Quoth the Raven
Disclaimer: See chapter 1. Reviews are welcomed, flames aren't. Special, special thanks goes to Phil, our Brit-speaker and beta. He has done a marvelous job on keeping us on track. We could not have done this without him. -GF and the Frau
Chapter 46: Leave No Black Plume
The Hogwarts Express pulled out of Hogsmeade station, heading back to King's Cross and London.
Harry, Hermione and Wolf were sitting in a compartment near the front of the train. In fact, they were about two compartments behind the staff carriage and Prefects' compartment.
Wolf sat across from the two teens, claiming a whole bench seat for himself. He sat with his back to the window, facing the compartment door. He was the very pictured of relaxed comfort, with his arms crossed and his long legs resting on the seat. To any observer, Wolf appeared to be asleep, but that didn't mean he was unaware of his surroundings. The unsheathed wand lying hidden along one arm gave proof to that fact. As the old saw went, when you're in the military: 'Sleep when you can, soldier, for you never know when you will get another chance.'
The door was also heavily warded and locked.
Harry sat next to the window opposite Wolf. He had an air of quiet contemplation, but in reality he was scanning the countryside for possible problems outside the train as the Express barrelled its way homeward. He had one arm around Hermione and an elbow on the window-sill.
Hermione was leaning comfortably against him, taking up most of the bench. Her feet were braced against the armrest with a book propped against her raised knees. Harry's arm was draped around her slender body, while her head rested snugly against his shoulder.
A casual observer would say the whole scene looked very serene and relaxed.
However, the trio's thoughts were anything but. Earlier, they had quietly discussed the events of the past month. Now each was lost in their own thoughts and silence filled the compartment.
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had been rendered comatose, from the loss of his magic and a burst blood vessel in his brain. His Healers had publicly announced he would never recover. They gave no hope of him ever waking, nor did they have any idea of how long he would linger in his current condition.
There was now an ongoing debate as to whether he should be moved from Hogwarts to St Mungo's, or left at his beloved school until he quietly expired.
Harry and Wolf had a bet going as to whether or not someone would put the headmaster out of 'their' misery. That, however seemed highly unlikely. Wizarding Healers took their magical oaths seriously, and with good reason. Their Muggle counterparts would only face legal issues if they 'helped' a terminal patient find peace. Healers faced the loss of their magic, and quite possibly their lives. So, unless an ambitious Death Eater managed to get to him, the venerable headmaster would die in his own good time.
Besides, this was the great Albus Dumbledore! The Healers had to look like they were doing all they could to save the 'Leader of the Light'.
There was another standing bet between Wolf and Harry on whether or not someone would off the old coot, and if so, who had the bollocks to do it.
"Just our luck; all of the bloody wankers who might've done it are gone!" Harry grumbled.
"I have this friend in Black Ops..." Wolf offered, half in jest.
Hermione gave a heavy, long-suffering sigh, and shook her head. She refused to get involved as she found their bets disgustingly morbid. However, she couldn't fault them; after all, the headmaster had been a thorn in Harry's side for most of his life. But still...
Yule was only days away. Soon everything would be decided, one way or another.
0o0o0o0o0
John walked the Tower Green as the setting sun cast deepening shadows on the lawn. The ravens were being tucked into their cages as he walked towards them. Ben and the Ravenmaster were finishing up the count and checking the water and feed troughs. John waited to one side as he listened to the ravens grouse and complain as they were bedded down for the night. No Ravenmaster worth his salt trusted the aggressive birds, and always kept one eye out for trouble.
Thor was perched to one side, waiting and watching. John, taking his chance, shifted his form and flew over the men's heads to join his mentor. Greetings were exchanged between the pair.
Ben looked over his shoulder and shook his head. "Scrapper, don't stay too late. Big day tomorrow."
Scrapper cawed and rustled his feathers.
When the ravens were bedded down and their caretakers were gone, a calm quiet fell on the Tower. Ghosts and spirits silently glided to the chapel. The night-time noise from the city seemed to fade into the distance as the moon beamed intermittently through gathering clouds. The atmosphere took on an ominous air of anticipation.
Thor looked over at his young fledgling and cawed. The other ravens agreed.
Tomorrow night was the beginning of Yule and the winter solstice. All was ready.
0o0o0o0o0o0
The next day, time for John seemed to drag. Professor Snape reported that Riddle was on the move. With Dumbledore out of the way and Potter away from the protection of the school and its wards, it was only a matter of time before he appeared at the Tower.
John had been followed by a known Death Eater to the Tower the day before, so all that remained was the final confrontation.
Riddle was predictable in that he would want to use a night that was rich in magic to claim his victory. Magic was his to claim! And with all the insane determination of the inhuman monstrosity he now was, he was going to prove it!
o0o0o0o0o
The PM arrived just after tea, along with a squad of SAS troops who took positions among the buildings and on the walls of the Tower. In preparation for the confrontation the Tower closed early by royal command. Many tourists were disappointed, but the announcement that a possible terrorist attack was suspected put any grumbling to rest.
A hot-line relay had been set up between the Tower and Buckingham Palace. If the Tower Wards decided not to play nice and cooperate, the only person that could conceivably control them was Her Majesty. For now, the PM, as her most trusted government personage, was in charge.
John knew his duty and part in what was to occur. Maggie and Hermione didn't like it but this was the night that John had been training for since he came to the Tower as a very hurt and frightened child. He stayed out of the way of the uniformed men as they combed every inch of the Tower for possible hidden assassins.
John winced as the Tower wards began to ping against his own personal shields. The wards, so old they were semi-sentient, were aware something was going down, and they didn't like it.
It was now a waiting game.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Lucius Malfoy looked over his doppelganger with a jaundiced eye. There was no way he was going on this insane venture! Potter was calling for blood, a duel to the death. Every instinct Lucius possessed screamed, 'Trap!' and his lord was willing to walk into it!
Of course, his lord was not going to play by the rules of honour either, so why should he, Lucius Malfoy, throw away his life? So, a judicious use of the Imperius Curse and Polyjuice Potion and, voila! One of the minor minions now sported Lucius' visage and trademark hair.
Five men were waiting with their lord. Lucius sent in his double with last-minute instructions: "Go forth and conduct yourself like the Malfoy you represent!" Voldemort was so busy ranting about Potter that he never noticed the switch.
The two Portkeys, one for Voldemort and one for his second, were set to activate a few minutes before the challenge. Although designed for single usage Voldemort had altered them, rules had never stopped him in the past, so why should they now?
Thankfully, Lucius was well hidden behind the mask and hooded robes of a lesser Death Eater as Voldemort expounded with insane arrogance on why he would win against his foe - a foe who was not even raised in the Wizarding World.
Lucius swallowed a sigh along with the bile that rose in his throat. It was almost impossible to ignore his frantic instincts as they screamed for him to run. He was positive tonight would not go well, and decided it was time to go home and pack... just as soon as Voldemort and his sycophantic sacrifices left. France was calling.
0o0o0o0o0o0
John stood on the green in front of the Block, the chapel at his back. Wolf stood by his side. The PM was safely hidden in the chapel itself, along with a team of crack SAS officers and a hotline to Her Majesty. They had a clear line of fire. All weapons were locked and loaded.
The PM, with the permission of Her Majesty, had already had the wards tweaked to allow the incoming wizards access to the grounds proper. Now everyone was on high alert and ready for action.
John and Wolf were armed with emergency Portkeys of their own and carried several weapons of choice on their bodies. Both knew that using magic would be dangerous, possibly activating the watching wards abruptly. But they would not stop British Military personnel from using mundane weapons in defence of Queen and Country.
"At least the weather will co-operate," John commented as he looked up at the clear, star-filled evening sky. He was sure it was the Lady's doing. She would want a very clear view of what was to come.
Wolf just grunted in reply. He was surveying the green, picking out where his men were hidden and waiting. Both he and John had been out-fitted with earpieces so that they could listen in.
The Tower clock sounded the hour. A party of seven men appeared in front of them. Six were robed and masked, the seventh was lean and pale with reptilian facial features.
"We meet at lassst, Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort hissed. "Tonight isss the night of your doom!" He raised his wand and hissed, "Avada Kedavra!"
Time seemed to stop. The wind and sounds of the city around them paused. It was as if the combatants had moved out of time.
A sickly green light hung motionless in mid-air for a split-second before several bolts of lightning struck around the caster. One struck the beam of green light, blasting it out of existence, while the others danced and arced around the edges of the Tower Green.
A bell tolled heavily in the distance, sounding a warning that the Tower wards had awakened, and woe betide the fool that dismissed them!
Since the day Harry James Potter took refuge within the stone-walled compound, they had slowly been waking more and more. Magic use was only tolerated by those sworn to the Crown, as were the Warders and their families. Voldemort's use of the Killing Curse within the Tower grounds was a clarion call to action - and so they acted, their strength fuelled by centuries of shed blood - guilty and innocent.
Abruptly, the PM's voice blared out from the steps of the chapel, through the portable public address system that had been set up for just this night.
"For the crime of high treason against Her Majesty, Elizabeth, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, I, the Right Honourable John Major, Prime Minister, in the sworn service of Her Majesty, do hereby arrest and detain the self-styled Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle, and those with him who bear his Mark. Further do I consign them to the Tower's Magical Deep, to await Her Majesty's pleasure. So Mote It Be!"
The Tower wards moaned. They shuddered, releasing lightning and static charges into the deathly still air. Black light shot up out of the ground, surrounding the confused and terrified Death Eaters.
Lord Voldemort, refusing to be outdone by this farce of a light display, shot spell after spell at the wall of lightning - only to see each spell absorbed. Each of the Death Eaters, following their master's example, fired off spells trying to break free of the black light that encircled them.
The ominous tolling of the bell grew louder and louder with each spell fired by the desperate Death Eaters and their raving leader... until there was a thunderous crack! And then, dead silence.
The Tower Green was empty, except for John and Wolf. They had not drawn their weapons and simply stood ready until the last second, when the sudden blast knocked them off their feet.
Radio chatter almost deafened them as everyone wanted to know, "What the hell happened?" and if they were all right, and "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED?!"
John looked over at Wolf, ripping the com piece out of his ear, meeting his mentor's shocked gaze as they both stood back up. The night around them returned to normal as the sounds from the city filtered back into the compound.
Several men came running across the green as the PM stepped out of the chapel against the wishes of his security guards.
"At ease, gentlemen," the PM said. "Riddle, and those that came with him, are gone."
"Where did they go?" asked one of the security officers.
John shook his head sadly. "Into a pit under the Tower. It was made especially for those that would use magic against the Crown and the people of Great Britain. It's a sink-hole, with no way out until Her Majesty decides to free them, if she so chooses. Until then, their magic will be slowly siphoned away to feed the Tower wards. There is no escape."
Wolf and Ben stepped up to the young man they had both raised and placed a hand on each shoulder. Neither man said a word but gave a slight nod when John looked at them. Voldemort was no longer a threat. Now it only remained to round up his followers.
It was finally over.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Next chapter will be the epilogue. Yes, this story is now over. Thank you everyone for patiently waiting for this update and for reading our story. We are sad but also glad that this story is almost done.
Did we mention thank you to Phil? Oh right we did.
Summer so far has been way too hectic and Frau and I will be glad when it is over. Thankfully the 100+ (F) heatwave here has finally broken. Now if the humidity would settle down it would be wonderful.
Until next time. -GF and the Frau
