Chapter 8:

The Second Wave of Recruits

Piers Polkis was the one driving everybody back to their respective homes. He wanted to be shocked that none of their relatives wanted to attend the service for the Dursleys, but to be fair, his own parents had been pretty blatant in their disapproval of his friendship with Dudley. The child of that "nasty" couple, as they called him.

But it still stung. It stung that his own parents didn't trust in his ability to choose good friends. Yet here his friends were, scrounging up what little loose change they had to rent nice clothes for a change after spending what little savings they had from their summer jobs to get the bodies brought back to Surrey and buried in Send Cemetery. They only surrendered Vernon's, with Petunias still in cold hard storage for the investigation.

It had been a small, short and quiet ceremony. It was only them and a few employees from Grunnings, where Mr Dursley worked. Marge Dursley was there too, and her atrocious bulldog was quiet and well-behaved for once. But it struck Piers as odd that they had no additional extended family. This was the first time they — him, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon - started to suspect that their parents were right. There was something wrong with that family.

The manner of their deaths, how brutal they were, should have been the first clue; it was a closed casket, after all. And the wanted posters for Big D's delinquent cousin should have been the second.

The authorities were being tight-lipped on the fate of their friend. They wouldn't even confirm or deny if he was dead, or if they had his mangled body in some investigation morgue. The missing persons report on the news for the boxing prodigy hinted at kidnapping, but Piers couldn't see Potter having the balls to kidnap anybody, let alone murder his only living family. But if he was honest with himself, as he'd recently started to be, there was plenty of reason for that scrawny guy to snap like that.

The way they'd treated him. He hadn't thought it odd when he was younger, and he only recently recalled the fact, but they had kept him in a cupboard. A fucking cupboard! It was weird actually. Their parents had all known too but hadn't seemed to register the information, or be appalled by it, until after the Dursleys had moved away. As if some force was preventing them from recognizing the evil in that house. The evil in Number 4 Privet Drive.

"Hey guys, I just came up with the title." Piers announced to the car.

"Title for what?" Gordon asked from behind them.

"The title for the book they're going to write about all of this after the investigation is done." He said. "Once they catch Potter and we learn about the real extent of the abuse and the real details about his revenge."

They shared an awkward silence for a moment. All of them were still trying to come to grips about the reality of the terrible things they'd turned a blind-eye to.

"Harry Potter." Malcolm said from his left in the passenger seat.

"That's a rather terrible name for a book, don't you think?" Piers asked.

"No—" Malcolm choked out, pointing to something in front of them. "Potter!"

Piers turned back to the empty street to find a dark figure, clad in robes, standing in the middle of the road and directly in their path. His first instinct was to hit the brake, but the deadly posture and eerie green eyes staring directly at them with such hate told him to floor it instead. And he did.

He switched gears and left the speed limit far behind as he made to reduce this murderer to a red stain. He couldn't hear what the others were screaming at him over the ringing in his ears and the blood pounding in his skull. His whole world was nothing but a pinpoint focus on the monster standing in their path.

They were mere meters away from ramming him when Potter raised a stick, of all things, to defend himself.

He waved the stick and time slowed... literally. His car continued on its path as if driving through thick gelatin, but the slowdown didn't come with the jerk of momentum one would expect. So too had they slowed down within the car, as he was unable to move his hands or feet. His mind, on the other hand, continued to work at normal speed, as did Potter.

The raven-haired murderer walked out of the path of the car and to the side with the calmness of somebody crossing a train track with hours of spare time before the crossing would become perilous. Piers followed his movement as he slowly, oh so very slowly, turned his head to match Potter's pace. As he turned, he discovered that Malcolm and Dennis were similarly slowed down, and presumably Gordon was as well.

They all made eye-contact with their would-be hit and run victim before he waved merrily to them and made a slashing motion with his stick.

Suddenly time returned to normal, and they were once again hurtling down the street at thrice the speed limit. Piers slammed on the brakes and they skidded out of control on the wet pavement of the stereotypically sprinkly London day. It took some quick handwork to turn the wheel and control his drift to avoid hydroplaning into somebody's living room, but he somehow pulled it off, slowing the vehicle enough that the streetlamp they slammed into only shattered the windshield and dented the grill.

Then there was lightning. Or at least a lot of electric bolts peppering the vehicle. Good thing tires are made of insulators and grounded them or else that probably would have hurt. Piers glanced into the rearview mirror to see Potter shooting the lighting out from the top of his stick. He was slightly distracted by how odd it was that he was already upon them when it was almost fifty meters up the road that they had passed him.

Malcom recovered first. He flung the door open and charged out with the baseball bat — which he somehow managed to dig out from under the seat during all the preceding chaos — and charged at Potter. Piers watched in the mirror as he charged at the supernatural psychopath capable of slowing time and summoning elemental fury with a stick intent on bludgeoning him with a wooden baseball bat. Predictably, it didn't end well for Piers' friend, as Potter simply waved his stick yet again and the bat flew out of Malcolm's hands as if suddenly coated with slick oil.

Potter caught the bat with his left hand and, using a one-handed upward swing, cracked it right into Malcolm's jaw. It made a sound similar to hitting a home run and breaking a boulder with a pickaxe, and Malcolm was down for the count.

Piers looked to the back seat for support from Dennis or Gordon. The former was frozen, the latter exited the vehicle to take up Malcolm's goal of beating Potter to death, this time with a crowbar he must have scrounged from the floor.

Potter, wielding the bat like a saber, taunted Gordon to come at him. He did so and Potter disarmed him with the ease of a master fencer dueling a novice. Clearly Gordon didn't warrant his unnatural powers because Potter dealt with him by way of a pathetic bonk on the head using the pommel of the bat.

Piers made himself useful while this all happened by fumbling under the driver's seat for his gun case. Keeping watch of Potter as he swiftly dealt with Gordon he blindly felt around for the latch and relieved the container of its pistol and magazine. By the time he combined the two, pulled back the slide, chambered a round and flipped the safety Gordon was already out of the picture.

Piers kicked the door open and, using the entire car for cover, pointed the pistol over the hood of his car, aimed one right between Potter's eyes and made to squeeze.

"Drop it!" A girl who appeared out of thin air with a shotgun pressed to his cheek ordered.

A disembodied hand snatched the pistol from Piers' grip and the body it was attached to entered reality from whatever hole in space the girl had come out of. Dudley turned the safety back on, unchambered the round, removed the cartridge, placed the round back inside the cartridge, and pocketed his pistol.

Piers' brain must have been in shock from all the madness of that day, because the sight of Dudley alive and well didn't even register as more people popped into existence, these ones making the sound of snapping branches as they did so. Three of them were dressed in robes more suited to a renaissance fair than the modern London street.

"You know..." The girl with a shotgun said. "For a bunch recommended by the great Dudley Dursley, you're all rather pathetic."

Piers did manage to register the insult.

"Disappointing?" Potter said as he circled around and motioned for the girl to lower her weapon, which she did. "How do you figure that Jessica?"

Jessica scoffed.

"You're telling me that little display impressed you?" She demanded

"As a matter of fact, yes, it did," Said Potter. "Malcom charged without a second thought, the heart of a warrior. Gordon backed him up before he even hit the ground, so great is his loyalty. And Piers? He thought things through and remained calm, carefully considering his actions. All performed better than I expected from my past experiences with them."

Jessica glowered at him before pointing to Dennis, who was still in the back seat glances confusedly between the people surrounding them. Fear given way to bottomless confusion.

"And what about him? Freezing in a crisis?" She criticized.

"Most people do exactly that the first time they encounter a life-threatening danger." Potter explained. "I certainly did, and unlike their first encounter with an apparent threat to their lives just now I could have actually died then."

"And what exactly was your first encounter with a deadly scenario?" Dudley asked with a smirk, surreptitiously placing a calming hand on Piers' shoulder.

"A giant three-headed dog named Fluffy." Potter explained. "But with training and experience the freezing response to danger can be overcome, and I'm sure in time we will see Dennis prove himself like the rest. You shouldn't discount them, Jessica. You haven't been put to the test yet. Your performance today notwithstanding."

Something about hearing mention of a giant three-headed dog brought Piers back to reality and the sheer bizarreness of the situation.

"What!?" Piers yelled. "The hell! Is going on!"

"Magic." Dudley answered with a bored tone.

"Magic?" Piers asked.

"Magic." Jessica confirmed.

"Magic?" Dennis reiterated Piers' question.

"Magic." Potter re-confirmed.

He waved his stick in a complicated motion at his car and, instead of causing greater destruction, caused the shattered pieces of his windshield to piece back together. The spiderweb of cracks melted back together into a solid piece once more. Didn't fix the grill though.

"I'm a wizard Piers. Dennis." Harry informed them. He then motioned to the others who appeared with cracks. "As are they. There is an entire world of magical beings sat beside the one you've lived in your entire life. And we are at war. I have come here today to offer you the chance to join in it. But we have much to explain before you can make an informed decision."

Potter snapped his fingers and pointed to the two unconscious teenagers. A pair of men, wizards, disappeared from where they stood and re-appeared with a loud crack beside Malcolm and Gordon. One was middle-aged with mousey brown hair and the other was elderly with a nearly bald head. Both had kindly faces, but the posture of fighters.

"This is Edward Tonks and Dedalus Diggle. Good men. They can app... er, teleport your friends to the place where we will be meeting and nurse their injuries. We will meet them there shortly."

Edward and Daedelous knelt down beside Malcolm and Gordon respectively, propping the unconscious friends against their shoulders and twisted out of existence with another loud crack.

So far Piers was definitely leaning towards believing them about the whole magic thing.

Potter nodded to a silvery fabric on the ground and Jessica picked it up, folding it haphazardly and stuffing it into her shirt. Piers suspected the cloak was in some way magical as well.

"You're free to refuse my offer after we've discussed it over a meal with everyone else." Potter explained as he walked across the street to a parked motorcycle that Piers hadn't noticed earlier. "If you would kindly follow us."

He took the driver's seat and kick-started the bike. Dudley took his own place in the side-cart as Jessica mounted just behind Potter, wrapping her arms around him. Somehow the gesture didn't look at all intimate between the two, whereas it would with any other couple.

Piers shared a look with Dennis through the car window, before mirroring a shrug. They didn't speak at all during the drive as they followed the conspicuous motorcycle. All Piers could think about was what kind of strangeness awaited them.

Harry sat patiently as he listened to Mrs Bullstrode explain the basics of the magical world to the latest recruits. Hestia had already stitched up Gordon and Malcolm's head trauma and Dobby had procured some biscuits and tea.

The long discussion started with Dudley explaining what had actually befallen his parents. The revelation of vampires also existing lead to them listing all of the mythical creatures that were, in fact, not so mythical. They eventually settled on working from the assumption that all of them were real and being pleasantly surprised to discover which ones aren't later.

After all that they finally got to the meat of the matter.

"So, there's some psycho who wants to kill off us muddles?" Dennis clarified.

"Muggles. Yes. But not necessarily all of you. He's big on slavery too." Mrs Bullstrode said.

"And magic? What can magic do, beyond what we've already seen?" Piers asked.

Bullstrode considered her response for a few moments before giving it.

"It would be quicker to explain the things magic can't do." She said. "Magic cannot create life, only a facsimile, nor can it bring back the dead. Creating genuine love is also impossible, despite the many love potions that do come close, and there is absolutely no way to impart knowledge or skills through magic. Magic defies any attempt to take shortcuts to greatness. Furthermore, time travel and immortality are considered only quasi-possible. All methods for coming close to achieving any of these things are hugely complicated workarounds that more serve to make people think they've traveled through time or fallen in love, but don't actually."

Harry held his tongue. They didn't need to know that the creation of life and reversal of death were, indeed, possible. He would have preferred to remain ignorant as to the invalidity of those limits to magic and hoped to remain oblivious to any methods of breaking those other ones she listed. The part on time travel was particularly interesting, and he made a mental note to ask Dumbledore what the time turner actually did if it wasn't truly taking a person backwards in time.

"So, we're talking Wizard of Oz witches and wizards, not King Diamond ones?" Gordon clarified.

Before either of them could answer Malcolm interrupted.

"Motheeeer!" He screamed in what Harry could only categorize as a hair-metal voice.

It was loud and high-pitched enough to make Harry practically jump out of his skin. The others applauded their friend, complimenting what must have been an impression of whoever this king of diamonds was. Harry waited politely for them to finish before moving the conversation along.

"You will need to learn how to fight against magic, without magic of your own." He said. "Which may sound difficult with your experience against me today, but simply knowing what spells do will be half the battle. The other half is ducking and dodging. You have good instincts, and some training as fighters and gunmen."

"Who's going to train us?" Asked Malcolm. "You?"

"No. We will all have to teach ourselves as we go. The library here is extensive, there are journals from many past warriors, Muggle and Wizard alike, and stories of wars where we fought each other in the past. Training manuals too. I even have one from a Mad-eye Moody." Harry explained. "I will help guide you in training yourselves, though I expect Dudley will be doing most of the heavy lifting in training you."

He was lying of course. He had no such journals or training manuals. But what he did have was a supernatural object capable of summoning the souls of Alexander the Great, Miyamoto Musashi, Ghengis Khan, King Leonidas of Sparta, Sun Tzu, and all of the great generals of World Wars I and II. If the language barrier could be overcome, they would certainly be able to butt heads and come up with a training regimen and battle strategies. And for an encore he could summon Elizabeth Short and all of old Jack's ripping victims and ask who their killers were; just for fun.(A/N - 1)

More likely he would just summon generals and warriors from the magical and Muggle sides of the two World Wars and work from there. Ron could poses the pizza boy and write down what they tell him, he loves that kind of stuff. Military strategy, coming up with training regiments like he had with the DA.

"For now, rest and read. Learn about all of the most common spells, Hestia will be more than happy to demonstrate each for you. I have more recruits to gather, witches, wizards and their families who have tried to flee but can't." Harry explained. "We had a railroad of sorts trafficking those of Muggle birth or otherwise considered undesirable by His regime, but the routes have been closed off by foreign governments trying in vain to localize this crisis to the U.K. My people have been working on contacting them for the past week so that we might bring them into the fight."

"I believe Charles had a breakthrough on that recently, come to think of it." Hestia told him. "You should go speak to him next. I'll sort this bunch out."

Harry gave Hestia a grateful nod and left the room. He heard Dudley begin an explanation of the standard book of spells before the door clicked shut. He turned and came face to face with a curious Edward Tonks.

"Did I hear somebody playing King Diamond?" Asked Tonks.

Harry actually got his first laugh in a while from that but shook his head in disapproval all the same as he pushed past Edward to go find Mr Abbot. He ought to be in the study with the telephone, with Miss Chang and Mr Creevey as self-imposed assistants. His private desk had been coated in mountains of notes as he worked his way through contacts to track down the railroad.

Five more Muggle soldiers with some experience fighting and training in firearms was a good start, but only a start. He needed wands. He needed a lot of wands. And he needed people desperate enough, angry enough, and well-trained enough to kill with them. The war was going hot now. No more hiding in the shadows, scraping away at Voldemort's immortality. It was time to fight. It was time to destroy. It was time to kill. And unlike his previous mission, he needed more than his two best friends for this one.

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