East
The land here was different to any other Harry had passed through during his many travels across the country. Godric had all but insisted they avoid the east when he'd been younger, and Harry could see why.
"The Danes have been here only a couple of centuries," Godric explained from atop his horse. "They are still trying to establish themselves, but the Saxons, Angles, or Jutes have been here for more than five. This is their home, and they will not be moved from it easily."
"Angles and Jutes?" Harry asked curiously.
"The Angles are the Saxons who settled in the east, the Jutes in southeast, and the Saxons in the south. Most natives just call them all Saxons. They're the same invaders from the continent as far as people are concerned."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"Why did they come here?"
Godric shrugged.
"Some say they wanted new lands to conquer, and others for the farming. They've certainly managed both in their time here."
"And they are at war with the Danes?"
"Everyone is at war with everyone," Godric sighed. "It has been this way since the Saxons arrived and only gotten worse with the Danes."
"And it will only continue to get worse," Harry murmured.
Godric hummed disapprovingly.
"It is a shame that they cannot co-exist," Salazar broke in. "We are all men, are we not?"
"And some men want what others have and they don't," Godric pointed out. "That is why wars are fought. The Danes want Britain for themselves, and the Saxons don't want the Danes here."
"What about the Britons?"
"They don't want either of them here," Godric chuckled humourlessly. "So, one or two will have to go before there can be lasting peace, but the Saxons and the Danes will never reach an accord. The Britons and Danes might, and even the Britons and Saxons."
"Arthur will win."
"Do you know this for certain?"
"No, but I don't remember being told any stories about Saxon or Danish kings become the one true ruler of Briton."
"But Arthur did?"
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
"The muggle history was hazy at best, but people knew of him and his stories. The muggles even knew of Myrddin."
"This time, Harry, they will know of you," Salazar broke in once more.
"I bloody hope not," Harry grumbled. "I always hated being famous."
"And yet, there are many who whisper your name up and down the country. You saw that for yourself," Salazar said with a grin.
Harry cursed under his breath.
Whilst they were heading south of the Scottish border, they'd stopped in a village to rest and had seen a mummer's show depicting Harry's fight against the dragon.
It had been a rather embarrassing and embellished recreation of events that Harry had not been pleased to see.
Still, it had been a much more palatable experience than the one they found themselves facing now.
Salazar cursed under his breath at the sight of the torched village.
Little remained besides the husks of the burnt houses, and what seemed to have been a church. Although the smoke had cleared, there was still an unpleasant aroma of seared flesh, and even a few limbs strewn about the place.
"Strenger," Harry huffed. "I can feel his magic here."
Godric nodded gravely, and they slowly made their way through what had once been a bustling dwelling for dozens of people.
"Who is it? Go on, get out!"
The man that approached them had seen much better days.
He was strongly built, but advanced in years, and his grey hair had become lank. What was most noticeable about him, however, was the missing digits of his right hand.
"You live here?" Salazar asked.
The man nodded.
"The last one left, ain't I. They killed the others."
"Pelleas?"
The man scowled at the name and held up his fingerless hand.
"Did this to me," he grumbled. "Wanted me to tell the tale of what him and his men did here."
"Bastard," Harry sighed. "What direction did he head in?"
"East. He went east with around one hundred others, but you're not the only ones looking for him. Guthrum wants his head and he's sent his own forces out. Best be careful you lot don't get mistaken for his lot. They won't be kind to you."
Harry nodded.
"Is there anything you need?"
"Some food would be most appreciated. They burned our land, and I can't hunt much."
Harry retrieved the man what food he had from his pack and handed it to him.
"Do you need wood or shelter?"
"No, I'll manage, but thank you, sir. It's good to see there is some kindness left in this place."
With that, he continued on his way, and Salazar gave Harry's shoulder an approving squeeze.
"Not bad, Sir Harry," he mocked.
Harry flared his nostrils.
He should've known better than to tell anyone that Arthur had knight him.
Both Morgana and Salazar never missed an opportunity to mock him for it in their own way, but Godric had only shown him admiration.
'It is truly an honour to be recognised for your valorous deeds, Harry. Do not let anyone tell you any differently.'
"One day, I'll clout you one, you old git," Harry muttered, eliciting a chuckle from Salazar.
"I have no doubt you will," the man replied with a grin, "but I'll be ready. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve for the likes of you."
"He means it," Godric snorted as Salazar continued to lead them through the village. "He's a slick and sly as anyone I've ever met. Come on, let's find Strenger before he can harm anyone else."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"As things were, they were merely following a trail of destruction Strenger was leaving in his wake, but it was the best they could do.
Eventually, they would catch up to him and his men, and when they did, Strenger would regret every last act of horror he'd committed since returning to the shores of Britain.
(Break)
Owain,
I will not be returning to the Hollow as soon as I expected.
We received word that Strenger is in the east, and he is a threat that can no longer be ignored.
I will be venturing there shortly to hunt him down in the hopes I return to you having delivered his head to the woman who deserves to burn it.
Stay safe, and keep working on healing your legs,
Harry
He placed the short missive down and released a deep sigh.
It had been a few days prior it had arrived, and he'd read it no less than a dozen times.
He should be with Harry hunting Strenger down, but instead, Owain was capable of only walking a few steps before his legs would give out, let alone being in any fit state to traipse across the country.
"You will get better," Anwen comforted.
Owain nodded, though he was not sure if it was the truth.
With each passing day, he hoped to feel something more than the numbness or tingling, and even the occasional jolt of pain that plagued his lower extremities, but there was nothing else as yet.
"Well, I'll take comfort knowing it is Harry who is chasing him. He won't let the bastard get away."
"He will not," Anwen agreed. "He's a good man, if a little unhinged."
"Unhinged?"
"He climbed on the back of a flying dragon to kill it. No entirely sane person would do that."
Her words were spoken with fondness and Owain chuckled as he nodded his agreement.
"You're not wrong, lass," he murmured. "Harry truly is one of a kind. It feels strange without him here."
"Because he belongs here. He's one of us."
Owain smiled and nodded, still pondering the story Harry promised to share with him when the time is right.
He had his ideas and thoughts on the matter, though each one was almost ridiculous as the next he conjured within his mind.
Owain thought perhaps that he was somehow a many times over great grandson, and although it seemed unlikely, that was the least ludicrous of the many considerations he'd made.
"Come on, it's time for you to try to walk a little more," Anwen announced, standing to help Owain from his chair.
With considerable effort from them both, she heaved him to his feet, and Owain released a deep breath, fixing his gaze on the door.
He was determined to make, and as he took his first few steps, he thought that he just might until he once more found himself thudding to the hard floor.
"It's okay," Anwen soothed.
Owain swallowed deeply as he nodded and pulled himself back towards the chair that had quickly become a personal prison.
"You managed two more steps today."
"I did?"
Anwen's eyes were brimming with tears as she nodded.
"Even if it is only one extra step a day, it is progress."
Owain offered his wife an appreciative smile.
"One step at a time," he murmured. "One more step every day."
It was difficult not to lose himself in a downward spiral of melancholy when he'd always been so active, but with his wife by his side and a new-born son relying on him, Owain knew he could not allow himself to be grasped by the jaws of darkness, not when they needed him so.
"One step at a time," Anwen echoed.
(Break)
Having witnessed a dragon flying and breathing fire on his people during the battle, and even men able to tear each other's guts with nary a wave of a wand, Arthur found the rather bawdy entrance of the enormous man clad in green armour atop an even larger horse rather lacklustre in comparison.
"Which one of you is the man they call Arthur?" the odd knight demanded in a booming voice, removing his helm to reveal skin only a shade or two lighter than his armour, though his hair and beard were quite the vivid red.
"That is King Arthur to you," Gawain responded hotly.
The green knight only chuckled in response.
"Well, I call your king a coward and came here to prove it."
Arthur leaned back interestedly in his chair as he surveyed the man.
"And how do you intend on doing that, friend?" he asked curiously.
"A challenge."
"You wish to challenge our king?" Lancelot chuckled. "Perhaps you would find me suitable, traveller. I have no qualms of cutting down even a man of your stature."
The knight guffawed.
"So, your king is a coward," he declared.
"No, but why would he fight you when he has loyal men willing to do it on his behalf?" Lancelot retorted.
The knight shook his head.
"It is not a fight I seek, but only a promise. If your king is not bold enough to accept, then any of you will suit me well enough."
"What's the challenge?" Gawain asked.
The knight grinned in response and climbed from his horse.
"I will present my neck to any who accepts. They are welcome to take a single swing with either sword or axe. My only condition is that any who does will seek me out in a years' time and allow me to return the favour. What say you? Is there any man brave enough to do so?"
"I'll cut his bloody head off for him," Gawain declared. "It will only take one swing to remove it."
Arthur frowned as he continued to watch the knight.
After all he'd seen in recent passings of the moon, the request was no simple one.
"None of us will do so," he answered firmly. "We are aware of the druids of this land. Is that what you are, or has a curse been laid upon you? You will answer me truthfully."
The knight seemed taken aback by the response.
"I am no druid nor have I been cursed by one."
"But you offer your head so freely, so there is trickery afoot," Arthur pointed out.
"Not trickery, but a test of nobility," the knight returned. "Any man of true noble intent need not fear reprisals. Only dishonesty will result in unpleasantness for the man who accepts my challenge."
Arthur's frown deepened.
Somehow, he believed the words of the knight, and yet, he would not be the one to delve into something so ominous.
"Is that you, Harry?" he asked.
"Harry?" the knight ask. "I know no man bearing such a name."
No, it wasn't Harry.
He wouldn't waste his time with such pageantry when he could see dishonesty by meeting a man's gaze.
"I will only make the offer once more," the knight announced.
Arthur shook his head.
"If there is any among you who wishes to accept, I will not stop you," he sighed.
He was curious as to what would happen.
"Bloody hell, I'll do it," Gawain huffed irritably. "If only to be rid of this madman. Go on then, show me your neck and I'll give you a close trim than you've ever had."
"Of course," the knight said gleefully, falling to his knees and bowing before Gawain who removed his axe.
Arthur had seen the man cut through the thickest of logs with a single stroke, and despite the knight's size, his neck was not thick or strong enough to sustain such a blow.
With an almighty roar, Gawain swung his axe, and the expected dull thud of the knight's head hitting the floor quickly followed, yet, there was no blood.
Arthur was shocked to see the knight stand and pick up his own head, dusting it off before placing it under his arm and mounting his horse once more.
"What is your name?" the head asked.
"G-Gawain."
The knight nodded.
"One year from today, Sir Gawain, you will meet me at the Green Chapel where you shall present your neck for me as I did for you. If you do not arrive, you will forever be known as a coward and a liar. Until then."
The knight cantered from the hall of Camelot, still carrying his head under his arm, and leaving a stunned group of men in his wake.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Gaheris boomed after several moments of silence.
"Gawain's death," Lancelot chuckled.
The red-faced Gawain threw his axe to the ground before turning towards the others, his skin pale and clammy at what had just happened.
"He picked it up," he whispered. "I cut it off and he picked it up."
"Magic," Arthur murmured. "It had to have been some kind of magic."
Gawain shook his head in disbelief.
"Bloody hell, what do I do?"
"You have a year to ponder it," Lancelot comforted, "but he will be expecting you to arrive. You heard him. You will be branded a coward and a liar if you do not."
Gawain merely cursed under his breath before leaving the hall, and Arthur released a deep sigh.
"I should not have allowed it."
"He would've only wanted to do it more," Lancelot pointed out. "He's a damned child when it comes to being told no. There was nothing you could, Arthur."
The king hummed.
Lancelot was right.
Gawain would've done regardless of what he'd said, and now, he would have to face the consequences of his actions.
Perhaps he would learn something from the experience, or he simply would not return, but Arthur did not think that would be so.
Although the knight was an odd fellow and undoubtedly had access to magic of some form, he'd seemed genuine in all he'd said.
Still, what would happen remained to be seen, but there was one thing Arthur was certain of; Gawain was no coward and would answer the call of the Green Knight on the day he'd requested his presence.
(Break)
"You know, there's something very peaceful about this place," Harry commented thoughtfully. "There's not so many hills as there is up north, and the landscape is good."
"Great for the farmers," Godric acknowledged. "I came here once with my wife before our children came along. She fell in love with the coast to the north from here. The sea is cold but the sand feels great between my toes. That's what she said. We always intended to come back, but never did."
"It's just a shame that Strenger is here," Salazar grumbled.
They'd passed through two more villages which had been put to the torch, and even came upon dozens of bodies just outside of one.
Why Strenger was doing this, Harry didn't know, but it reminded him of what little he knew of the war against Voldemort. The violence had been senseless, and yet, had become a continuous occurrence during his uprising.
Strenger was not the first nor would he be the last to be the way he was, but this felt just as personal to Harry as all Voldemort had done to him.
Rowena's daughter had been murdered, along with many others who deserved justice, and Harry hoped he would be the one to bring it to them in the form of Strenger's lifeless corpse.
"I don't understand it either," Salazar murmured. "I don't understand why he is here doing what he is, not when he could flee to the continent where he could hide from his crimes."
Harry frowned.
"Maybe he is acting for someone else," he said with a shrug. "He only came here when he knew Helena would be here. Why would he stay for so long after? He could've escaped that night, but he chose not to. I don't get it."
"Strenger is no fool," Godric broke in. "Perhaps he has lost his sanity, but I struggle to believe he would be so brazen and foolish."
"Then we make sure we get answers from him," Salazar declared. "When we find him, which is inevitable, we must get answers from him, one way or the other."
"I'll happily remove his balls," Godric offered. "He'll bloody well beg us to talk by the time we are done with him."
Harry too had been pondering why Strenger would stay in Britain when he'd become so infamous for murdering Helena Ravenclaw.
Although he couldn't understand the reasoning, what Salazar and Godric both had said made sense.
Strenger had either completely lost his mind, or he was acting on behalf of someone else.
"Wait," he whispered worriedly, halting his horse.
"What is it, Harry?" Salazar asked.
Before he could respond, however, Harry heard a distinct sound, one that had become synonymous with the battle of Camelot.
Whipping his wand in an upwards motion, a large wave of dirt rose above and behind the trio, and with another wave, they were encapsulated by it.
The sound of arrows thudding into the makeshift protections came only a second later, and Godric drew his sword.
Salazar followed suit with his wand, and Harry closed his eyes, listening carefully to each arrow striking against the dirt.
"There's around ten archers," he murmured, straining his ears to listen to any other sound he might hear.
The jangling of armour came next, along with the rhythmic pattering of hooves.
"No more than ten," he clarified.
"COME OUT!" a voice barked. "WE KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE!"
"Saxons," Godric murmured.
"Not Strenger?"
Godric shook his head.
"No, these are muggles."
"I'll handle it," Harry offered. "I have an idea."
With little more than a gentle pop, he vanished from within the shelter and appeared in a grove of trees just behind the mounted men. There were indeed ten of them, armour-clad, and surrounding the large mound of dirt.
"PELLEAS, IF YOU'RE IN THERE, YOU HAVE NO HOPE OF ESCAPING!"
They too were hunting Strenger, and Harry could not help but think they should be glad they had yet to find the man.
No muggle would stand a chance against the Bloody Baron.
Strenger was exceptional with his sword, but it was with magic he thrived.
Still, now was not the time to consider the wayward man, and with that in mind, Harry cast a disillusionment charm over himself before approaching the group, silencing his feet as he did so.
As he reached neared the man who'd addressed them, he took aim with his wand, ensuring he was close enough that the spell wouldn't be noticed, but also that he was out of the path of any of the large mounts.
With a flick of his wand, the stinging hex collided with the rump of the horse, and it reared up, almost unseating its rider before galloping into the woods, ignoring the protests of the man clinging onto it for his life.
The others quickly followed, and Harry released Godric and Salazar from the dirt.
"That was some fast thinking," the latter praised, "but I suggest we move on quickly. They will return."
"And there was me hoping for a fight," Godric sighed, urging his horse onward behind Salazar's.
None of them spoke for several moments whilst the put some distance between themselves and the muggles, and in the moment, Harry had lost his train of thought.
"What were you going to say before we were interrupted?" Godric pressed.
Harry paused once more, and a deep frown marred his features.
"I had a thought," he murmured, "but even I am struggling to believe it, even if it is a possibility."
"Go on," Salazar urged.
"The night Helena was killed by Strenger, who else was there, and didn't seem to arrive until long after he'd fled?"
Both men became thoughtful before Salazar's eyes widened slightly.
"He wouldn't," he whispered. "I know we have been somewhat at odds with him, but to help him escape, I cannot imagine him being so cruel."
"Myrddin," Godric murmured.
Harry nodded.
"He arrived after it happened," he reminded the others, "after Strenger had escaped, but Strenger didn't leave when that would be the first thing any would do in his situation, unless something else compelled him to stay. What was he even doing in Hogsmeade?"
"I find myself interested in such an answer," Salazar replied with a scowl, "but Harry, this is all mere speculation. Believe me, I can see the logic in what you are saying, but there are so many variables to consider. Yes, we have fallen out of favour with one another, but I cannot imagine even Myrddin allowing Strenger to get away with murdering Helena."
"Then what other reason would he have to stay when it is so risky for him?" Harry returned. "I know it is hard to believe, but couldn't Myrddin have done something in retaliation to Rowena refusing to help him?"
"I don't know," Godric sighed. "I thought I knew Myrddin well enough to not think he would do something like that, but after all he has done, I cannot say."
"Perhaps we would like to think he isn't capable," Salazar broke in, "but the more I think about it, the more unsure I become. He has his flaws, but I cannot fathom him doing something so monstrous."
"I can," Harry grumbled. "He is using Arthur's nature against him to control the king, and I have no doubt he knows about the Queen and Lancelot. I've seen how he has treated Morgana, and this is all stuff he has made no effort to hide. I understand you don't want to think so lowly of him, but I cannot help but think there is so much more to him than I have seen already. Regardless, we will get to the truth of the matter when we find Strenger."
Both Salazar and Godric nodded, remaining silent as they pressed on towards the next village Strenger had undoubtedly reached before them.
Soon enough, however, they would catch up to the man, and Harry was determined to either confirm his thoughts, or put them to rest.
Still, he could not shake the niggling feeling that he might just be onto something.
Salazar and Godric may not want to believe it, but Harry was as close to certain he could be that Myrddin was somehow involved with Strenger.
(Break)
Myrddin continued to pace around the courtyard of Camelot, troubled by the appearance of the mysterious knight in his absence.
He'd been meeting with Strenger when the man had arrived, and though he'd pondered him deeply, he could think of no one it might be.
He had considered whether it was a trick orchestrated by Peverell, but had dismissed such a thought quickly, and then his attention had turned to Strenger.
It was possible that this was a ploy by the man, but it didn't seem to fit his personality either.
His next thought had drifted to Harry Potter, someone Myrddin admittedly had learned so little about during his time here.
He'd proven himself to be a courageous man, perhaps too bold for his own good, but what lay below the outward countenance of a warrior concealed well a man with a keen mind; one that Myrddin had dared not attempt to breach more than once.
Potter was highly trained in the Mind Arts, of that, there was no doubt, but Myrddin could not decide if the arrival of the Green Knight was something attributable to the Crow.
Many things did not make sense, and though he was relieved that Arthur had not answered the challenge, it brought Myrddin little relief given what else he had been made aware of.
Mark.
The man had been seen meeting with Cnut shortly before the battle of Camelot, and had proven himself to be everything Myrddin had always known.
He was a coward to the very core, and now, a traitor to boot.
Although he would prefer to handle the situation quietly to ensure it would not happen again, being such a prominent man, Myrddin could ill afford to make any error in how Mark's transgression was addressed.
Besides, it was indeed a matter for the King, and it would serve as a test for Arthur.
It wasn't as though Tristan would offer any resistance to his father's fate, not when Mark being branded a traitor would resolve the biggest problem he faced in securing Iseult's hand in marriage; something he wanted more than to reach an accord with the father who spurned him.
Nonetheless, it was another ugly occurrence at Camelot, and such things were becoming more and more common for Myrddin's liking.
"Something troubles you."
He turned to find himself looking upon an equally pensive king, and Myrddin nodded as he released a deep sigh.
"Something troubles us both, Arthur," he murmured. "You more than me, I'm afraid."
Arthur frowned and Myrddin gestured for the younger man to follow him.
"What is it?" he asked when they were out of earshot of any wandering the keep.
"I've just learned that Mark personally met with Cnut before the Danes arrived at Camelot. That is why he was absent before the battle."
"You're certain of this?"
"I am."
"How?"
It was a simple question, yet Myrddin was taken aback by it.
Arthur had always taken him by his word and had seldom needed an explanation. Myrddin often gave one out of courtesy, but he'd never been pressed for one.
"I saw it for myself, Arthur."
"In the stars, or in his mind?"
Myrddin tried to meet Arthur's gaze, and the king looked away to avoid it.
A curious reaction, and equally a troubling one.
Someone had discussed magic, particularly the Mind Arts with the young man, and Myrddin would need to discover just who that person was.
"Neither," Myrddin answered with a smile. "He was seen entering and leaving Cnut's camp by one of the scouts. When he left, he did so with an owl gifted to him by one of the Danes' druids."
"An owl?"
"Used to send messages, Arthur, between magicals. They are exceptionally brilliant birds."
Arthur nodded, though his gaze remained on the floor.
"Then I will look him in the eye and see the truth of the matter," he declared. "Bring him to the throne room and gather the others. I would hear him lie to us all."
With that, he headed back towards the keep, and Myrddin watched his retreating form.
Yes, someone had indeed had an in-depth conversation with the king, and Myrddin knew of only one man Arthur had sought out after the battle of Camelot, the very same he'd given an honorary knighthood to before he'd left.
Harry Potter.
The man had been somewhat irksome in how he'd comported himself; confident, self-assured, and even quietly brilliant, but Myrddin had paid him little mind until now.
Now, it seemed Potter had whispered something poisonous in the king's ear, and that poison was slowly seeping into the relationship Myrddin shared with Arthur.
That simply would not do.
"Potter," Myrddin whispered to himself as he too made his way into the keep.
Who did the man think he was to interfere when he had no place here.
Myrddin shook his head.
He needed to get to the bottom of what had been said to Arthur, and if necessary, ensure Potter could no longer hold any influence over the king.
Perhaps a memory charm or two would suffice.
Myrddin would need to decide the best course of action when he was certain of the damage that had been done, but there was something undeniable; Arthur was now being cautious of him, and Myrddin could not allow that.
The king needed to trust him implicitly, or all of Myrddin's plans could go up in flames before they'd even truly begun to take shape.
(Break)
"What is this place?" Harry asked as they traipsed through the foggy marshland.
The reeds along the bank had grown so tall and thick that it was impossible to anything through them, but the sound of flowing water could be heard.
They'd already passed several abandoned forts, and Harry could see another not so far ahead of them.
"This leads to the mouth of the sea to the north," Godric explained. "These buildings are Roman, and the locals now dig here for peat for fires."
"Is that what that smell is?"
"It is," Godric chuckled. "Sometimes, it even smells like smoked pork when its burning, but this stuff is not pleasant."
"It smells like rotten flowers."
Godric nodded his agreement, and Salazar held up a hand.
"If it smells like this when it is burning, we must be close to a dwelling of sorts," he pointed out. "We must tread carefully."
"Why is he so paranoid?" Harry asked as they continued on their way.
Salazar had already drawn his wand in anticipation of looming trouble, and Harry followed suit.
"There are stories of this place, Harry, mostly folk tales, but some of them are rather sinister in nature. Bodies are found here all the time, but there are other stories more troubling. There are magicals here as with anywhere else, though the druids who live here are said to be quite mad and even worshippers of the devil. The Saxons despise them but fear them equally. I've heard tales of the dead rising from their graves at the whim of the magicals here, creatures made of a fire that can burn anything, and even curses on the blood of a family that are said to last an eternity."
"Oh, why didn't you say so sooner?" Harry snarked. "We could have brought them flowers and had a bloody party. Is any of this true or are you joking?"
Godric shrugged.
"Maybe they're true and maybe they are just tales," he said thoughtfully. "Does it matter?"
"I suppose not," Harry muttered, his grip tightening around his wand.
The fog continued to roll in, and only grew thicker as darkness fell, so much so that each of them had to light the tips of their wands to see the path ahead.
Once more, some hours later, the smell of burning peat reached them, though this time, it was much stronger, more pungent, and accompanied by what seemed to be a distant droning.
"What is that?" Godric asked worriedly.
"Nothing good," Salazar replied, cautiously urging his horse forward before turning off the beaten track to ascend one of the few hills in the area.
As Harry followed, a sense of unease washed over him, and even the horses became spooked, so the three of them opted to leave them behind to continue on foot.
"I don't like this," Godric murmured.
"You were the one who talked it up with your bloody stories," Harry huffed irritably.
"Well, I didn't expect this."
Salazar nodded and Harry shuddered as they pressed on, pausing as they reached the top of the hill where the droning only grew louder.
Not so far below them was a large gathering of people, seven of whom were being tied to long poles protruding from the ground by others with chains around their necks and runes carved into their skins.
"No, this isn't good," Salazar whispered.
"Then let us put an end to it," Godric urged.
Salazar took hold of his wrist and shook his head.
"It is too late. They've already begun."
Harry looked on in a mixture of curiosity and horror at what was unfolding before him.
He recognised most of the runes etched into the flesh of the chained men, but what caught his attention was the presence of the two robed women flanking a larger man sporting a crowd.
They were standing in front of a sizeable host of armour-clad men, stretching much further back than Harry could see, and amongst them were more robed figures, dozens of them.
"Are you certain this will work?" the crowned man asked.
"Do not worry, my king, this will work," one of the women assured him.
The king nodded.
"That is Guthrum," Godric murmured. "I have seen him twice before tonight."
"So, he is embracing the magicals."
"For his own ends," Godric said darkly. "What are they doing?"
Before either Harry or Salazar could answer, the chanting suddenly became louder, and the sinister magic in the air became only more prominent.
The two women flanking Guthrum removed their robes and stood in front of the large fire in the nude whilst murmuring words that could not be heard from so far away, but as they turned, they each slit the throats of three of the figures tied to the posts.
When they reached the last, both blades were plunged into the chest, and the selected woman screamed in agony before Guthrum stepped forward.
Whilst she continued to thrash, he took hold of her hair to steady her before slashing his own blade across her neck.
She slumped forward, and as the blood of the sacrifices began to be absorbed into the dirt, the magic the women were invoking became almost overwhelming.
Harry watched and waited with bated breath, readying his wand to defend himself if necessary, and the urge to do so only grew as people began crawling out of the ground in droves.
"What the bloody hell are those things?" Godric asked.
"Inferi," Salazar answered worriedly. "They just raised the damned dead."
The corpses continued to climb out of the dirt and fell into messy ranks of hundreds before no more appeared.
Harry was stunned by what he'd witnessed, as were those in attendance who shuffled away from the dead.
One of the robed women laughed, her cackling as unpleasant as the magic continuing to permeate the air around them.
"They will find those defiling your lands, my king," she assured Guthrum, "and then, they will secure your crown for you. Now, there is only one part of the bargain left."
The woman stood on her toes and ran her tongue along Guthrum's neck, and the king nodded his understanding.
"So, which one of us will you gift your seed to?" she asked.
Harry did not need to see what would happen next.
He'd seen enough here tonight that would undoubtedly haunt the rest of his days, but it was Salazar who seemed to be the most disturbed.
"How bad is it?" Godric asked.
"About as bad as it gets," Salazar said gravely. "The dead are not like us. You can remove their heads with a sword, and they will continue to fight. You hit them with blasting curses, and they will press on. What's worse, is that more can be made so long as the ritual is sealed in blood, and other ways."
"Great," Harry grumbled. "Bloody dragons, Strenger, and now two lunatics running around with an army of the dead. How much worse can it get?"
"Never ask that question, Harry," Godric sighed, gesturing for them to leave. "It can always be worse."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"The only saving grace we have is that Guthrum cannot control them. He is relying on the women to do so, and likely the child they intend to bear will become his heir."
"That's how it gets worse," Harry grumbled irritably.
Salazar nodded.
"That's how it gets worse."
"Then we'd best get away from them," Godric suggested. "We are not here for whatever that is, but it seems that it's not just us looking for Strenger anymore."
"No, it is not," Salazar concurred. "Things just got considerably more dangerous for everyone in Britain, both muggle and magical alike."