Matou Shinji and the Heirs of Slytherin
A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story
Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.
Summary: Trouble is brewing in the Wizarding World. In the wake of the Stone Incident, Albus Dumbledore has begun quietly preparing Britain to survive the coming war. The Stone Cutters, a new organization at Hogwarts for the most talented and distinguished of students, seek new blood to bolster its strength. The Boy-Who-Lived seeks his destiny as the Heir of Slytherin. And a boy from the east meets a specter of the past.
Chapter 30 Kobayashi Maru
He stood firm as an unnatural cold began to steal over the clearing, as Dementors, at least a hundred of them began gliding across out of the forest towards the village he'd been tasked with protecting.
"We'll stand our ground!" he barked out, brandishing his wand as if it were a rapier, with a look of sheer hatred at the monster – the Dark Wizard – in the distance. The one who commanded the Dementors, who'd brought terror and death to this peaceful village. They'd never bothered him. Never intruded on his territory, never taken his things, never done anything to provoke him.
And yet that man was here on their doorstep with an army of utter wrongness, with their black cloaks and scabbed and rotting hands, their dragging, rattling breaths almost audible now. They tasted fear, he knew…
…but what about hate?
"Patronuses away! Form a defensive perimeter – we won't let them past!" he ordered, as his allies raised their wands shakily and roared out Expecto Patronum, silver light shooting from the end of their wands and taking form as corporeal patronuses – the bright-white, translucent animals that were the projection of all of their most positive feelings, shielding them from the worst of what the enemy could do.
"Forward!" he commanded, and forward the magical guardians moved, forming a defensive line from which the Dementors recoiled – at least at first, withdrawing a small distance from that thin silver line. "We've stopped them, see?"
"Yeah," his second in command said. "We've stopped them, sir."
A ragged cheer went up from the men, but in the distance, the Dark Wizard only sneered, gesturing for the Dementors to press their attack, his hard brown eyes seeming to regard those who dared stand between him and his goal as nothing more than an obstacle to be eliminated – as ants to be crushed underfoot.
There were only a handful of them, after all, and he could – would – spend Dementors like water to achieve what he sought.
The commander swallowed as he bore witness to a sight he'd never seen before – hundreds upon hundreds of Dementors hurling themselves upon the thin silver line, surging forward like a rippling wave of darkness that threatened to consume them all. But why? How? Patronuses drove away Dementors, could hurt them badly – everyone knew that, so why wasn't the Dark Wizard calling them back?
Their first wave recoiled, breaking like a wave upon a cliff, but the enemy was not to be deterred.
A second wave surged forward, tearing, clawing at the protection, as two of the men cried out, their bodies shaking at the exertion of keeping up their Patronuses in the wake of the assault. They hadn't imagined, hadn't known, such a thing was possible.
…but then, they'd only faced Dementors in groups of one or two or five, never the throngs and throngs commanded by a proper Dark Lord.
A third wave struck, and another man staggered to his knees, panting under the effort.
"Hold the line," the commander ordered, his eyes hard, casting a Cheering Charm on those who had staggered. "Please…we have to stop them here."
"Sir…" one of the others said hesitantly. "I don't think we can hold too much longer. We never expected anything like this."
"We sent out messengers," the commander inquired, gaze flicking to the one who had spoken. "Has there been any response? Any hope of reinforcement?"
"No, sir," the other replied, swallowing, gesturing at the people of the village – the people who were desperately trying to keep their wall of Patronuses intact as the enemy rushed at them again and again and again. "We're all there is. Sir, maybe we should…"
"No," the commander barked, his mouth twisting into a rictus of fury. "If we fall back now, what's to stop him from coming after us? He has his army. He'll stop at nothing unless we stop them. He pushes forward and we fall back. He makes demands and we cave. Well, not now. Not again. This far, no further. The line will be drawn here!"
'…and I'll make him pay for what he's done. What he's done to my family. What he's done to me…'
He took a deep breath, barely keeping himself from wincing as his subordinate flinched and nodded. Good, loyal wizards, these. Those brave enough to stand with him in the face of a terrible foe – those willing to fight rather than just give up.
Surely, with them by his side, he could win this…couldn't he?
'…but there are too many,' a nagging voice in his mind told him, but he quashed it ruthlessly.
"Neville," a voice from beside him, with the young commander – the boy – turning to see the figure of his friend, Fay Dunbar.
"What is it, Fay?" he asked, his tone far more gentle than it was with the troops under his command.
"They're going to die," she spoke, despair in her voice as she glanced at the ravening hordes of Dementors, battering themselves against the defensive perimeter – and how the line was growing dimmer, as one by one, the villagers staggered, one by one, their Patronuses winked out. "Please. He'll kill them all and he'll take me anyway. Let me go to him, Neville. I'm what he wants. Please."
And indeed, she was the one the invasion was supposedly over. The Dark Wizard had seen her collecting potion ingredients in the woods, and taken by her beauty and youth, had decided she would make an ideal wife. He – the one who lived in the castle above – had sent a message to her parents demanding her hand, but they refused.
But Dark Wizards didn't take no for an answer, and the man had replied with an ultimatum: Bring him the girl, or he would send his Dementors to destroy the village.
They'd chosen to fight, and had appointed him commander of their forces.
It weighed on him that if he failed, they would die. He would die. They all would. But…surrender wasn't an option. He wouldn't turn over Fay, and he couldn't fall back, or the enemy would just keep coming at him over and over again, picking them off one at a time.
That was what Dark Wizards did.
They lied, promised – broke their promises. They killed without mercy, took what they wanted, crushed those who might oppose them, those who had opposed them, even when their leader was dead. They tortured, taunted, did whatever they wished.
And so he'd fight them to the bitter end.
"No. I'm not giving you up. Not to him," Neville spat, his eyes glinting with a fey light. "Not while I live. While any of us live."
He shook his head, his lips pressing together as he resolved himself for what was to come.
"We'll hold him here, Fay," the boy whispered, shaking his head. "But you…you should take the chance to escape. Just in case we can't."
"Neville," the girl whispered reproachfully, taking in the boy's proud, defiant figure. "You…"
"Go," he said, with eyes only for the line of battle, the silvery line of protection thin as a reed now. He trembled, but whether it was out of anticipation, fear, or something else, he didn't know. "Live well, Fay."
And then he moved to join his men, as the defensive line collapsed at last, the wave of darkness rushing forward to annihilate them completely. He could feel it, even from here, the icy cold penetrating his insides, a fog rising from the ground to obscure his vision, the shadows closing in.
"Fight," he commanded, as the others tried to summon their Patronuses yet again. Some managed, but most faltered under the oppressive weight of infinite despair.
The sun above seemed to vanish as the wall of shadows advanced, their voices mimicking human death rattles.
Some of his comrades conjured up walls of silver mist – formless, incorporeal Patronuses that were all could manage, stopping the Dementors for a fraction of a heartbeat. He dared to hope, dared to hope that maybe – maybe he could stop them, but then the walls collapsed, as if swept aside by the dead, slimy hands of the enemy.
'No…'
He couldn't move now, could only listen as others desperately cast spells, charms, shields, what have you – but their foes would not stop, would not pause, would not be halted. They came onwards, relentless as the waves.
His allies might stand firm as the cliffs, but what lasted longer, the mountains or the sea? No matter how firm they stood in opposition, how long they fought, they would be worn down, until they could fight no more forever.
He could see one coming for him.
A wraith in a dark hooded cloak of long, ripped cloth. A decaying, eyeless corpse advancing on him, drawing in more than air with every breath.
'No…'
"Diffindo!" he cried out with the last of his strength, summoning up the last of his magic to cast a bolt of white light struck the figure – but to no effect. The Dementor simply kept on coming.
Maybe…the Patronus? But he'd never learned how to cast it. It was such a complex, complicated charm, far above N.E.W.T. level. And he couldn't bring to mind any happy memory.
"E…expecto Patronum," he whispered, nevertheless, hoping against hope he'd be able to do something. But nothing happened. There wasn't even a wisp of mist.
And so the Dementor closed in, as he heard his men die around him, heard their screams, heard their cries…and knew he could do nothing.
Five meters.
Four.
Three.
Two.
'E…expect. E...expecto…'
He could say, speak, think no more, as a pair of strong, clammy hands suddenly attached themselves around to his neck, forcing his face upward. He could feel its breath, its putrid breath upon him as all the warmth in the world was sucked away, leaving him limp, as the laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange and Bartemius Crouch Jr echoed in his mind, along with a terrible red light.
And then, the Dementor was gone. The screams were gone. Everything was gone, and unable to move, he fell forward, saved from slamming into the cold stone of the castle floor by someone else's quick charm.
There he lay, facedown, too weak to move, sick and shaking. Why? How? What had happened?
There was some sound in the background he couldn't make out. Some sound that echoed, repeating itself insistently.
"—ong—m."
'—ong—m?'
"L—bot—?"
'L—bot—?'
"Long—om."
'Long—om?'
"Longbottom! Longbottom, you alright?" he made out at last, recognizing that someone – several someones – were calling his name.
'I can…hear?'
He thought he was about to die. No, worse than death, about to be kissed by a Dementor. But where had it gone? Where was the army?
Fay. Where was…?
"Longbottom?" whoever it was speaking repeated insistently, before hauling him up bodily and depositing him in a chair.
"Ughhhh," he groaned, squeezing his eyes closely together, as a wave of nausea slammed into him, bile rising in the back of his throat as he retched – only for him to bring nothing up, as he hadn't eaten beforehand.
He breathed, sucking in each breath of air as if it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, as if he'd never taste anything so wonderful again.
Something was put into his hands.
Something hard and rectangular.
And something was put into his mouth.
'Sweet…' he thought, as it melted slowly, and slowly, slowly, his trembling started to fade. The flavor. It was familiar. It was… "Chocolate?" he croaked out.
"Indeed, Mister Longbottom," a familiar, gruff voice voiced, not…entirely unkindly. But then it was not in Mad-Eye Moody's nature to be overly compassionate, given that the man usually dealt with hardened criminals, not…students. "It is usually effective in…mild cases of contact with Dementors."
"Mad-Eye, that wasn't a mild case," another voice interjected. That was…Tonks, isn't it?
Blearily, Neville opened his eyes to find that he was in the Ourea clubroom, with Professors Lockhart, Tonks, and Moody looking at him with unreadable expressions.
"…that wasn't real…" he finally remembered, reality cutting through the haze born of fear and his near brush with oblivion.
"Indeed, Mister Longbottom," Lockhart affirmed, his eyes revealing nothing. "That was the Kobayashi Maru scenario. How do you think you did?"
Neville swallowed, as he couldn't lie to the Professors.
"…I failed," he whispered, his stomach clenching in dread. He'd proven that he didn't have what it took to be a leader – to be one of the Ourea. Every last person under his command had died, because he stood his ground. He could still hear their screams echoing in his mind. "Everyone…they…"
"Yes, Mister Longbottom…they died," the man confirmed. "Except for Fay Dunbar, who only wished she had."
Neville hung his head.
"We are not gathered here to condemn you, however, but to ask you why you made the choices you did," Lockhart explained, with the boy blinking at this.
Surely…he had to have failed…right?
"I…I couldn't let that man have her," Neville managed, his words tinged with an edge. "He looked like…he was…"
"Bartemius Crouch Jr," Alastor Moody supplied, his artificial eye roving over the stricken boy. "And yes, I am aware of what happened to your parents. Good Aurors, they were."
"Yes. So grandmum tells me," Neville answered, swallowing. He looked over at Lockhart, a half-formed suspicion in his mind. "Sir, did you…?"
"Did I add him to your scenario as the Dark Wizard?" Lockhart questioned. "No, Mister Longbottom, I did not. The book simply recognized him as the one you most hated and feared, as Miss Dunbar was the one you cherished most."
"I…"
'The one I cherish most…?'
"Sir…did Fay…?"
"She escaped, yes, while the Dementors swarmed over the village," Lockhart allowed, shaking his head. "But she lost her home, her parents, her friends. And when the Dark Wizard came for her next, there was no one to stop him."
"I see…" Neville whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt like crying, as the History Professor explained just what would have happened. That everything he'd done had been in vain. It was a terrible, empty feeling – a feeling almost as bad as the Dementors had evoked.
He didn't want his professors to see him like this. He was thankful that at least his peers – that least Fay – wouldn't have seen his humiliation, wouldn't see how he'd lost himself.
"Why did you stand and fight?" Tonks asked, more gently. "You saw the Dementors, and how many there were."
"I couldn't just run away," Neville replied, feeling his body shake as sensation flowed back into it. "I'm…could I have?"
"And how would you have justified that?" Lockhart asked. "The villagers didn't want to run. That was their home, everything they had, and they thought they could win."
"I…I didn't think Dementors could be…"
"No one does, Longbottom," Moody cut in, his gruff, matter-of-fact voice reassuring to the boy on some level. "Especially those who have never faced them before."
"That's why you are here – so you can learn," Lockhart added, nodding at the boy. "Just remember this, Mister Longbottom. You are not your parents, Frank and Alice."
Neville cringed, as his grandmum had told him much the same over the years, mentioning how skilled his father, in particular, had been. How heroic. How great an Auror. He didn't need Professor Lockhart telling him that as well.
But…
"And you don't have to be," the History Professor concluded, as Neville's eyes flew open, as he bolted upright in his chair.
"…could you repeat that, Professor?"
"You don't have to be," Lockhart repeated, obliging the boy's request. "As one of the Ourea, you have potential in your own right. Your story is your own, Mister Longbottom. It is not theirs, nor should it be."
"But…they…"
"We know," Moody growled. "As I said, I know your past, Longbottom. But they were Aurors, and they knew the risks. You are not. At least not yet."
"Is there anything else you would like to add, Mister Longbottom?" Lockhart questioned.
Neville only shook his head.
"Then congratulations. You have survived your first Kobayashi Maru," the man replied, much to Longbottom's astonishment. But…he'd failed, hadn't he? So why…?
"Why…?"
"You went through the fire, and you learned something about yourself. And in the face of certain death, you fought until the end. That is an achievement in itself," Lockhart explained. "Now go to the History Classroom, and ask the next person to come in. Malfoy, I believe."
And so each of the Ourea in turn experienced the no-win scenario, finding what they would have done, testing how they would react in the face of death, or at least defeat.
Draco Malfoy turned the maiden over to the Dark Wizard at the start, despite the protests of her parents. In his defense, after the scenario, he claimed there had been no chance to win – that when it was hopeless to resist, the right course of action was that which preserved as many lives as possible.
Moody of course, countered by mentioning that since he had given into the enemy's demands so quickly, what was to stop him from simply making another demand, and another?
Draco was puzzled by this, since wouldn't the Dark Wizard be satisfied once he'd gotten what he wanted? There was no reason for him to continue to press the village with demands, since he'd always left the village well enough alone…until now.
Moody interrupted his explanations, saying that there would always be a next time, that once one caved, it was a slippery slope.
And then he too had been dismissed, with Ginny Weasley coming in next.
In her scenario, she'd been forced to confront Sirius Black, who was laying siege to Ottery-St-Catchpole village with a vast army of enemies. And she'd had to make the choice – to send out her brother Ron – to be tortured to death, and spare the others, or to fight – and to die.
It had felt so real. The beasts made of flame Black had conjured up – Fiendfyre. The chill of the dementors.
...her parents. Her brothers, suffering. Being struck down one after another. Writhing in pain.
She'd turned Ron over, so everyone else could live. She felt ashamed, bitter, terrible – hollow – but she'd done it, and Black had gone away.
Why? Lockhart had asked.
"Because there was no choice," she'd answered.
"There is always a choice, Miss Weasley," Lockhart had rejoined, and the girl had been silent, sick to her stomach as she'd been.
"Because if I didn't, everyone else would have died…" she'd said at the end. "What choice did I have?"
"The choice between the many, and the few," Lockhart answered. "You made your choice, and you lived, as did the ones you chose."
"No. I…wasn't there some way to save everyone?"
"One can only save who they choose to save. Whether or not that is victory is up to you."
And so on and on it went.
Cedric fought to protect his best friend from the Dementors. He too had stood his ground, had tried to hold the line. He too watched helplessly as the Dementors broke through, as inevitable death came for them, spilling like a cursed wave that obliterated all in its path.
He too was frozen by the Dementors, and in the end, he and his best friend died side by side as the foul beings crept in and drained their souls away.
Afterwards, he was badly shaken by this. He hadn't ever imagined what it was like to be caught in something like that. The choice to resist had seemed easy, until it wasn't. Until there was no choice at all, and everything he'd done had proven futile.
As a Prefect, a Consul, a leader – Diggory was not used to failure. He was not used to failing on such a scale, to seeing everything he did rendered useless.
"Prefect, why do we fall?" Lockhart had asked. Diggory had had no answer for him, as terrible as those visions had been. "So we may learn how to get up."
"Sir?"
"You made your choices. Reflect on them, that is all I can say."
The next mission, with Hermione Granger, proved to be rather interesting, given her unorthodox tactics. To the surprise of the instructors, she'd taken an invisibility potion and had proceeded to go with Matou Shinji to the Dark Wizard's castle, where she'd ambushed the Dark Lord, away from his servitors.
Using his papercraft, the boy had fought the Dark Wizard to a standstill, and had managed to restrain the enemy for a short time. The Dark Wizard and the boy had deadlocked, with Matou pleading with Granger to use one of her explosive potions and kill both of them while he kept the enemy helpless.
…but she couldn't. She could only watch, frozen, her hands unwilling to obey her, as Matou Shinji exhausted the last of his strength, and the enemy killed her, whispering that she'd let her affections for the boy cloud her judgement.
"And because you hesitated, you delivered him straight into my hands," was the last thing she heard before she collapsed.
"You are the first one to try deceiving the enemy, which is to be commended," Lockhart had praised. "And your skill with potions is also…noteworthy."
"Not many people can even brew an invisibility potion," Moody grunted, eying the girl. "In fact, I don't believe that potion is in the standard Hogwarts Curriculum."
"It's not, sir," Tonks confirmed. "Or at least, it wasn't when I was there."
"Curious," Lockhart observed. "How did you come to learn how to brew it then, Miss Granger?"
"…Professor Flitwick let me check out a Book of Potions," Hermione replied, nervous under all the attention, and still feeling rather upset about the result of the scenario. "It has…some other recipes."
"…we'll leave it at that, Miss Granger," Lockhart noted. "Tell me though, do you think you made the right choice? You had the chance to kill the Dark Wizard who was threatening everyone, did you not? Yet you hesitated."
"I…" Hermione bit her lip. Thinking about those last moments, when Shinji had all but begged her to kill him and the enemy alike – that was torture. How could she…how could she even think about hurting him? One of the first people to see her as she was. To care for her...
"That is something for you to think about."
The others were somewhat interesting, but did not terribly stand out from the rest, save for those of Luna Lovegood and Matou Shinji. Miss Lovegood surrendered her father to the Dark Lord – with her father proceeding to blow himself up with some unknown spell, taking out the enemy.
"Death is a terrible thing," she'd explained. "But it's not as if I'll never see him again. And Dad would have liked to go in the same way Mum did."
And as for Matou Shinji – the greater stir was seeing that the one he cherished most was apparently the deceased Sialim Sokaris, and that she had possessed a proficiency in potions even higher than that of Granger. They apparently "surrendered" themselves, and once in the castle, fought the Dark Lord together. Shinji found that the Dark Lord matched him spell for spell – and so he took advantage of that to lock him and the other together in combat – with Sokaris taking the opportunity Granger had not, and Shinji going out with a smile.
"Explain yourself, Mister Matou," Lockhart had demanded, and so Shinji had done so.
"It was the only way to stop him," Shinji replied distantly, his mind like it was somewhere else entirely. "She was always more skilled than I was. And we last fought a Dark Wizard, she…well, I thought this time, she deserved to live. This way, everyone else lived, and I die a hero."
"…yet you still died," Lockhart had pointed out.
"We all die in the end, Professor," Shinji answered, his expression hard and unyielding. "Even you. Even me. And I think how we face death is at least as important as how we face life, don't you?"
"Not a bad answer, Matou," Moody grunted. "Still don't know if you're going to make a good Auror or a terrible Dark Wizard, but there's time yet to see, eh?"
"With all due respect, if I was going to practice the Dark Arts, I don't think I'd admit it to you, Professor," Shinji noted, with Moody fixing both eyes on the boy.
"…no, you wouldn't, would you?" Moody asked. "Then again, I've never heard of a Dark Wizard dying for someone else. Are you satisfied with the choices you made?"
"There was no way to win, not with my skillset," Shinji noted with a rueful smile. "So I chose what victory meant for myself."
"So you did."
He was the last of the Ourea to face the Kobayashi Maru, and he was sent to bring everyone into the room for a debriefing. Most of them still looked somewhat shell-shocked from what they faced, with only Malfoy, Matou and Lovegood having any sense of composure at all. Malfoy was expected, because he hadn't had any trouble surrendering his mother to the Dark Lord, but the other two were more unexpected, given that their scenarios had been much more involved.
Then again, those two had been faced with death before, and knew what to expect, and they were comfortable with the choices they made.
Not that any of the Ourea knew what the others had done, as they didn't talk about the trials they had faced, or those they had seen die.
Hermione Granger, of course, had a question.
"Professor Moody, what would you have done in our place?" she asked, with the other members of the Ourea swiveling their gazes to the infamous Auror.
"Hm. I would have used Polyjuice potion to impersonate the target, get in close, and stop the dark wizard," Moody replied, taking a drink from his flask.
"But…Professor, Polyjuice take a month to brew," Hermione pressed. "What if you didn't have access to it?"
Moody paused mid-sip as he grunted.
"Fair point, Miss Granger," the man conceded. "Tonks, what would you have done?"
"Well, I would use my powers as a metamorphmagus to impersonate the one the dark wizard wanted, get in close and…well, what Moody said," the Auror trainee said, shrugging. "Hey, might as well use what you have, right?"
"As long as you don't trip," Moody allowed.
Tonks winced
"Don't remind me, Mad-Eye," the young woman growled. "Anyway, I wonder if you'd all like to see one of the Stone Cutters run through this? No, not Mister Matou," she said sharply, cutting off the murmurings that began. "Watch-Captain Hillard. He's been training under us for a while, so do you think he'd do better?"
"Only one way to find out," Gilderoy Lockhart noted with a smile. "Let's bring him in, shall we?"
The door to the room opened, and the Watch-Captain entered, giving the assembled Professors a stiff nod.
"Auror Moody, Auror trainee Tonks, Professor Lockhart," he greeted courteously. "Members of the Ourea."
"Watch-Captain, the members of the Ourea here have faced their Kobayashi Maru. Would you care to do the same?" Lockhart offered.
"If they have, then I can do no less," Hillard replied, rising to the challenge.
"Very well, then proceed to the table, place your hand upon the Book of Spells, and say 'Scenario Start'," Lockhart instructed.
Hillard proceeded to do so, and the room was changed once more into a village under siege.
'Dementors,' he noted, seeing the great swarming hive of them in the distance, as the ragged wave of darkness swept down the mountain towards the village.
"So many…" one of the others whispered, echoing the Watch-Captain's thoughts, but stiffened as he saw Hillard approaching. "Your orders, Commander?"
"Hold fire for now. What's the situation?"
"The Dark Lord – he comes at us with an army of Dementors," the other explained hurriedly. "Just as he promised after we wouldn't turn over Tonks."
Hillard swallowed, noticing the woman who he had trained under for most of the term.
"I see," he mused. "And there are hundreds of them, I imagine?"
"And the Dark Lord himself, if we hold them off. Somehow," the other explained, swallowing. "Sir…I've never seen that many Dementors before in my life. I can cast a Patronus. Every man here can, but…"
'…we're afraid.'
The villager seemed to steady himself though, as he glanced up at the multitude silently advancing.
"Should we form a defensive line with our Patronuses?" the man asked.
"No. Hold off on using your Patronuses. I have something else in mind," Hillard answered, as the other swallowed.
"As you say, sir. I hope you have a plan."
'So do I…'
Hillard wasted no time in walking over to the maiden that was the spitting image of Nymphadora Tonks. He'd never expected to have to fight beside her – much less to command – but to him, it was an honor to fight by her side even so.
"Tonks," he said without preamble.
"Yes, what is it, Robert?" the metamorphmagus asked brusquely. Like the others, she was sitting, looking at the Dementors coming down the mountain, feeling the beginnings of their chilling presence even from such a distance.
"Can you cast a Patronus?" he asked, as the other blinked.
"Of course I can," she said, but yet her voice wavered. "But against that many…maybe I should surrender myself."
"I have a better idea," Hillard replied with a sly smile. "Tonks, you're with me."
"As you wish," she said, nodding her head as she stood and walked besides him, with the Watch-Captain moving to address his troops.
"Some of you may think that there are too many Dementors up there in the mountains, that no matter what we do, he'll come against us and smash us flat with numbers. Is this so?" he asked, with a number nodding uncertainly. "You're right. There's no point in just defending the village."
Before people could protest, however, he smiled.
"And that's why we're not going to," he said, stilling the protest of the crowd as he looked up towards the Dark Lord who lurked behind the army of Dementors. "We're not going to stand while he grinds us down, one wave of enemies at a time. We're going to take the fight to him!"
"…sir?" one of the troops said uncertainly. "Can we even…he's a Dark Wizard, sir."
"And he's used to getting what he wants," Hillard rejoined. "We've never bothered him, never provoked him, never had cause to quarrel with him before – but he doesn't care about that, does he? He's come after us, because we won't give him Tonks. So I say, why wait for his armies. He is one man, and we are many. We will fight, and we will win."
"…you have a plan, don't you?" the Tonks doppelganger realized, as Robert Hillard smiled, a dangerous Cheshire smile.
"Of course," he said easily. "Form up on me. We meet them on the field. Tonks, with me, not with the others."
The others seemed uncertain, but were reassured by his confidence as they followed him, the ragged bunch marching out of the village, every man and woman with a wand in their hands and their heads held high.
As the Dark Wizard saw them leave, he was confused. What was happening? Why were the villagers leaving the safety of the village walls? Why were coming at his army as if they knew something he didn't?
Why was the maiden he wanted standing in the very front of the formation, so he couldn't even use lethal spells to deal with them?
His uncertainty was communicated to the Dementors, who slowed – unwillingly – as the others approached, unsure if they were still to destroy the village or not.
Hillard noted them slowing…
'Good…good…'
…but he didn't stop, and neither did the people behind him. The cloak of fear and cold grew thicker, thicker, thicker. Warmth was draining out of the world, and it was getting hard to think, but they stood together even so, believing that there was a purpose to what he was doing.
And when they'd closed to within 20 meters of the Dementors' ranks…
"Patronuses now!" he ordered, as every wand save two was leveled at the enemy ranks, and the group roared "Expecto Patronum" as one. The brilliant light left their wands as one crisp volley, forming into the shapes of their wielders' magical guardians in mid-flight as they slammed into the Dementors with the speed of a meteor.
They were right. Everyone was right. There weren't enough of them to keep the Dementors – all the Dementors – at bay, but Robert Hillard didn't have to, not when he had enough wands – enough Patronuses – to break through the enemy lines.
That was why he hadn't called for a defensive line.
Because when the enemy's forces were overwhelming, one did not fight them on their terms. One changed the rules of engagement.
"Half of you, use the Patronuses, keep our path open behind us. The rest, on me. Charge!"
They moved as one, a shooting star made of Patronuses slamming through ranks upon ranks of their terrible, inhuman foes. Around them, the enemy closed in, but it didn't matter so long as they kept moving, for the only way out…was through.
More and more Dementors peeled off of their flanks in a vain attempt to stop them from reaching the Dark Wizard, bleeding some of the psychic power in the magical guardians away with every clash, and slowly, the light began to dim.
"Sir, we can't keep this up," one of them cried out, panting for breath. "There are too many, even to break through."
"Tonks, now!"
"Expecto Patronum!" the girl cried, as a silver jackrabbit shot from her wand into the mass of Dementors ahead, scattering them, and renewing the hope of the others.
…still, it wouldn't be enough, as more and more Dementors surged to defend their master. The heroic – ill-thought charge would be stopped. The Patronuses were dimming. The others were shaking under the stress.
Much more and they would collapse.
The cold was creeping in. Their movements were slowing.
"Sir…"
'Now or nothing…for the love of Merlin, this'd better work.'
"Tonks!" he cried out. The other turned to him, desperation writ plain across her face – and he seized her about the waist and kissed her as if was the last thing he would ever do, reveling in the feel of her body against him, the feel of her lips on his, the scent of her, the taste of her as the charge slammed to a halt.
'Happy memory. Happy memory.'
"Commander?" one of the villagers asked. "What are you…?"
But Robert Hillard only smiled and leveled his wand at the Dementors before him, the cretins whose defense as a threadbare as his offense now. To him, the sounds of the battlefield had been drowned out, and only one thing mattered.
In the face of unavoidable destruction, he focused on the spell he was about to cast.
His wand made the fateful motions he'd done a hundred, no – a thousand times, but this time, he knew things would be different.
"EXPECTO—"
There had been wisps before. The formless shield, the fog, the wall. But around his wand now, was a powerful, holy light, the strongest power he could imagine to combat the infinite evils of fear – to oppose even death itself with a last show of defiance.
—PATRONUM!"
It was literally a line of light. A lance that sprang forward, smashing aside everything it touched. The Dementors before him were scattered, and the Dark Wizard could only stare in shock and fury at the oncoming light.
"You dare to challenge me, whelp?" the enemy roared, raising his own wand. "Expecto Patro—AUUUGGHHHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
For as the tale went, the Patronus Charm, the greatest defensive charm known to wizardkind, could not be used by those who desired nothing but dominion – and could not turned to such foul purposes. Patronuses were protectors, and should an unworthy one try to abuse its power – they would be consumed by magic itself in the form of a thousand angry maggots.
Thus did the Dark Wizard meet his end, as he dared to turn magic against its natural purpose, and thus too did the Dementors scatter, frightened by the terrible light that had destroyed their master. The terrible light wielded by the wizard who had burned them, who had hurt them so.
…and so the scenario ended, with the room in a state of abject shock, and a silvery-white serpent coiled at Robert Hillard's feet.
An Aesculapian Snake - the classical symbol of healing and protection, associated with the words "First do no harm" - like the Patronus Charm itself.
Tonks' mouth fell open. Then closed. Then fell open again, closed again, without any words coming out.
The members of the Ourea just stared – both at him and the snake.
And even Lockhart just blinked.
Unsurprisingly, Mad-Eye Moody found his voice first.
"You cast a corporeal Patronus, boy," the Auror noted, looking at the translucent creature at the Prefect's feet. "That is very advanced magic."
"I know, sir," Hillard responded, still feeling somewhat lightheaded from his efforts. He couldn't believe it. After two years, he'd managed one it at last. A Patronus. The Patronus.
"You've never been able to cast one before," Tonks managed after a while. "At best, you've managed a shield. But this…how did you?"
Robert Hillard met her inquisitive gaze, though his face burned.
"I…had a good memory," he murmured. "And someone to protect this time."
"Did you?"
They looked at each other for a long, lingering moment, before Lockhart interrupted with a polite cough.
"Explain yourself, if you please, Watch-Captain," the History Professor asked quietly.
"If we were going to fight, I wasn't going to fight on my enemy's terms," Hillard replied, holding his head high. "Not with his forces so massive, and mine so small. With…Tonks by my side, the Dark Wizard would hesitate to use deadly force, as he wouldn't want to harm her."
"And your Patronus, Watch-Captain, given that you'd never cast a corporeal one before?" Lockhart pressed. "Why did you think you would be able to this time?"
"As I said…I had a good memory," Hillard responded. "And if I was going to go down, I would go down doing my best, because sir, I don't believe in a no-win scenario."