CHAPTER 71: FINISH WHAT HAS BEEN STARTED
A violent and sudden knock on the wooden door at the entrance made all three of them turn their heads in that direction, while at the same time, shadows could be seen from the windows framing it. Another knock quickly followed the first, equally powerful and threatening to bring down the door that shook on its hinges. Harry immediately pulled out his magic wand, while his two friends opted to grip the handles of their sabers.
Finally, the door burst open with a crash on the third blow, and the dim light from the fireplace did not allow an immediate determination of who it was or their number. However, it was enough for Harry to quickly get back on his feet.
"Who goes there?!" he ordered, keeping his eyes on the threatening figure outside. "Answer, scoundrel, or we won't hesitate to shoot!"
However, the man did not comply and entered the room without an invitation, walking slightly unsteadily. To say that Harry was surprised by the person's identity was an understatement because he did not expect to see the crude features and haughty face of his eternal academy rival so soon.
"Boulanger?" he said in a surprised tone upon seeing his fellow regiment member. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence?"
"Is that how you welcome an old comrade?" the other replied in a mocking and slightly hesitant voice.
"I thought they arrested you just today?" Nicolas inquired, though he continued to keep his hand ready to draw his sword.
"That's true," the other admitted casually. "But... before being sent back to Paris for disciplinary judgment, I thought we'd have a little farewell tour with the guys, to relive the good old times..."
As if on cue, two more people burst into the room, both wearing the standard uniform of the 4th regiment. Harry immediately recognized them as Auguste's lackeys from their time at the Metz academy, two brainless brutes with no talent but who had nevertheless managed to graduate and join the troops departing for the new campaign.
"I see you even prepared the meal," he added, glancing at Harry's soup. "You'll have to set three more places..."
"You're drunk," Harry pointed out, seeing him awkwardly remain standing.
"Good observation," Auguste approved, chuckling. "I partied with the others to celebrate this brilliant victory, and since it's probably the last time I can do it before being forced to leave the army, might as well make it... memorable."
"If you came here looking for trouble, you could have chosen a better time and place to do it," Juliette intervened in a cold tone. "All you'll achieve is alerting the sentinels."
"Oh, just one minute of reunion, and you're already talking about trouble, Rivelli?" he mocked.
"What I don't understand is what you're doing here," Harry said to him. "You should be well guarded by now, and if they find out you escaped, you'll be hunted down, and your sentence will be worsened."
"The army had the brilliant idea of having me guarded by Muggles," the other explained calmly. "The worst part is that they took away my weapons, but they forgot about this."
And as he spoke, he searched in his pants pocket and pulled out a wooden stick about twenty centimeters long, casually moving it between his fingers.
"From there, it's as easy as pie to knock them out with a little spell," he continued, chuckling. "Berliot and Marlet were as surprised as you to see me, but we thought we'd take a stroll in Weimar until dawn to steal a horse and escape from here."
"In that case, it's an escape," Harry informed him. "And you two," he added, looking at the two brutes beside him, "it's complicity. I should immediately go to the headquarters to inform them of these facts."
"Except you won't do anything," Boulanger affirmed, slamming the door shut violently.
Tension then rose a notch as the two groups faced each other.
"You see, Bourbon, for years, I've been noticing all these privileges granted to you, these advantages you've always had at the expense of others, this... constant benevolence from our superiors," he said, adopting an increasingly threatening tone. "Perhaps you knew how to deceive the teachers at the academy, and even more surprisingly, the lieutenant colonel himself so that he would give you those famous private lessons everyone knew about, but no one seemed to have anything to say about..."
"Maybe because there was nothing to say about it," Juliette replied. "Gabriel was the best student in our class, and his level was so advanced compared to ours that Pajol deemed it fit not to let such talent go to waste."
Harry gave him a grateful smile at his words, but Boulanger, on the contrary, let all the rage he had accumulated for years burst forth, further etching the lines on his face.
"I have something to say about this!" he yelled, looking at her disdainfully. "This damn aristocrat comes from a family that never had to bend down to pick up something to eat, to whom people ate directly from the hand to gain privileges, and in front of whom one had to constantly bow to obtain favors. And now, with the revolution passing, all those damn privileges have been taken away from him. But of course, he had to find a way to rebuild, to restore his damn family's prestige by claiming the merit of others who have sweated blood and soul to get where they are!"
"You're delusional, my poor friend," argued Nicolas, looking at him as if he were indeed going mad before their eyes.
"Me?" grumbled Boulanger. "You're dreaming! On the contrary, unlike you, I see beyond appearances, and I saw from the very first day under that layer of polish that arrogance and disdain for the classes were omnipresent in him!"
"Sufficient, me?" Harry repeated mockingly, raising an eyebrow. "I'll chalk up your completely disjointed and senseless speech to alcohol. There must be no other explanation for trying to understand your behavior."
"I think he's just jealous," intervened Nicolas, addressing Auguste with a smirk that had the power to make him blush with anger. "He would have loved to be a prince, rich, endowed with any talent, and recognized by his hierarchy. Instead, he's just the son of a monopolist, without wit and with limited magical abilities."
"Sonomine domus!" exclaimed Auguste, pointing his wand directly at the wall of the house.
Nothing seemed to happen at first, but Harry felt a slight shiver quickly coursing through him, confirming the success of the spell. The sound of breaking wood then echoed, and he noticed that Berliot had just broken the leg of the overturned wooden table that once stood in the center of the room, and he was now playing with it, bouncing it in the palm of his other hand that remained free.
"We're going to settle our little disputes once and for all," Auguste informed them as he removed his coat.
And without further ado, he lunged at Harry, who, surprised by his gesture, didn't even have time to prevent it and found himself pinned against a wall. In the next second, Auguste delivered a punch to his face and another to his stomach, leaving him breathless for a moment. Boulanger tried to repeat the gesture on his face, but Harry quickly moved it aside, and his fist crashed against the wall. He heard nothing, but the cry of pain that his opponent let out and the fact that he was holding his wrist indicated that he must have broken it. Taking advantage of the situation, Harry gave him a knee in the abdomen followed immediately by a punch just under the chin.
Auguste stepped back a few steps, falling onto a chair, but he was already getting up, blood flowing slightly from his mouth as he looked at his opponent with undisguised hatred.
"You're dead, Bourbon!" he shouted, rushing towards him again.
Harry himself was still slightly dazed from the punch, but this time he easily avoided Boulanger's new attack, which struck the void where he had been a few seconds earlier. Harry grabbed his collar, delivered a right hook before sending him quickly collapsing onto a dresser.
"Gabriel!" Nicolas called out alarmed as he himself struggled with Marlet.
Turning his head, Harry realized with horror that while his friend was not doing too badly in his duel, the same could not be said for Juliette, who was already on the ground, enduring Berliot's repeated assaults on her flank.
"Hey! Berliot!" he shouted, quickly grabbing the remnants of the still-steaming potage in the pot.
Without ceremony, he threw them directly at Berliot's face, quickly followed by the kitchen utensil. Berliot moaned in pain, hands on his face, as he collapsed to the ground next to Juliette, who was barely moving. Harry wanted to rush to her to inquire about her condition, but Boulanger was already coming back at him and had grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist.
"This guy is so sticky!" he cursed, trying to break free.
Bending slightly, he gained momentum, then without warning, he straightened up abruptly to headbutt Auguste. Thousands of stars seemed to dance before his eyes as he moved away from Boulanger, slightly groggy. Without further delay, and especially to end this brawl, he drew his wand and pointed it in the direction where his opponent was holding his hands to his broken nose:
"Stupefy!" he chanted as a red beam of light shot from his wand, quickly reaching Auguste's chest.
He was blown away by the force of the spell, lifted off the ground, and crashed a few meters away onto a cabinet, smashing its doors upon impact. But as soon as he hit the floor, the furniture trembled, pivoted on its feet, and collapsed onto him with a deafening crash.
Harry took a deep breath, more tired than he would have thought, as he slumped against a wall. Near him, Nicolas had also managed to knock out Marlet by breaking a heavy wooden plank on the top of his head and nodded his head in his direction when Harry asked with a simple look if he was okay.
"Juliette!" he exclaimed, rushing towards their comrade.
She lay on the ground and hadn't moved from her position since earlier. Concerned, Harry also headed towards her and gently rolled her to get a glimpse of her bloodied face. Fortunately, she remained conscious, but the trickle of blood flowing from her mouth was still unsettling.
"It'll be okay," he reassured her as Nicolas hurried to his bag to retrieve some potions. "Take the blood-replenishing potion and the one for repairing wounds and bruises."
"If there's any left!" grumbled Nicolas as he looked into the three bags now.
"I-I never had a chance," she mumbled, grimacing in pain when Harry tried to help her up.
Nicolas returned to them and handed Harry the requested potions. He uncorked them immediately to give them to their comrade. Additionally, he took the opportunity to quickly perform a medical diagnosis on her with his magic wand, and the wisps of smoke forming words as he scanned Juliette's body.
"Broken ribs," he muttered as he looked over the results. "A healer could fix that in one night, but I don't know if there's one around... If we ask a Muggle doctor, on the other hand, you'd be in for several weeks of treatment, and you'd be away from the fights for a while."
"The problem is that if we take her to a doctor who doesn't know she's a woman, she might run into big trouble," Nicolas commented nervously.
"Indeed," grumbled Harry. "And in her condition, we can't Apparate..."
His eyes then fell on the debris of the cabinet, from which piles of clothes of all kinds were escaping. Harry promptly headed towards it and, quickly searching through the different fabrics, pulled out a rough fabric dress and some accessories suitable for peasant life.
"I hope you don't mind disguising yourself, my dear Juliette," he teased, showing her his findings.
"W-what?" she stammered, looking curiously at the clothes.
"Let's imagine we're strolling peacefully at the city gates when suddenly, our ears are alerted by painful moans coming from the ditches along the walls," Harry narrated, absentmindedly massaging his chin. "There, before our astonished eyes, lay a poor Saxon woman who had probably been molested by nasty French soldiers wanting to take advantage of her. Without further ado, our valiant hussars of the 4th regiment undertook to rescue her and lead her to a healer who could quickly get her back on her feet... What do you think of my little story, Juliette?"
"That it could have been an excellent plan if... If the Saxon in qu-question knew how to speak German," she intervened with a painful voice.
"But no one told you that you would have to speak during your rescue, my dear little Saxon," he replied with amusement.
"Brilliant," confirmed Nicolas, smiling happily. "It's amazing, you came up with all that in no time!"
"I know, I surprise myself sometimes," he declared in a falsely pompous tone. "Well, Nicolas, you're going to help her get dressed, and avoid her making as much movement as possible. Meanwhile, I'll modify the memory of these three fools and make them forget our encounter..."
His gaze darkened as he looked at the lifeless forms of Auguste's two companions, but he himself was still buried under the heavy cabinet. Harry searched for him for a few seconds, trying to move the piece of furniture that crushed him, but he was met with a growing halo of blood and a bloodied head crowned with blond and matted hair. Puzzled about his condition, Harry extended two fingers to check his pulse, but the conclusion was undeniable:
Auguste Boulanger was dead.
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