Let them Feed
Savannah, Georgia.
Harry’s only experience of America thus far had been the New York home of the Scamander family and were it not for the explicit instructions of Newt, he would doubt that he was even in the right place.
New York was indeed a concrete jungle, towering buildings, but streets and intersections that were oddly straight. Even so, he did not doubt that it was easy to get lost in.
Where he found himself now couldn’t be any more different. Of course, he was not so naïve to believe that the entire state was like this, but there was nothing here save for a few houses spread out across a vast stretch of land.
It was the one he found himself standing before he was interested in, however. There was a large, iron fence which had not been painted in some time, and a matching gate pulled fast.
Only a small, bronze plaque in the centre confirmed that he was in the right place, and he took a moment to take in the large home beyond it.
Evidently, being the president of the MACUSA allowed for a lucrative retirement. Not that he was here to pass judgement, not yet, at least.
If Seraphina Picquery had indeed insisted on silencing all involved in what had happened here whilst Grindelwald rose to prominence, he couldn’t say she was so different from any other politician he’ met.
Perhaps they were the same the world over, after all.
Shaking his head, he tapped the gate with his wand and waited, though for only a moment before it turned into a large face of twisted metal staring down at him.
“Yes?” a feminine voice asked.
“I would like to speak with the former Madam president.”
“Who are you, and how did you find this address?”
“My name is Harry Potter, and a friend told me where I could find her.”
“Harry Potter?” the voice scoffed. “Is this a joke? I will call the Aurors!”
“It is not a joke, and I won’t take up much of her time.”
“I’m afraid Madam Picquery is not taking visitors…”
“Who is it, Geraldine?” another voice asked.
“Someone claiming to be Harry Potter, Miss Picquery.”
“The Harry Potter? How very strange. Well, don’t leave him outside, Geraldine. We our hospitable here in the south, after all. Besides, if he is lying, we will know.”
This voice was weaker than the first, less stern, but there was an authority that carried with it.
The gate began to open, and as Harry passed through it, he became deeply aware of the protections in place, which explained why he’d been invited in so readily.
They were extensive, lethal if provoked, and eagerly probed at his magic as though it was testing him.
Still, Harry ignored it as he made his way up the path towards front door, which opened at his approach.
The young woman that greeted him to do so without concealing her suspicion, her gaze trailing over him before she nodded.
“Well, call me surprised, you really are him.”
Harry merely nodded in response.
Despite the house appearing to be quite lavish, it was modestly decorated in neutral tones within, but before he could get a good look around, Geraldine gestured for him to follow her.
Passing through only one corridor, he was led to the only open door they came across, and the woman gestured for him to enter.
When he did, it was to be greeted by a waiting elderly woman, who was propped up in a bed in what otherwise appeared to be a study, not so different from his own, though the décor in Grimmauld Place was not so bright and welcoming.
“Of course, I have heard of you, Harry Potter,” the woman said breathlessly. “Come, take a seat.”
She patted the bed next to her, and he awkwardly took a seat.
“Your story is a famous one,” Picquery mused aloud. “Survivor of the killing curse, and well, it is not as though you have faded into obscurity. This Voldemort did not die as most believed, and now, he is back to plague your home.”
“Just as Grindelwald did here.”
Picquery’s expression darkened at the mention of the man.
“I see no reason to beat around the bush,” Harry continued. “You were the most brilliant politician of your era, and one of so few to be chosen by each house at Ilvermorny, a truly exceptional witch that went on to do incredible things. I will not insult your intelligence by trying to manipulate you, but I need to know everything you can tell me about him.”
Picquery eyed him curiously.
“Why? What good would it do? He is dead!”
She began a rather long coughing fit, and Harry poured her a glass of water from a jug on the bedside table. When it subsided, she released a laboured breath.
“Just as I will be soon enough,” she wheezed.
“Not so soon,” Harry assured her.
Death was indeed watching Seraphina Picquery, but there was still much life in her yet. Whether that was through her own stubbornness or strength of her magic, he wasn’t sure, but she was had time yet.
“Not so soon? You seem certain, Harry Potter.”
Harry chuckled humourlessly.
“I know Death, Miss Picquery. He isn’t coming for you yet.”
Her gaze searched him, and she nodded.
“Why do I believe you?”
“Because you are either choosing to out of hope, or you know I am not lying.”
She said nothing else for a while and chose to stare out of the window before looking back towards him.
“I still do not understand your interest in Gellert Grindelwald, Harry Potter. You enemy is Lord Voldemort.”
“No, both of them are my enemy, Miss Picquery,” Harry sighed. “Here, it is Voldemort, but there, it is Grindelwald.”
“There?”
Her curiosity was piqued, and she sat up a little straighter.
“Do tell, Harry Potter, and I will share with you what I can.”
(Break)
“You, Cattermole, there is a dreadful mess on the fourth floor. Get it cleaned up.”
“Of course, Mr Runcorn,” the redhead responded, hurrying towards where he could flush himself into the Ministry of Magic.
Hermione watched Albert Runcorn closely as he continued to greet several of his colleagues when they arrived, offering most instructions without any familiarity, and speaking briefly to few he seemed to know.
She had seen him mentioned in The Daily Prophet as one of the most successful members of the investigative team sent to round up any muggleborns who’d not arrived to register for the Magical Registration Act.
Both mornings she had arrived in the alleyway to observe the comings and goings; Runcorn had been here to throw his weight around.
It was an interesting, fast development, but she would need to be certain his presence was common.
He was a perfect target for Harry’s plan; in a position of power, and his star was certainly on the rise if his interaction with Yaxley was anything to go by. Whether he was a Death Eater remained to be seen, but it seemed that if there was anyone who could move freely around the ministry outside of Yaxley or Thicknesse, it was him.
Still, she knew she could not get ahead of herself.
No, Hermione needed to be certain, which meant she would be back tomorrow to confirm her suspicions.
She watched as he flicked away his cigarette and finished the last sip of his coffee before he followed his colleagues into the building below. When she was certain he was gone, she apparated back to Grimmauld Place, pausing at the sight of a grim Remus Lupin sitting at the kitchen table.
He said noting as he slid a copy of The Daily Prophet towards her.
“Oh dear,” Hermione sighed.
HARRY POTTER WANTED FOR THE MURDER OF EIGHT MINISTRY OFFICIALS! 10,00 GALLEON REWARD OFFERED FOR HIS CAPTURE!
“This isn’t good, Hermione,” Remus sighed. “People will want that gold, and as he’s offering immunity to anyone who has missed the registration that comes forward with good information, it makes it all the more appealing.”
She nodded her understanding, and yet, she knew that Harry would not be concerned about it.
“He’ll get a kick out of this.”
“Yeah, Sirius would’ve too,” Remus snorted, “but he has to be careful. People will turn on him, especially for immunity and more money than they’ve ever had. This is bad, Hermione, as bad as it gets.”
“I know, but it doesn’t change anything, does it? We’ve all suspected this might happen.”
Remus released a deep, shuddering breath.
“You should be at home. The full moon is tomorrow. I will speak with him when he is back.”
The werewolf nodded appreciatively.
“I’m worried about him, Hermione. We all know he can handle himself, but I can’t help but think he’s biting off more than he can chew.”
He took his leave of the house via the fireplace, and Hermione deflated.
“You don’t know the half of it, Remus,” she murmured.
(Break)
“Are you ready for this, Jones?” Dawlish asked worriedly.
The Welshman nodded.
“I’m ready. I’ll play my part, John.”
“I know, but if you need help at any point…”
“I will be in hand,” Harry assured the pair. “You’re not alone in there, Jones. There is more help than you know, and you’ll become aware of it soon enough. Your one job is to keep the students safe. Without Carrow being there, it should be much easier, but you can’t take anything for granted. Voldemort has been in and out of the castle. Just try not to provoke him.”
“Not all of us are as mad as you,” Jones chortled. “Believe me, I have no intention of catching his attention.”
At least he wasn’t a delusional fool. That would serve him well being within the walls of the castle with how things were.
Thus far, there’d been no unpleasantness between the students themselves, but the incident with Carrow had reminded him of just how volatile it could and likely would get, and Harry could not rely on Snape to keep the peace.
His position within Riddle’s ranks did not allow for him to show any sympathy for the muggleborns and half-bloods, after all.
“Then let’s get you in there,” Harry declared.
Jones nodded and bade farewell to Dawlish before Harry took him by the sleeve, activating the portkey that would take them into a third-floor broom cupboard.
“Ha, I remember the last time I was in here,” Jones said amusedly. “Cynthia Robards, fifth year. We both got two weeks of detention when Filch caught us.”
“He’s a miserable git,” Harry grumbled, waving his wand in an intricate pattern to ensure none within the castle were made aware of his arrival before casting a disillusionment charm over himself. “We will need to deal with Carrow first. Leave that to me, and then you can take his place.”
“Of course,” Jones agreed, any amusement he’d been feeling now all but gone.
“Follow me.”
He opened the door carefully and peered up and down the length of the corridor to ensure Mrs Norris or Filch himself wasn’t lurking around. When he was certain they weren’t, he carefully made his way towards Carrow’s office.
Fortunately, as the headmaster of Hogwarts, he was granted certain perks, and with little more than another wave of his wand, he was able to see through the door.
Shaking his head at the sight that greeted him,, he tapped the lock and pushed the door open, shaking his head at the lack of vigilance. Evidently, Carrow felt comfortable enough to fall asleep behind his desk on a Saturday afternoon.
“Idiot,” Harry whispered to himself, rendering the man completely unable to defend himself as he was stunned and bound. “Come on, Jones.”
“Just like that?” the man asked.
“The prat was already asleep.”
Jones chuckled and shook his head.
“Doesn’t he know there’s a war on?”
“Well, he will when he wakes up. Take a good look at his appearance, Jones. You’ll need to look just like him.”
The auror did so, and even lifted up Carrow’s eyelids to ensure he got the colour of the irises right.
“I’ve got it.”
“Good,” Harry declared as he conjured a pair of scissors and began hacking away at the Death Eater’s hair.
“You do realise there’s a spell for that.”
Harry shrugged carelessly.
“I know, but this is much more fun. He’s lucky I don’t just shoe then through his next. He wouldn’t know much about there being a war on then, would he?”
“He wouldn’t,” Jones agreed, accepting the large clumps of hair Harry placed in his hands. “What’re you going to do with him?”
“He’ll need to be kept alive, but don’t worry, I have the perfect place for him, and if me and Dawlish have our way, he’ll have company soon enough.”
Jones shook his head.
“You’re a scary bloke, Potter. I wouldn’t fancy having you as an enemy.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Harry agreed, placing a portkey on Carrow.
He vanished only a moment later, and he handed Jones a sealed cannister.
“There’s enough Polyjuice in there for the rest of the year, if you need it. Be careful, Jones. Don’t take anything for granted.”
“I won’t,” Jones assured him. “I’ll do my part here.”
Harry nodded appreciatively before throwing a handful of floo powder into the fire and stepping through, breathing a sigh of relief when he found himself in his study.
It had been a busy twenty-four-hours.
He’d dined with the Scamanders and even manged to rid Hogwarts of a dangerous man intent on harming the students. Most importantly, however, he had secured the knowledge he’d been seeking pertaining to Grindelwald.
“Percival Graves,” he murmured.
Of course, he couldn’t simply confront the man for what he was doing. No, where Grindelwald was concerned, that could go very badly. He was truly an exceptional wizard, so Harry knew he had to outwit him.
How he would do that, he wasn’t sure, but he’d find a way. For now, however, his mind remained here and now, and on the war he found himself embroiled in.
“What is it?” he asked as Hermione entered the study, a concerned expression marring her features.
Without a word, she placed a copy of The Daily Prophet on the desk, eliciting a bout of laughter from Harry.
“He’s getting desperate,” he declared. “He realises that he can’t get to me from his own efforts.”
“You still must be careful.”
“Maybe,” Harry conceded, “but it changes nothing. There will be a few nosy gits that will want to help him, and I can use that to my advantage,” he added thoughtfully.
Hermione released a deep sigh.
“I also have a way for you to get into the ministry.”
“Now, that is much more important. What have you got?”
She eyed him questioningly for a moment before shaking her head.
“Albert Runcorn.”
“I know that name.”
“He’s one of the higher-ups in Umbridge’s group. If you can find a way to replace him, then you will have your run of the place.”
Harry nodded to himself.
“Consider it done,” he replied. “Will you be coming in with me? I could use your help with this.”
Hermione nodded nervously.
“I’ll be there with you,” she promised.
(Break)
“I don’t buy it. What a load of nonsense,” one of the patrons said dismissively.
“Me either. Potter stopped him the last time,” his companion whispered, his gaze flitting towards the door as though he expected Voldemort to burst through it at any given moment.
She’d never seen The Hog’s Head so lively. That was why it had never been a prime target of the aurors. At most, there would usually be a handful or so of patrons, each of them keeping their distance from the others.
Tonight, however, and she suspected it had become something of a trend recently, it was as though she was in The Three Broomsticks.
“I don’t know, he is a parselmouth,” another spoke, “and there are rumours about him cheating his way into the Triwizard Tournament. He must be a dark wizard to be a parselmouth.”
Several others voiced their agreement, and Tonks shook her head.
Harry was certainly not like Dumbledore in his ways, but the people here would never meet another so determined to put an end to Voldemort. He simply wasn’t bound by the same moral code as the former headmaster.
“Oh, tosh! You saw what happened in the ministry last year. Potter was there fighting against him!”
“Potter was there, but there’s no proof he was fighting against him. That was Dumbledore. Besides, he’s wanted for murder! Eight people, and we all know something happened in Knockturn Alley just the other day. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Have any of you actually met the boy?”
The silence that fell as the barman spoke was telling.
“Well, have you?”
The patrons muttered amongst themselves.
“No, I didn’t bloody well think so. I have. Oh, he’s not the damned hero you all made him out or wanted him to be, but how many of you can say that you’d be so well adjusted if you watched your parents being murdered in front of you?”
He received no response.
“He’s the one person truly fighting back against him, and you lot are here making him out to be some kind of bloody monster. You should be all be raising a quietly glass of thanks to the lad, and thanking Merlin himself that he is still fighting, because if he wasn’t, what you see all around you would be so much worse. That is what Voldemort is waiting for. As soon as Potter is dead, that is the last of the good men we have who has a chance of beating him once and for all.”
Tonks was taken aback by the impassioned speech, and though those within the pub were quickly chastised with most changing their tunes, this was just a small group of thousands up and down the country who would’ve read the article, who would believe that Harry was indeed a murderer.
“You don’t think he did it then?” she asked as the barman came near enough to her that they wouldn’t be overheard.
“I didn’t say that, but those people he killed weren’t ministry officials. It’s those little shits that wander around out there in their dark robes,” he added, nodding towards the door. “As far as I’m concerned, the world needs less people like that, and more like Potter. Here, this one is on the house.”
He refilled her glass before serving another customer, and Nymphadora kept listening to the conversations around her.
Yes, the people here may have had their minds changed, but it meant little in the grand scheme of things. Simply put, Harry would be unable to show his face in public without Voldemort knowing the exact moment he did so, which meant that the war had somehow become all the more dangerous for the young man.
(Break)
He was zoomed so closely on Runcorn’s face with the omnioculars that he could count every last blemish of the man. When he adjusted them, it was to find him talking with another, one that Harry did not recognise.
What he had noticed thus far was that Albert Runcorn was purely business. There were no pleasantries exchanged with any he spoke with, only instructions given rather tersely.
He’d made a note of it already, and any habits or ticks.
Runcorn would routinely rub his nose, and frown whenever he spoke with any of his colleagues, which was quite the revelation for Harry if he was to impersonate him well enough not to raise suspicion.
He needed to know the man, his ways, and anything that would help him gain access to the ministry, so, for another morning or so, he would be following Hermione’s lead in observing him.
For now, however, he needed to speak with the twins and Ron, to begin putting their other plan into motion, and his recently declared status among the public might well just prove to be most useful.
Shooting a final glance towards Runcorn, he apparated away, appearing at the rear of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes only a moment later.
“Ah, I thought I heard your gentle arrival,” one of the twins greeted him when he’d knocked on the door. “Come on, there’s no customers, so you’re safe from the vigilant public in here.”
He entered to find the other twin and Ron fulfilling some orders, both stopping their work as they spotted him.
“What do you think?”
He could only shake his head at the framed copy of The Daily Prophet hanging on the wall. Of course, the Weasleys would see the humour and irony in the situation, just as he had.
“It’s not straight,” he replied with a shrug, “but we can use all of this to our advantage,” he added, nodding towards the map sprawled across the table. “I think a few sightings of the countries most wanted man might be exactly what we need.”
The twins grinned gleefully, and even Ron nodded his approval.
“You know, I always thought you were a bit mad, Harry,” the latter sighed, “but now I know you’re completely bloody mental.”
“That’s what it will take to win this war,” Harry returned.
It would.
He needed to be as ambitious and as cunning as Riddle if he was going to win this, and already Harry had realised that killing the Dark Lord would only be the beginning.
There were some most unpleasant elements of wizarding society in Britain which had festered beneath the surface all these years but had readily rallied around the Dark Lord when he’d returned.
No, ridding the country of Voldemort was just one facet of this war, and though he knew he could not fix all of the country’s problems, he could make some headway for those whose job it would be when this was all said and done.
“So, when are we doing this?”
“Why not tonight?” Harry suggested eagerly, keen to continue his own campaign against Riddle..
“Tonight,” the twins agreed, with Ron nodding along.
“Tonight,” he added.
(Break)
“You’re quiet today, Graves,” Duggan commented, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“I’m just watching.”
“Watching?”
“How they go about their lives, unburdened and free from persecution. We are gifted with incredible power, Duggan, and yet, it is us who hides from them.”
Duggan frowned as he nodded, his own gaze falling upon the passing muggles.
“It’s just the way of the world,” he said dismissively. “It’s no business of mine, Graves.”
Gellert nodded.
Duggan wasn’t so bright and certainly wasn’t capable of critical thought, not unless a seed was planted. With a wand, he was one of the best and would be useful if he could see the light.
“Should it be?” he probed.
“What do you mean?”
“Shouldn’t it be us able to roam freely, use our magic, and live our lives without fear of persecution.”
Duggan took another bite of his sandwich.
“In an ideal world, Graves, yes, but the MACUSA won’t ever allow it.”
“Well, if the right people were made to see it our way, they would.”
Duggan frowned as he shook his head.
“You’d need a majority ruling at the very least, and more than likely a unanimous one. Not even the president can get that with the simplest of changes. No, there’s no chance of that, Graves, not without absolute power.”
On the surface, he was absolutely correct, but Gellert was not one to shy away from such a challenge, not when it came to bringing his vision to life.
“Maybe you’re right,” he sighed. “Maybe it is just a dream, but if there was someone who could make it happen…”
“They’d get a lot of support, of course, just not enough.”
“Then it seems that there is something resembling hope.”
Duggan watched him for a moment before speaking.
“Do you know something I don’t?”
Gellert shook his head.
“Just a rumour I’ve heard.”
“A rumour.”
“Of someone who hopes to see what we’ve been discussing become reality.”
Duggan nodded as he watched the muggles going about their business.
“Could be an interesting person to meet,” he mused aloud, “but he won’t have it easy.”
“From what I hear, he’s more than capable of getting things done.”
“We will see, I suppose, won’t we? People like that come around every once in a while, but they get silenced quickly enough. Anyway, we need to get back on patrol. You know, you don’t strike me as someone who would blindly follow someone else, Graves.”
“I wouldn’t,” Gellert agreed, “not unless they proved to be worthy of my loyalty.”
“Well, whoever this guy is must be quite something if he’s gotten your attention. My only question is, why haven’t you brought him in? No one knows you, Graves, not really, but we all know how by the book you play things.”
Perhaps the man was sharper than Gellert had given him credit for.
“Maybe I’m like you, Duggan. Maybe I believe in a vision of new world.”
Duggan chuckled.
“I’m not the only one who has thought about it. This idea isn’t exactly a new one, Graves.”
Gellert fought the urge to grin victoriously.
“Of course it isn’t, and I’m not judging. If you remember, I raised this topic. Come on, we still have our jobs to do.”
He began walking away from the coffee shop they’d stopped at, and Duggan followed behind him, undoubtedly playing back the conversation they’d just shared.
Planting the seed.
He had not done so in the way he’d expected, and he’d learned that there was more support already than he’d anticipated.
Now, it was time to cultivate that, and Duggan was a good a place to start as any. He may be a small fish in a very big pond, but he was connected enough that Gellert could meet others more useful to him through the man.
It would take time. He’d always known that, but given how the conversation with Duggan had gone, perhaps not as much time as he’d initially thought to truly begin his campaign.
(Break)
“Tonight,” the Dark Lord assuaged. “I don’t see any reason why they cannot feed tonight.”
Greyback had become rather intolerable these past months since his pack had arrived. With each full moon that came and went, his frustration had mounted, but it had not been the right time to allow him to unleash is pack on the people of Britain.
Now, however, he needed the country to turn to the Ministry of Magic in an hour of need, needed them to put their faith in the system he had created. Of course, he would not tell Greyback of his entire plan, not when the werewolf would be most aggrieved by them.
The hulking man merely grinned in response before leaving the room, and the Dark Lord summoned Yaxley, the very man he needed to execute phase two of what would unfold this evening.
Greyback would get over it. If anything, it would only make him more determined to offer his assistance where and when it was required whilst curbing the urges of his pack.
Perhaps if they saw that Britain was still a most dangerous place for them, Fenrir would not be so eager to hunt every time the full moon came around.
He nodded thoughtfully and gestured for Yaxley to take a seat as he arrived only a moment later.
“Greyback.”
His Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement frowned unhappily.
Most of his followers could not abide the werewolf. They found him, his pack, and their methods to be rather distasteful, even if useful at times.
“My lord?”
“He will be feeding tonight, but, I want his venture to be put to a stop quickly, Yaxley.”
The man nodded his understanding.
“Just give me a place, my lord, and I will see it done.”
“None of your people are to be recognised.”
Yaxley frowned before a smile crested his lips.
“Of course, my lord.”
(Break)
“You do realise that this has to be one of the stupidest ideas you’ve ever had, don’t you?”
Harry shook his head.
“Azkaban was even more stupid,” he pointed out, eliciting a glare from the woman.
“Idiot,” Hermione sighed. “I don’t suppose you’re going to change your mind.”
“Nope.”
Having made the necessary arrangements, he arrived at the gates of Hogwarts, but instead of entering the school, he made his way towards the nearby village, making no effort to cover his face.
Tonight, he would learn how quickly the ministry would respond to his presence, how many people they would send, and whether or not Tom himself would arrive to support them.
Harry didn’t think so.
Each and every time he had done so thus far, it had not ended favourably for him. Still, that didn’t change Fate. One day, maybe sooner than either of them expected, there would be a reckoning between them.
Tonight, however, Harry could not feel that it would come, but he could not deny that there was something in the air. It wasn’t until he reached the village and that feeling grew stronger that he realised there was something else other than his own plan afoot.
Before he could contemplate changing his mind, however, someone had evidently already noted his presence, and he found himself needing to defend himself from a sudden onslaught of spells.
How many there were, he couldn’t be sure, but his one saving grace was that nothing sent his way was immediately lethal, and as expected, the response came swiftly.
Dawlish, and the others lying in wait struck back, and in only a matter of a few seconds, Harry found himself caught between two warring forces. Worse yet, from what he could see, whilst his own men were dressed in their own civilian clothing, those attacking them were garbed in the red robes of the aurors.
Harry could not fathom what was happening, but it had done so much quicker than he’d expected.
Had he underestimated how quickly and heavily the response to him being sighted would be?
He didn’t know, but for now, that wasn’t what he was focused on. No, he needed to find his way out of the very centre of what was unfolding around him.
With that in mind, he diverted a trio of spells sent towards him back towards the casters before ducking into a nearby alley where he was granted a reprieve.
This had not gone as he’d intended, and now that he was not under constant fire, he was able to take in what was happening around him.
Although most were indeed wearing the red robes, there were those in the usual darker colours.
It made no sense to Harry, but it was something he would need to ponder when all was said and done. He needed to ensure Dawlish and the others were not overwhelmed before he could consider what had seemingly gone so wrong.
(Break)
“My Lord, Potter is in Hogsmeade!”
“He’s what!”
“The alert came through five minutes ago, and well, my men responded to it before I could tell them to stand down,” Yaxley explained.
The Dark Lord could only shake his head.
“Potter,” he growled.
Even when he wasn’t trying to, he somehow found a way to interfere in his plans. It was a most irksome thing the Dark lord had noticed about his foe. He had quite the proclivity of being exactly where he wasn’t wanted.
Nonetheless, this was not an opportunity to be missed, and though he’d not prepared for blasted boys’ presence, he’d inadvertently put himself in quite the predicament.
The very thought of what was to come brought a smile to his lips.
“Your men are still fighting with him.”
“And the former aurors who are with him.”
“Your men a faring well?”
“We have the numbers, my lord. Scabior arrived quickly enough to see to that.”
The Dark Lord nodded.
“And soon enough, they will be set upon by the waiting werewolves,” he chuckled.
“My lord, Greyback and his pack will run amok. They won’t care about who it is they are attacking. Your plan is in shambles.”
“Well, that just means there is a new plan, Yaxley. Scabior and his men are expecting the werewolves, but Potter isn’t. Besides, it will be worth the sacrifice if we are able to thin the number of our enemies.”
Yaxley grimaced but nodded his agreement.
“It will be, my lord.”
“Then we allow the plan to proceed, only now, there is much more to be gained from it.”
Yes, Potter’s arrival was unfortunate in a way, but so long as the aftermath was handled correctly, it might just prove to be a blessing in disguise.
(Break)
Those within The Three Broomsticks and any other establishment that remained open at this hour had barricaded themselves within the buildings, but Harry did not miss the concerned faces staring out into the village from the windows.
For Harry’s part, he had managed to ensure he could not be inundated by several attackers at once by sequestering himself in a narrow enough alley that no more than two or three at most could engage him.
Of course, fending off so many was far from ideal, but given all he’d been working on so diligently these past couple of years, he could manage.
Still, it did not escape his notice that when he managed to fell one, another took their place, and he was under no illusion that he could do this indefinitely. Even so, it was preferable to being out in the open where dictating the pace of the fight was impossible.
Not that being pinned down was that much better. He was still dealing with onslaught upon onslaught of spells, but it wasn’t him falling victim to them. No, when he could not offer his own, it was simple enough to deflect the non-lethal offerings back towards his attackers.
However, when he was granted even the briefest of seconds to fight back, his own magic did so readily, fatally, and without prejudice. Such a moment came as he returned a curse that would twist his spleen painfully, and as the man who’d cast it towards him doubled over in agony, Harry’s follow-up spell tore through him and three of his companions, leaving behind only a pile of rotten bones devoid of any flesh or sinew.
That certainly served to get the attention of the others, who hesitated to continue with their efforts, to their detriment.
Harry’ next curse, a ball of fire so dark that it seemed to suck in any light around it set several more ablaze.
The screams that escaped them were bloodcurdling, and they threw themselves to the ground, rolling around in a bid to snuff the flames.
It didn’t work, and any who attempted to assist them found themselves engulfed, forcing the others to step back, eyeing their dying comrades fearfully.
Nonetheless, Harry was not able to mount an escape, not without finding himself surrounded once more, and given that he did not know how Dawlish and the others were faring, he would not risk making himself so vulnerable.
No, that wouldn’t do. Besides, there was more fight within him than his attackers could begin to comprehend.
If anything, he was only just getting warmed up.
(Break)
“Fucking hell,” Jon cursed, ducking behind a wall as a flurry of spells were sent towards him and those he’d grouped with. “Less than one minute.”
That was how long it had taken for Voldemort’s men to arrive, take up their positions, and begin their attack. Not even the aurors on their best days could muster up such a response.
No, something wasn’t right about this.
They had to have been here even before Potter arrived, which meant something else was afoot, or there had been a leak. Someone close to Potter must have said something, but John could not imagine anyone he’d brought in his confidence doing so.
It didn’t make sense, nor did those they were facing wearing the distinct red robes of the aurors. They had not done so until tonight, and John couldn’t help but think that they had not initially been here to get to Potter.
This was far too organised, had been planned in advance, but to what end?
John didn’t know, but as he raised his head over the wall to engage another target, he found himself defending against a rather vicious smelting charm that would have burned the flesh from his bones.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen this spell.
He may have been a rookie during the first war, but he’d seen more than his fair share of violence, and that particular spell was a favourite among the Death Eaters.
With a flourish of his own wand, he sent his response; a most unpleasant shredding curse which caught his assailant on the shoulder, forcing a scream from him.
He collapsed to the ground desperately clutching at the wound and was pulled away by one of his companions. For him, the fighting was over, but there were many more that seemed intent on taking advantage of the opportunity that had seemingly come to them unexpectedly.
What they were doing here in the first place was far from his mind as he focused on the continuing violence, only for it to suddenly shift once more as another sound echoed over the din, another thing familiar from the first war against the Dark Lord.
“Werewolves,” he whispered. “WEREWOLVES!”