Avalon - Chapter 94 - Beneath the Stars

Beneath the Stars

He’d never seen the king in such a rage.

Arthur was usually quite the jovial man, often perplexed by magic, and curious about the world around them. He treated his subjects with kindness for the most part and punished those that brought harm upon others most harshly.

In this moment, however, as he learned of Lancelot’s presence in Godric’s Hollow, he was quite beside himself.

“I told him that if he ever set foot in my kingdom again I would take his head!” he seethed.

“You did.”

Arthur continued pacing back and forth, cursing his former friend under his breath.

“Does he wish to die?”

“He wishes only to fight for his country,” Harry assured him. “You may not like it, but he has that right, and we need every sword we can get, especially those as talented as him.”

Arthur’s nostrils flared in response.

“The moment this war is done, I want him on a ship out of here! I do not wish to see or speak with him.”

“As is your prerogative.”

Arthur paused; his eyes narrowed at Harry.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“It makes a change to see you so rattled. Even when Cnut was at your gates with a dragon, you were not so angry.”

Arthur deflated as he shook his head.

“He betrayed me, Harry, in a way that I never could’ve imagined him doing. He and Guinevere…”

“Have both been punished, and it still stands. Lancelot will not remain when the goblins have been defeated.”

“Is that close to happening?”

“Closer than you think,” Harry answered gravely. “I am working on it tirelessly.”

“I know, and I cannot put into words how much I appreciate your efforts. Bloody hell, if you wanted to take my crown and rule Britain yourself, there wouldn’t be many who’d be opposed to it.”

Harry chuckled humourlessly.

“More than you give me credit for,” he sighed. “I have many enemies, and when this is all over with, I expect we will come to terms, one way or another.”

Arthur nodded.

He knew of Harry’s disagreements with the various members of the Wizard’s Council and the lack of resolution that had occurred before the goblin rebellion began.

“I want him gone, Harry. As soon as possible,” the king said gruffly, beginning to pace in front of his throne once more, contemplating the many things that plagued him and his reign.

It was Harry pacing now, back and forth across the breadth of the kitchen as he nervously waited for the door to the bedroom to open.

Morgana had gone into labour a few hours prior, and though he was keen to meet the babe that would be here soon, he was equally pleased that this pregnancy would be over.

Morgana had suffered throughout the entirety of it, the morning sickness lasting the duration, the nightmares that plagued her, and the sudden and unending urge to consult the stars of an evening, granting her even less sleep.

With all he had endured throughout his life, there was little Harry feared now.

He did not fear men or the cruelty some were capable of, nor did he fear the beasts that roamed the world. He did not even fear Death nor the prospect of it, but he had known fear these past months.

Morgana, for the most part, had not been herself, and Harry had even been terrified that he might lose her.

Her already pale son had become paler still, and the bags under her eyes heavy with the strain of the pregnancy.

The nightmares had frightened his wife, and though she had tried to hide them, Harry knew each and every time she’d experienced one, and they had come most nights.

On the rare occasions she was granted a respite from her urge to look towards the stars and the nightmares were absent, she had slept, sometimes all the way through lunch, long after Harry had returned from tending to the farm.

He did his utmost not to be so worried.

Pregnancies were disruptive at best, but Morgana had not endured close to even half the hardship with Taran as she did this babe.

Nonetheless, it was to be over soon enough.

“It never gets any easier,” Salazar said amusedly. “No matter how many you have, the wait is one of the worst moments you’ll experience as a man.”

“I’d rather be in battle,” Harry snorted.

“Aye, me too,” Godric agreed.

Neither said anything else.

There were no true pearls of wisdom when it came to childbirth, not for those anxiously waiting for the arrival of the babe, unaware of what was happening just on the other side of the door.

Helga had immediately shooed Harry from the room upon her arrival, and here he’d remained, clueless as to whether Morgana was well, or if there were any complications.

“Don’t even think about it, lad,” Godric warned as he instinctively stepped towards the door. “You will be sent for when you are needed.”

Harry could only shake his head.

“Who decided that the father wasn’t to be present during birth?”

“Do you want to be in there?” Godric asked. “I did once, and it changed me, Harry. Not in a way I would wish on even my greatest enemy.”

He clenched his hand a few times, wincing as though he was reliving a particularly unpleasant memory.

“Besides, Helga is much better prepared to deliver a babe than you will ever be. Your ability in healing is mediocre, and crude at best.”

“True,” Harry conceded, his gaze drifting towards the door once more.

Even so, waiting here and feeling as helpless as he did was not something he would ever get used to.

Salazar was right; Harry was no Healer, but he despised these moments, even if he was excited to meet his new son or daughter.

Morgana remained firm in her belief that this one would be a girl, and Harry was inclined to agree with his wife, but there was always a chance they would be proven wrong.

“Dada, mama?” the sleepy Taran asked as he woke.

Harry smiled as he picked the boy up.

He’d been sleeping for the duration, his mop of messy hair, much like Harry’s own tousled more from sleep.

“Mama will be okay,” he promised, using his wand to conjure some lights and bubbles to distract his son, his gaze once more flitting towards the door that remained closed to him.

(Break)

“I fail to see how it is you can help me. You already explained what happened to you, that Potter and his wife bested you and your mother whilst you served Guthrum.”

The woman narrowed her one remaining eye, and the scars twisted even more grotesquely than when she smiled.

“You are seeking the members of the Wizard’s Council. I heard your scouts speaking of it when they wondered close to my home.”

“The cave you have been forced to live in. Your home was sacked by Potter, but yes, I am seeking the members of the Wizard’s Council.”

The woman removed a roll of parchment from within her cloak, a grin tugging at her thin lips.

“These are the locations of the homes of the ones I know,” she explained. “My father was friendly with some of them, and he saw fit to keep watch over them.”

Dark-Eye made to snatch the parchment from the woman, but she tutted.

“Foolish goblin,” she chastised. “Do you think me so naïve to come here and allow you to take the one thing I have to bargain with? No, this parchment is tied to my blood. If you or any of yours were to spill it, this knowledge will be lost to you.”

Dark-Eye leaned back in his chair.

“What do you want?”

The woman cackled.

“The heart of Potter’s wife when she is dead.”

“Her heart?”

“To undo the curse she placed upon me and my unborn child,” the woman spat. “I require her heart.”

“Then you shall have it,” Dark-Eye agreed readily.

“In blood!” the woman demanded as he reached for the parchment once more. “You will seal the promise in your blood.”

Dark-Eye chuckled as he nodded appreciatively.

As distasteful and undoubtedly mad as she was, the woman was as shrewd as any human he’d met.

“Then you will have it,” he agreed, “but why do you not wish to take it for yourself?”

The woman grinned in response.

“Perhaps I still will if you fail,” she mused aloud. “You are not his only enemy, after all. There are plans within plans in motion already, and when the time is right, I will take what I am owed in its entirety. For now, I will be content with the bitch’s heart. All else can wait.”

She had left shortly after her ominous words, and Dark-Eye was glad of it.

There was a darkness that lingered around her, an unnatural darkness that did not belong amongst the living.

What she had done to herself throughout her life, Dark-Eye didn’t know, and he did not care to find out.

No, for now, his focus was on the list she had so easily parted with, and he pondered where he would strike first.

He had considered eliminating all of the members of the council at once, but thinning his forces in such a way meant that there would be failures and heavy losses.

There was no telling what magicks awaited them at each of the homes, and he would need his very best present.

If the matter at hand could be handled delicately enough, perhaps it would be all over before Potter even became aware of it.

At worst, he Dark-Eye and his forces would be prepared for Potter and his men if they were to arrive. Yes, as eager as he was to see it done, to eliminate the driving force behind the wizarding community, he knew he must be cautious, lest he was to make another terrible error.

That could not be allowed, not when dealing with something so important, after all.

“Send the scouts,” he instructed. “This is to be meticulously planned and executed. There is no room for error.”

“Of course,” Burgock replied, offering Dark-Eye a bow before taking his leave of the room.

“What would you have us do?” Gutrot asked.

“Ensure that we are ready for all eventualities, even against the damned woman,” Dark-Eye commanded.

“You do not trust her.”

“Only a damned fool would do so. She does not serve me. It is her own interest she is looking out for, and if she believes it to her benefit, she will turn on us in a beat of her vile heart. Go, make the preparations.”

Gutrot gestured for Blackfang to follow him, and Dark-Eye was left alone only a moment later.

Once more, his thoughts turned to the task ahead of him.

Eliminating the members of the council was a significant step towards victory over the humans. Without them, there would be chaos, and that was something he intended to take full advantage of.

(Break)

Giving birth for the second time felt as though she was in a fever dream of sorts.

With Taran, the pain had been all she’d expected, and so much more, but this one, Morgana felt comfortably numb as she went through the motions of labour.

It was an strange feeling she did not care for much, almost as though she was not herself, not in her own mind, and was looking at what was unfolding from the outside in.

She could hear Helga’s encouraging voice, guiding her through each step of the way, but it was distant, muffled, like the woman was speaking to her from another room entirely.

Still, Morgana could hear her, but it was what else she could hear that troubled her so.

Laughter and the rattling of chains she’d endured during her worst nightmares, but this too was distant, though no less harrowing.

Whatever this person or creature was wished to torment her, to goad her at her most vulnerable. It seemed to thrive whilst preying on the weak, but she could feel the power of it, the darkness shrouding it, and the peril she would be in if they were to ever truly cross paths.

In her dreams and even now, it could not harm her, but that did not prevent the unease that settled within her as she heard the chains being dragged across the floor, ever closer to her own conscience.

“Come on, almost there,” Helga encouraged. “Just one more push.”

Morgana wasn’t sure if she complied, but as the lithe figure was but a few feet away, so close that she could see the burning green eyes and pale skin of the man that had haunted her these past months, she felt herself pulled from her own mind.

Her breathing was laboured, and she could feel the sheen of perspiration on her brow.

She groaned in relief as something cold was pressed against her head, and as she opened her eyes, it was to be greeted by a concerned expression of the woman that had helped her birth her second child.

“I’m fine,” Morgana wheezed. “The babe?”

“A girl,” Helga replied, placing a bundle of blankets in her arms.

Morgana said nothing as she looked upon the child, feeling much more like herself than she had in as long as she could remember.

It was as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders, like stepping into the light after so long in the darkness.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she took in her daughter, though she frowned as she did so.

“She’s blonde,” she murmured.

Both she and Harry had thick, dark hair, so to have a blonde babe was not something Morgana had expected.

“It happens,” Helga comforted. “One of your parents may have been fair-haired, or one of your other ancestors. It’s the same with redheads. Neither of Godric’s parents were, but he is.”

Morgana nodded and smiled as the girl in her arms opened her eyes.

They were just like hers, a pale, stormy grey, and heavily lidded.

“Would you like me to let him in? All I have heard since we’ve been in here is his feet pacing back and forth.”

Morgana laughed as she nodded, and only a moment later, a pale Harry was standing in the doorway.

He said nothing as he tentatively approached, and Morgana realised just how tired her husband was, not just because of waiting for word of the birth, but for the trying life he lived.

“You have a daughter, Harry,” she revealed, offering him the babe.

He took her immediately, his eyes drinking her in, and he too frowned as he caught sight of the tuft of blonde, almost silver hair.

“Blonde,” he murmured curiously before chuckling. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Do you have any blondes in your family, Harry?” Helga asked.

“My aunt on my mother’s side, but other than that, I have no idea. My mother was a redhead, and I took after my father, just as Taran has. As far as I know, all of the Potters have been dark-haired, well, the men at least, and we know nothing of Morgana’s family. Anyway. The colour of her hair doesn’t matter.”

“No, it’s just curious,” Helga replied, leaning in to get a closer look at the babe. “She takes after her mother.”

“Poor me,” Harry said with a grin, eliciting a glare from his wife. “Come on, you pair of gits. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”

Both Salazar and Godric shuffled tentatively into view, checking to ensure the worst of the birth was indeed over before entering, and each immediately approached to look upon the babe Morgana had birthed.

“She will be a beauty,” Salazar declared. “Taran, come and meet your sister.”

The boy stepped out from behind Godric, confused as to what was happening, but as Harry took a knee, the young boys’ eyes widened.

“Baby!”

“That’s right,” Harry chuckled. “This is your little sister.”

Taran’s eyes did not leave the now sleeping girl, and he carefully reached out with a finger to brush it along her cheek.

“Seren, Dada.”

“Seren?” Harry asked.

Morgana felt a lump form in her throat.

It was one of the names she had been considering but had never spoken it aloud in front of their son. It was one that just came to her, though she was certain she had heard it in one of her dreams.

“Her name, Dada,” Taran said with a smile.

Harry frowned as he eyed the boy curiously.

“That’s her name?”

Taran nodded firmly.

“Seren.”

Hary’s gaze shifted towards Morgana.

“It means star,” she whispered.

Harry was taken aback and his focus shifted to their son once more.

“How do you know that is her name?”

The boy shrugged but pointed out of the window to the night sky, and Morgana’s eyes widened as she was greeted by a large, incredibly bright star not so far away from where an equally bright mars could be seen.

“It told me, Dada.”

Harry seemed rather perturbed, and his gaze shifted to the girl in his arms.

“Seren it is,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Morgana did not know what to think.

Taran had never shown any interest in the stars, nor had there been any indication that he shared a connection with them. To see it happen in such a way, and in reference to something that had come to Morgana herself was quite the surprise.

Even so, Taran seemed no worse for whatever he had experienced, and Morgana could not deny that she felt considerably better in herself, even if she was a little troubled by all that had unfolded these past moments.

“Mars is bright.”

Harry nodded grimly, his eyes flitting between the star, the planet, and the girl who had only just entered the world.

“It is ominous.”

“It is,” Morgana agreed.

“Perhaps wars will be waged over her beauty,” Salazar broke in, trying to lighten the mood.

Morgana could only hope it was something so trivial, but she could not forget the pregnancy she had endured, the nightmares she’d been plagued with, and the eeriness of her barely coherent son speaking the same name she had been contemplating for the girl.

Such things, she’d learned, could never be attributed to coincidence, and although she was worried, she would not allow it to ruin this moment.

She had given birth to her second child, and despite how troubling certain aspects of doing so had been from the very beginning, she was just as in love with the girl as she had been her son the very first time she had held him.

(Break)

“Mars is bright,” Dark-Eye mused aloud as he peered out of the window.

The centaurs would speak of it as though it were an omen of war to come, but he was already at war; one he intended to see concluded sooner rather than later.

“You are back quicker than I expected.”

“We found what it is we were looking for,” Blackfang replied with a rare smile. “The woman was right in all she provided. We quickly found protective magic in all seventeen of the locations, some much stronger than others.”

Dark-Eye nodded as he took a seat, frowning at the brightness of the star so near to the red planet in the sky.

“Then I see no reason to delay,” he decided. “Come, let us gather our forces and prepare. We strike tomorrow.”

“Where?” Blackfang asked.

“Take your pick,” Dark-Eye allowed, a grin tugging at his lips. “It matters not when they will all fall in the coming days.”

Blackfang grinned ferally in response, offering a bow before he took his leave of the room.

When he was alone, Dark-Eye contemplated just how much the war would be changing soon enough, and his gaze drifted towards the oddly burning star and the red planet so nearby.

Perhaps there was something in what the centaurs spoke from their observations of the night sky.

Not that Dark-Eye understood such magic.

The stars were far out of reach, so held little value to his kind, but he would never be so foolish to dismiss it out of hand.

Regardless of what it meant, he could almost feel the tide turning, could almost smell the blood of their enemies as they pleaded with him for mercy.

Those that refused to bow to him would be shown none, and the streets of Britain would run an even brighter red than the planet hanging so ominously over them.

(Break)

She woke with a gasp, though her startling had little to do with the lingering discomfort of birthing her daughter. Her dream had been the cause of it, and although it wasn’t as disjointed or quite as clear as those she’d been having throughout her pregnancy, it was quite troubling to say the least.

With a groan, Morgana pushed herself out of bed and entered the kitchen to find her snoozing husband, cradling Seren in his chair.

Harry had evidently had the foresight to put Taran to bed, and he’d fallen asleep whilst watching over their daughter.

Seren was awake, and her expression was equally as troubled as her mother’s.

With a smile, Morgana carefully took the girl from her father’s arms and settled her down to feed.

She did so hungrily but had not cried because of her need for sustenance. If anything, she’d been rather content in Harry’s arms.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“Your daughter needs feeding.”

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly, fighting the urge to yawn as he watched her feeding.

“She was awake?”

Morgana nodded as she worried her lower lips.

“What is it?”

“I had a dream, Harry.”

“A dream or a vision?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t as clear as the others, but it felt like them.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully.

“I expect it is the lingering pregnancy magic. What was the dream?”

“I dreamt that there were men and women hanging,” Morgana explained. “There was twenty-eight of them, and a small figure with mismatched. There was also a crow, but it was looking away from them, towards a group of horses.”

Morgana didn’t understand it, but she could not ignore the instinct that what she’d seen was important and not to be kept to herself.

“Twenty-eight,” Harry murmured to himself. “Men and women?”

“Both.”

“Well, shit,” Harry cursed as he stood. “He’s going to target the members of the council!”

Before Morgana could speak, he’d already left the house, and she shifted her focus back to her daughter.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she whispered. “You have been showing me all of these things.”

Seren said nothing, closing her eyes and falling asleep in only a matter of moments, but Morgana could feel it. Somehow, some way, the nightmares and visions she’d had throughout her pregnancy had come from the babe she continued to cradle.

“Mars really is bright,” she sighed as she caught sight of the planet through the window, and the bright star lighting up the sky around it.

(Break)

The boys’ resemblance to Arthur as uncanny. It was as though Lancelot was looking at a younger facsimile of his friend whenever he spotted Maxim around the village.

Arthur would adore the boy.

Even in his mannerisms and morals, he was just like him but less burdened, and Lancelot understood why his heritage had been kept from him.

Being the son of the king was not only dangerous during the darker times of Britain, but daunting even at the very best.

Whether or not the simple village boy would grow to be king remained to be seen, but Lancelot took comfort in knowing there was an heir if Arthur ever had need of one.

“You’ve done a fine job, Hook,” he praised. “Arthur could not have raised that boy better himself. Thank you.”

The man offered him a look of curiosity.

“You did the right thing, all of you. I know Guinevere, well, I thought I did, and despite everything that happened between us, she truly wished to give Arthur a child, and if she were to learn of him…”

He broke off as he pondered what the woman might just be capable of.

She was jealous and often petty, taking exception to Lancelot bedding any other besides her when she was the one who was married. Not that he would attempt to absolve himself of his own guilt.

Such was an impossibility.

“Why did you do it?” Hook asked, as though he was reading his thoughts.

Perhaps he was.

Lancelot knew magicals could do it.

He deflated at the question and shook his head.

“For years, I thought myself in love with her,” he answered unashamedly. “It wasn’t until I was away from that I realised she simply had a hold over me, one that even now I cannot explain. I could not resist her advances, even though I knew it was wrong. It was like falling into a dream where you can see what is happening but you have no control over it.”

Hook nodded thoughtfully.

“I can’t condone what you did, but I understand what it is to hunger for someone you should not. Gwyneth and I, well, I never intended for us to be where we are, but I wouldn’t change it. It’s not that I have anything against muggles, it’s just that with how things can be in our world, it’s not always safe for your kind, just like now.”

“This place seems safe enough,” Lancelot pointed out. “You all live together harmoniously.”

“Godric’s Hollow is unique,” Hook said with a smile. “I don’t expect t was always like this, but over the generations, the muggles have realised we don’t mean them any harm. If anything, our kind has gone out of our way to keep them safe. If there is ever a threat to the land, it is us that meets it. They help us work the land, they tend to the animals, and they have some brilliant ideas when it comes to building. Just look at Camelot. Myrddin may have added his own touches to it, but the castle itself was made by muggles.”

“We’re not so useless,” Lancelot agreed with a chuckle, “but I understand why we fear you. I have seen what you are capable of.”

Hook nodded.

“And there are those that would wish to subjugate you or even harm you. Most of us are not them, but I agree with Harry when he says that our worlds should be kept separate. Either the muggles will have to rule over us, which would never be allowed, or your kind would be subjugated. Godric’s Hollow is one thing, but the entire world could not live like this. Muggles fear us, and one day, they will find a way to fight back. Even so, it’s not worth the inevitable conflict, not when we are more than capable of living amongst ourselves without you knowing of our existence.”

“But we do know.”

“You would forget in a few generations or so, and for me, that would be for the best.”

Lancelot found himself in agreement, but before he could voice his own thoughts on the matter, a loud screeching sounded throughout the village.

“What is it?” he asked.

Hook was already on his, casting spells before waving his wand over himself, covering himself in a thick armour.

“I do not know exactly, but that means there is an attack somewhere.”

“And I am to wait behind?”

Hook frowned as he shook his head.

“No, I will take you with me.”

Before they could speculate further on what was happening, an ethereal crow coalesced in front of them and spoke in the voice of Harry Potter.

‘The attack is just a distraction but it cannot be ignored. I need you to split the men into groups of no less than five hundred and I will inform you of where you are to go. Do not take any foolish risks. Leave if you are outnumbered.’

It vanished and Hook cast a few more spells before taking Lancelot by the arm.

He felt as though he was being forced through a much tighter space than could accommodate him, and a moment later, he found himself face down in the grass, emptying the contents of his stomach.

The nausea was overwhelming, and by the time he managed to get back to his feet, there were several ranks of men, ready to follow the commands given to them.

“You’ll be fine,” Hook said a little too amusedly for Lancelot’s liking. “I’d say you get used to it, but I don’t think muggles do.”

Lancelot could only curse as he breathed deeply, doing his utmost not to vomit again.

(Break)

It was a most troubling thought, and yet, Myrddin had never seen Potter speak with such conviction and certainty as to what was to come.

“Mars is exceptionally bright,” he murmured as he sought solace in the stars himself, looking for any sign of what Potter had revealed to him.

One of the stars close to the red body was glowing bright, unnaturally so, and it was near to this he saw the answer he was seeking; one he would’ve perhaps missed had he not been looking so intently.

“Twenty-Eight hanging corpses,” he spoke gravely. “The mismatched eyes and the distracted crow. It is as clear as if it were happening here and now. I believe you are right, Harry Potter, but how did you come to know such a thing? Even for one so at one with them, it was not easy for me.”

“That’s not important,” Potter said dismissively. “What matters now is what we do. If we alert them, the goblins will know.”

“But if we do not, we must be ready to strike immediately, but being in twenty-Eight locations at the very same time will be a task in itself. We lack the advantage when it comes to numbers.”

“And Dark-Eye will not risk attacking all at once. He has learned not to thin his own ranks. I expect he may target a few, but not all of them.”

Myrddin hummed thoughtfully.

“Then we must prepare and do so discreetly. Not even our own forces can know until it becomes necessary.”

Potter nodded his agreement, and Myrddin fastened his cloak about his shoulders.

“I will get a message to the members of the council,” he assured the other man. “I will reach out to you when I have done so.”

Myrddin was under no illusion that Potter cared about what happened to most of the members of the Wizard’s Council, but he understood that the goblins succeeding in eliminating them would create a power struggle amongst them should any be killed.

Even Potter’s pride would not allow such foolishness now, not when the enemy they faced should not be their own.

Even so, it was a most troubling development, and Myrddin had immediately warned the Wizard’s Council, and urged them to be vigilant, to get a message to him the moment they sense anything amiss with their protections.

“Is it a credible threat?” Arthur asked, pulling Myrddin from his thoughts.

“Very much so. The goblins have exceptional magic of their own, and their ability to break through almost every magical protection is uncanny. If Potter is right, and I have no doubt that he is, it will not take long…”

He paused as a crow materialised in front of him, an eerie and ominous symbol in itself that spoke that addressed him most gravely.

‘They are attacking parts in the north. I have sent enough to make it appear we are responding. I would expect word to reach you soon of where we are needed.’

Before Myrddin could utter a single sentence, he broke off as a sudden unease settled within him, and without delay, he sent a sent a message to Potter, notifying him of where the first alert had come from before he vanished from Camelot to respond to it.

(Break)

It was a delicate undertaking he found himself observing.

Humans were quite brilliant with magic, but they had never had to adapt and overcome such limits as the goblins had these past centuries. They, for the most part, had become lazy and negligent, using their gift for convenience and taking it for granted.

The goblins had needed to become connected to magic differently, more nuanced, and in ways that humans could not understand.

A goblin Cursebreaker could detect even the faintest trace of it, could follow a single thread until it led them to a web they could unravel.

That was what Dark-Eye was witnessing now, and he placed a finger to his lips as a triumphant Blackfang arrived, so not to disturb the work of those navigating their way through the protections they were faced with.

A single mistake could be quite devastating for all of them, after all.

Despite the danger, Dark-Eye was filled with a sense of anticipation knowing that just a short distance away, the target they had selected was likely sleeping, unaware that their life would soon be forfeit.

The same was happening up and down the country in three other locations, and before the sun rose in this distance, he and his kind would be one step closer to seizing control of Britain.

“Potter is in the north,” Blackfang whispered, eliciting a smile from the king of the goblins. “They remain ignorant of what is happening.”

“Good, then all will go to plan,” Dark-Eye murmured, his hand twitching towards his wand, ready for what was to come.

(Break)

Although the violence they had been confronted with upon arriving in the north was little more than a distraction, they danger they found themselves in was not negligible.

Hundreds of goblins were here, along with dozens of trolls, ogres, and even giants.

Were it not for Harry having spent hours training the men how to combat such things, they would find themselves in dire straits, with undoubtedly many of their own perishing.

Fortunately, the training had paid off, and as Claude and Owain shouted their commands, the men complied, falling into the ranks most effective for fending off such an enemy.

“Glad you came?” Hook asked Lancelot.

The man shook his head and hung onto his sword tightly.

Hook had taken the precaution of casting a few protection spells on his armour, but he couldn’t be certain how well they would hold up, if at all against anything he might find himself fighting.

Nonetheless, Lancelot was one of the very best warriors Hook had fought alongside, and if there was any muggle he could imagine surviving this, it was him.

“I thought the bloody trolls were big,” Lancelot groaned, readying himself for what was to come.

“Aye, and if I were you, I wouldn’t get too close to the giants.”

“How close is too close?”

“I’d say around 20 leagues behind us,” Hook chuckled, clapping the man on the shoulder as he drew his wand and sword before marching his group forward to meet the threat they faced.

(Break)

“The fighting is underway,” Gutrot reported, and Dark-Eye nodded, confident that his timing was perfect.

He and his goblins would be through the protections of the homes they had selected, unhindered and undetected until it was too late.

“We have reached the very last thread, my king,” one of the Cursebreakers growled excitedly. “What say you?”

Dark-Eye drew his sword and his wand, and his gaze swept over those he’d chosen to join him. There were fifty in all, more than enough to handle what might greet them.

He merely offered the Cursebreaker a nod in response, and only a few moments later, he felt the final vestiges of protective magic fade into nothingness, but it was replaced by something else much more powerful, familiar, and unexpected.

The coldness washed over them as though they had been doused in it, and Dark-Eye held up a hand to halt the intended advance as he spotted the golden hilt of a sword with the blade stabbed into the ground with a crow perched upon the former.

It was the figure standing behind it that gave him pause however, and as the magical protections of the man’s design descended upon them, Dark-Eye found himself in a state of confusion.

Burgock had been adamant that Potter was fighting in the north, and yet, here he was, lying in wait for them.

He narrowed his eyes before nodding appreciatively at the shrewdness of the man.

Somehow, though Dark-Eye could not quite fathom it, Potter had known they’d be here.

Even so, there was fifty of them, and the king of the goblins himself.

Not even Potter could hope to emerge victorious against such odds.

“Kill him!” Dark-Eye ordered, only for his foe to smile in response; his eyes glowing an eerie white in the darkness of the early hours.