Drawing Lines
“Well, I must say, I certainly did not expect you to seek me out. Forgive me, Mr Peverell, but you do not strike me as a social butterfly,” Bathilda chuckled as she poured them both a cup of tea. “Not that I believe this is strictly a social visit, of course.”
“It isn’t,” Harry acknowledged as he placed the letter he’d received that he needed to discuss on the table.
Bathilda unfolded it with a frown before nodding her understanding.
“Ah, Cantankerus,” she said fondly. “He has ways like no other to discover things about people. Not you mind. No, you and yours continue to intrigue and frustrate him. Me too, for that matter. There are rumours and speculation, and various accounts of the exploits of your ancestors from many, many years ago. They paint a rather morbid and fascinating tale, Harry. I can call you Harry, can’t I?”
He nodded and Bathilda offered him a smile over the brim of her cup.
“I know that you know him and was just wondering the best way to handle him. I have no intention of making an enemy of him, but I am not going to give him what he wants.”
Bathilda hummed.
“He is a relentless man, Harry, and you will not be able to avoid him. Believe me, I understand your desire for secrecy,” she added with a frown before shaking her head. “If I were you, I would meet with him under your own terms and make him feel like he has gotten what he wants without giving it to him. The reputation of your family will be your most useful tool when dealing with Cantankerus. I would not threaten him but make it clear that nothing good will come from looking into you. That was what I told Gellert.”
It had come as quite the revelation to Harry that the would-be Dark Lord was the nephew of the famed historian.
“Gellert?”
Bathilda deflated.
“I caught him reading through my notes on your family,” she explained. “Of course, most of it was my own ramblings, thoughts and speculation on what little I found, and Gellert, well, he has been cursed by the same curiosity as me.”
“He’s a curious person himself,” Harry returned. “Not many people get expelled from Durmstrang.”
Bathilda’s eyes widened.
“Y-you know?”
Harry nodded.
“He is far from perfect, but Albus has been a good influence on him. The two of them are travelling together, and Gellert has secured a job at MACUSA in the Department of Magical law Enforcement.”
Harry shook his head.
“Are you sure it is Albus influencing him?”
Bathilda frowned.
“No, no,” she said dismissively. “Albus is a bright boy, just as bright as Gellert, and…”
“Is blinded by the way he feels about Gellert.”
Bathilda released a deep breath as she stood.
“My sister, his mother, has said several times that he concerns her, Harry. As a boy, he was always brilliant, further ahead than his peers both magically and mentally, but for all of his brilliance, he lacks empathy. Sh did not tell me why he’d been expelled from Durmstrang. She didn’t even tell me he had until after he’d arrived here, but that school is known for its leniency when it comes to magic. I can only imagine what he did that they deemed was too much. He’s powerful, Harry, so gifted with his wand that I doubt there is little he can do that he sets his mind to.”
She was right.
Harry had studied the man’s notes extensively, had seen for himself just how brilliant and even outlandish the mind of Gellert Grindelwald had been.
Oh, he did not doubt the man was an incredible wizard, better than most could ever hope to be, but that brilliance came at the price of obsession, a nature Harry could not begin to understand, a disturbance and sense of self-import like no other.
Grindelwald had convinced himself that he was better than anyone, that his view of the world was the only one that mattered, and he had pursued seeing it come to life without care for any that stood in his way.
“He is dangerous.”
Bathilda nodded gravely.
“So very dangerous, Harry. I worry for him, for those around him, and what he might do.”
Nothing good.
He wanted to voice his thoughts, but even before he could consider his next words, he felt a most troubling feeling settle within him, a warning like no other he’d felt before, and as he peered out of the window, he saw the familiar cloaked figure demanding his presence.
“What is it, Harry?” Bathilda asked worriedly, trembling at the sudden influx of cold that swept through the house.
“I do not know, but I’ll be back. Thank you for the tea, and advice,” he said appreciatively as he hurried from the home, sprinting towards the church just a short distance away where he found the figure waiting for him.
“You must return, Peverell. Your foe proves to be as unpredictable as ever. He is looking for you.”
“Looking for me?”
“Where you reside.”
Harry’s eyes widened at the revelation, and he readied himself to depart immediately.
Riddle had evidently not been content with his lot, had maybe been emboldened by his success thus far and hoped to fulfil the prophecy, or maybe this was just a reminder that he was around, that he could get to Harry whenever he wished.
Well, Harry was only all too pleased to oblige, and though he did not know what it was that awaited him, he had long ago grown tired of running and cowering from the man.
“Come Death, come,” he murmured.
“I am with you, Peverell. Always,” the cloaked figure responded, stepping aside as the eerie archway formed.
Drawing his wand, Harry released a deep breath before stepping through into the unknown, his magic pulsing through his veins in anticipation.
Nothing could’ve prepared him for the scene he would come upon.
Much to his relief, he’d managed to dissuade the dementors from injecting themselves into the chaos, but that relief was short-lived as he’d caught sight of the giants and dozens of Death Eaters.
Truthfully, he knew that this was little more than a damned foolish thing to intervene in, and yet, Harry knew there was no one else coming to help his neighbours.
There would be no aurors, and there was no Order of the Phoenix to answer the call, which meant that as it would be in the end when he and Riddle faced off with one another, he was very much alone in this.
Still, he did not waver under the glare of his foe, and even offered the man a knowing smile as the first of the giants fell victim to his machinations, roaring in agony as he clutched at his eyes.
Taking advantage of the surprise of the many he was surrounded by, he sprang into action, bringing his wand to bear in what would likely be a fruitless gesture, but he did so, nonetheless.
(Break)
She had been certain she’d felt the approach of the dementors. For a moment, it had felt exactly as it had when she and Harry had taken a trip back in time to rescue Sirius from them at the end of their third year.
The coldness, however, suddenly shifted, and Hermione felt her heart sink into her stomach at Harry’s appearance.
She wanted to help him, help those being victimised by the Death Eaters, giants, and Voldemort himself, but she didn’t know what to do.
She was at a loss and would likely get herself killed if she left the house, and yet, she could not sit here and do nothing, not when Harry was out there alone.
“Kreacher…?”
The elf had already left, and as Hermione shifted her attention back to what was unfolding outside, she cursed under her breath.
One of the giants roared and began stumbling around, clawing at its face, and garnering the attention of all outside the walls of number twelve. What had been done to it, she didn’t know, but Voldemort took exception to its condition, though when he turned to level his wand at Harry, he was gone.
Hermione scanned the street whilst some of the Death Eaters attempted to subdue the lumbering giant, though they stopped doing so as a whistling filled the air.
She gasped as a plethora of icicles rained down on them from above, and more screams followed.
Voldemort, however, quickly countered the offensive by unleashing a gout of fire, which reduced the projectiles to harmless droplets of water. Still, it had been an effective attack, and evidently, Harry was not done.
The burning remains of a nearby car were hurled towards the Dark Lord, who blasted them aside, only to have to do so twice more as another couple was sent in his direction.
“FACE ME, POTTER!” he bellowed.
In response, the ground began to tremble once more, though this time, it wasn’t courtesy of the giants tearing through the pavement but something else entirely, and Hermione could only look on wide-eyed as another fissure began to form, splintering the concrete towards where Voldemort was standing.
He apparated away in time to avoid the enormous shadowy limb that snatched at him, but one of the Death Eaters was not so fortunate, his scream of surprise and terror fading as he was pulled into the abyss.
Still, Harry was not done, and even before the echoes of the scream faded, he struck once more from wherever he was, unleashing a barrage of spells that seemed to come from all angles.
How he was achieving such a thing, Hermione did not know, and judging by the reaction of Voldemort and his followers, they didn’t either.
Maybe he’d been preparing for this very eventuality, and the setting the Dark Lord had chosen had already been to Harry’s advantage because he’d made it so.
Regardless, it could not hope to last, and with a sweeping motion of his wand, Voldemort did indeed put an end to it, nullifying whatever magic it was Harry had implemented, granting him and his followers a reprieve.
Not that he sought one.
Immediately, he went on the offensive himself, seemingly tracking Harry’s movements with some surprisingly measured spells of his own, all of which, for what she could see, were being rebuffed, much to Voldemort’s frustration.
Nonetheless, he did not waver and continued his efforts, the spells coming much quicker with more ferocity, and it was only a matter of time before Harry was caught with something.
In all of this, the Death Eaters could only look on, and the giants did do too as one of their own continued to suffer from whatever had befallen him.
What was clear was that Harry’s appearance had taken them all by surprise, and no one more so than Voldemort himself, who, although he held the advantage in numbers, was unable to capitalise on such an advantage thus far.
Even so, despite Harry’s impressive showing, the Dark Lord was holding firm, and he his reputation was not for nothing.
He would quickly adapt and overcome, and if her friend was not ready for that, Hermione knew she might just witness his demise here and now; a thought that filled her with an unspeakable dread as she looked on, wondering what she could possibly do to help Harry.
(Break)
The sudden blaring alarms sounding throughout the building had caught her off guard, and Nymphadora remained rooted to the spot as she listened for any reaction.
Every auror in the department, whether they were on duty or not, would be alerted, but whether or not they would answer the call was another matter entirely.
One minute passed, and then another when a response should’ve come within thirty seconds, but there was nothing, just the sound of the alarm with the empty atrium for it to echo around.
She shook her head as she lamented on the better days when the aurors were steadfast in their duty, and yet, she could not blame any of them for not wanting to put their lives on the line, especially not for the regime currently in power.
Much to her surprise, however, the fireplaces began flaring into life, and it was John Dawlish who stepped through first, sporting a curious expression.
“What’s happening?” Doyle, another asked as he arrived.
None of them knew, and as Mafalda Hopkirk stepped out of the golden elevator, her expression was thunderous.
“Sensors are going off all around the west end of London,” she snapped irritably. “What took you so long?”
None had an answer for the woman, and only Dawlish replied in the form of a shrug.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Hopkirk demanded to know.
“That won’t be necessary, Mafalda,” Umbridge spoke as she arrived via one of the fireplaces. “The orders from the Minister himself are to stand down.”
“Stand down?” Hopkirk scoffed. “In case you are unaware…”
“I am very much aware, Mafalda,” Umbridge interjected sweetly, “but your orders remain the same. The aurors are to stand down.”
The grin she wore was sickly, though it fell as Dawlish stepped forward.
“When the hell were you put in charge of the department?” he asked.
Nymphadora was taken aback.
Dawlish had always been one of Fudge’s lackeys, and as such, had been at the whim of Dolores Umbridge on more than one occasion. Perhaps even he had a line that had been crossed.
“I am only passing on the orders of the Minister of Magic. You are all to stand down.”
Dawlish shook his head.
“Bugger you,” he grumbled. “I don’t about the rest of you, but I’m sick of this. I didn’t sing up to be an auror because it would make me rich, or to follow the orders of a man no one voted for to be Minister. We all know what this is, and I for one will not stand for it any longer. Hopkirk, where are we needed?”
“Park Lane and the surrounding areas.”
Nymphadora frowned at the revelation.
Park Lane was dangerously close to Grimmauld Place.
Voldemort couldn’t be trying to get to Harry there, could he?
She didn’t know, but as dozens of dark-robed men and women began appearing behind Umbridge, she found herself caught in a stand-off between the two groups, and if what she believed was indeed happening, she needed to find a way to end it quickly.
“You are to return home immediately,” Umbridge instructed the aurors, who were watching the new arrivals with no small amount of distrust.
Who they were, Nymphadora did not know, and now was not the time to ponder it. No, she needed to find a way to get the aurors out of here, and as her gaze fell on the statue that was being constructed in place of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been destroyed by Dumbledore and Voldemort.
With a few discreet waves of her wand, the supports holding up the massive granite construct clattered to the ground, followed by the statue itself.
Instead of remaining motionless however, the figures depicting the muggles being crushed beneath the mighty wizard sprang to their feet and began hurling the debris towards the surprised Umbridge and those Who had arrived to support her.
“THE BLOODY FIREPLACES!” Tonks urged the aurors, who recovered from the shock much quicker than their counterparts, and before they could even begin to maintain any sense of order, those garbed in red robes had vanished.
“AFTER THEM!” Umbridge screeched, sporting a rather deep cut above her right brow. “GET THEM!”
Nymphadora did not linger any longer herself, and left the ministry using the telephone box that would take her into muggle London, firing off a few patronus’s in a bid to get some more much-needed help for the aurors at the very least, and Harry if Voldemort was making a move against him.
“Bloody hell,” she cursed as she reached the street above, the smell of burning filling her nose and a myriad of bright lights illuminating the sky in the distance.
What was most prominent, however, was the chill that filled air, an odd chill that was contrary to the warm, summer evening Britain should be experiencing.
(Break)
He grimaced as a shard of stone grazed his shoulder, but he managed to avoid a rather unpleasant searing curse that had come courtesy of the Dark Lord.
At first, his tactic of staying mobile and elusive had been effective, but Riddle had adapted to it quickly, and his efforts to pen Harry in were becoming harder to ignore.
The only saving grace was that the Death Eaters were reluctant to join in, likely because Voldemort would be furious for any interjection on their part, but that didn’t mean they were excluded from Harry’s wrath.
When the opportunity arose, he would unleash an offering upon them with varying success. Most were remaining vigilant, poised and ready to defend themselves, and others were intent on continuing with their own efforts in destroying this entire part of London, to their detriment.
Still, he was not making much headway in either forcing them to leave or even reducing their numbers, not with how defensive he’d needed to become under Riddle’s own onslaught, and though he’d managed to rid himself of one giant, several others remained who would gladly tear him limb from limb.
Nonetheless, Harry knew he could not quit. Despite the odds he was facing, he would not be deterred or dissuaded from doing his utmost to fight back against those who’d already taken so much from him, even if his efforts were mostly fruitless.
Not that he was entirely helpless.
No, he had learned more than a few more tricks than he’d already implemented, some much more dangerous than others, and with that in mind, he knew the time was right to use one of those he’d recently required, one that would certainly give Riddle something to think about.
He’d not thought that he would have a reason to thank Gellert Grindelwald of all people, but the knowledge and that little part of the man himself would undoubtedly prove to be quite the boon in the coming moments.
Defending himself once more from another onslaught from Riddle, Harry waved his wand with a flourish whilst murmuring under his breath, giving his wand an additional twist as he unleashed a gout of blue fire, and looked on in anticipation as it formed into the familiar thestral that had readily become a part of him.
Judging by Riddle’s puzzled expression, he was indeed unsure of what he faced, but it wasn’t the Dark Lord the thestral targeted. No, it galloped towards one of the giants, seemingly passing straight through it despite the behemoth swinging a makeshift club at it, which thudded to the ground.
No sound escaped the giant, and it seemed to be struggling against something for several seconds before its eyes rolled into the back of its head, and he simply fell backwards, crushing a few of the Death Eaters.
The thestral, however, was not done, and continued bounding around what remained of Grimmauld Place, and Riddle’s followers could only apparate out of the path of the rampaging beast in a state of panic when it neared them.
All the while, Harry had not been idle, taking the opportunity to begin peppering the Dark Lord with some choice spells of his own now that the man was partially distracted, ensuring he was not granted an opportunity to intervene.
Of course, as exceptional a piece of magic it was, if there was anyone who’d find a way to nullify it, and was powerful enough to do so alone, it was Tom Riddle.
Harry certainly would not underestimate the man, but before he could attempt to do so, there was something else to contend with in the form of dozens of aurors who began spilling into the street, hurling spells at the gathered Death Eaters and giants, much to Voldemort’s displeasure.
Still, the man should be grateful that he would no longer need to find a way to rid himself of the fiery thestral. Such magic was not prejudice on who or what it would destroy. Anything in its path was in danger, and with that in mind, Harry ended the spell before lending a hand, ensuring that Riddle was suitably distracted enough that aurors were not in danger from him.
Of course, he was grateful for their unexpected arrival, and he breathed sigh of relief.
Even so, the fighting was not done yet, and as Riddle fired a plethora of spells towards him, Harry did not miss the expression of hatred he wore. He expected his own was similar, and as he parried and shielded the offering before striking back with his own, he made sure Riddle felt it in every one of the spells he was forced to confront.
(Break)
“Fucking hell,” she whispered as she arrived in what had been one of the most affluent areas in the entire country, only to find that most of the buildings had been reduced to piles of rubble, the pavements had been ripped away, exposing the sewers below, and even the neatly kept trees and community gardens were gone.
The chill she had felt outside of the Ministry of Magic almost froze her blood in her veins, despite the raging fires burning.
For now, however, it was not time to lament on such things, not when such a widespread episode of violence had gripped this small corner of the capital.
Everywhere she looked, she could see her former colleagues facing off with Death Eaters and giants, and in the middle of it all, the duo cutting a wide berth as they attempted to rip one another limb from limb.
Nymphadora could only shake her head of the shock.
There had been no suggesting from any she had been listening to within the Ministry that something like this on such a scale would be taking place, but as ever, the Dark Lord had proven to be as unpredictable as Dumbledore had warned those who’d not fought in the last war.
Evidently, he had grown restless or maybe felt that the war was now so far in his favour that he could end it here and now, but it seemed that Harry had other ideas.
She had not witnessed the duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort, but having heard of it from those that had seen it in part, what was unfolding before her eyes could not be further from the back and forth that had occurred between the two of them.
Harry was certainly not polite enough to allow the Dark Lord to gain any advantage by waiting for the man to use any of the complex, intricate magic he wielded so well. As such, he was reduced to firing curse upon curse towards the younger man, who followed suit, with none willing to inject themselves into such a fight.
Not that Nymphadora would be doing so.
Both were doing their utmost to destroy one another, and the magic each was employing would certainly see to that.
Were there any sense of true law and order within the country, they would find themselves in front of the Wizengamot and facing significant charges for using it.
Even so, there was nothing of the sort, and both were free to use whatever means they had at their disposal to murder the other and were doing so quite keenly.
“You cannot defeat me, Potter!” the Dark Lord declared, a grin tugging at his pale lips.
“Oh, shut up, Tom,” Harry replied, not pausing in his efforts, much to the annoyance of his foe, who was just as keen to make a show of the affair whilst attempting to rattle his opponent. “Just shut the fuck up.”
Voldemort snarled angrily in response and unleashed a gout of fire, which Harry redirected towards one of the giants, forcing the Dark Lord to end the spell to prevent the beast from being immolated.
A stalemate.
As surprising as it was, neither Harry nor Voldemort seemed to be able to get the better of one another, which, if anything, was a testament to just how far the young man had come.
Nymphadora had seen how he’d handled himself at the unfortunate wedding and seeing him now only reiterated what Dumbledore had said all along.
Perhaps he wasn’t quite ready yet, but there was no doubt that he possessed the potential to truly put an end to the Dark Lord who’d plagued Britain these past several decades.
How he had become what he was in the last year or so, Nymphadora didn’t know, but to say that the war was over because of Voldemort’s successes would be quite the understatement.
“Bloody hell!”
Nymphadora nodded as she defended herself from a rather unpleasant, errant curse that hurtled towards her, and Remus did the same, both struggling to take their eyes off the ongoing spectacle but knew they must.
The aurors needed all the help they could get, after all, more so now that whomever it was Umbridge had gathered in the Ministry to prevent them from coming had arrived, well, some of them had, and they did not look so pleased to be here.
(Break)
“What to do, what do you,” she whispered to herself as she ran her finger along one of the shelves in the drawing.
Each one of them contained some of the most unpleasant items that had not been thrown away during the clean-up of Grimmauld Place, many of which, she suspected, Kreacher had hidden from them.
There was certainly no way Mrs Weasley would’ve allowed her children to be around a cursed cup that would bite the lips of anyone who drank from it.
Not that it was of any use to Hermione now. No, it wasn’t as though those outside would be taking a tea break.
She shook her head frustratedly as she continued looking through the odd assortment of items, an idea forming as she did so. It was far from perfect, but any help she could give may prove to be invaluable, and though she was not so gifted when it came to what she was witnessing outside of the safety of number twelve, Hermione was certainly clever enough to make quite the impact.
With her gaze roaming over the items she began to gather, she nodded to herself.
“Kreacher?” she called.
The little elf appeared and eyed her questioningly.
“Will these work?”
Kreacher frowned before nodding.
“Yes, Miss, they be working. Kreacher will do it for Master Harry.”
“And I will create a distraction for you,” Hermione assured the elf, hurrying to her room to gather a few more things.
(Break)
He winced as a sharp pain lanced through him and wiped the blood away that spilled from the wound in his chest. Neither he nor Potter remained unscathed from their chaotic exchanges, and neither were willing to concede the victory.
Even so, the Dark Lord was as taken aback as he was impressed with his young foe, even if the presence of his own followers had prevented him from truly delving into the magic he could wield.
It would not do to harm them, after all, which meant that both he and Potter had been reduced to a rather barbaric, uncouth battle of the Dark Arts, nullifying the efforts of one another, and occasionally dipping into a more creative to display to get a measure of their opponent.
Potter was indeed exceptional, more so than Lord Voldemort had expected, but already, he had made mistakes that could’ve been exploited were this the fateful coming together that would see an end to one of them.
No, this wasn’t it, but the Dark Lord was not going to deny himself the opportunity to learn as much as he could about a foe he’d not seen the like of in all his years.
Potter may have been tutored by the old fool, but he was no Albus Dumbledore, and no was he a Lord Voldemort. It seemed to be that he was something between the two, no less talented or powerful.
No, that wasn’t the correct evaluation of him. Harry Potter was something else entirely, a wizard of exceptional quality in his own right, and though tonight may not be their final meeting, the Dark Lord knew he could not allow his foe to continue to thrive and grow.
Already, Potter was a danger to most, was holding his own well enough despite his own injuries, and he showed no sign of slowing down, quitting, or fleeing.
He remained focused, poised, even controlled as he wielded his magic.
Still, he was inexperienced, and it often showed with the errors he made, errors the Dark Lord paid particular attention to, but errors Potter quickly remedied before he fell victim to any rebuttal.
Nonetheless, without the two of them being able to showcase their full capabilities, this was what any confrontation between the two would look like; a violent but limited fracas that would see neither gaining an advantage.
Potter had been coached well enough to defend himself against the dark arts of the norm, and he could offer nothing substantial himself, and the Dark Lord suspected it was just as frustrating for the younger man as it was him.
He ignored the screams from the ensuing battle around them, knowing he needed to remain focused on Potter.
He’d been aware of the arrival of the aurors, and even the group he’d instructed Thicknesse to gather, both fighting clumsily among the debris.
What the Dark Lord was more interested in was the blue fire Potter had conjured shortly after he’d attacked, and what it had done to the giant it had set upon.
The monstrous creatures were exceedingly resistant to magic, and yet, Potter had managed to fell one with a single spell. It was quite the feat in itself, and yet, there was something else in the back of his mind that left him puzzled.
The last time the two of them had crossed wands, Potter had been saved by quite the phenomenon when their wands had connected.
Priori incantatem.
It was a rare occurrence when two people who possessed the very same wand core forced them to fight against one another, but this time, no such thing had happened.
It was something he would need to ponder when the fighting came to an end, something that would evidently come sooner than he’d expected.
He could sense something impending before it had even happened, and as the loud explosions rent the air, he could only frown at the sight of the colourful creatures forming from the sparks.
Fireworks.
They were magical fireworks, but before he could even begin to wonder why they were here or where they had come from, a scream rang out, and the Dark Lord looked to see that some of the the giants were now attacking his own followers, swinging their weapons wildly and attempting to crush them beneath their feet.
“Fools!”
He unleashed a guttural roar of his own as something slammed into the side of him, and cursed internally for allowing himself to become distracted, granting Potter the opportunity to strike.
He did so, and the Dark Lord found himself nursing a very deep cut that would undoubtedly become fatal if he did not see to it immediately, and with that in mind, he shot his foe a baleful glare before vanishing in a puff of smoke.
Not that the evening had been such a waste.
No, he had gotten a measure of the young man, had sent the message that Potter was not safe no matter where he might hide, and even showed any who doubted him that he did not fear Harry Potter, that even the-boy-who-lived’s days were numbered, much like any other who dared oppose him.
He winced in discomfort as he removed the curse embedded into the worst of the wounds he’d fallen victim to, nodding appreciatively.
It would have become a most unpleasant affliction indeed were it left, and he briefly wondered where Potter had learned such an obscure curse.
Not that it mattered.
What did matter, however, was that the young man presented an entirely new challenge for the Dark Lord. He would not shy away from attempting to kill him, and with his horcruxes in place, it wasn’t as though such an outcome was something to be feared.
Nonetheless, Potter was proving himself to be a rather dangerous nuisance, one he would sooner be without.
“What happened, Bellatrix?” he asked as the woman limped into the room only a few moments after his arrival.
She shook her head as she took a seat.
“I do not know, my lord. The giants just turned on us.”
The Dark Lord frowned.
Potter or someone else must’ve found a way to see it so.
“And?”
“Macnair managed to get the others away and left the ones attacking us. The last thing I saw was the aurors taking them down.”
He released a deep breath.
The Gurg would not be pleased, but their deal would remain in place. It wasn’t as though any fallen giants couldn’t be replaced eventually.
“What is bothering you, Bellatrix?” he asked.
The woman was not as euphoric as she would usually be after such a venture. She was pensive, a deep frown creasing her brow.
“The magic that Potter used…”
“What magic?”
“Well, all of it, my lord, but there was something about that blue fire.”
“I find myself quite perplexed by it. He ended the spell when he was no longer alone, which means he could not control it, or it is sentient and not beholden to the caster.”
Bellatrix nodded.
“I’ve heard of it.”
“You have?” the Dark Lord asked, surprised by the revelation.
“My Aunt Cassie told me about it when she used to teach me the family magic. She told me about a blue fire just like the one Potter used.”
“So, it is not unknown?”
“No, my lord, but what I do not understand is that she told me there was only one person who could use it, and that man was Grindelwald.”
“Grindelwald?”
Bellatrix nodded.
“She told me he invented lots of different spells and curses, and that was one of his favourites. Only he knew how to conjure it and end the spell.”
“Then how did Potter learn it?” Lord Voldemort asked aloud, mostly to himself.
“I do not know, my lord, but, there is someone who might.”
“Who?”
“My Aunt Cassie. She is still alive somewhere. I can find her.”
It was quite the revelation to learn that perhaps the most infamous Black besides the one sitting before him yet drew breath. Bellatrix had never mentioned it, and he certainly had not made her acquaintance.
What he did know was that Cassiopeia Black had not been welcome in Britain in decades after she had chosen to follow Grindelwald during his ill-fated campaign across the continent.
Truthfully, he’d assumed she’d died in the intervening years.
She would be more than a century old, after all.
“Find her,” he decided.
He wanted to know as much as he could about the magic Potter had somehow wielded, and if there was anyone who might be able to tell him, it was the woman who’d been at Grindelwald’s side throughout the entirety of his efforts.
(Break)
“Are you okay?” Hermione asked worriedly as she reached him.
“I’m fine,” Harry said dismissively. “Some broken ribs and a few cuts. It could’ve been a lot worse.”
Hermione nodded.
“Harry, I…”
He waved her off and offered her a smile.
“It’s because of you they left.”
“Kreacher mostly,” Hermione pointed out. “I just distracted everyone whilst he put the collars on the giants.”
“Around their wrists?” Harry snorted, nodding to one of the subdued giants.
“It’s the only place they would fit, Master,” Kreacher explained sheepishly. “Their necks are too big.”
Harry could only laugh, though he winced when doing so caused him considerable discomfort.
It had barely taken the aurors a few moments after the Death Eaters and Voldemort had left to take down the half dozen giants, who were all protesting weakly from where they had been grounded.
“Bloody hell, what a mess,” Harry groaned as he surveyed the damage.
Just about anything and everything that could be destroyed had been, and though there was little he could do for the burning wreckages that had once been a rather luxury collection of cars his neighbours had accumulated, the rest could be put right easily enough. Well, mostly.
“I think we should maybe get you to St Mungo’s…”
“No, no,” Harry grumbled. “Kreacher, will you send for Tullius.”
The elf offered him a bow before vanishing, and Harry frowned as Dawlish and several other aurors approached him.
“Potter,” the man greeted him tiredly. “I’m John Dawlish. I’m not sure…”
“I remember you,” Harry broke in.
Dawlish grimaced.
“Well, if we weren’t in the shit before, we are now. They’ll come for us…”
“I’ll find somewhere for you and your families, Dawlish,” Harry assured the man. All of you who have families should go and fetch them. For now, take them to the church at Godric’s Hollow. They’ll be safe there whilst I make arrangements.”
Dawlish breathed a sigh of relief as he eyed Harry speculatively.
“You know, I didn’t believe half of the bullshit they say about you. Chosen one this and all that bollocks, but after seeing you facing him the way you did, well, we’re with you, Potter. Whatever we can do to put an end to all of this, just name it.”
The other aurors with him nodded their agreement with the sentiment before leaving to inform the others of the latest development.
“Healer Tullius will be arriving soon, Master Harry,” Kreacher announced as he returned.
“I don’t suppose he’s so pleased about being called so late.”
“No, Master Harry,” Kreacher confirmed.
Harry could only shake his head.
“Do we have somewhere large enough to house all of these aurors and their families, Kreacher?” he asked.
The elf nodded enthusiastically.
“Master has a large farm in Cornwall. The house and barns will need work but they are big enough.”
“Well, that’ll keep them busy,” Harry sighed. “Can you prepare it as best you can. I expect there will be quite a lot of people arriving there soon enough, and Kreacher, they will need to be fed.”
“Of course, Master,” Kreacher complied eagerly before vanishing once more.
For now, Harry was more occupied with his wounds and getting them tended to. Hermione, evidently, would be sticking close to him for the time being, and followed him back into number twelve, the only house left standing after what had transpired this evening.
“I don’t get it,” the woman mused aloud. “Why?”
“Why did he come here?”
Hermione nodded.
“Because its Voldemort,” Harry answered with a shrug. “There’s hardly a thing he does that makes any sense. He’s completely off his head.”
“I don’t think anyone is accusing him of being sane, but it just came out of the blue.”
“As does everything he does. Maybe he’s been planning this for a while now hoping that everything was so far in his favour that he could put an end to it, or maybe he did it on a whim. I don’t know, Hermione, but I didn’t expect it either.”
He hadn’t and nor had Death, apparently.
Even so, he would be having a conversation with the cloaked figure about what had happened here, and what he should do next. He fully intended on pursuing his plan, and now that he seemingly had a rather sizeable force of outcast aurors with him, perhaps he could do so sooner than he’d expected.
“I know that look, Harry. You’re planning something,” Hermione said accusingly.
“I might well be,” Harry acknowledged, deflating as he entered the study to find a curious Tullius waiting for him.