Chapter 108. When Seconds Turned into Minutes
An agitated Harry burst into Number 12, Grimmauld Place. His green eyes burned, and his cheeks flushed with excitement.
"Elen somehow found out about everything in advance!" he exclaimed, breathing heavily. "She warned Fudge that his life was about to be cut short."
Ron raised an eyebrow in surprise. "So is she related to the old fraud Trelawney? Always pretending to be a prophet."
Suddenly, Ron flinched and stared cautiously at his right hand.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, concerned.
"Let me see!" Hermione decisively grabbed Ron's hand.
The shimmering runes of the Command Spell were clearly visible on his skin. With just one look, Hermione realized the danger.
"Quickly remove it!" she cried out, trembling with horror. "Otherwise, Mordred will die!"
Ron stubbornly pressed his lips together, his freckled face reddening with anger.
"If I remove it now, then Tesla will die too!" he snapped, defiantly jutting out his chin. "Fujimaru told us to rely on our Servants, they're not idiots either! Or have you forgotten, Hermione?"
Hermione snorted in indignation, piercing Ron with a withering gaze. Her finger spasmodically traced the flickering runes on her own palm.
"We can't afford to lose our Servants, they're our main strength," she muttered through clenched teeth.
Ron flared up with rage, his blue eyes flickering with anger and sadness. His clenched fists trembled. Ron seemed to be burning from the overwhelming emotions, ready to explode.
The squabble between Ron and Hermione was interrupted by a thunderous roar.
"Stop! Stop! Stop! Enough, both of you, right now!"
Sirius burst into the room, his face contorted with an angry grimace. He impatiently scanned the quarrelers and then spoke with a weighty tone that brooked no objections.
"Fujimaru is right. Whether they're Servants or not doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that they still possess a human essence. But you – Masters – you must not recklessly risk everything if you want to win."
Sirius straightened proudly, pushing back his wavy black locks. His eyes reflected flickers of flames dancing in the fireplace.
"So what should we do?" Hermione challenged, her voice filled with defiance. "Just sit idly by and wait for everything to resolve itself?"
Sirius clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white. His gaze hardened and became unyielding.
"It is indeed true that we shouldn't throw ourselves headlong into an attack against the Death Eaters and their forces," he said in a stony tone. "That would be madness and would doom us to defeat."
Sirius fell silent, surveying the quieted group with a scrutinizing, studying gaze. The air in the room crackled with tension, hanging heavy after his words.
A heavy silence filled the living room. It could have been a soothing silence, but in these terrifying moments, the lingering silence felt like an ominous omen. The sudden news of the death of Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge had interrupted the wedding celebrations of Bill and Fleur.
And then, as if the horrifying shock wasn't enough, a true hell descended upon the newlyweds and guests - an attack by Death Eaters accompanied by a horde of Inferi, trolls, and extremely dangerous Servants.
Time seemed to slow down its pace, reluctantly moving forward second by second, minute by minute. It seemed to be horrified by the madness unfolding in the world. But no matter how heavy its sluggish movement was, it continued relentlessly.
Amidst the oppressive anticipation, Kreacher, Sirius's old house-elf, appeared in the dining room. Bent with age, he bowed low to the guests and beamed with a sickly sweet smile.
"Would Sir Black care to offer esteemed guests some tea?" he asked.
His question was met with dead silence, reminiscent of the deafening silence of an empty graveyard.
Sirius finally spoke, letting out a heavy sigh. "Sorry, Kreacher. It's not a time for tea. We're waiting for news."
His voice was hoarse and tense, as if waiting had drained all the life out of him. Kreacher awkwardly bowed and left, leaving the host and guests alone with their anxious thoughts.
Time mercilessly crawled on, counting down the minutes of waiting. The viscous minutes oozed one after another, giving way to a heavy hum in the ears. The silence in the living room weighed heavily on their shoulders, and the anxious anticipation of news from the Burrow squeezed their hearts.
Harry nervously jumped up and down, then slumped back into his chair. Ron sat hunched over, lowering his head, his fists clenched to the point of bone-crushing. Hermione bit her lip, her palms damp with sweat.
Suddenly, the air in the room whirled like a tornado, swirling with a whistle, and right in the middle of the living room, a human body fell with a thud.
It was Mrs. Weasley. She lay face down, sprawled out on the worn-out carpet. Her clothes were torn to shreds, and blood trickled from a deep gash on her head, staining everything around a deep crimson.
"Mum!" Ron's piercing cry shook the house. He rushed to the motionless body and fell to his knees beside it. "Mum, what happened to you?! What happened?!"
Mrs. Weasley moaned and stirred. With a trembling hand, she squeezed her son's hand.
"R-Ron..." she struggled to part her dry lips. "N-Nora... fought them off... but... R-Remus..."
Her voice choked with a painful rasp, her pupils rolled back. Ron clung to her with cold fingers, shaking as if in a fever. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Mum! Mommy!"
Hope still flickered, but monstrous fear had already sunk its deadly claws into the hearts of those present.
Fred and George burst into the room, drawn by Ron's cries. Their faces were pale as sheets.
"Merlin's beard!" Fred exclaimed upon seeing their mother bleeding. "What happened?"
Hermione knelt down beside Mrs. Weasley and tried to stem the bleeding from the head wound, casting a healing spell.
"She's alive, but severely wounded," she muttered through clenched teeth, her hair falling into her eyes.
"Mom was saying... she was saying something about Lupin," Ron said hoarsely, his voice shaking with sobs. "What's happening with Lupin? What's happening at the Burrow?"
Fred hugged himself, trembling as if in fever.
- "The last thing we heard," he began, his voice breaking. "A terrible battle broke out. Lupin and his squad tried to hold off the Death Eaters..." His voice trailed off. "And then... then we were transported here."
George swallowed hard, his eyelids bloodshot.
A heavy silence hung in the living room, broken only by Ron's sobs. Everyone froze in tense anticipation of more news from the Burrow, afraid to even breathe. Mrs. Weasley still hadn't regained consciousness, despite Hermione's efforts.
Time seemed to stand still in this oppressive silence, filled with hidden horror and fear of loss. It seemed frozen again, unwilling to move forward and reveal the unknown. Only the quiet sound of blood dripping onto the carpet marked the endless seconds of waiting.
Suddenly, the air in the room whirled once more, and with a loud thud, a new person was literally spit out onto the carpet. It was Elphias Doge.
"Doge?" Sirius gasped, his jaw dropping. "How did you end up here?"
Elphias struggled to catch his breath, clutching his chest. His robes were torn, and a sizeable bump adorned his forehead.
"It was Mordred," he rasped, casting a weary glance at everyone. "I barely managed to escape from right under the Death Eaters' noses. He said it was Fujimaru's orders."
At that moment, Sam Brightwood burst into the room, disheveled and disarrayed.
"Astolfo just brought Minerva McGonagall here, she's injured!" he blurted out in one breath. "But Jeanne said under no circumstances should we interfere in the battle. She and Mordred and Tesla personally engaged the Death Eaters head-on!"
Everyone involuntarily flinched. Jeanne d'Arc, the mighty warrior, was hardly one to be stopped. They had yet to realize that if she got involved in this battle, the enemies had fallen into a hellish snare.
Meanwhile, Hermione continued to desperately fight for Mrs. Weasley's life. Ron sat nearby, holding his mother's hand, barely able to contain his sobs.
The tension in the room reached its peak. No one knew what awaited them ahead - salvation or inevitable doom. Each breath was a struggle, and hope seemed more elusive in this dark chaos of events.
At that moment, Auntie Muriel burst into the room, battered and dirty, dragging a bloodied Tonks behind her. Tonks tried to break free, cursing through clenched teeth.
"Let me go, you old hag! I have to find Remus! How dare you drag me away from there?!"
"Shut up, you foolish girl!" Auntie Muriel snapped, throwing Tonks onto the carpet. "Your husband is perfectly capable of holding his own. But you were a hair's breadth away from death!"
Tonks flared up furiously, her hair turning fiery red.
"I'm an Auror, in case you've forgotten! I could have handled it myself!"
"With a whole horde of Inferi and Death Eaters? And without a wand?" Auntie Muriel snorted. "Don't make me laugh, girl."
A heavy silence fell in the living room, interrupted only by Ron's choked sobs. Everyone waited for more news from the Burrow, each holding their breath. Each breath felt like torture, and hope seemed more elusive and intangible in this painful madness of events.
Time seemed to slow down its pace. The minutes stretched unbearably long, each second of waiting reverberating with a heavy thud in their ears. The oppressive silence in the living room pressed down on their shoulders, and the anxious anticipation of news from the Burrow squeezed their hearts in a vice. Hermione continued to desperately fight for Mrs. Weasley's life, and tried to remember where she had dropped her bag. It still contained useful supplies, including baneberry - something that would come in handy now. Ron sat motionless, still holding his mother's lifeless hand, his vacant gaze wandering around the room.
Suddenly, he flinched and stared at his right hand, still marked with the flickering runes of the Command Spell. But a little later, after about half an hour of suffocating anticipation, Ron looked at his hand again - and the runes were gone, leaving only clean skin! His eyes widened in shock and horror.
"Hermione..." he mumbled incomprehensibly in a hoarse voice. "Hermione, the runes... they..."
Hermione tore herself away from Mrs. Weasley and glanced at Ron's hand. Her face turned deathly pale.
"Oh no... Not this!" she exclaimed in a choked whisper.
The disappearance of the Command Spell runes could only mean one thing - Ron's Servant had fallen in battle. Sirius clenched his fists, his jaw clenched with tension.
"Continue to heal Molly," he rasped. "I need to contact Fujimaru and find out what's happening."
He stormed out of the room with a furious stride, leaving behind the same suffocating silence. Waiting once again tightened its deadly grip on the souls of those present, bringing only hopelessness and fear of loss.
Suddenly, the living room whirled again, and with a deafening clap, four figures were expelled onto the floor. It was Mash Kyrielight, Mr. Weasley, Ritsuka Fujimaru, and Remus Lupin.
Mash looked terrifying - her purple-silver armor was scratched and stained with soot and blood. A deep, jagged wound gaped on her left side, bleeding and saturating the fabric.
Her left shoulder guard was torn off, revealing bruised flesh. Mash landed heavily on her knees, weakly dropping her shield.
Mr. Weasley was as pale as death, his robes reduced to tatters. Bits of moss and twigs tangled in his disheveled red hair.
Fujimaru struggled to stay on his feet, leaning on a large branch. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, and the right sleeve of his robe smoldered. Remus Lupin bore the marks of a fierce battle - his scars were bleeding again, and his left eye was swollen with a huge bruise.
"Mash!" Hermione cried out, jumping to her feet.
Ron slumped weakly in his chair, his eyes wide with horror.
"Dad! What happened to you?!"
Mash groaned and clutched her pierced side, blood gushing out.
"The Servants... so many... too many..." she struggled to part her chapped lips, spitting out drops of blood.
Fujimaru knelt beside her and pressed his palm to the wound, trying to heal it.
"Don't talk, Mash," he ordered curtly. "Conserve your strength."
Mr. Weasley managed to focus his hazy gaze on his son's face.
"R-Ron... good thing you're here... We had to... retreat... Too many enemies..."
Lupin leaned against the wall of the reception room, gasping for breath. His face was pale, and his eyes glistened with tears.
"Jeanne... Tesla... the other Servants... They held off the enemy, giving us a chance to evacuate... But at a cost..." he spoke with a choked voice, swallowing back the pain.
Sam stared at him with widened eyes, filled with horror.
"How many of them were there?" he whispered.
Lupin shook his head.
"This time, the enemy unleashed their most loyal guard. Your Servants were simply overwhelmed by their numbers."
Ron took a deep breath, gathering his strength. When he spoke, his voice carried a mix of pain and determination:
"I need to know what happened to Mordred."
Lupin pressed his lips together. "She fought with true Gryffindor bravery. Nothing could stop her. And yet..." He trailed off, lowering his gaze.
A solitary tear rolled down Ron's cheek. "I'm going to miss her terribly," he whispered barely audibly.
The door swung open, and Robin Hood and Astolfo entered, leaning on each other for support. Their clothes were torn, and their faces were covered in soot and blood.
"Don't just stand there, help them!" Grum barked, ushering the Servants inside.
Sam rushed towards Astolfo, but he stopped him with a gesture. "I'm fine, cowboy," Astolfo said with a crooked grin. Blood trickled from a cut brow, but he paid it no mind. "Just give me a couple of hours, and I'll be good as new."
Robin Hood laughed, despite the evident pain. "Didn't expect these backwaters to need so many enemies cleared out!" He pushed back his cloak, revealing a deep wound on his side, from which blood seeped. "But who would have thought we'd be swarmed like this?"
Astolfo nodded. "How are you guys holding up? Hang in there, we'll be back on our feet soon and join you!"
Despite their horrifying wounds, the Servants' voices carried a fighting spirit and readiness to continue the battle.
At that moment, the door swung open again, and Tesla and Jeanne d'Arc Alter entered the room. Tesla looked almost pristine, with only slightly disheveled hair indicating recent combat. Jeanne, on the other hand, presented a stark contrast - her armor was marred with the signs of a fierce battle, and she was covered in soot and blood. However, a wide smile lit up her face.
"All the guests have been evacuated from the Burrow while we held off the assault," she proclaimed joyfully in a ringing voice. "And as we left, I gave those bastards a fiery show! La Grondement Du Heine at your service!"
Jeanne laughed, her eyes gleaming with excitement, a reflection of the recent battle. It seemed that her zeal and determination were undiminished. Tesla just snorted, casting a glance at the gathered individuals.
"Nothing out of the ordinary. Just another day at work for the Servants."
His words sounded detached, but even in his weary eyes, a glimmer of respect for his allies could be seen. In Jeanne's eyes, however, an unsightly scene unfolded.
In the corner of the living room, Mrs. Weasley still lay heavily wounded. Hermione continued to tend to her, trying to stop the bleeding. Mr. Weasley and the Weasley twins sat nearby, their faces pale with worry. They, too, were not indifferent and helped Hermione in any way they could.
Upon seeing Jeanne, Ron jumped to his feet. "Jeanne! Where's Bill and Fleur? Are they safe?"
Jeanne nodded with relief. "Yes, they managed to apparate to a safe place. They promised to send an owl as soon as they can."
She surveyed the room, where injured wizards and Servants who had defended the Burrow against the Death Eaters sat and lay.
"Hold on, friends! Today, we achieved victory. Voldemort and his minions couldn't intimidate us!"
Her words carried a confidence that could instill hope in any heart. Jeanne always had a way of inspiring people, even in the darkest times.
At that moment, the door opened again, and Elen entered the living room. Her green eyes radiated a strange mix of innocence and wisdom, as if she had seen much in her lifetime.
"Elen!" Harry exclaimed, drawing the attention of those present. "You predicted Fudge's death when he brought Dumbledore's will. And your prophecy came true..."
Elen nodded with a mysterious half-smile. "Yes, I foresaw his demise. My visions rarely deceive me."
Her voice sounded calm and rational, wise beyond her years. Hermione frowned.
"But how did you acquire such a gift? Aren't you..."
"Hush," Harry interrupted, casting a quick glance at Elen. "She will tell us when the time is right. For now, let's take care of the wounded."
Elen gratefully nodded to him, and something ancient and unattainable flickered in her eyes. Who was this girl, taking on the persona of Elen Frankenstein? The answer lay somewhere in her enigmatic past, shrouded in mystery.