Violence Inherent in the System
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Chap. 16: Violence Inherent in the System
Harry ducked under another spell, trying not to focus on Hermione's still glowing form, or the Fiendfyre she was still visibly struggling to control. He risked a glance after sending a trio of Cutting spells toward the window he'd been most recently attacked from.
She was still focused, intent, nearly snarling with her beautiful vinewood wand shaking with the force of her magic... but she was not struggling as much as before. He could feel that too across their secondary bond: She was starting to relax, just a little, from the hyper-intense concentration. Was she tiring...?
Or... Was she winning the battle against a near-malevolent arcano-natural force of nature itself? Against a spell even powerful, fully-accomplished and even noted spellcasters struggled to control?
Fuck, she's amazing, Harry thought, before forcing his own attention and focus to the battle. He was nearly there. A few more spells flashed back and forth between he, Sirius, and Kingsley, as his focus recentered itself on the task at hand. Harry knew full well he was no soldier, and bristled at having to follow orders when his own instinct screamed at him to protect Hermione, and secondarily to utterly destroy Severus Snape.
But he cared about Kingsley, too, and everyone else the Death Eaters, that Voldemort, had been keeping captive for who knew how long. They deserved a real chance at freedom, and Harry knew full well that their best shot was success today.
So he would do as he was told, for now, and be a good soldier. Even if the dragon really needed to be dealt with. Ron was there, Remus was there, and six other fully-trained witches and wizards. They could surely (he hoped) handle it. And if not, well... Hermione could probably destroy it herself with the fiendish spell she had released. Not that he wanted that on her conscience, the poor thing had likely been abused enough.
Another Death Eater, scarred and cruel-looking, died at his wand, at his intent, with a red circle that appeared right at the center of his forehead. He fell back with a spray of blood ahead of him, vanishing from view. The last defender, he thought, of that particular room in Malfoy Manor. At least, spell-fire had stopped coming toward him. "Let me clear the room," he called to Kingsley, "Then I'll go flank them once I get through the window!"
"Good idea," Kingsley grunted back between Shield Charms and his own offensive spells that flew faster than Harry could keep track of, the experienced Auror's wand moved in a near ballet-like dance of perfect precision, with one movement flowing into the next. It left him in a bit of awe, or would have if Harry had the time to process the information. He was even faster than Moody!
He still had a job to do, though. Harry sent a barrage of cutting curses, as powerful as he could make them, through the walls on either side of the two large windows as he dashed the last few feet toward the nearest one. No cries of pain sounded, so Harry, after taking a deep breath, pushed his head through the broken glass. Six bodies... none moving except for one feeble shift of a leg.
"Stupefy!" Then Harry repeated the spell at the rest, just in case. He couldn't tell if the magic had taken effect or not, he was far from that advanced at spellcraft, but no body so much as twitched. They were, he knew, likely all dead.
He was having a hard time caring, or feeling bad.
Less so when the dragon's body rolled toward him suddenly, taking two interior walls with it in a blaze of fire. As he hurled himself back away from the house, glad he hadn't just dived into the room, Harry's adrenaline-soaked brain conjured an old saying he'd heard once about plans, and never surviving contact with an enemy force.
What the fuck are you doing, you idiot?! Ron thought to himself as he ran full-tilt toward the fucking dragon.
Charlie would have his hide. His mother would literally skin the red chitin shell from his body just to tan it!
Why was he charging a dragon?!
Because he could. Because he had to. Because Hermione could (apparently) defend herself quite adequately against a dozen spells a second, but unless she wanted to kill the creature, which looked like it had been tortured into compliance and was now desperate to simply escape, it would continue to wreak havoc until it had climbed out of the hole leading down into the basement.
Maybe he could facilitate that, in time.
But for now, he had to keep her safe, keep the dragon's attention. His shell might protect him. And if not, well... he was, at least, better able to absorb physical blows than any other wizard he knew. Better than Hermione, for certain.
So he ran toward one of the most deadly creatures in the world as if he were invulnerable. Maybe he was. He could vaguely remember Lilith saying something once about her own hide being at least a little resistant to fire.
Which proved helpful quickly. Hermione was definitely in better control of her own inferno, now, because it shaped itself away from him as he continued to run, his tall body moving like a machine despite still not being used to his newfound height. The dragon, however, immediately identified him as a threat. Ron could tell, because the moment he started running at it instead of away, the great, green-scaled, horned head snapped toward him as reptilian eyes snapped straight onto him. Then it bellowed, inhaled, and before he could take a dozen steps, a quarter of the distance to the wall Hermione was burning down, it exhaled even more forcefully.
The gout of flame was, Ron was sure, about to be his last sight, a towering, swirling mass of blue-white-orange-yellow, with more magical fire behind it.
It was not. He barreled through, his eyes scrunched shut, his skin blistered with heat, or so he imagined. It took three seconds, he counted, before the blast was gone by, or maybe he'd passed beneath it. Ron looked down... his skin was indeed red, blistering already. The shell was cracked and dry... but he was alive. His eyes still worked, and while the next breath he took in was ragged, painfully hot, it still brought life-giving oxygen.
He had, somehow, survived a full-on dragon's breath.
Ron grinned, knowing Charlie would never believe him... but what a story that would be later! It still hurt like hell, and he wanted to cry with the pain of it. He certainly wouldn't be repeating it any time soon! But he was alive, damn it, and he still had work to do. ... Okay, so his wand was smoldering in his grip, but the magical wood was still intact, too. "Relashio! Incarcerous! Confringo! Reducto! Relashio! Fuck, what was that spell.. oh, yeah! Conjuctivus!"
Most of his spells simply rebounded off the dragon's magically-resistant hide, through the Blasting Curse caught it in the soft part of the neck, and it howled in pain toward the sky as he continued to run. The eye-gouging charm missed, of course, but only by a hair as it recoiled, slashing into the scales just below the dragon's right eye. It roared again and toppled, off-balance, to escape the dangerous vulnerability dragons knew all too well about after several centuries of wizard-kind using that spell in particular to control or threaten them.
Back into the house with a crash, tearing apart floors, walls, smashing furniture, and maybe even crushing a few Death Eaters if he was lucky.
Then Ron was there, hurling himself over the outer wall that had been devastated by spells, Fiendfyre, and a dragon's tail.
He punched the first spot he could see, as hard as he could: the underside of its belly.
His fist nearly broke from the force of it, and he heard another crack in his Hellhide shell, but the dragon howled in pain, too. Ron grinned, "Got you, fucker! Get out of here! Fly away while you can, dragon!"
Oh, was that Harry just through that window beyond the dragon?
"Hi, Harry! Having fun, yet?"
Harry snorted at his best mate's shouted question as he fought back to his feet, deflecting another spell almost idly from the far side of the manor, which had yet to be breached by their forces. It had been more intact to begin with, and thus provided more cover. It only made sense... especially without the massive inferno and the dragon, too, on the side Ron had come in from. "You made it in safely, I see!"
"Before you, at least," Ron called, as the dragon rolled to its feet, somehow, and hunched before launching itself into the air.
Dust and debris clouded everything for several seconds, and Harry threw himself back-first against the house while using an arm to shield his face as it roared again, then took off. "Problem for the Obliviators and Magical Beast division, now," Kingsley shouted, "Harry! I'm at the door, are you coming?"
"Be right there! Had to wait for that lug to get out of the way!" Then Harry leaped through the window head-first, tucking himself into a roll on the broken glass and even worse wood splinters that were left by the dragon's fall and then takeoff. He barely cleared the corpse of his most recent target, pushing any regret there, if there was any, far from his mind.
As he stood up, he found Ron there, his shelled form abused, burned, even still smoking, but smiling as he reached out a hand to clasp. "Hermione, right? Scary! Brilliant, but scary!"
"Definitely," Harry replied with a grin himself as he looked past the magical inferno to their shared lover, "Merlin, she's impressive."
"Damned straight," Ron laughed, then turned toward the house. They could see three floors above-ground, several rooms exposed, debris hanging both from the earlier blast now three or so weeks old, and the more recent attacks. High overhead, the dragon soared, twisting in flight to bend south-east, away from the battle.
"They're inside, near the dragon's pen," a female voice shouted, "Time to get underground! All you idiots still fighting, get downstairs! Time to fortify until the Dark Lord sends reinforcements- we gotta hold off ten more minutes!"
The two friends exchanged a look. Ron was the first to say it, "Trap?"
"Probably," Harry agreed, then looked toward Sirius and Remus as the two stormed into the room, wands drawn. "Kingsley's just through there," Harry pointed, lowering his own from his godfather.
"Right, kiddo," Sirius nodded, then looked to Remus, "Where'd the bat go?"
The former DADA Professor shrugged, "I can't smell him over the smoke and fire anyway, but he disappeared. Maybe Disapparated. He's not here anymore, I think. Bastard."
"Damn," Sirius muttered, "Was really hoping to bring Snivellus down a peg or ten. Damn, damn... Ah, well. Still more Death Eaters to hunt."
"More people to rescue," Remus reminded him seriously, as the pair looked to Ron and Harry. "You two... remind me too much of a younger Sirius and James, sometimes. Only I'm not sure which is which, with you looking like that, Ron. Which we're going to have to talk about. You know, as a creature specialist DADA teacher, and all."
"Sure, Professor," Ron agreed with a snort of his own, "But maybe later, yeah?"
Then, as one, the four of them started into the house. They met up with Kingsley a moment later, who was looking a bit cut up and bruised, who was holding a hand over his ribs, but still definitely on his feet as he stepped over seven Death Eater bodies in the entryway.
Once more and more members of the Order of the Phoenix met up with them, clearing the upper sections of the house became easier. No one, Harry included, thought it was a good idea to charge the now-fortified main entrance to the basement.
Anyone so much as holding a hat over the stairwell was met with a barrage of intense spellfire that even Moody flinched back from.
Harry was a bit worried to see that, though the Fiendfyre was much smaller now, it still burned on the far corners of the house from where sixteen of their allies had gathered. Three teams of two guarded smaller entrances or suspected bolt-holes, two supplied by Mr. Weasley's knowledge of the house from previous raids, and another that Mad-Eye had pointed out during their quick planning session the day before, which led out into the woods surrounding part of the property.
"How are we going to breach that?" Kingsley muttered, looking around the group. They'd been stymied for more than five minutes now. Even combined shield charms only lasted a few seconds against the return barrage. No one even had a good estimate of how many witches or wizards were still down there, because of course this was one of the sections Mad-Eye's eye couldn't see into.
Harry, at least, had an idea. It was crazy, but... "Lilith. How many people can you take with Shadowstep? I'm thinking me and Ron, at least. Maybe Hermione. Less than fifty feet."
The response wasn't long, since he knew the Succubus was close, keeping an eye on things while invisible. "I could maybe take you and Ron, Master, but I doubt I could manage all three at once. If I could do one at a time, it might take... fifteen to twenty seconds, all-told."
"Not fast enough," he sent back, "I'm thinking of a three-person squad taking down these defenders from the back. At least to buy time for the others to get down here. Me and Ron together might do it, though. His armor's beaten up, but it's still holding, and he seems alright. In pain, but he'll live."
"Alright, Master. There's something about this place that bothers me, but I'll be right there. I'm sure it's nothing." As promised, a few seconds later, several Order members jumped, a few yelped in surprise, as the Succubus appeared in her usual swirl of pink smoke, battle-form on display.
Harry grinned as he picked up on some of the stray emotions her appearance caused in the group, but forced himself to adopt a more serious expression as he looked to Moody and Kingsley, who were jointly in charge. "She can get Ron and I inside. Maybe Hermione too, once she gets the Fiendfyre under control."
"She'll be exhausted," Moody replied sourly, "Spell like that takes a lot out of you. No good in a fight after that. What's your play, then?"
Ignoring Arthur, Sirius, and Remus' looks of disapproval, Harry outlined his plan quickly, "We appear behind them, take out as many as we can, but mostly just provide a distraction while your team storms the barricades. Hopefully we'll only have to hold a few seconds. We'll have to rely on your Hellhide a lot, Ron."
"I'm up to it," his friend replied confidently, lifting a fist in front of his face and clenching it tightly so that the shell clacked and creaked, "I've already shrugged off dozens of spells. If it hits the armor, they basically do nothing. Even my skin's tougher, kind of like Hagrid's, I guess."
Arthur sighed as the two Aurors turned to him. "I don't like it... but Ron's of-age and knew what he was getting into. It's his decision. And I can't argue it might be our only chance to get those people out of here alive, if they even are."
"Hasn't occurred to 'em to use the prisoners as hostages," Moody snorted, "there's no one even in the cell block aside from the prisoners themselves."
"Then it's our perfect chance," Harry asserted, "if they're all gathered up at the bottom of the staircase... How far out do we jump, and in what direction, Mad-Eye?"
After that, things moved quickly. Moody was able to quickly help Lilith triangulate a precise spot where they were likely to not appear directly in sight of the Death Eaters, since he could actually see it and it seemed to be around a couple of corners. Once she, Ron, and Harry were clasping hands, Mad-Eye reminded them, "Straight down from there, sixteen feet. Didn't see any space-expansion magic, but you never know. If you appear inside a wall, not my fault."
"Can't," Harry replied. He was going to explain more about what he knew of the Succubus' teleportation magic, but they were already gone, into that strange, shadowy reflection of reality that also somehow bordered their own world.
He felt more than heard Ron gasp beside him; he'd never traveled this way before and Lilith had given them no warning at all. Then, what felt like exactly three heartbeats later, they were in 'their' reality again, in a sumptuously appointed bedroom.
He and Ron lifted their wands at once, both their eyes and Harry's empathic feelings reaching out for anyone, any threat, in the room as Lilith's magic pulsed, and her flaming whip and a fireball appeared in either hand.
Nothing.
Yet, his eyes caught on one thing: A photograph on a table beside the unmade bed: a red-haired woman with green eyes. A woman he recognized at once, though he could not recall seeing her this way in person, in color.
He had seen Lilith take her form, though.
"That's my mother," Harry whispered, pointing, "Which means... this room was Snape's. We can't destroy anything in here."
"Right," Ron nodded, "Might be traps, anyway."
Harry nodded, but he couldn't stop himself from crossing the space and lifting the framed photograph, then tucking it inside his robes for safekeeping. It was a photo he'd never even seen, one that was not in his still slowly-expanding photo album of his parents. Grainy, poor quality, but still unmistakably Lily Potter.
Harry swallowed and fought back sudden tears as he felt Ron's hand hit one shoulder. "They're waiting."
Harry nodded. "Right."
The door opened quietly. They crept through the hallways, Moody's hurried instructions echoing in Harry's mind. Left, then right. Left, then right. Left, then right.
And they were there. Fifteen Death Eaters, more than they had expected, crouched, stood, or even lay on the floor, with wands pointed through narrow slits. They hadn't heard anything. The two young men shared a look, then with the Succubus, whose pretty lips shifted into a vicious snarl. Harry held up three fingers. Lowered one. And the last.
Then Death Eaters started to die.