All For You - Chapter 51

Chapter 51

The evening had been turned on its head in a matter of seconds.

She’d been wearing a dress and contently dancing with Harry, but now Amelia found herself rushing through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to answer an emergency call.

By the time she arrived with Kingsley and Moody, most of the team was already there, and Crouch was pacing back and forth impatiently in front of the fireplace of the open office.

“This will have to do,” he declared. “Mullins, remain behind and bring the rest when they arrive. Take note of their names. It shouldn’t take this long.”

Mullins nodded, and Crouch paused, his gaze sweeping across the room of dozens of Aurors.

“Reports are currently sketchy, but they are mentioning giant activity,” he informed them. “I want you in groups of no less than five. Your job is to disperse the attackers and secure the area. Any questions?”

When none spoke, Crouch nodded.

“I will be coming along. Your cards will take you to where you need to be. Do not do anything reckless if it can be avoided. I do not wish for any more lost limbs. We live in ten seconds.”

“He speaks as though I cut my own leg off,” Moody grumbled irritably as he readied himself.

Amelia followed suit, grouping herself with Alastor, Kingsley, and two other nearby Aurors she’d not worked with before.

“Alright, you sad sacks. Follow my lead,” Moody growled.

Amelia felt the unpleasant hooking sensation pull her away from the office. When her feet were once again on solid ground, the sound of destruction was the first thing she became aware of.

The screams in the distance came next, coupled with the gleeful cheering of men and roars of the giants.

“Bloody dementors,” Alastor grumbled. “Come on, we will get rid of them first before they do too much damage,” he decided.

The group navigated their way through the hellish streets and alleyways to find that, once again, the dementors were spread across the town centre, making it all but impossible to disperse them as one.

“New plan,” Moody growled irritably. “We are going to sweep from here to the centre, where we should run into the others. Stay close, don’t get separated and keep your bloody wits about you. Shacklebolt, you take the rear, Bones, you’re upfront with me. You two, on the flanks,” he added to the other two Aurors. “Let’s go.”

They pressed on and quickly came upon a group of masked individuals attacking what appeared to be a muggle church.

The first fell with a scream as Alastor caught him with a bone-splintering curse that impacted against his leg.

Strictly speaking, it was not a curse he should be using, but Amelia certainly wasn’t going to mention it after the fact.

The wailing of their comrade caught the attention of the rest of the group, and they took it upon themselves to attack the Aurors.

It was their lack of organisation that proved to be their downfall.

Amelia felled one with a stunning spell and another with a particularly vicious blasting curse that sent the man crashing into the side of the building.

With the rest being dealt with by the others, they again advanced towards the town centre.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The dementor that was chasing a muggle screeched as Amelia’s fox charged towards it and quickly abandoned its efforts, though the nearby threat was not eliminated.

A larger group of cloaked and masked figures were joining in on the merriment the attackers were sharing, and before they noticed the presence of the red-robed Aurors, Amelia and the others were already upon them.

The man she found herself facing off with was sharper than the other two she’d already defeated, and Amelia was forced onto the back foot for a moment whilst she adjusted to his speed.

She conjured a shield to intercept a blood-boiling curse and stepped out of the path of a piercing hex, only to have to duck below a gouging spell that would have torn through her like parchment.

Unwilling to remain on the receiving end of the spells, she offered a rebuttal, banishing some nearby debris towards the man as a distraction, giving her time to take aim.

He was flung off his feet and hit the ground with a dull thud, and before he could right himself, a loud snapping sounded as he was propelled into a lamppost, where he no longer moved.

His twisted body made for a grim sight, and Amelia took a breath before throwing herself into the fray once more, idly wondering where Harry had gotten to.

Not so far away, she could see Dumbledore's prominent beard as he attempted to fight off a giant and even the flames of his phoenix companion as it assisted.

Where Harry was, Amelia didn’t know, but they could really use his help.

(Break)

Somehow, this attack was proving to be even more chaotic than the one that had taken place in Portsmouth, and Albus was hard-pressed to fend off the giant along with the half-dozen of Tom’s followers attempting to engage him.

Much to his relief, Benjy was nearby to offer assistance, and Dorcas was steadily making her way towards them, her wand a blur as she dispatched of anything in her path.

She truly was a brilliant witch and was showcasing her skill.

Nonetheless, Albus’s group and the Aurors remained considerably outnumbered, and faced with close to two dozen giants, it truly was a struggle to find and seize an advantage.

“Watch out, Albus!”

He brought his wand to bear in time to parry the sickly yellow spell aimed at him, and Benjy intervened, allowing Albus to focus his attention on the giant once more.

They were indeed a particularly troublesome foe, and with so many of them, the task was only made more difficult.

Still, they would press on, undeterred until Tom, his followers, and the creatures he had brought along relented for another night.

Albus could only shake his head at the thought.

Something had to change.

The Ministry had to begin taking the offensive in the war, or it would be much the same as they had seen already.

In truth, they were losing.

Slowly but surely, Tom was beginning to see the success to lead him to victory.

It wouldn’t happen overnight, but if the war continued in the same vain, it wouldn’t be the Ministry of Magic to emerge victorious.

(Break)

He’d taken a moment to bask in the chaos unfolding below him, to reel in the destruction being caused in his name.

There was little else satisfying the Dark Lord had experienced during his life that still brought him such excitement. Violence was a beautiful thing and exacting it upon others was something he’d come to love from a young age.

He’d never felt any guilt whilst doing it.

There was not a single person he’d met that was truly bereft of sin, and even if they were, why should he care?

The world had seen fit to treat him cruelly.

His mother had died birthing him, his father had fled, and even his magical family were pathetic.

The Dark lord had carved his own path, had achieved everything he had himself, with no help from any other.

Besides, he simply enjoyed the scream of agony, the begging and pleading, and the chaos.

It brought a smile to his lips, though he could not help but notice how poorly organised his followers were.

The Aurors fought as one, making them a formidable force despite being outnumbered.

His own men would have to be better if they wished to secure a decisive victory to end the war.

As much as the Dark Lord appreciated their individual talents, as a combined force, he found them to be lacking.

He would change that, but he did not suspect it would become detrimental this evening.

As ever, the Ministry of Magic had been taken by surprise, and even with Dumbledore’s pathetic efforts, little headway was being made against the giants, Greyback’s pack, his own men, and the dementors.

He smiled once more as another scream filled the air, and he was pleased to see that it was coming from one of the fools garbed in red robes.

Despite his glee, the Dark Lord could not help but notice the absence of a particularly troublesome man.

Jameson.

It was unlike the man to miss such an opportunity to irk him, and him not being here was a glaring fault in the offence of the Ministry forces. He was a threat unto himself, and without him, the effectiveness of the intervention was clear.

Although they were organised, they simply lacked the numbers to fend off the attack, and Lord Voldemort pondered whether tonight may just be the pivotal moment in the war that he’d been seeking.

As if the universe itself had read his thoughts, another explosion sounded, and the Dark Lord could only look on as two of the giants were toppled.

The Aurors did not hesitate to set upon them like a pack of hyenas, and soon enough, the roars of fury and pain followed.

Lord Voldemort growled irritably as he spotted Jameson, but he had not come alone.

With him were four others, each wearing grey robes to conceal their features.

Almost as though he could sense him, Jameson looked directly at the Dark Lord. After a brief exchange of words with his comrades, he began stalking him.

It would take the man some time to make it so far.

With the protections in place, he couldn’t apparate, and Voldemort took the opportunity to observe the others who had evidently arrived with him.

What became quickly clear was that they were not Aurors, and nor were they the kind of people that Dumbledore would associate with.

They fought with military precision, and they quickly proved themselves undeterred by the presence of the giants and dementors.

In a matter of a few moments, they took down another three of the behemoths, and a frown creased the Dark Lord’s brow.

There were not untrained fools, as Dumbledore’s group mostly consisted of, and they fought with a finality that the Aurors lacked. The Dark Lord couldn’t fathom who they were, but as he continued to observe them, his irritation only grew.

He did not like unknown enemies and given that the foursome appeared to be tearing through his ranks far too efficiently for his liking, they were indeed such.

With a shake of his head, he readied himself to deal with them personally, only to pause a wave of cold magic washed over him.

“You made it here quicker than I thought you…”

He paused at the sight of the figure and tilted his head curiously.

Why Jameson had decided to don a black mask was lost on the Dark Lord, but the almost glowing green eyes staring back at him were unmistakable.

What he did not expect, however, was the furious hissing that sounded from beneath, nor the several snakes lunging towards him.

With a wave of his wand, they were engulfed in flames, and Lord Voldemort glared at the masked man.

“You!” he spat venomously. “How dare…”

His words were cut off as a plethora of spells erupted from the Serpent’s wand, and the Dark Lord was forced to shield himself.

He was acutely aware that Jameson was also heading in his direction, but he would not flee, not when the opportunity to kill both men had presented itself so willingly.

With a growl, he returned fire, and the fight between himself and the infamous Serpent began in earnest.

(Break)

“What are we facing?” Charlus asked as they gathered around the hurried sketch of the area Harry had brought along.

“Giants spread throughout,” Harry explained. “There are dementors with them, Riddle’s followers, and what I suspect to be Greyback’s new pack. The Ministry will be outnumbered, and even with Dumbledore’s group, that won’t change.”

“That’s nothing new for us,” Gilbert chuckled. “We’ve wiped out entire towns with less than twenty of us.”

Harry nodded.

“Well, we may need some of that tonight,” Harry replied. “Any experience fighting giants?”

“We can take care of them,” Charlus assured him. “We developed quite the knack for it. We know what to do.”

“Then I will take Riddle. Not that I expect he will stick around long. He runs away when the going gets tough.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” Arcturus snorted. “Alright, Jameson, we’ve got your back.”

With a wave of his wand, his robes changed to a dark grey, and the man was concealed beneath a grey hood.

“No need for anyone to know our identities. Two of us are on the Wizengamot.”

“Smart move,” Harry complimented.

It would also ensure Riddle wouldn’t be able to identify them and cause further problems.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Reg demanded impatiently, his knuckles white from where he was gripping his wand.

“Nothing,” Harry answered. “We get in, we demolish them, and we leave. How does that sound?”

“I knew there was something I liked about you, Jameson,” Arcturus snorted. “Come on, on the count of three.”

Checking the clock, Harry realised it was almost fifteen minutes prior that he’d left the wedding, and during a battle, every moment counted.

Still, he had faith that the Ministry and Dumbledore’s group would do well enough in the interim and that gathering Charlus, Arcturus, Reg, and Gilbert would prove to be worth it.

“Now!”

Only a moment later, the five of them arrived in Scunthorpe, and Harry immediately fired a blasting curse towards a building one of the giants was scaling.

The resulting explosion rattled his eardrums, but not more so than the shriek of surprise from the falling giant.

“Any idea where Riddle is?” Charlus asked over the din.

Harry nodded, his gaze shifting towards where he could sense the Dark Lord keeping his distance from the fighting.

“Up there.”

“Then you go,” Charlus instructed. “We’ve got this covered.”

The four of them took off, and Harry headed in the opposite direction. He’d only made it a dozen or so feet before he became aware of a disturbance on top of the roof Voldemort had installed himself.

“Evans,” he murmured knowingly.

The man had evidently taken it upon himself to come here tonight, and he was pulling no punches when it came to Tom, giving Harry the opportunity he’d been seeking since he’d discovered the annihilation of the farm.

Greyback.

The man was here somewhere, and with Evans seemingly content with dealing with Tom, Harry shifted his attention to locating the man behind what had happened.

It wasn’t easy.

With the scores of people here and muggles fleeing things they could only have seen in their nightmares, Greyback could be anywhere amongst them, but Harry could feel his presence.

Pushing his way through the crowds, he dispersed the dementors when he came to them and even encountered a few of Riddle’s followers along the way.

Although it took longer than he liked, he eventually spotted the werewolf, pawing at a woman he’d already killed.

Fenrir yelped as the searing curse collided with his leg, and before he could activate a portkey, he hurriedly removed from his pocket, a gout of fire incinerated it, along with the hand holding it.

His yelp changed to a scream, but Harry wasn’t done.

He’d barely scratched the surface of the misery the werewolf would endure in the coming moments.

Harry had already made the mistake of granting Greyback mercy when he’d chosen to capture him in the Forbidden Forest, but there would be no such thing now.

Stepping towards the rightfully fearful werewolf, he batted aside the weak rebuttals before snagging his foe with a spiked chain.

It dug painfully into his neck, and with a few further flicks of his wand, Greyback found himself dangling from the protruding sign of a nearby pub, gasping for breath as blood trailed from his wounds.

“You should have ran whilst you had the chance.”

Greyback’s eyes widened as his suffering increased, the curses Harry aimed towards him and onto the chains growing more unpleasant than the one that preceded it.

When he was done, Harry was content the man would live for a few hours yet in abject misery, and if anyone did entertain the notion of saving him, their efforts would be for nothing.

Fenrir Greyback would die, and the rest of the world would be all the better for it.

Harry could not deny he took a little joy in what he’d done, and he allowed himself just a moment to enjoy it before shifting his attention back towards the ensuing battle.

It was raging on, and seeing that the combined forces of the Ministry, Dumbledore’s group, and his own small ensemble were beginning to gain ground, he entered the fray himself in search of Riddle.

Why should Evans get all the fun, after all?

(Break)

Alastor took a deep breath and grimaced at the pain coursing through what remained of his leg. He’d not done anything so arduous since being fitted with the prosthetic, and it was beginning to take its toll on him.

Nevertheless, he certainly would not withdraw himself from the fight.

Even with one leg, he was one of the most experienced Aurors, and he would not leave his team to deal with the threat of Riddle’s followers, let alone the giants.

Oddly, the creatures had become rather silent, and as he chanced a glance towards where he’d seen dozens of them prior, he could not miss that there was now less of them.

It was a considerable mercy and one he was grateful for, though the same could not be said for the incessant curses being aimed towards him a particularly eager individual.

Conjuring a shield to intercept a flurry of them, he returned fire, only to realise that his attacker had managed to slip another of their own between his.

Turning his head to avoid it, Alastor cursed as a gout of blood erupted from a gash that formed across his face.

It was bad enough that he’d allowed himself to be caught, but the mocking laughter of the man only incensed him.

His rebuttal came as a trio of spells; one to demolish the shield of his foe, the second merely as a distraction, and the third aimed away from the man entirely.

“You’ll have to do better than that!” the man mocked.

Alastor nodded before looking just above the man and smiled.

With the blood continuing to pour from his face, he suspected that it made for quite the sinister expression and the very last thing his attacker would see.

As he looked up, the remains of the car fell on top of the man, crushing him instantly.

He wheezed for but a moment before falling still, and Alastor quickly took down two more of Tom’s followers before snatching the white mask away of the one who’d wounded him.

“Rosier,” he grumbled irritably, spitting on the man’s remains.

“Merlin, what happened to you?” Kingsley asked breathlessly.

“It’s just a scratch,” Alastor said dismissively.

Kingsley shook his head.

“Moody, half of your bloody nose is gone!”

It was unlike Kingsley to curse, and Alastor frowned as he felt the still-bleeding wound.

“Ami I still pretty?” he chuckled.

Kingsley looked horrified by his casual attitude, but Alastor was no stranger to injuries.

After having the nose broken so many times, it was somehow fitting to be rid of it, well, a part of it, at least.

(Break)

It quickly became clear that Riddle was cautious of him.

The only time Harry had seen the man duel had been shortly before being transported several decades in the past, the very night Dumbledore had intercepted the Dark Lord at the Ministry of Magic.

He’d been in awe at what was on display from both men but being older and wiser and despite the power both undeniably wielded, what they’d used was rather simple magic, only amplified.

Evidently, Riddle had been content to be a little more reckless whilst fighting Dumbledore, confident that the headmaster would not kill him.

Harry, however, had no such reservations, and Voldemort knew that.

It made the man considerably more cautious, though no less dangerous.

Tom had invested much time and effort into developing his magic, and his knowledge and capability in the art truly were second to none.

Nonetheless, Harry was an expert in his own right and was not morally restricted the same way Dumbledore was.

It was an alien experience for Tom, and though it had taken him a few moments to adjust to the threat, he’d done so and fought with the vigour Harry had always expected from him.

His spells came fast with aggression, and the frustration soon followed when Harry had an answer for everything thrown at him.

Tom did not like being on the back foot, and Harry did his utmost to keep him there. Where the Dark Lord would rely heavily on his power, Harry was content with using faster spells, intermingled with sudden offerings not so easily countered.

Nothing of true significance had been landed by either thus far, but to Harry, it felt as though they were only just getting warmed up.

Sending a pair of cutting curses towards Riddle, he stepped out of the way of a rupturing curse and fired a pink ball of light towards the Dark Lord.

Recognising the spell for what it was, Tom cocooned himself in some of the surrounding debris, though the resulting explosion still sent him back several feet.

Undeterred, he brandished his wand, sending the now smaller fragments of stone, wood, and glass towards Harry, who immolated them with a searing white wall of fire.

Tom was quickly becoming frustrated, and if he gave in to the irritation, it would be his downfall.

Although the duel was being contested heatedly, Harry remained patient, something Riddle clearly lacked.

In a bout of petulant rage, his wand spewed an offering of several curses, which Harry avoided, deflected, and shielded where necessary, serving only to provoke the Dark Lord’s temper further.

To add insult to injury, Harry grinned at the man from beneath his mask and returned fire with a selection of his own.

Tom once more proved his competence by intercepting them, but his lack of control over his demeanour was beginning to hamper his ability to do so, and Harry knew that soon enough, he would make a grave error.

He just needed to keep pushing him.

“Come on, Riddle,” he chuckled. “You must be better than that. I thought people were supposed to fear you.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes before unleashing another plethora of spells.

Once more, none landed, and Harry began hissing gently under his breath.

He was growing tired of the stalemate the two found themselves in, and he was ready to drastically alter the odds in his favour.

Riddle’s eyes widened as Harry’s shadowy companion lunged seemingly from nowhere, and the Dark Lord was forced to throw himself to the ground humiliatingly to avoid the blow.

The snake, however, was not done.

It’s attack continued as relentlessly as ever, and Harry smirked beneath his mask, revelling in watching Riddle scramble away.

It had been Harry in that position once upon a time.

He vividly remembered the incident in the graveyard where he’d been simply outmatched in every aspect of magic, and Riddle had mocked and goaded.

Now, the shoe was on the other foot, and Harry intended to enjoy himself.

“If you’re going to kill him, just do it,” a tired voice sighed. “You’re not him. Don’t make the mistakes that he does.”

Harry scowled at the other Harry but conceded the point with a nod.

Perhaps doing what Riddle had was not the best approach, but he couldn’t help himself.

Years of having his hands tied whilst the world burned in the shadows had left Harry frustrated, and to have a semblance of freedom was not something he wished to squander.

Still, he knew it was foolish to tempt fate and decided that the time to end this rendezvous had come. When he looked to see where Riddle had fled, the Dark Lord was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did he go?”

“He ran,” the other Harry sighed. “He does that when things aren’t going his way.”

Harry cursed under his breath and shook his head.

Peering around the town centre, he could see that much of the fighting had now ceased, and Riddle’s forces had followed their master and bid a hasty retreat.

“Cowards.”

The other Harry nodded.

“It’s what they do,” he huffed. “Now you know for next time.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry offered. “I should’ve…”

The other Harry waved him off.

“I made that mistake myself,” he explained. “He’s a slippery git. Remember, the only thing he fears is death and will do anything to avoid it. He will call it a strategic withdrawal, but he’s just a coward.”

“A dangerous coward.”

The other Harry nodded his agreement.

“Are we good, Jameson?”

Harry frowned at the arrival of the four cloaked figures.

“We are. Go on before Crouch starts sniffing around too much, and thank you.”

“It was just like old times,” one of the men replied. “Until next time.”

All four vanished, and the other Harry turned back towards him.

“You should go too,” he urged. “Crouch won’t like what we did here tonight.”

“What about you?”

He shrugged uncaringly.

“It’s not like they have a prison they can send me to, and I have enough allies to ensure that won’t happen. The public has to be assured that there are those willing to break the rules when needed. Maybe Bagnold will see the necessity of allowing the Aurors to use lethal force.”

“She should,” Harry replied, offering his counterpart a nod before vanishing.

Any fool could see what Riddle was doing, and if it weren’t for Jameson and those willing to do what was needed to win the war, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what state the country would be in.

(Break)

“What a damned mess,” Barty grumbled as he walked among the destruction, the dead, the dying, and the wounded. “Get the healers here and the Magical Catastrophes lot,” he barked.

“What now?”

Barty flinched at the sight of Moody’s face.

A large chunk of his nose was missing, and he was covered in congealed blood.

Barty suspected not all of it was his, but he did not comment on it.

“Go to a healer, Moody,” he instructed. “Oh, and good job,” he added, clapping the man smartly on the shoulder.

“Aye, you too,” the Auror returned.

He left, and Barty shifted his attention to what remained of the town of Scunthorpe.

It would take considerable effort to correct it, and it would likely fall to him to ensure that it was done.

He winced as a sharp pain lanced through his ribs.

For the most part, he’d escaped unscathed but suspected some of the more fragile bones had been broken.

“Where is Dumbledore?”

He’d not missed the presence of the headmaster nor that of several civilians who had accompanied the man.

“He was here a minute ago, sir,” one of the Aurors answered.

Barty frowned and grunted when he couldn’t see him or the rest of his group.

In truth, it was better that they had left.

Soon enough, an army of journalists would descend on the place, and he did not feel like explaining more than he needed to.

Not that he could truly hide as much as he would like.

Scanning the area, it was clear that there were more garbed in robes and a mask who had perished than his Aurors. Barty was pleased, but there were those on the Wizengamot who would not be.

“Mr Crouch, you might want to see this.”

“See what?”

The Auror who had addressed him was pale, and Barty followed the man to a bowed lamppost.

“Is that…?”

“It is, sir,” the Auror answered.

Greyback.

The werewolf had been wanted for years before being captured and then somehow escaping custody.

There was no doubt in Barty’s mind that it was him.

He’d seen enough photos of the man plastered around the office.

“What happened to him?”

The Auror shook his head.

“We don’t know, sir,” he answered darkly. “Doesn’t look pleasant though, does it?”

It didn’t.

Greyback’s dying expression was one of sheer agony, and his body had been burned in several places to the point that he had more seared flesh than was untarnished.

“Cut him down,” Barty huffed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Tell no one of this.”

He thought it best to remove the body immediately.

It would not do for the press to see it, even if Greyback deserved no less. The law was still the law, and though he dd not believe that any of his Aurors were responsible for it, Barty did not feel like wasting so much time investigating what had happened on behalf of the monster who’d finally become the victim.

Then again, he knew he would still have his hands full.

A couple of dozen dead giants littered the ground, and there were more of Riddle’s followers who had died than he could simply explain away as collateral damage.

Barty did not hold it against any of his Aurors, who may or may not have used lethal force, but it put him in quite a bind.

It was bad enough that civilians had actively arrived here to assist, but the death toll was quite extraordinary, especially the giants.

Who had killed so many?

With a shake of his head, Barty realised that he would have to do some digging, discreetly, of course, to ascertain exactly what had happened here.

The Wizengamot would demand an explanation after all.

(Break)

Amelia was one of the first Aurors to be relieved once the Magical Catastrophes team arrived, and she had been instructed to get a broken hand tended to.

With the healers on the scene busy, she had made her way to St Mungo’s, and was quickly reunited with the wounded Alastor.

“Is it really that bad to look at?”

“It’s not pretty, Alastor,” Amelia sighed, grimacing at the wound and flap of flesh that had once been a nose. “How did it happen?”

“Rosier,” Moody chuckled. “I got him, but he took a good bit of me with him.”

He prodded the skin, and Amelia felt her stomach turn.

How the healers would salvage what remained, she didn’t know.

Even magic had its limits.

“What about you?”

“Just a broken hand,” Amelia said dismissively.

“Lucky you,” Moody chuckled. “Aye, it was a good fight.”

“A good fight?”

Alastor nodded.

“You’re telling me you didn’t have fun?”

“Not all of us are clinically insane. How do you pass your mental assessments?”

“I lie mostly,” Alastor replied unashamedly.

Amelia could only shake her head as she yawned.

The sun had risen some time ago, and she’d never seen St Mungo’s so busy. They could be here for a while yet, but she was fortunate that she would not be working for the next two days.

It would give her time to recover at least.

“Auror Moody?” a voice called. “Merlin, man, what happened to you?”

“I tripped, and I fell.”

The healer shot him a disapproving look.

“Tripped and fell she wrote on her clipboard. What about you?”

“Just a broken hand,” Amelia answered.

“Let me guess, you tripped, and you fell?”

“No,” Amelia denied. “Someone cursed me.”

Alastor snorted amusedly, and the healer glared at him.

“I do not know what you find so amusing, Moody,” she huffed. “It won’t be long before you are mostly comprised of whatever miracles we can work here to hold you together. Come on. I will fix the pair of you up.”

They followed her to an examination room, and the healer guided Alastor into a chair before lighting the tip of her wand to examine the wound.

“Ghastly,” she declared. “That’s a nasty curse wound, and the flesh cannot be salvaged. It is compromised and will rot away. It’s best if we cut it out.”

“Great,” Moody huffed.

“Don’t worry, Auror Moody, I’m sure we can give you something resembling a nose.”

Moody hummed and folded his arms petulantly.

“Miss Bones?”

Amelia showed the woman her hand, and she nodded.

“Nothing so complex,” she declared a moment later.

Amelia winced as the woman knitted the bones together with practised ease and then placed a small phial in her hand.

“For the pain,” she explained. “You’ll be good as new in a few hours. You, however, will be remaining with us whilst I attempt to figure out how to put you back together. Cone along, Moody. I will find you one of the gowns to wear you seem to love.”

“Bloody hell,” Alastor cursed as he was led from the room by the persistent healer.

“Anything you need?” Amelia asked, trying not to laugh at the man.

“A new healer,” Moody answered.

Amelia did laugh this time as the woman began to chew him out.

With how busy the hospital was, she decided not to hang around. Her hand had been fixed, and she’d been given. Potion to help with her recovery.

What she wanted to do was ensure that Harry was okay.

She’d seen him very briefly in Scunthorpe but had no idea what had happened beyond her own struggles in the town.

Knowing he’d likely have returned home by now, she gathered her things and took her leave of St Mungo’s, knowing she’d be back soon enough to check on Alastor’s progress.

(Break)

“Who was the other fella with you?” Reg asked curiously.

“Just another person who wants to help but wishes to remain anonymous,” Harry answered, taking a sip of the Whiskey Charlus had poured him.

Amelia had gotten a message to him some time ago that she needed to get her hand treated, and she’d assured him that she was okay.

As such, he’d accepted the invitation to join Charlus and the others in the man’s basement to share a drink. It certainly didn’t hurt to get to know the group better.

“Well, he looked like he could handle himself,” Gilbert commented.

Harry nodded.

“He’s useful to have on our side.”

Gilbert nodded and raised his glass.

“It’s strange how similar that felt,” Arcturus murmured. “It’s only different because we can understand what they scream now when they’re dying.”

“I find it stranger how you can take a life and not dwell on it,” Reg broke in. “But then I remember what happened to us when we were at war, and my Imelda. If we don’t kill them, they will kill us.”

“They will,” Harry sighed. “Your priority should always be making it home to family. Best to act first and ask questions later.”

The others nodded their agreement.

“What about your family, Jameson?” Gilbert pressed, missing the unsubtle head shakes from both Charlus and Arcturus.

Harry waved the pair off.

“I don’t have one,” he answered the man. “My parents were killed before I could talk.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Gilbert replied, horrified at his slip.

“It’s fine,” Harry assured the man. “You can’t miss what you never had.”

“What about the lovely Miss Bones?” Charlus chimed in with a grin. “You two seem to get along well. It’s no good denying it, I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“How do I look at her?” Harry asked with a frown.

“The same way I suspect I look at my wife,” Charlus answered fondly. “You care for her.”

“I do,” Harry confirmed. “I’ve even gotten permission from her brother to ask her to marry me.”

The other men cheered, and Harry grinned as Gilbert slapped him on the back.

“You won’t regret it, lad,” he chuckled. “I don’t know where I’d be without my wife.”

“In prison probably, you reprobate,” Arcturus snorted. “Old Gil here met his wife in Bulgaria. He helped her fix up her house, and he never bloody left.”

Gilbert shrugged.

“It’s where I belong.”

Arcturus offered the man a rare smile.

“Every man needs the love of a good woman, Jameson. Knowing I had Melania to come home to is what got me through the war, and being with this bunch of morons, I suppose.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“I look forward to when it is all over. I’d like to enjoy some peace with Amelia. We’ve never had it.”

“It will come,” Charlus said with certainty, “and when it does, you’ll realise that it was worth fighting for.”

“She already is,” Harry chuckled.

There was a long road ahead of them yet, but they would get there. Of that, he had no doubt.

“So, when are you going to ask her?” Charlus queried.

Harry shrugged.

“Soon,” he answered. “The next moment we get.”