released him, giving him a long, considering look.
His lips suddenly quirked upwards, his expression supremely smug, as he intoned softly, "My, my, you're finally admitting it, that I've been right all along, all these years. It has taken quite a lot for you to come to such a basic realization, hasn't it?" His eyes flashed, as he added in a low, intense tone of voice, "That there is no Good or Evil-"
"Yes," snapped Harry, bristling and shooting him a dirty look.
For his brother to choose this moment, of all times, to rub it in. That Tom had been right since they were little children, always saying to him that he had to face the harsh realities of human nature and how the world worked, that there was no justice or fairness but only corruption and self-interest oiling the cogs.
He carded his fingers through his hair, meeting his brother's demanding gaze as he muttered somberly, "No Good or Evil. Yes, I know that. No need for you to-"
"Precisely, little brother," whispered Tom very quietly, skewering him with an intense gaze, as his dark blue eyes flashed with a gleam of exultant, feverish, zealous triumph. "No Good or Evil. There's only power, and those too weak to seek it."
Harry stared at him at that, utterly taken a back, because Tom was grandiosely gesturing at their surroundings as if recent events made the point in case, as if that last phrase, the notion behind it, was an epiphany he had had long ago, harbored and kept to himself, close to his heart, now to be revealed and reinforced by circumstances which lent it incontrovertible strength and credence, and because Tom's fervent, fanatical expression, just then, suddenly made Harry feel very wary, a frisson of ominous apprehension and forebodings running down his spice.
"Only power and…" Harry mumbled and trailed off, speechless and incredulous, not quite knowing what to say, before he shook his head, because they didn't have the time for such debates.
"Right," he then said stiffly, as he thrust one of the soldiers' jackets into Tom's hands. "Let's get changed."
In a matter of moments, wearing Nazi uniformed long coats, jackets, neckties, and armbands with their respective insignias and pins, and with their dirty, worn jerseys and pullovers stuffed in Harry's satchel, they were stepping back on the road, as Harry adjusted one of the soldiers' caps on his head, making sure his disarrayed hair covered his face as much as possible.
"What are you doing?" he said, pausing in his steps towards the truck as he saw Tom fumbling with his own cap, who appeared to be insistently raking his dirty hair with his fingers.
Releasing a sigh of exasperation, Harry raised his hands to help his brother rumple his hair.
"Get your grubby little paws off me," snarled Tom, harshly batting Harry's hands away from his head. "Don't mess with my hair!"
Harry gaped at him, before he choked out incredulously, " 'Don't mess with my hair'? Have you gone batty-"
"I'm not being vain, you imbecile," hissed out Tom, straightening up with indignant offense. "German soldiers are known for being disciplined and neatly groomed-"
"Who gives a rat's ass if we don't look like proper, poncy Nazis!" cried out Harry in disbelief. "We'll pose as shabby ones and that's that – the point is to cover our faces as much as possible, so no one sees we're too young!"
Looking very ill-tempered, Tom grunted, but nonetheless bent his head down to give easy access, given their difference in heights, allowing Harry to tousle and utterly dishevel his precious hair until it was a tangled mass obscuring his face, with cap on top.
It was as they climbed into their respective seats in the truck's front cabin, just when Harry used two of their jerseys to cushion his seat so that he would appear taller from the outside, when they heard a noise in the distance, catching a glimpse of a distinctive speck far away on the road.
It was a motorcar, by the looks of it. Oh, Harry had known something like this would happen, but his brother just had to waste their time by talking about serious stuff at the worst possible moment, arguing about the merits of killing and raving like a loon about power and the weak and whatnot.
If that motorcar had Germans in it, and if he and Tom were still inside an unmoving truck in the middle of the road by the time the motorcar reached them, they were done for.
The people would know something was up, and the motorcar would stop by the truck's side and whoever they were would see that Harry and Tom were no soldiers but mere boys.
And Harry dearly didn't want another life-threatening situation. He'd had enough –the stress, the fear, the need of harming others just to get away and survive. It could not happen again.
Both supremely peeved and frantic, Harry shut the door of his side, as he handed Ulysses over to Tom, snapping urgently, "Give me your belt!"
"For what?" demanded Tom, giving him a suspicious look.
"Just give it to me!" bit out Harry, as he frenziedly yanked his own off, quickly using two spare pullovers to roll them into two bunches.
Once he had his brother's belt as well, he used both his and Tom's to secure each bunched pullover under his shoes.
"I should have known – you're too much of a runt to even reach the pedals!" hissed out Tom as he caught sight of what Harry was doing, his face suddenly losing all its color, before he made a lunge for his door's handle. "That's it. I'm not staying in this deathtrap-"
Harry twisted the ignition key, wrenched the shift stick to first gear as he pushed on the clutch, and instantly slammed on the gas pedal, so hard that as the truck violently lurched forwards, Tom was tossed backwards against his seat.
"To the right, you twit!" bellowed Tom at the top of his lungs, looking half hysteric as he hung for dear life on anything in reach. "We're in Norway not England!"
"Oh, yeah," mumbled Harry as he brusquely swerved the steering wheel, jolting them to a side, having forgotten that foreigners were so weird that they drove on the wrong lane.
"Not so fast!" yelled Tom in sheer agitation, as they moved along the right-hand lane of the wide road while Harry perfectly executed the hand-and-feet coordination to make the required gear changes as their velocity picked up.
"I'm not even going forty kilometers per hour," groused Harry crossly, as he checked the speedometer. "Besides, if the motorcar-"
A loud rumbling sound came, and Harry instantly sat up straight on his jersey-cushioned seat, making himself look as tall as possible, his face looking forward through the windshield, hoping his hair was truly covering his features, hoping he looked nothing but a scruffy-looking Nazi soldier minding his own business, dutifully following orders and driving a truck of provisions to who-knew-where.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw Tom tensing, more than he already was, at that, but it all came to nothing.
It was indeed a motorcar, a fancy-looking one with small Nazi flags flapping from the sides of its narrow, shiny black hood, that came speeding through the road, that overpassed them in seconds, that was soon fading in the distance, and Harry had only caught a glimpse of three occupants – a driver, and two Germans at the back, one looking as some sort of high-ranked Nazi officer, the other apparently the man's aide.
Their truck wasn't even spared a glance.
"Well," breathed out Harry, before he turned his face to shoot his brother a wide grin of triumph and toothy smugness. "We're finally-"
"Keep your eyes on the road, you halfwit!" snarled Tom, glaring at him as he tightened his fingers around the grab handle on his side, his knuckles turning white.
Harry rolled his eyes, before he obeyed nonetheless while he declared proudly, "Robert Hutchins taught me how to drive perfectly well. I'm excellent at it, so there's no reason for you to-"
"As if I would trust any ability of yours with my life," sneered Tom snidely. "So focus on what you're doing!"
"I am," said Harry with exasperation, keeping his eyes on the road ahead because his brother was certainly ridiculously jittery. "Plus, driving around London is much harder than along this boring road," he added loftily, "let me tell you."
"You drove around our neighborhood," hissed out Tom acidly, "not the entirety of London."
"Same thing," said Harry nonchalantly, flapping a hand dismissively.
"BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL!" shrieked Tom in a screechy high-pitch worthy of Walburga Black herself.
Harry couldn't help it, and burst into uproarious laughter, as he glanced at Tom and chocked out, "You – squeal – like a – little girl!"
"Shut up, you idiot!" snarled Tom furiously, glaring at him viciously. "And eyes forward!"
Realizing his brother was going barmy -so twitchy and antsy, in such a state of constant anguish and panic attacks at every little thing that Harry did- he finally gave up in trying to soothe Tom's irrational fears and quite insulting lack of trust in his driving skills.
The only good thing that came from it was that Tom followed every single one of Harry's instructions, too scared that Harry would want to do those himself and detract from the concentration he should be focusing on the road.
Indeed, Tom –however reluctantly and sour-faced– allowed little Ulysses to coil up and sleep on his lap, and even petted him for a job well done with the German soldiers, when Harry threatened to do it himself if Tom didn't.
Tom even took the pocket watch and clip-on compass from Harry's satchel and kept an eye on them both, to tell Harry if they were following the right southbound direction and how many hours passed as they drove on.
Alas, it also meant that Tom wasn't up to the task of keeping Harry entertained by chattering with him.
"No talking! Concentrate!" Tom hissed out like a frenzied Gorgon every time Harry attempted to initiate some conversation, which didn't help Harry at all in trying to stave off his tiredness, of battling against his drooping eyelids.
He just wanted to fall asleep. They hadn't had any proper rest since leaving Hogwarts nearly three days ago, not any proper food that gave sustenance either, except for-
Well, Harry preferred not to think about that ever again, shuddering and shying from the subject.
If fact, he didn't want to think about any of the things that had happened. He wanted to fall asleep, for a whole year, if he could, and not ponder about any of it until he absolutely had to – until he had to have a serious conversation with Tom, about the rather disturbing and alarming things he had said, because that was a must.
Hence, in silence, the hours passed by in monotonous boredom –which Harry considered excellent, monotony was the height of everything that should be aspired, no more thrills required, he'd had his fill, thank you very much.
Indeed, in much appreciated tediousness, time ticked by, as it became night and Harry had to turn on the headlights, as they watched forest giving way to pastures without snow, to smaller roads branching off, of sights of villages and then larger towns in the distance, at either side, as other vehicles appeared going to and fro in their road, wagons and carts drawn by horses, then motorcars and other trucks similar to theirs, the transit on the road increasing with every kilometer they drove.
Suddenly seeing a flash of something, Harry breathed out hopefully without turning his head to glance at Tom or his brother would have another conniption, "Was that a-"
"Yes," snapped Tom shortly.
"And it said?" urged Harry nearly breathless with anticipation, because they had zoomed past a pole at one side of the road with several signs, pointing in different directions.
"Oslo," said Tom, his lips hitching upwards. "The one indicating our road ahead said Oslo."
"Are you certain?" said Harry pressingly, giving him a quick look.
"I am," drawled Tom in a contented tone of voice.
Harry let out a shuddery exhalation of breath, and went back to focus on the road.
Some time later, they found themselves trailing after a long line of other vehicles, which became progressively more sluggish and cluttered.
He frowned, trying to see ahead as they had to come to a halt. "What's going on?"
"I'm not sure," muttered Tom, as he peered out his windows. "Something is making them stall, but I cannot see what it is."
Harry maneuvered the gearshift and pedals, as they had to lurch forward when the motorcar in front of them began to advance again.
They progressed at a crawling pace, and it wasn't until they were almost there that they realized what it was.
Ahead of them, blocking the road, was a booth with a gate being commandeered by a pair of armed German soldiers, as another one of them, with gas lamp in hand and rifle strapped on shoulder, was approaching the vehicles in the line, one by one, apparently asking for identity cards or documents.
Harry went pale, his mind swirling chaotically, trying to think fast and hard, but not a single spark of an idea was emerging from his sleep-deprived, frazzled brain.
He shot Tom a panicked look, as he said frantically, "What do we do now?"
Tom stared at him, eyebrows furrowed, then slowly glanced at the gate, his expression calculating and turning sly and gauging as he then eyed the vehicles in front of them.
Yet when his brother still didn't say a word, Harry snapped frenziedly, "Well?"
"I have a thought," said Tom coolly, pocketing the watch and compass, as he brusquely shook Ulysses awake, unceremoniously tossing him to Harry's lap. "Take your little pest, and-" he quickly perused Harry's satchel, palming its contents until he withdrew the Cloak he could not see but sense by touch, throwing it at Harry "-use this to climb out of the truck. You'll need it, the soldiers are on your side."
"And then?" Harry stared at him as he tucked Ulysses under his Nazi coat, clutching the Invisibility Cloak.
"You'll see," said Tom shortly, widely smirking at him. "Just leave the motor running, and follow me once we're outside. Now move."
Harry nodded instantly, and draped the Invisibility Cloak over himself as he opened his door as noiselessly and inconspicuously as possible, seeing Tom doing the same on the other side.
Once his feet hit the asphalt, he darted around the front of their truck to reach Tom, quickly covering his brother with the Cloak as soon as they stood together.
"Come," whispered Tom, taking hold of Harry's hand and breaking into a run as they sped along the line of vehicles.
Harry only realized what Tom's plan consisted of when they stopped behind the very first vehicle halted in front of the gate.
It was a German truck -much like theirs, the Nazi insignia emblazoned on the tent-like cloth canopying the sides and back- which apparently had already been inspected and passed approval, since the soldier checking papers was three vehicles behind them.
Tom carefully opened the flaps of the canopy an inch, taking a peek inside, before he whispered quietly, "There's no one. It's transporting crates. We must be quick."
Nervously glancing now and then at the gate, because in any second it would be lifted, Harry hastily helped his brother to unloop the cords tying the canopy to the pegs in the truck's back.
A whirring sound, and the gate began to be raised by the two German soldiers standing guard by the booth.
"Hurry!" wheezed Harry frenetically, as they both fumbled urgently with the cords.
It was not a second too late when they were pulling the freed canopy wide, jumping and climbing as best as they could into the back of the truck, like desperate monkeys, just as the truck lurched forwards, making them slam into large, hard containers that they couldn't see in the absolute darkness.
As the truck suddenly sped, they were tossed around, each muffling their groans of pain as they struck against crates at all sides, as Harry felt Ulysses jumping out of his Nazi coat, surely making a dive for safety.
Finally, as the truck kept a steady, constant velocity, Harry was able to crawl on hands and knees, fumbling in the dark until he reached the canopy at the back, and opened it a slice, glimpsing how they were leaving the gate and soldiers far behind.
Furthermore, apparently, their abandoned truck had been discovered, because the three Nazis now looked like frenzied ants, their loud voices rattled, barking, and shrieking with questions, and then began to fade, until Harry couldn't hear them anymore, until the line of other vehicles waiting to be allowed passage slowly disappeared from sight.
It was only then when he dropped on the floor, letting out an exhalation of breath as his heart settled back into some measure of tranquility.
A click, and a small flame suddenly appeared.
Harry stared at Tom's face in the gloom, bathed in a dim yellow light, as he saw that his brother had the cigarette lighter in one hand and Harry's satchel in the other.
Ulysses made an appearance then, looking all the worse for wear as he jumped to Harry's lap.
"And now we wait?" whispered Harry apprehensively as he took hold of the lighter when his brother passed it on to him, and tried to comfortingly pet his Scorcrup with the other hand. "And hope that the drivers at front are bound for Oslo?"
They could hear them, muffled voices chatting in German, not sounding drowsy and lethargic as Harry would have expected, but cheerful and well awake.
"They are," said Tom quietly, a look of concentration on his face. "We're on the road that leads there and…" He trailed off, his lips suddenly twisting, as he shot Harry a glance. "And I believe they are talking precisely about some sort of feast or celebration that is going to take place in their barracks in Oslo." He gestured at the crates surrounding them. "These are for that, it seems."
"I'll take your word for it," muttered Harry, because really, Tom certainly knew much more German than he did. He sighed heavily, as he shot his brother an anxious look. "What time is it?"
"Three in the morning," announced Tom coolly as he checked the pocket watch.
Harry paled at that, astonished and consternated both.
It meant that he had been driving for nearly nine hours nonstop, and it was now Tuesday.
Very early, granted, but how many hours would it take for this truck to reach the capital, then? Would they ever find the Ministry of Magic before noon, at that?
Harry stared down at Ulysses, his poor familiar who looked so battered, and gently rubbed the little creature's head, in between his small ears as the Scorcrup so loved. Nevertheless, it appeared that even Ulysses was too fatigued to even voice his appreciation and enjoyment with a purr.
At least, out of the three of them, the Scorcrup managed to obtain some rest, because Harry and Tom certainly didn't.
They didn't get much of a chance of even getting a wink of sleep. Three times it happened that the truck slowed down and suddenly halted, that they heard German voices coming from outside, that they crouched in a small space between crates, with Invisibility Cloak tightly wrapped around them, so that the Nazi soldier who opened the canopy and took a peek would not see there were stowaways inside.
It was a very nerve-wrecking and tense experience, hiding there in what felt to Harry like a perpetual state of panic, tribulation, and wariness. Then again, in the last couple of days, it seemed as if his existence had been solely reduced to that.
"Wake up!" someone hissed sharply in his ear.
Harry jerked awake, completely startled, not having even noticed when he had dozed off.
"What time is it?" he demanded woozily and highly agitated.
"Twenty minutes later than the last time you asked," groused Tom acerbically, looking profoundly tuckered out, groggy, disheveled, and utterly irritated. Especially when he slapped the pocket watch into Harry's hands. "You take this."
Which was a fair, Harry thought, because the last thing he remembered was asking Tom the hour for the hundredth time during the journey, and nearly sobbing when his brother answered.
There was something different this time, however. He heard noises coming from outside, a cacophony of them, sounds of voices, vehicles, and all sorts of activities meshed together.
Harry quickly parted open the canopy a bare inch, his eyes going wide as he took a peek.
It was a city, awake, noisy, filled with people walking and carrying on with their lives, quietly, somberly, with many heads hung low, a city defeated and brought down to its knees, with traffic of heavy vehicles and glum passersby, with clutches of Nazi soldiers strutting on the sidewalks like princes in their new kingdom, their voices high and exultant, amused, cheerful, or satisfied, the red Nazi flag hanging grandiosely from the most magnificent and stately of buildings.
"Oslo," Harry breathed out, as if it were the sweetest, most precious word that had ever escaped from his lips, such wondrous jubilation and euphoria encompassing him that for moment he could do nothing but watch as life progressed and unfolded all around them outside, no matter the pervading air of gloom and misery, still feeling that it was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.
Harry released the canopy and instantly checked the watch, his heart thundering loudly in his chest, soon to be swept by sheer dismay.
"Eleven o'clock," he croaked out, shooting Tom a look of wretched despair.
"Indeed," said Tom stoically.
"An hour," Harry chocked out, his expression crumbling further. "We've got only one hour."
"Yes."
Harry heaved a deep breath, infusing himself with firm encouragement, as he said bracingly, "All right. We can do this." He glanced around, as he made sure everything was packed inside the satchel. "We must change our clothes, first."
Exchanging their uniformed Nazi coats, jackets, armbands, neckties, and caps for just one of their jerseys each, since Oslo certainly felt much warmer than up north, they were nearly ready.
Crouching before the flaps of the canopy, with Ulysses once more stuck inside Harry's clothes and with the Invisibility Cloak draped over them, they waited.
And just when the truck halted for a moment at the end of a street, surely due to some traffic light, they carefully climbed out of the truck, making sure the Cloak kept covering them both.
In went without a hitch. The moment they touched ground, they sprinted to the nearest sidewalk, making sure of not smashing into anyone, and kept darting through people until they found a small alley.
Checking they were alone, Harry at last pulled the Invisibility Cloak off them, stuffing it inside his satchel.
"And now, how do you propose we find the Ministry?"" drawled Tom, as he arched an eyebrow, looking as if he was merely posing an academic question to a philosophical matter and was simply curious about the degree of outlandishness of Harry's response.
Harry nervously bit his lip. "Haven't the foggiest." He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "We'll just have to walk around, I reckon. And explore, I suppose, until we see something."
"Something," repeated Tom placidly.
Harry gave him a dirty look, because his brother could have just been sneering the word out, but was instead standing there like a pontificating, pompous prat, having no business in sounding so calm, thus making the suggestion appear so ridiculous.
"Yes, something," he said flatly, narrowing his green eyes at him. "Unless you can think of anything better."
"Alas, I cannot," said Tom impassively.
"Then," bit out Harry grumpily, "we do as I say."
"Certainly, little brother," drawled Tom, as he mockingly gestured forwards, sweeping a hand in invitation, "lead the way."
Harry shot him a nasty look, before he marched off.
Oslo was just as he had seen it from inside the truck, as he walked with pocket watch in hand and Tom following placidly by his side, as he kept glancing all around in the hopes of seeing the barest hint of magic - powerful and strong enough that would be visible to his eyes and ability, of a ward on a building, of a dome of magical shields, of anything at all, really.
Yet, as they walked and walked, as they took corners and discovered new street after street, a commercial area over there, a financial one several blocks the other way, a quiet residential district minutes later, and then another area with much activity all around, he glimpsed nothing in the slightest bit unusual.
Harry kept checking the watch again and again. Forty minutes to go, which became thirty, and then twenty.
"Given up, yet?" asked Tom indolently as he caught sight of Harry staring at the clock with a look of absolute horror.
"Shut up!" bit out Harry tensely, as he snapped his head up to glower at him. "You could at least try to help!"
"Help, how?" sneered Tom acidly. "What miraculous feat would you wish for me to do? Do tell me and I'll have a good laugh."
Harry utterly deflated, his shoulder slumping, as he whispered distraught, "We're never going to make it, are we?"
"I don't see how," said Tom coolly.
Harry clenched his jaw and fisted his hands, trembling in sheer impotence, before he began to wildly look at their surroundings, searchingly, for anything. Anything at all – there had to be something!
His frenzy vanished as he caught sight of a scene, making him bristle.
It was group of German soldiers, loudly jibbing, taunting, and mocking a very old woman who was painstakingly bending to pick up cans from the sidewalk, with a very heavy-looking bag of groceries that seemed to have spilled, and the Nazi soldiers were having a petty laugh at her expense, kicking the cans away as she tried to reach for them.
It made Harry seethe, pouring out all his misery and anger at their own situation towards the one he saw: the poor old woman, clearly Norwegian, shrunken, wrinkled, and so very frail-looking, wearing a brown shabby dress and a moth-eaten woolen shawl over her bony shoulders, her grey hair a mass haphazardly drawn in a bun, being cruelly taunted by the very same people who had taken over her country and her life, surely.
But then, as he kept observing, telling himself he had other things to worry about, and that he certainly couldn't afford to interfere, he suddenly went absolutely still.
"Brother," he breathed out slowly. "Look."
Tom did, before he sneered sarcastically, "Fascinating."
"No," whispered Harry, his gazed pinned on the old woman. "Look at the pocket of her dress. Her left pocket, Tom."
Frowning, Tom stared intently, before his expression changed drastically with a look of utter surprise.
Harry glanced at him, as he whispered fervently, "It's a wand! That thing poking out of her pocket is the tip of a wand's handle. She must be a muggleborn living in Oslo."
Tom nodded, now looking as if his mind was rushing with possibilities and plots, but Harry had no time to waste and he rushed forward without a second thought, hearing Tom cursing under his breath behind him, at his impetuous dash.
The Germans weren't at all happy when Harry interrupted their entertainment by hastily picking up all the cans and taking hold of the old woman's arm to help her up.
"Sie ist meine Großmutter," said Harry quickly to the soldiers, in the most perfect German he could muster, which sounded just right to his ears, for once, his tone soft, pleading, and cringing with apologies, his expression one of absolute submission. "Bitte."
The old woman gave him a startled glance, but was wise enough to say nothing at his interference. Harry didn't think she had understood that he had said she was his grandmother, she didn't seem to understand German.
The soldiers shot him a look of utter annoyance and irritation, but when Harry reiterated his plea, they waved him off briskly, as if they couldn't be bothered with the likes of them any longer.
Tom, of course, had quickly cottoned on to the plan, and had grabbed the old woman's grocery bag, solicitously holding her other arm, as they both acted as if they were doing nothing but helping along their dotty old grandma, gently herding her down the street.
When they were far away from the soldiers, they halted, and Harry was quick to pointedly touch the tip of the wand poking out of her pocket.
The old witch jerked backwards, an expression of horror on her face, looking about to bolt as far as her arthritic feet would carry her.
"No, wait!" said Harry hurriedly, as he gestured at himself and Tom, lowering his voice. "We're wizards too. You understand?"
The ancient woman stared at him, and Harry gestured again at her pocket, as he whispered urgently, "Wand. Magic. We do magic too. Wizards."
"Veivisere?" she croaked in a raspy voice, gazing at him with large eyes.
"Veivisere? That's wizards, then?" said Harry, grinning at her. "Yes, we're veivisere. And we're looking for-" he thought fast and then pointed at her wand, raising his fingers, representing two wands crossed together like dueling swords, the symbol of Aurors, in England and other countries too, hoping that such was the case in Norway as well "-Aurors, you know?"
She stared at him, blinking, and Harry bit his bottom lip, before an idea struck him.
"Valko Krum," he said hastily. "The Head of Aurors of Bulgaria, the one who became famous and a hero when he died trying to defend the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic! Krum – Aurors!"
"Krum," she repeated, her eyes growing with understanding as she nodded at him. "Valko Krum. Auror? Ja."
"We need to find the Aurors," said Harry slowly. "Your Ministry of Magic."
"Magidepartementet?" she rasped out, blinking at him.
"Yes! Magidepartementet, Ministry of Magic, right? Yes!" Harry breathed out, nodding eagerly at her, as he gestured at Tom and himself. "We need you to help us find the Magidepartementet – it's an urgent matter! Very urgent!"
The old woman gazed at him, looking hesitant, before she cast the group of Nazi soldiers in the distance a sour, hateful look, then glanced back at Harry, her expression softening as she raised a frail, wrinkled hand and patted him gently on the cheek in gratitude, nodding her head.
"Thank you," said Harry fervently, as the old lady made a gesture with her hands for them to follow.
Helping by carrying her heavy grocery bag, Harry hurried along by her side as Tom shot him a glance and tapped a finger on his wrist, as if he had a watch there.
"I know," whispered Harry distressed, as he glanced at his own pocket watch, seeing they only had fifteen minutes left.
Sooner than he would have expected, the old Norwegian witch entered a small, dingy shop of antique furniture. Harry followed, a tad nonplussed, through the dusty store till the very end, where the old woman greeted an old man as wrinkled, tiny, and frail-looking as her.
Given the way they kissed each other with infinite tenderness and love on the cheeks, they seemed to be husband and wife, and as Harry settled her grocery bag on the counter, the old lady began to speak in quick Norwegian to her husband, now and then gesturing at him and Tom.
Whatever she was saying, the old man didn't seem too disposed to obey, shaking his head, answering back, and shooting them frowns, until the old witch snapped something at him and his expression became one of reluctant consent.
The old woman turned around to smile at them warmly, before she pointed from them to her husband.
Getting the gist of it, they followed the husband into the back of the store, to what was apparently the old couple's living spaces.
A small, yet cozy sitting room awaited them, with clear indication of magic all around, in the moving portraits, glass figurines which glowed with an array of swirling lights, a porcelain figure of a man and woman dancing to some slow tune, mirrors with faces on them, and such.
The old man halted before the fireplace, taking a pot of what was evidently Floo-powder in his hands.
At that, Harry shot his brother an anxious glance. "Will our Traces-"
"Not with Flooing," said Tom shortly, before he frowned. "Yet I cannot hazard a guess as to what the old codger is planning on doing. I doubt we could just Floo into the Norwegian Ministry of Magic."
Harry shrugged at that. They were entirely in the hands of the old man, and whatever the ancient wizard could do for them would have to be enough. They didn't have many options but to trust that these two Norwegians knew what they were doing.
The old man impatiently gestured at them to go inside the fireplace, and they did, just as the wizard threw a handful of Floo-powder in the hearth and enunciated an impossibly long Norwegian word.
It was Harry's first experience with Floo-travel and it was a bizarre sensation, as he felt as if he was spinning and spinning on the spot, seeing flashes of other sitting rooms and chambers, until he stopped whirling, his stomach churning and unsettled, while he heard poor Ulysses letting out a hiss of complain from inside his jersey.
Tom looked a mite greenish too, as they both stepped out from some other fireplace, soon having to make way when the old witch's husband appeared, coming out of green flames just behind them.
It was then when Harry glanced at their new surroundings, his eyebrows shooting upwards.
They were in some sort of museum about the Viking people.
There were glass case displays with swords, round wooden shields, and horned helmets, others with mannequins dressed in the armor, shoulder pads, and skirts of Vikings, and an array of drawings and paintings of Norse gods, a model of a Viking village, and most marvelous of all, a whole, large Viking ship in the middle of the museum's vast main room.
Not only that, but it wasn't perched with supports on the floor. Instead, it looked as if it was floating in water, in a fountain that was just large enough for the ship, which made it very wide indeed.
Nevertheless, it couldn't be deep enough for a real ship. Logically, the ship itself had to be a model too, a very realistic one.
The vessel had beautiful lines and decorative patterns, with rows of oars interpolated with shields at either side, and with an impressive representation of a dragon's head made of wood at the bow.
There were only a very few muggles walking around, which wasn't surprising given the Nazi occupation of Norway. Yet, none of them seemed to have even realized that Harry and Tom had just come out of a fireplace stuck in between two glass case displays, which was only one of the many Harry saw scattered in the room. It was certain that the numerous hearths were hidden from muggle sight with enchantments.
A muggle did see them. Well, couldn't be a muggle then, since the man approached the old wizard who had brought them there, clearly being close acquaintances, a look of utter surprise and puzzlement on his face as he glanced from the old wizard to Harry and Tom, and back.
Harry couldn't fathom what both wizards began speaking about in Norwegian, but the wizard of the museum, looking to be a curator or guard of some sort, looked downright alarmed as he shook his head again and again in refusal, scowling, agitated, angered, or wary at different times.
The guard finally threw his hands into the air, saying something back to the old wizard in a very sharp tone of voice, as if warning him that consequences would be on his head.
Or at least that was what Harry surmised, because the guard seemed to have grudgingly yielded to the old wizard's wishes and began to unceremoniously shove Harry and Tom forward.
Harry shot him a puzzled glance, but went along, as the old wizard turned around and vanished into a fireplace without a word in parting.
To his utter astonishment, they were being led right to the Viking ship, to a wood plank that went from the floor surrounding the fountain to inside the vessel.
"Gå, komme oss inn!" the guard barked at them impatiently.
Harry took that as 'go', and did just so, outright puzzled as he got inside the model of the ship along with Tom.
Not a single muggle even glanced at them, and Harry realized that what the muggles didn't see was the ship itself. It was the most magnificent display in the whole room and not one muggle was approaching it.
He felt utterly stupid as he sat down on the model vessel's central beam, in between the oars, and began to feel that the guard had to be taking the mickey out of them. Surely it was a joke of some kind.
Just when he turned around to glare and snap something at the guard staring at them from the floor, everything seemed to become hazy around him.
He found himself surrounded by fog, so dense that he couldn't even see Tom, who was seated just a few inches away.
Just as abruptly as it had come, the fog vanished, and Harry's eyes went impossible wide, as he breathed out dumbfounded, "We're not in Oslo anymore."
Tom didn't say a word. It seemed his brother was just as astonished, or better said, impressed, his expression one of appreciation and approval.
Yet, Harry could only gape with wonderment. Their Viking vessel wasn't in some museum anymore, and certainly not a model either.
They were in a vast lake somewhere in Norway, so immense Harry couldn't even see its shoreline, as the ship's oars were moving of their own accord, striking water, making the vessel move inexplicably fast, towards an isle in the very middle.
He gawked in fascination. The isle was completely occupied by the most beautiful building he had ever seen. It looked like some sort of immense, ancient stave church, or cathedral given it's gigantic size, looking to be made of gorgeous wood, with layers of black roofs, conical or triangular, one on top of the other, countless stories-high, with woodwork-crafting forming geometrical decorative patterns all around.
To his eyes, it all glowed, with layers upon layers of mantles of colorful, shimmering magic – and incredibly potent wards they must be, for him to see it as clearly as he saw the ones in Hogwarts.
"This is their Ministry of Magic?" mumbled Harry astounded and incredulous. "It looks as though it's one of the most ancient places in the Wizarding World – and they use it for their government?"
"Apparently," said Tom succinctly, before he shot him a sharp glance, demanding, "What time is it?"
Harry had nearly forgotten all about that in his marveled stupefaction, and when he glanced at the pocket watch, he wished he had not, as he whispered bleakly, "Four minutes to noon."
Tom merely nodded at that, and went back to stare at the isle they were approaching so very quickly.
"We're not going there to see Grindelwald make his appearance," said Harry sharply, not liking one bit his brother's lack of alarm at the hour. "We're going there to obtain a portkey back to Hogsmeade, brother."
Tom glanced at him, arching an eyebrow and with an inscrutable expression on his face, as he drawled unruffled, "Certainly, if we can succeed in doing so."
Harry pierced him with green eyes filled with suspicion, before he realized they were almost upon the Ministry.
He instantly pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his satchel, throwing it over them, while he glanced down at his Scorcrup, who had his head poking out the collar of Harry's jersey, and patted him on the head, as he whispered comfortingly, "We'll soon be back home, you'll see."
Little Ulysses let out a soft meow that sounded a tad mournful and apprehensive, and Harry petted him again, reassuringly.
"Look ahead," whispered Tom suddenly.
And Harry understood why, as their Viking vessel reached the isle and struck shore, a wood plank suddenly appearing, leading the way down.
Without a second thought, Harry grabbed Tom by the hand and pulled him along, as Tom secured the Invisibility Cloak around them with his free hand.
They ran down the plank, their feet stomping on sand, then grass and finally wood boards, as Harry made them madly dash up the grand stairway leading to the ancient, stave cathedral-like building, as he saw that the high-arched and beautifully decorated entrance had no door but an immense wall of dark blue magic, a gate of some sort, and he kept making them run at full speed, as Tom hissed angrily for his recklessness, as Harry knew it had to be one or two minutes before noon and they would never make it in time to find the Department of Magical Transportation, to steal a portkey, but he wouldn't let them give up without trying.
They pelted through the wall of blue magic, feeling as if they were crossing through a waterfall, and came out on the other side.
Yet Harry didn't take a second hitch of breath at the sight before him, countless of wizards and witches with their wands drawn, standing in rows after rows in the vast main hall of the building, or apparently posted at strategical places all around.
There were people of all sorts, hundreds of them, most with violet robes, and Harry understood they had to be Norwegians Aurors, by their disciplined stance, and by the determined, fierce expression on their faces.
Many others were recognizably French Aurors, in their pale blue tunics, because Harry knew that Dumbledore had convinced the French Minister of Magic to declare war on the Dark Lord, to send all his Aurors in succor to the Norwegians.
Furthermore, there were many other assorted wizards and witches, not Aurors, many clearly Norwegian Ministry workers, but plenty others looked foreigners too, people who had voluntarily and bravely answered the Norwegians' call for help.
And they were all ready. They all knew what was coming, the day, the place, the exact hour, down to the second. Evidently, because Julian Erlichmann was Dumbledore's spy, because just as Harry had thought, the young wizard must have passed on the information to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore to his French allies.
It was a whole Ministry filled with wizards and witches making their last stance for a country already conquered by Grindelwald's Nazi troops, in a country left behind and abandoned by the Muggle Allies.
And Harry's chest constricted, because he knew they didn't have a chance. As much as he wished, he doubted a Dark Lord could be halted by them, but only by someone equal in power, and he knew now who the 'Titans' were.
Nevertheless, he didn't stop, as he ran and pulled Tom along, as he saw that their entry had been noticed, surely due to some indication given by the wall of magic of the entrance.
As powerful as it had looked, it hadn't been there to block access to everyone, just to the enemy, clearly. Just as the whole building inside was pulsing and throbbing with layers of magical wards to ward off Grindelwald and his minions, glowing before Harry's eyes.
Several witches and wizards yelled loudly, and tried to see who had crossed, but of course, Harry and Tom were invisible.
Suddenly, someone, thinking enemies had somehow entered, someone clearly very smart and an Englishman, bellowed, "Accio Invisibility Cloaks!"
Harry nearly fainted, until he realized that Charlus Potter's Invisibility Cloak had not shifted an inch, still faithfully draped over him and Tom.
He didn't spare a second to wonder or question it, as mind-boggling as it was, since more wizards and witches attempted the same spell, a series of "Accio Invisibility Cloaks" or Cloak in singular, echoing loudly, in several different languages.
"Let's keep going!" whispered Harry frantically, as he tugged on Tom's hand and careened forward.
"Where?" hissed out Tom furiously.
Harry briskly pulled him along into another mad dash, weaving through the people, as he headed for a large board he had glimpsed. It seemed to indicate the floors in the Ministry and the location of every Department, to guide visitors.
"Here," wheezed Harry, as they stood before it, his voice haggard and frenzied as he added in a whisper, "Look for anything that could be the Norwegian name for the Department of Magical Transportation-"
The time has come…
Suddenly, Harry screamed as intense pain speared into his head, as he heard his shout accompanied by those of everyone else, as he fell on hands and feet like the others who did to their knees or crumbled to the floor, as it seemed as if beastly, savage claws were ripping through his brain, as a deep, low voice echoed and reverberated as if it was coming from all around him and from inside his skull, as it continued with whip-lashing force.
Surrender, and your life will be spared...
It was overwhelming, incapacitating, it was all he could think of or hear, of surrendering as the voice said. An utterly unfamiliar voice he had never heard before, yet he knew who it was, because the knowledge of its identity was being suffused inside his mind, and it was followed by terror, because it was Gellert Grindelwald talking to him, to everyone, inside their heads, in the respective languages their minds comprehended.
"No!" groaned Harry desperately, as he tried to scramble on hands and feet, as he tried to open his eyes which seemed to have scrunched shut with a volition of their own, tears of pain leaking from them, as he had to find his brother because it was imperative that he took Tom's hand again, that he found it.
Submit, and no harm will come to you...
Yes, to submit was to live, submission meant surviving to see another day. Harry howled as the alien thought wrecked inside his mind, clutching his head, as he chocked and wheezed, attempting to draw breath, yet he felt he couldn't.
He would not breathe, unless he submitted to the Dark Lord, the greatest wizard of them all, who held his life in his hands, hands that could be merciful, tender and forgiving, yet brutal and ruthless if not shown the acceptance and loyalty that was due to him.
"No," choked out Harry, shaking his head violently, trying to keep the foreign thoughts away from his head, feeling as if he was sinking in a miasma of confusion and madness.
Resist, and your life and those of your loved ones will be forfeited...
It was insanity, sheer devastating insanity that didn't let him think clearly, that made his sight swim and his mind lurch and battle against a crushing force that was overpowering, in will and strength and magic, because it was true, to resist was to die, and there was no bravery in that but stupidity and waste.
"TOM!" Harry cried out, in despair and wretchedness, fraught with the need to see and feel his brother, the need of not being alone in the madness, to be helped out of it.
You have three minutes to decide, between Life or Death.
It stopped. Everything suddenly stopped, and Harry found himself splayed on the floor, like everyone else, his head throbbing yet all pain and confusion was gone, leaving only clarity behind.
"I'm here, little brother," said a haggard voice, as a hand pulled on him.
Harry staggered, as Tom helped him up to his feet.
Everyone around them looked ill, pale, shaky, and even some seemed half-crazed with fear.
Harry caught a glimpse of several witches and wizards, here and there, tossing their wands or breaking them, as they bowed their heads low, clearly in a display of a decision they had made, to surrender.
Some were even fleeing, but most, all the Aurors and other assorted people, remained standing in place, ready to fight till the end, to never yield.
Harry glanced at Tom, seeing that his brother looked ghastly too, his face pale, his lips contorted in a snarl of fury, and Harry understood, because if Tom had felt the same as he had, thoughts of submission forcefully lashing through his mind, it was something that must have agonized and enraged Tom beyond any degree of measure, because Tom bowed to no one.
Yet, there was something else in Tom's dark blue eyes, a gleam of awed fascination, of greed, of hunger, of sheer necessity to know and master.
Harry shook his head, before he stared at his brother and gasped out weakly, "What - was - that? What - did he do?"
"That, was full mastery of the Mind Arts," said Tom shortly, his voice hoarse. "That is what a dark wizard like Grindelwald can do with Legilimency and immense power." His dark blue eyes flashed. "That is what I, and you, will have to learn, little brother. Because there is no survival if one is too weak to seek power, is there?"
"What?" croaked out Harry, before his eyes widened with horror. "Three minutes, he said!"
"Indeed," said Tom coolly, skewering him with his eyes. "Hence, if you don't want to 'fall into his clutches', as you so aptly put it before, we have to leave. Now."
"Yes," breathed out Harry.
Tom had the Invisibility Cloak in his hands. They had been there in the middle of the entrance hall with everyone else, in sight as the Cloak had fallen off them, yet no one seemed to have noticed the two boys among them.
Nevertheless, Tom was quick to pull the Cloak over them, as Harry checked on Ulysses, whom he was sure he must have squashed when falling. However, his Scorcrup seemed unharmed, as resilient a creature as he was, and Harry didn't waste another second.
"Where do we go?" Harry whispered frantically.
"Anywhere," snapped Tom sharply. "We hide. We wait for the battle to end. And then we search for the Department of Magical Transportation under the Invisibility Cloak. It will not matter if there will be Grindelwald's minions strutting about."
Harry nodded, just as Tom grabbed his hand and made them run through the crowd, and Harry's heart lodged in his throat between pants, as they began reaching the end of the entrance hall, as they saw a wide corridor leading into the depths of the Ministry, as they ran for their lives towards it.
Time has come to an end...
Grindelwald's voice echoed in his mind, with no pain or force behind, just the statement, simple and clear, the reaping of the ultimatum previously given, and everything exploded around them.
Author's Note:
Some reviewers have remarked that last chapter contained too much brutality and horrible things. And perhaps I should have written a warning in the Author's Note, but I didn't think it was necessary. I thought it was implicit - after all, we all know that this fic is taking place during WWII, it's even stated in the summary. So of course that a lot of brutal and horrifying things are going to happen, and Harry will experience some of them –some even worse than last chapter, I expect.
World War II was one of the most savage wars in history, and I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I like to write as realistically as possible. So for those people who don't like harsh things, which I understand, I would recommend skipping such scenes, because there's little else I can do –except writing a warning next time, which I will.
I'm sorry that's all I can do, because I really think that the fic would be terrible if I had to make things 'softer', since it wouldn't be at all believable given the decade it's set in.
Regarding what Harry should or shouldn't have done, I don't think there was much else he could have done for the woman. He didn't have any food to leave her with, and he didn't steal any life-or-death necessities from her either - he took back what the deserters had stolen from them, plus a box of bullets, a pocket watch, and one hunting trap. That he left the corpses there was a matter of urgency. Imagine having to drag and bury five large bodies, as exhausted and hurried as they were. They had their own concerns to deal with and at least Harry finally showed a sense of self-preservation by not remaining there trying to do the impossible to nicely fix everything – that naivety of his is long gone, I think. The solution certainly wasn't ideal, but he did as much as he could afford and think of, given the situation.
About why Tom keeps going along with Harry's schemes, it's quite simple: they're reduced to having to trust each other. I think their bond has strengthened because of this; of having to do whatever occurs to one or the other, in every new dire circumstance. And Tom goes along, just as Harry did regarding the necessity of eating the only thing they had left.
As to why Harry and Tom ended up in Norway, in the warfront, why I made it happen, it's simple, as I often point out, everything in my fic happens for a reason, everything ends up mattering down along the plotline. I understand it can be exasperating to see the plot diverging in such ways, of not always writing about them in Hogwarts, of not sticking with the one plotline that might be more interesting or important to many, but I never do these sorts of things without a good motive *winks*
I think that after this chapter we can understand what came out of it, for Harry's and Tom's character development, in many ways.
Hope this has served to clarify some things! Until next time :)