AN: *Insert huffy disclaimer here*
AN2: Warning! Fairly explicit violence in this chapter, and scenes that may be distressing to those who suffer from PTSD or other such infirmities.
-:-
Chapter Nineteen: Confrontation
A few dozen miles south of Dover the cliffs rise clean out of the sea. Sheer white faces of stone that resist the battering of the ocean. Stretching out from Dover the English Channel spans the distance between England and France. Normally the base of the Dover cliffs is churned with the raging sea and devoid of life lest it be swept into the jagged rocks below.
But on this most auspicious of mornings those cliffs were not bare. No, they were crawling with dark shapes, barely visible to the naked eye in the gloom. Closer inspection of these crawling creatures would reveal six limbed beings of slender, elongated form. Sightless, lacking of ears and snout, possessing jaws shaped more like a pair of claws than an actual mouth; lacking both a tongue and any kind of digestive opening.
They were hideous creatures, and yet strangely beautiful. Identical all of them, and plated in thick resinous layer, quite unlike skin, and yet not quite armour. Their motions were unnatural, jerky, like those of an insect, and yet rapid, like those of a sprinting lizard.
They didn't tire, they didn't cease and they didn't even so much as slow. They just crawled over the rock and into the grass at the top of the cliffs. Each of them was about the size of a large alligator, but taller at the shoulder, nearly a meter.
There were dozens, but they were the first, only the first of many. After them came humans, pallid with hours underwater, their skin dripping with grime and sand, their mouths unleashing a flood of water from their mouths as they climb the vertical rocky slope with inhuman strength. After them came more of the darker shapes, like men but eight foot tall and possessed of two sets of multi jointed arms.
They moved much like the first group, jerky, fast, agile and unnatural. Their claws dug deeply into the rock and moved more with upper body strength than lower; hauling themselves up the cliffs instead of truly climbing them.
They climbed, all of them did, and they disappeared into the grass and, moments later, most of them simply became invisible, the humans shook themselves off, smothered themselves in some kind of magic, and then appeared as normal human beings. Finally, one last figure ascended the cliff face.
He strode out of the ocean with even slow steps; walking up the surface of the cliff as easily as if it was flat ground. It was very obviously male, and wearing a tailored suit. A bone dry, tailored suit.
He crested the cliff and swung smoothly into a standing position; just vertical now, instead of horizontal. His suit, while tailored, was done so to a standard of time several hundred years behind the norm. No hat was on his head, his hair slicked back with grease of providence best not known.
Faces can tell a lot about a person, laugh lines, frown lines, pits, scars, creases and wrinkles. The story told by this man's face was time. The face was ageless, mid-forties perhaps, smooth, free of scars, wrinkles, lines of laugher and rage were both non-existent. Yet it had unmistakable marks of time. Crow's feet deep set at the eyes, lips cracked and dry, cheekbones hollowed from the wasting of muscle, and skin loose at the throat.
What were really unsettling about the face though were the man's eyes. Devoid of iris or sclera they were simple black orbs staring out unblinking from that ageless visage. His lips curled into a too-wide smile and he slowly faded from sight from the feet up. The last thing to disappear was his soulless black orbs.
-:-
Further North a ferry was docking with the harbour. Port authorities ignored it, civilians couldn't see it. For the rest of the day men came off the boat in ones and twos and disappeared into the city. Some would head north, others west. Some towards London, others would take a flight to Wales. All in all two hundred and seventy three men would step off the gangplank and practically vanish into suburban England; waiting until they were needed.
Each of the men wore the exact same uniform, thick boots, a long black woollen coat with silver fittings, black trousers, a crimson shirt under a black waistcoat and a thin bladed sword strapped at the hip. The Knights of Walpurgis had arrived in England.
-:-
"Walpurgisnacht, Night of Walpurgis in German, named after Abbess Walpurga. The Muggles know it is a traditional witch revel, up cavorting around on hilltops lighting bonfires and such. The true story of course is a bit darker. Abbess Walpurga was a demonologist of the first order despite her missionary front, and perfected the ancient Babylonian rites for summoning demons. On the thirtieth of April in 872 AD the Abbess performed a rite involving the sacrifice of thirty six witches, volunteers all."
He took a breath and Hermione interjected sharply
"Sirius, why thirty six? And why witches?"
He rolled his jaw, unused to monologue. It was barely four am and already the regiment was up and about. This briefing had to be held now, before they were in combat. And he was the only one who could do it.
"Thirty six is the square of six, six of course is the 'Devil's number', Harry, what significance does the number six have in summoning rituals arithmantically?"
Sirius watched in fascination as Harry's brain thrummed into action. He noted Hermione's half glance towards her man, he wondered briefly if they were communicating.
"It's a multiple of two; two signifies the link between two people, in this case the summoner and the summoned. It's three times that number, three represents the soul. In the case of a summoning ritual the soul is often used as a temporary currency, spend a part of your soul to tether the summoned object to whatever you want, then whenever the being is returned to wherever it came from you get that bit of your soul back, though it's worth mentioning that if you die before your servant, it'll feed on the rest of your soul for the rest of eternity. Keeping that in mind six is the quintessential number, arithmantically speaking, for summoning rituals. A multiple of that, especially a square of that, would give greater control over whatever was being summoned, and the potential for the summoning of a much more powerful entity."
Sirius wagged a finger at his godson and grinned, but the assembled regiment didn't return the gesture, they all looked grim.
"Exactly right. As for why witches, as opposed to wizards I'm guessing?"
A taut nod from Hermione confirmed his guess.
"Probably more a case of superstition than anything else: Boiled down to biological roots women are vessels and caretakers for new life, therefore 'ideal' candidates for possession. As far as the Black Library is concerned it doesn't make one whit of difference but Abbess Walpurga didn't know what we know now. Anyway."
He took a moment to recollect his thoughts before continuing.
"So Walpurga conducts the most powerful summoning ritual since the time of Solomon but it goes horribly awry; the sacrifices die before the fact, the summoning fails, and Abbess Walpurga gets sucked into some ethereal dimension never to be seen again."
He gestures with one hand, as if to say 'moving on along'
"Skip forward half a century and Gellert Grindlewald is really starting to break into his magical stride. He hasn't broached upon necromancy yet but he does discover the site of Walpurga's failed ritual five hundred years earlier. He digs around a bit in local magical lore and stumbles upon a discovery that will spark one of the most violent and universal magical wars the world has ever seen.
In the next four hundred years of study Grindlewald recedes from the public eye, forsakes all other connections and friendships, and sinks deeper and deeper into the nature of demons and the rites involved in summoning them. He became obsessed with recreating the ritual that Abbess Walpurga failed to complete back in the ninth century. He discovered necromancy not long after he started to get thick into the more intense summoning rituals.
The diaries recovered after the war don't give us a lot of information about the next couple of centuries, my late father hypothesised that he spent more of his time experimenting than documenting during this period, and travelling about the world. His diary taking was sporadic at best even in times of relative relaxation let alone the intense experimentation and study he might have been involved in during this time. In the early twentieth century just as he was closing on the exact ritual the Abbess was attempting to perform he formed, in secret, The Knights Walpurgis. It wouldn't be an official organization until nearly thirty years later but he brought new recruits into the fold two at a time for over a decade.
They were all like-minded individuals, those willing to risk a portion of their souls in return for demonic servants. Eventually he had his army, all five thousand of the bastards. And he waged a war on the European magicals that lasted for over a decade. Most of the Knights were wiped out during that period; most of the ones who survived have since died. But Dumbledore reckons, and I'm inclined to believe him, that there are still over two hundred, closet to three hundred, Knights still in action, and they could be rallying to Valmortis' banner.
Thing is, it's not just the Knights we have to deal with. Like their master they're summoners, prepared to barter a part of their soul for demonic servants. As such you all need to learn how to fight them. First thing's first; everything you think you know from biblical lore? Abandon it, the Christians in the post Roman Era were fond of making themselves look 'bigger' than the pagan religions of the time by pretending they had the answers to dealing with demons."
The Regiment was silent, on the edge of their seats. This was serious business, not just a history lesson anymore.
"To fight a demon first you need to understand what they are. They were called daemons by the Romans; which obviously lost a vowel when it made the transition to English. Cultures all over the world have been encountering these things for millennia; the Babylonian Alu's, Indian Rakshasas the spirits of the Nordic Nifelheim. Fortunately this means there is an astounding amount of information about such an obscure group of creatures. The lesser forms don't have souls, because of that they're perfectly uniform and have no sense of self, no personality.
They can be separated into distinct groups; Hellhounds, named because of their vaguely dog like shape. They're created when a soul is destroyed and the magic inside has nowhere else to go. It clumps together and becomes incredibly dense. Eventually it condenses into something much more dangerous.
They don't have personalities, identities, so they're easy to lead, to control, to order around, they don't have a purpose beyond what they're told to do by those who've lasted longer. Of course, the purpose of any being is to perpetuate its kind, and in the case of demons, they need to destroy more souls. Hellhounds will try to kill a human being. Once that's done they destroy the soul of the person they killed, and the magic released makes them more powerful, converts them into a soldier demon. They're humanoid, probably because of the human soul they consumed. It changes their appearance to something akin to an ape. Eight foot tall, powerful, four arms, two legs.
They are what it says on the tin, soldiers, they go to war, fight, die, and hopefully kill as many humans as they can. They do so by tearing the soul from the body and shoving themselves in, possessing the body of the person they killed. The soul is often pounced on by hellhounds hoping to… upgrade? Possessed humans are honestly the least dangerous, they're strong, but only to the very limits of biology, they're naturally vulnerable to the same things a human is, decapitation, having the heart ripped out, de limbing, and bleeding out. They'll feed on souls for a long damn time, building their power, eventually they'll have enough to be classed as a greater demon.
There's not a whole lot of lore about them and they tend to stick to themselves or order around the lesser categories thank Merlin, but they are terrifically dangerous. They have magic of their own and inhabit the body they were in as a soldier demon possessing a human body. But once that body is destroyed they become something altogether more frightening. An arch demon. Only a handful of them have ever been on the Earth because once they hit this form they tend to vanish to someplace else and have to be summoned back. King Solomon was the only one in history who managed to successfully control an Arch Demon for any length of time: Though the lore points to the Abbess Walpurga as attempting to do just that."
Hermione spoke up in a rather hushed voice.
"So that means Grindlewald was trying to do the same, did he succeed?"
Sirius shook his head
"If he had the second world war would have gone a lot differently. Now, there's different ways to deal with each category, and we'll start with the first type: the Hellhounds. Firstly you should always remember that they're made from condensed magic, ectoplasm. As such you can physically impair them with a sorcery shield and magic of all kinds, especially dispelling charms, are incredibly potent. A Finite Maxima will outright banish a Hellhound by forcing the magic that makes it up to dissipate. It's not a permanent solution because the magic will just end up clumping into a hellhound again.
To stop that from happening you need to use a specific charm called the power siphoning charm, the incantation is: absorba, and it will force the latent magic in the air to be sucked into an object, typically this can be a person, a talisman or amulet, or a magical device. My advice is to practise by enchanting a conjured drinking glass, shatter it, and then force the magic that dissipates back into the glass. Repair it, and then start again. Once you get more proficient; practise sucking the magic back into yourself. Start small, and then work up to larger portions. When it comes to actually fighting these things have the entire squad share the load or you'll pass out from the magical overload."
He looked around the room sternly.
"This is serious magic, don't fuck about with it or you'll seriously hurt yourself or someone else, respect it."
He turned to look out the window
"If you're fighting and you need to fight more than one of these things at the same time, work together with your squad mates, shield one another, stop them from getting to you, banish them one at a time. Firing conventional spells won't do a damn thing to them, they're made of magic, and they tend to absorb magic. Conventional weapons like the rifles you use won't make much of a dent either. Bullets rely on damaging internal organs and causing internal bleeding to do their damage. Demons don't have any organs or blood to disrupt so; while you can punch lots of little holes in them you won't achieve much.
Soldier demons are much the same. You'll need to hit them with a couple of banishers each but they'll go down. Possessed humans… This is a sticky issue, but the one thing you need to remember is that, just like undead, those people will never be the same after they've been possessed. The trick is spotting someone who's been possessed. They're going to be completely different from who they were as a human being. Terrible speech patterns, they don't have a great grasp on languages, jerky movements, as if they were still in their demonic bodies. Actually fighting them is easy enough, they die to all the same things humans do, dismemberment and such, use your guns to disable or outright kill them, and finish them off with a blasting sorcel if needed."
He took a breath and ran over the information in his head.
"Greater demons can be a pain in the arse. They're strong, fast and filled to the brim with magic. If you get a clear shot with your weapon or a sorcel, take it. If you can't, run. Keep a minimum fifty meters between you and the thing, that's its danger zone. If you're inside fifty it can kill you before you have time to react. If there's a greater demon on the battlefield get word to Harry and we'll turn the whole Regiment on the bastard. Clear?"
The strong response made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. These were kids, and necessity had turned them into soldiers, killers, professionals.
"As for Arch Demons… Let's just hope they haven't figured out that bit of hocus pocus yet. We're past Walpurgisnacht in the year so there's a chance they have. If one enters the battlefield retreat, don't try and fight it, just retreat. You don't have the magical knowledge needed to deal with one of those."
He resisted the urge to say 'not yet anyway', but felt it would just be bitter sentiment.
"Right, clear up, ready weapons and get your affairs in order. I'm sure Harry has words for you all before deployment, but for now, take a breather."
-:-
It was still well before dawn and Harry was starting to feel nerves. They were actually baiting Voldemort out of his hidey hole. The plan was sound; he shouldn't be able to protect himself from the full firepower of the regiment. But the thing about plans was that they never survived first contact with the enemy, and this was a very, very scary enemy.
He was dressed in travelling clothes but Hermione was in full regalia. She and Parvati would be escorting their 'wounded' squad mate into the ministry where they would be the bait for the trap. The Regiment proper was moving out in twenty minutes to get set up and ready. At about mid-morning one fire team would head to Hogsmeade to 'protect' the station and the train. Hopefully Voldemort would strike soon after and they could close the jaws of the trap around him.
The bed creaked under him slightly as he sat down; he glanced down and noted with a start that his hands were shaking.
"We can still call this off love."
Hermione's soft entreaty flowed over him like water. Her hands grasped his gently, stilling the tremors. He looked up into her face and saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes.
"You don't need to make yourself bait, there'll be another way."
His own voice was croaky as he responded.
"How many more will die before we get another chance? How much blood will be on my hands because of my own cowardice?"
A hint of steel entered her voice and her typically soft eyes turned flinty.
"You are not a coward. You've thrown yourself into more danger for more people than anyone I've ever known. I wish sometimes you were less reckless but then you wouldn't be you Harry, and I couldn't stand that."
Her grip tightened on his hands
"This is nerves sweetheart. This is your body being stressed and it's releasing the tension through your muscles. You've trained for this, you're the most powerful, most skilled and most dangerous man I know Harry."
He heard the words, he understood the words, but they weren't doing anything to his mental state. Images flashed through his mind, the duel in the graveyard, Fleur's apologetic face, the look of shock on her face as she fell to the ground, dead. His problem wasn't facing Voldemort, not really, it was facing her.
Hermione gasped softly and Harry cringed, there was no hiding anything from his bond mate.
"Harry…"
The soft word, choked with emotion cut through his fugue, he looked up to see tears in her eyes, tears of sympathetic pain. He felt the companion emotions flood across from her and his own tears sprung forth. In a moment she was in his arms, holding him tightly even as he held her.
They sat there for a minute or more, just holding one another and letting the forgotten pain ebb away. Eventually Harry managed to choke out a few words.
"So soon after Daphne.. I don't…"
She finished his sentence for him
"You don't know if you can face her again, if she's with them."
"She will be"
"Yes, she will. So what's our plan for dealing with her?"
He looked at her blankly.
"We can deal with this, together. Do you need me to hold on to your emotions for you if she's there?"
He started to nod numbly before angrily shaking his head
"No, no I need to put her down; I need to be in my right head to do it. She deserves that."
She stroked his face lightly, in the same way she had a thousand times before.
"There's another way."
His gaze snapped to hers, hope blazing in his eyes. Information flowed across their link, flooding his mind with knowledge. A grateful smile, small and hesitant, started on his lips. Then it grew and grew till he was near beaming.
"You can do this?"
"I can"
They joined in a kiss so passionate and soulful Harry feared he might be obliterated by the force of it.
Kill, had just become capture.
-:-
Dan Granger, the Captain, looked out across the grassy area behind Potter Manor where the Regimentals were putting in final practise before the ambush later in the day. Harry Hermione and Parvati were already at the ministry; Harry 'being treated' by a glamoured Albus Dumbledore. If Voldemort attacked early and tried to take them by surprise they would be more than able to hold off Voldemort and whatever pet mercenaries he could muster while the rest of the Regiment deployed.
Otherwise the Regiment would deploy as soon as Valmortis got in country; one fire team would head to Hogsmeade and spread out to make it look like a strong Regimental presence there, the rest would ready themselves inside the ministry for Voldemort's attack.
Earlier that morning Susan and Tracey had spoken with the Command Squad to formally change the name of their squad, and the purpose of it. The two girls were already in position, invisible and silenced, in a snipers nest in the upper atrium. They had kicked a clerk out of his office and carefully removed the glass before charming the window to make it look like it was still there. They would have a perfect view of the atrium when it came time to start shooting.
Dan felt nervous about the way those two girls had acted and spoken; it was like they were committing to being Harry's and by extension Hermione's bodyguards. There were a lot of things connoting to that that he wasn't comfortable with but the main one was their validation of Daphne's actions. He was certain now that those girls would throw themselves in front of anything to keep Harry safe. The commander and the father inside him were warring over that topic and hadn't reached a resolution. Fortunately Harry had taken the decision out of his hands.
Later Dan would hear from Harry that he had accepted the girls' decision because at the end of the day they would do it anyway, from the position they were trained to take on the battlefield they had carte blanche to distract Harry's threats. If he gave them permission to do it he'd take the guilt out of their lives, let them focus, and greater leeway to actually make a difference.
It was the right decision, but Dan still didn't have to like it. The bigger elephant in the room though was the potential threat of the Knights Walpurgis and the Demons associated with their arrival. The Regiment hadn't had time to adequately train for that situation, if the Demons joined the battle today it was lost, plain and simple.
He rubbed at the light stubble on his cheeks. He'd not had time to shave that morning. Well, he had, but if he was honest with himself he was saving the activity for when the regiment deployed, to give his hands something to do.
This was all so screwy, he was sending kids to war, to fight a battle he couldn't join, to win a war he had never seen, in a world he wasn't a part of. Moreover, he was sending HIS kids, to fight in a war; he was sending his daughter, and the man she would marry. He was sending their friends, their brothers and sisters.
A crack sounded beside him and he glanced at the nervous looking elf holding a slip of parchment. It was time.
-:-
The ministry was incredibly busy as always, Neville really loathed the chance that innocents would get hurt here but they were betting on Voldemort being eager to cause a bit extra collateral damage. The Aurors would barricade the rest of the ministry staff in their offices when the time came before joining the fight themselves.
It had been a long morning of training but when the Captain had gotten confirmation that Valmortis was in country and forces were already moving for the ministry the Regiment had deployed near instantly. They were waiting in the maintenance corridors behind the main atrium floor, the moment their enemies were in the ministry they'd fan out into cover and open fire. If Voldemort tried to push through they'd open a channel for him to get down to the department of mysteries. Playing up to his ego by 'getting the hell out of the way' should remove any doubt of their actions.
They'd been practising spot casting transfigurations to turn air to stone. It was a tricky spell but vital for dealing with the killing curses Riddle was fond of throwing around. Once the enemy was fully engaged the Aurors would flank through the fireplaces and the Order would apparate in behind them sealing the trap.
If Voldemort didn't try to push through, well they'd hold the line, like they had at Hogwarts, they'd hold the line. The only possible spanner in the works would be the arrival of the Knights Walpurgis and their demonic buddies, acceptable risk.
-:-
It was painfully slow waiting for the battle to join. Waiting had always been the hardest part for Hermione: Waiting for Harry to wake from whatever ailment had him in the hospital wing, waiting for him to return safe to the common room, or home, from whatever he was doing, waiting before he outflew the dragon, waiting for him after the third task, waiting before destroying the undead giant, waiting before the battle of Hogwarts, waiting, always waiting.
There were flaws with this plan; she didn't need to voice them aloud, Harry could see them plain as day in her mind. The ministry was essentially a tomb if this all went wrong. They were the proverbial meerkats in their den, waiting for the snake to slither in so they could ambush it. One strike from the snake would be fatal, and they would have to battle it hard and long to bring it down.
Worse though was that they were trusting in a madman, a psychopath, to act in a predictable manner. Not the most reassuring of objectives. If Valmortis brought the knights with him, the demons, more mercenaries then they could handle… this could turn ugly very quickly. What if they summoned another lich? What if they brought cannon fodder to soak up their ammo? The entire plan hinged around Voldemort's hubris, and his rushing to attack a 'vulnerable' target before the opportunity disappeared.
She looked across the room at Harry where he was pacing back and forth. She had noted it before but couldn't help marvelling at the aura Harry had about him when he was done up in his uniform. It was an almost tangible feeling that surrounded him and commanded those who saw him to stand tall and proud, to stand fast before whatever nightmare was hurtling towards them and stem the tide of darkness.
She was forcibly reminded of how indomitable he had appeared at the battle of Hogwarts, a figure of power and barely restrained violence tied up in the trappings of civilization, an avatar of destruction poised to rain devastation down upon his foes. The appearance of a caged predator had returned in his pacing; coiled grace and power ready to spring.
He had always been wiry and while his body had grown more muscular from their regular training exercises he was still more lean than bulky. Between that and his already impressive height he looked older than his years. The faded scars on his face from various encounters with rose bushes and childhood adventures didn't help. Hermione wasn't particularly interested in her man being some kind of immaculate Greek god but she did hope he didn't accumulate more scars; his countenance was grim enough at nearly sixteen years of age. She hoped he didn't end up like Alastor.
A soft voice came across the communicator at her throat.
"He's here!"
Harry's eyes met hers with a sharp, burning gaze and a hail of thoughts flew through their link, desire to join the battle, to protect their friends, to smite the bastard down. But they couldn't, they had to wait.
So they waited.
-:-
Susan swore softly under her breath as dozens of black clad fighters wearing death eater masks apparated into the ministry atrium behind their master. Voldemort was striding at the head of the small army, his wand out and already glowing slightly with supressed power. She wasn't sure if the fighters were actually branded Death Eaters or just wearing the garb for shock value but it didn't matter either way; they had a job to do.
She slit her thumb with a quick spell and pressed it firmly against a rune stone in front of her, a faint ripple of power signified the anti-apparition wards going up. A quick spell later and her thumb was healed and she brushed it against the communicator at her throat.
"Wards are up, spring the trap!"
Two columns of Regimentals streamed out of the maintenance corridors beneath her and spread out behind the disillusioned granite walls they had conjured in preparation for the battle. Quick spell work removed the disillusionment charms and gave the defenders impermeable cover to brace themselves behind as they brought their weapons to bear.
The black clad fighters across from them weren't idle, the moment they saw figures appear green curses lanced out across the thirty meter distance towards the mass of approaching targets. Despite the general inaccuracy of wands at that range massed spellfire will eventually find it's mark and the Regimentals had to duck early to put their invisible cover between them and the mass of incoming spells.
It was not a massive delay but it was enough to give Voldemort's fighters time to close half the distance between them and the defenders to bring their wands into effective range. They were in full charge when the first volley from the Regimentals snapped out and levelled the front runners. A second in battle is a long time, especially at that range, so the regimentals were firing at double time to add pressure to the defence. A heartbeat later and the machineguns opened up and spat hot death into the onrushing attackers.
The sheer density of the attacking force meant that the shots from the firearms only impacted on targets in the first couple of ranks, if the attackers had pressed forwards using their dead comrades as a shield then they could have easily overrun the defenders, fortunately their encounter with muggle weapons broke them as effectively as a charging rhinoceros.
Those first four seconds of battle were sudden, explosive and filled with battle cries, screams of pain, and above it all, high pitched screams of rage.
Susan had never seen Voldemort before but she couldn't look away from him now so transfixed with horror was she by his appearance. Tracey's yell from beside her snapped her out of it.
"Susan! Targets! NOW!"
Normally in a battle like this Tracey would pick off whatever her scope fell upon but today they had a special goal. The anti-apparition wards were up but the floos were still active so that they could close the trap behind Voldemort's forces. That meant Tracey had to eliminate anyone heading in that direction to keep the trap closed, Susan's job was to call targets for the deadly sniper to terminate.
She wrenched her sight away from the lidless monster and started the steady call that they had practised so painstakingly over the last few months, a target for every second and a bullet for every target.
-:-
Down on the main floor things were much tenser.
Neville was trying very hard not to think about the fact that Voldemort himself was less than thirty meters away raining killing curses down upon the defenders. He didn't know if any of his friends had fallen and he didn't have time to look around to check.
The initial charge had been broken by the wall of bullet that met the attackers but they were holding their ground now that the sudden fright of the weapons had caused. Spot conjured walls of stone had been called into being and the void of space between the attackers was filled with spells and bullets being traded back and forth.
Until now the Regiment had been able to fight at a much greater range and had exploited the far superior accuracy of their weapons to deny their enemies any chance to respond. But now, with only a dozen or so meters between them and Voldemort's fighters, the battle was much more dangerous. Where before they could stay in place and pick their targets with impunity the Regimentals were now forced to duck and cover periodically as area of effect sorcels or killing curses came much too close for comfort.
A shriek of pain from Neville's left caused the pureblood scion's gut to clench in fear. A casualty; were they dead? Injured? Bleeding out? It was the first time one of the Regimentals had been injured by another human being, and it sent a spike of fear through all of them.
The firefight was tense and rapid, shots and spells traded back with incredible frequency and the steady volley of shots the Regimentals were so used to rapidly devolved into an infrequent rhythm of staccato snaps as they took shots of opportunity.
Neville himself felt like vomiting as the adrenaline kicked in hard and he became hyper aware of everything in front of his sights. The limp way a fighter rag dolled after a bullet passed through his mask, the onrushing vibrancy of a deadly spell, the chips of stone raining down on him from its impact against his cover, the screams of the dying.
His range of awareness rapidly tightened to the targets he could see to shoot at, the people at either side of him, and half an ear cocked for another sound of pain from a defender.
Then Voldemort began to push forwards.
It was a terrifying sight as the Dark Lord walked through the hail of bullets that focused on and around him. His wand weaving shields about him faster than the Regimentals could fire bullets to break them.
When it was quite apparent that he would keep pushing until he was right on top of the defenders the call came from Tyrant squad to shift the centre out of the way. Ducking behind his cover Neville wrenched his wand from its holster and, in time with the squads on either side of him, he and the rest of Purepower squad cast two charms simultaneously, a locomotion charm and a banisher. Steering with their ankles against the floor the six squads swung the barricades towards the sides of the room, opening up a channel for the Dark Lord.
Suddenly the floos flared and the rest of the trap was sprung; order members and Regimentals flooded through the Floos and took up defensive positions at the back and sides of the hall, rapidly engaging the remaining fighters bar a dozen who broke off and sprinted to Voldemort's side levitating heavy stone shields around them to protect from the incoming fire.
Where Voldemort had previously been able to advance on the defender's lines with impunity he now had to content with ballistic fire coming from multiple angles. Left with no other choice the Dark Lord strode swiftly to the lifts and a moment later he and his retinue were out of sight.
Neville let out his breath in a ragged expulsion and swore violently, the plan had both failed and succeeded. While the Regiment and their order allies had won a decisive victory and hadn't encountered any knights of Walpurgis or demons, there were also a dozen more people than they had planned for heading down the lifts to engage Albus and the command squad. And with the lifts in use the Regiment had no way of following them down to help.
Until the lifts came back, Harry, Hermione, parvati and Albus were on their own. Or were they? A quiet voice came across the communicator, his Susan's voice.
"Harry, Tracey and I are en route, you have thirteen hostiles incoming including Voldemort."
-:-
Tracey and Susan packed their weapons with rapid efficient movements and sprinted for the maintenance elevator at the end of the corridor, a tiny thing meant for only one adult male the two teenage girls would just be able to squeeze in together for the route down. In the close confines of the lift as it rocketed towards the centre of the earth the two girls locked eyes and an unspoken communication went between them. They were the only reinforcements Harry could expect.
Susan closed her eyes in emotional pain before speaking softly into her communicator. She hoped Neville would understand.
-:-
Albus' sharp voice cut across Harry's pacing
"We need to move, now, there are far too many fighters for us to engage in this confined space, we'll be overrun. We need to head to the death chamber where we can have room to move."
Harry nodded and followed the girls who were already heading through the door of the physiology chamber. The vat of brains in the corner bubbled away merrily as they shoved their way into the much larger, more open room.
"Be wary the veil, and take up defensive positions around the rim. Parvati, come with me, Harry stick with Hermione."
The order was soft but concise and the young teen didn't argue as he and his lover dashed around the rim of the bowl shaped, terraced room to find positions along the far rim where they could make a stand. Ideally they would try to maintain the high ground in this battle but Harry had a suspicion he'd end up on the dais fighting Voldemort.
"We'll end up there love. I'll not leave you alone to fight him."
His gaze met Hermione's with a quick glance and he affirmed her statement with a mental flick. Together in all things; In life, in love, in sickness, in death, together. They conjured defences and as they worked Harry spoke into his communicator.
"Tracey, Susan, we're in the Death Chamber, be extremely careful you'll be closer to them than us, let them engage us then circle round to give us backup."
"Sir Yes Sir. See you on the flip side Harry."
"You too Tracey."
-:-
He was here, somewhere. The source of… need, she had been feeling for months now. Deep in the bowels of this building was the source of her discomfort, her desire, her want, her hunger. Her vision was obscured by the heavy mask covering her face but she didn't hunt entirely with her vision. She could feel the souls of the people around her, her father's dull and lustrous like gold hidden in a poorly lit room, the one her father called master, an angry throbbing thing marred and scarred with abuse. Two children were with them, one with a bleak soul, barely worth looking at, the other with a tortured soul, battered down and broken into submission, whether by event or circumstance Epine couldn't tell which. She sensed power about both but not enough to bother with.
And of course there were four souls ahead of them, down in the cold earth and stone somewhere were four impossibly bright vibrant souls that called to her with such power she could barely resist tearing apart this mechanical tomb to accelerate her progress downward.
Two of those souls were linked so intrinsically that they may as well be one, and that composite soul was the source of her hunger. She wanted that soul. She would have it.
Epine felt her father's hand close about her shoulder with a soft touch of affection that she wished she could return.
"Patience in all things daughter, you will have what you desire, but it will come when it comes, and not a moment sooner."
She really hoped that moment was upon them.
-:-
Ginny felt weak and battered, she hadn't seen daylight in weeks, and honestly she'd barely seen anything but the three rooms of the Ferret's private suite wherever they had been holed up. Her body betrayed her now, her mind was still her own and she had not broken, but her body still betrayed her through the auspices of some charm or curse. She'd seen Neville's face contort in fear as her spell had blasted toward him. Thankfully he'd ducked and she didn't have to bear the guilt of killing a friend.
In one of her darkest moment's she'd felt her magic flare up of its own accord and do… something… within herself, she wondered vaguely if it had helped her mind stay clear, indeed she'd felt more herself than she had since the start of her first year. It was both a blessing and a curse. She was lucid, but trapped, aware, yet numb.
Harry was her only hope now, he'd save her, even if that meant killing her to do it. He'd end this hell.
-:-
The lift clattered open and in that moment there was nothing that could stop Epine as she rocketed forwards and into the middle of a massive circular room. The fact that immediately started spinning was less disorienting than it was annoying. What was disorienting was the fact that the moment she entered the room the sense she had been relying on, her ability to sense souls, abruptly vanished. She was blind. When the room stopped spinning she opened a door at random and saw a small room filled with lights. She dashed through the room and into the next. If she couldn't find him with her normal methods she'd simply have to scour this whole damn place until she found him.
-:-
Valmortis cursed softly as Epine ran into the revolving room, it would be impossible to find her now they'd just have to press on ahead without her. His personal retinue fanned out; the eight handpicked knights of Walpurgis were his secret shock troops. They'd been with him in some form or other since he left Nurmengard over two years previous and he'd held them in reserve until this moment. Even if the battle with Potter went south Voldemort wouldn't be leaving this building.
He grinned from behind his mask as the revolving room powered down and Voldemort called for the physiology chamber, Epine running off on her own was perhaps a blessing in disguise, she'd be away from the fighting until Voldemort was dead, thus removing the chance that her tether to his soul would force her to protect him. Things were looking up.
-:-
The first warning Harry had that they had company was when the door separating the Physiology chamber from the Death chamber was blown clean off its hinges and flew forty meters to smash on the stone floor far below. His breath hitched as a single line of eight fighters streamed through the doorway and fanned out into defensive positions to be followed by four more including Voldemort himself.
He didn't wait to talk and instead opened fire upon Voldemort who parried the bullets with spell shields as easily Harry would parry sorcels with a duellist's shield. Grunting in annoyance he brought his weapon to bear on the fighters but found that they had used the moment's warning to bunker down and there was nothing to shoot at.
He resisted the urge to spit on the ground in disgust, he'd wasted the element of surprise. The rich and many faceted tones of Voldemort's speech rose clear above the clamour.
"Your trap was well executed Harry. But no pathetic muggle invention can kill Lord Voldemort."
Harry took a few short breaths as he sat with his back to his hastily conjured granite barrier, Hermione's hand wormed it's way into his and in a moment their minds were one, no longer was there, a him, a her, only them.
"Fight Us Harry, like the man you seem to have become."
They stood, their male body leaving the protective barriers and striding down the steps towards the dais. They couldn't shoot them, they couldn't wait them out. Voldemort would slaughter any force that came through the doors. They were relying on Parvati now to coordinate Daphne and Tracey who would be en route. All they could do was fight. Dumbledore's voice rose clear and calm in the empty room.
"I believe in you my boy."
They retreated into their minds, shoring up their mental defences, layering sorcery over their bodies, intertwining to one other; one purpose, one mind, one soul. Vaguely they registered Voldemort and Dumbledore exchanging pleasantries, or whatever passed for pleasantries between such men. They had eyes only for the demonic creature striding down the terraces towards them. He was garbed in his trademark ethereal silk robes and the thin white wand of yew was held lightly in his grip.
It would soon meet its brother of holly.
Riddle tried to taunt them, to rile them into anger. But there was no anger in them, they had only purpose, the anger was left with their other body, the chemical reaction in the brain allowed to rush unhindered through a vessel not in use as they raised their wand to eye level, and cast the first sorcel.
-:-
On the main floor the battle was still just as tense and sudden as it had been when Voldemort left. The attackers had proven surprisingly apt at shifting into a defensive formation and had repelled all attempts to assail their position. But the patience of one of them was faltering rapidly.
The attackers comprised of a mixture of Mercenaries and the last true followers of Voldemort. Fenrir Greyback was one of them, and he had the scent of prey on his tongue. The bestial man leapt from the defences as his fellow Death Eaters supressed the Regimental and Order scum as he sought his prey, the nemesis, the alpha, Lupin.
His body warped and twisted, ripping itself out of the confining robes and rapidly growing hair and fangs, claws and a tail. He was an alpha, and his form knew not the weakness of sun or moon. He knew that if he threatened the children then the lone wolf would spring to their defence, he wasn't disappointed.
Lupin sprang from the defences and with a bestial roar shifted in an instant into the towering mass of flesh that was the werewolf within. Lupin was one of his fang-children but he had abandoned the pack and sought a life of solitude, unfortunately he had grown strong and it had taken the entire pack to bring him down last time. Now he would have to rely on his foe's natural inclination to protect the weak.
He swatted at a granite barricade and it flipped rapidly through the air to smash into a couple of the children who were firing their muggle weapons at the other Death Eaters. A few bullets slammed into him but he paid them no heed, they were no threat to him.
The distraction worked, Lupin whined and glanced towards the wounded, it was a tiny distraction but it was enough. Greyback slammed against the larger wolf and snapped his jaws shut on Lupin's throat with a triumphant growl.
-:-
Greyback's charge had broken the combat and changed the nature of engagement from a firefight to a melee. Spells were flying from both sides now in close quarters. The fighting rapidly devolved into one on one or two on two duels. In the middle of it all Sirius found Bellatrix.
He eyed her with distaste, prison had not been kind to his cousin and servitude to Voldemort, however distant, was not kind either. Intelligence had suggested that Bellatrix was involved in the recruitment efforts across the channel and had only returned home to England for this engagement, arriving much the same time Valmortis had.
"You've let yourself go cousin."
It was familiar, this dance of wordplay. They'd done the same before, years ago during the first war. He wouldn't let her escape this time.
"My master prefers me this way Siri. It is an honour to serve him."
Sirius spat on the ground, done with the theatrics, his wand twisted, and battle was joined.
-:-
Epine was growing frustrated, this accursed place wouldn't let her find the battle, sometimes it seemed impossibly close, and sometimes it was too far for even her enhanced hearing to pick up. She picked up her pace. She had to find Him.
-:-
Neville growled in frustration as the heavy built fighter spun spell after spell around him, the style of fighting was deceptive considering his opponent's build but Neville was nonetheless hard pressed to dispel the rapidly mounting illusions and entanglements.
A sharp retort sounded from Neville's right and the fighter was tossed to the ground. The teen didn't have time to turn and look for the source of his salvation, another death eater had filled the gap, this one using a much more offensive strategy.
Grunting in effort Neville redoubled his efforts, he could feel himself starting to tire, but he had to keep fighting.
-:-
Parvati watched the mounting duel with incredulity. Harry was out there, holding his own, against Voldemort. They were trading sorcels and spells back and forth so fast she couldn't identify even a single one, save for the ubiquitous shields. Neither was standing in place as they fought, Harry was a blur of movement; a mixture of explosive rapid power and calculated skill, Voldemort was simply overwhelming. Early in the fight he summoned half dozen illusory copies of himself that moved and fired spells like their original. Even so Harry appeared adept at knowing exactly which was the real Voldemort because he seemed to simply ignore the spells from the copies and focused a relentless stream of sorcels and vicious curses at his foe.
The ground was heated between them and glowed hot with the intense magical storm gathering in the epicentre of their duel. Wild free magic lanced out like arc of lighting to scorch the ceiling and floor with alarming frequency, and occasionally a spell would simply vanish into the miasma of spent magical energy floating between the two sorcerers and never return. Parvati was doing her best to guide Tracey and Susan around the myriad chambers of the Department of Mysteries in a roundabout route that would let them pin the other fighters between the two points of fire; theirs and Parvati's. Meanwhile Dumbledore was observing the duel below with a hawk like gaze, ready to intervene if it looked like things were going to go south for them.
The fighters across the hall appeared to be content to simply watch their master fight Harry and that worried Parvati. They weren't cheering, or jeering, just waiting and watching, though she knew not what for.
The rapid escalation of the battle in the atrium had raised another issue, they wouldn't be seeing any reinforcements from above any time soon. Finally there was still one fighter roaming the DoM who hadn't entered the Death chamber with Voldemort's main force. The upshot of this was a wildcard figure that Tracey and Susan had to avoid running into and who could without warning burst in and rapidly alter the fragile balance the Death chamber was in.
She hoped the fight above was going well as she nervously glanced down at the duel again to see Harry leap over a vivid green curse and respond with one of his own in mid-air that Voldemort was forced to shield from; things were getting really serious.
-:-
Remus growled and tensed the muscles in his neck as Greyback latched onto them with his jaws; it saved his life by stopping Fenrir from being able to rip out his throat. Twisting to realign himself and with a savage clawing motion he raked the claws his hind legs along Greyback's vulnerable belly and as the smaller werewolf backed off with a whine Remus lashed out with a heavy forepaw and battered Greyback's head into a nearby barrier, stunning him and giving Remus the chance to overwhelm his opponent.
A sharp darting motion and a clench of his jaws later and Greyback's skull was between his jaws, he reared back and then pounced forward, slamming the heavy chunk of bone between his teeth against the barrier again shattering it like a ripe melon and bathing his lower jaw in brains and viscera.
With a savage shake he ripped the head clean off the neck of the wolfish body and tossed it to the side, punctuating the motion with a bestial roar of satisfaction. He'd been meaning to do that for months now. As his bloodlust ebbed he looked to where the Regimentals had been crushed by the granite barrier and whined as he saw their lifeless eyes. He didn't know them personally but the loss of two children was a loss no matter how you spun it.
Turning his baleful and animalistic gaze upon the surviving Death Eaters he growled deep in his throat and pounced on the nearest target, ripping him asunder with one terrible motion.
-:-
The battle between the two werewolves had not gone unnoticed and Remus' victory had spelled the end for the Death Eaters who began fighting desperately against the now overwhelming odds. A handful of Regimentals and a few more Order members had fell but they still outnumbered Voldemort's forces nearly three to one.
Bellatrix was one of the last survivors and Sirius realized that her long stay in prison had dulled her abilities. She was no longer the frighteningly vicious and skilled fighter she had been in the previous war. Barely a minute after their fight had started he spotted a recurring gap in her defences, exploiting it with a blasting sorcel that obliterated the left side of her body and flung her lifeless remains to the floor.
Spitting his disgust at how far she had fallen from his happy vibrant cousin he turned his attention to the lifts. Harry needed help. Rallying the now victorious Order and Regimentals he charged towards the lifts. As he ran the bestial form of his brother in all but blood came up alongside, a far cry from the mindless creature he had known as a teenager he rapidly shrunk to a more human form and a quick charm restored his robes.
The two Marauders were the first into the lifts to help the son of their other brother. They wouldn't fail him like they had his father.
-:-
Valmortis watched the fight below with growing curiosity, despite Voldemort's supposedly prodigious strength Potter was holding his own, even overpowering the horrendous excuse for a Dark Lord. It was not a question of power; Voldemort should be easily overpowering the whelp. But he was not, so where had Riddle's strength been hidden? No matter, now was the time to strike.
-:-
They were tiring, slowly but surely Voldemort was gaining the upper hand. They didn't delude themselves, they had been lucky to survive this long, Voldemort was either holding back or he had husbanded his power elsewhere, out of reach for the time being.
They had maybe two minutes before they wouldn't be able to keep fighting, before Dumbledore would have to step in. They wouldn't need to though because suddenly and as one, the fighters around the rim of the arena who they had assumed were Voldemort's minions, rose up and fired killing curses at the Dark Lord with a roar of sound.
Caught between eight beams of light Voldemort had nowhere to run and, despite blocking four of the beams with a curved wall of spot conjured obsidian, was transfixed in place for a moment before his lifeless body slumped to the ground, utterly spent.
The shock of the event snapped the link between Harry and Hermione and they were abruptly themselves again. The lapse in awareness caused by the uninvited separation gave the fighters the chance to fire another hail of curses towards Harry, and they would have connected if not for Dumbledore.
A thick wall of marble snapped into existence between Harry and the onrushing curses and Parvati let loose with a hail of bullets from her Minimi that pushed the fighters back into cover. As Hermione tried to simultaneously make sense of the lifeless body of their greatest foe and get Harry to safety the fighters across the hall cancelled enchantments upon themselves to reveal the imposing uniforms of the Knights Walpurgis, swords and all.
Swearing loudly Hermione used a translocation charm to switch the air next to her with Harry's body bringing him back behind the safety of their barriers as the Knights started up a rain of high powered sorcels that forced Parvati and Dumbledore back into cover.
She chanced a peek between two of the barriers and spotted Valmortis himself detaining the two smaller figures next to him, presumably loyal supporters of Voldemort who had been caught as off guard by the betrayal as Harry and Hermione had.
The revelation that Valmortis had his own agenda was perhaps not as difficult to believe as one might think. His connexions with Grindlewald and the Knights of Walpurgis had already hinted at ulterior motives but such a bold and obvious play for power was quite surprising, not to mention the implications for the prophecy.
Harry's hand wormed its way into hers and gripped it weakly. The duel they had fought with Voldemort had been done with his body and it had taken far more out of him than her. She took a moment to kiss him softly before returning her attention to the battle. She would keep him safe.
"Harry! Hermione! Hang on! We're on our way!"
Relief swept over her in waves, Sirius' voice heralded victory on the upper level and the approach of reinforcements. Tracey and Susan's arrival through one of the other doors was both welcome and explosive as a bullet from Tracey's rifle tore the head clean from one of the Knight's shoulders.
Their tactics were confusing, they weren't pressing the attack, but they weren't retreating either, with foes on all sides and reinforcements coming they were making no effort to escape, then it clicked. If that was Valmortis, and the Knights of Walpurgis, then there was every chance that Fleur's Nosferatu self was nearby, and was likely the missing member of the thirteen fighters who had come down the lifts.
She spoke urgently into her communicator
"A Nosferatu is loose in the Department of Mysteries; do not kill under any circumstances. She is a clear and present threat who we will need to restrain and detain. Repeat, do NOT kill, stun only!"
-:-
Epine could feel that she was on the right path now; the sounds of battle were louder and were getting closer. A moment ago she had felt a strange… freeing, sensation as if shackles had been wrenched from her being. She was so close, so very close.
The sound of a door slamming open behind her wrenched her around and she caught a glimpse of a host of people before her world turned black.
-:-
"We've disabled the Nosferatu and sent her back to base with three squads and Magic nullifying cuffs. She'll be no threat now. We're about to enter, situation?"
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief but winced a moment later as a corner of her barricade was shorn clean off by a powerful cutter.
"There are seven Knights of Walpurgis in the Room Valmortis and two detained Death Eaters, Voldemort is dead, repeat, Voldemort is dead. Come in and mop them up!"
Regimentals streamed through the doorway Voldemort had disabled earlier and rapid volleys of firearm discharge filled the air. Two more Knights fell immediately before they vanished abruptly. She sat in shock for a moment before her mind caught up; Valmortis had escaped the Anti-Apparition wards at the world cup with just as much impunity, it must have been these same Knights who had accompanied him then.
The Death chamber was filled with silence for a moment before it sunk in.
Voldemort was dead.
-:-
Valmortis and the remains of his retinue faded into the ritual circle Valmortis had hidden beneath a rug in Riddle Manor. Around them were dozens of waiting knights who whisked Draco and his slave into the depths of the manor. They had lost three brethren today, but victory was theirs, the pretender was dead, and they could begin to truly invade this forsaken country.
There was just one pall on his mood. They had Epine.
-:-
Draco was in shock as he was forced back into his room. Weasley was already fighting the remnants of Voldemort's imperius curse and Draco didn't have the energy to recast it so he simply locked her in the cupboard after taking her wand.
He was dead. His master, the man he believed would bring this country back into line, was dead.
He looked down belatedly at the medallion Voldemort had given him before the battle. It was a twisted looking thing and Draco couldn't follow a single contour of its gnarled shape before his eye was distracted by another. Furthermore it was strangely cold to the touch, like a lump of fired clay left in an icebox for a few hours.
He could feel great power emanating from it, the power of his deceased Lord, and a voice, ethereal and cold spoke to him.
"We are yet, dead young Draco, but not beaten, for We are Legion, and We shall return. You shall aid us. But for now, rest, husband your strength, and appear to follow Valmortis' lead. We shall call upon you again."
-:-
Epine was chained to a wall, chained with cuffs that took her strength and power away, fettered her senses, and made her feel weak and helpless. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting on the floor of what was essentially a cell with her hands in her lap, chains trailing above her to the wall.
She was away from her father, but for the first time ever that didn't bother her, she didn't care. And somewhere, somewhere near, was him. He was so close she could almost feel his power against her skin, even with her restricted senses she could tell he was just out of reach.
The door opened with a snap and a girl entered the room, and after her, there he was, she was up in a flash, straining against her restraints, trying to get closer to him, just to touch him, she needed him.
"Hello Fleur."
-:-
AN3: I'm an evil bastard aren't I? Mhm, you know I am.
AN4: Just want to reiterate, no horcruxes, the amulet Draco has is nothing more than a communicator.
AN5: Review Responses:
God of All: Sorry it took me so long to post this. But I hope the wait was worth it.
Fanficnoob: Don't worry, Hermione isn't going to die. Can confirm 100%
Jacen010: I think I already replied to this via pm but I'll say now that I've got a solution for the problem. But you'll have to wait to see what it is :P
Jkarr: It…. Sort of did?
Bearmauls: I feel like I didn't quite do the battle justice, but we'll see
Lupinesence: Thanks! Hope you like this one just as much
Vegasman: Thanks mate, hope you like the results of the plan.
Imortalglee: Ahhh good to hear this got to you on your birthday, but sorry I don't write slash, can't get into the right headspace for it. Hope you like the chapter!
Noble Korhedron: If you have any questions or are confused about anything feel free to PM me and I'll do my best to explain.
Anotherboarduser: Fun? I suppose that's one way to put it ^.^ As for why there are so few adults, consider that the Order and it's hit wizard allies are the adults willing or able to fight. Others are administrative, or intelligence rather than combat. Not everyone can be a fighter, someone has to be the banker, the organizer, etc. The children are in a unique position to become soldiers because they don't have existing jobs that they're leaving, and they're more interested in fighting than schoolwork. Also consider that out of the hundreds of students at Hogwarts only thirtyish of them are actually in the Regiment. The numbers aren't that high on either side of the board.
Beyondthesea: You'll have to wait for the next instalment of the series to discover who Moody's trailing, I didn't have quite enough room at the end of this already massive chapter for that encounter. It'll probably be what I open with next time though.
Okay, firstly I have to apologise for how long it took me to get this chapter out. I've been completely uninspired lately but had a burst of it this morning which I used to finish this chapter off. I just want to thank Muggledad for his story: The Last Casualties, which I was rereading for the umpteenth time for giving me the inspiration to write this chapter. I highly recommend that story as well as his Partners, Harry and Gabi, and Happily Ever After, all of which are incredible reads and deserve multiple readings. I'd also like to thank everyone who has stuck with the story thus far. We're halfway through the meat of this epic, and are about to transition into the story arc I've been looking forward to since I started this gargantuan project. We're already four hundred thousand words in and I can see us breaking the eight hundred thousand word mark before we're finished.
It's worth mentioning that my biggest wish (as a reader of fiction) is to read the author's thoughts on what happens after the end of the story, how do the protagonists' lives develop in peace time etc. And I'll probably end up writing a couple of companion fics on the end of this one that detail just that. I've got a couple of smaller projects in the works, my HarryxFleur fic is starting to kick up, and I have HP/Dark Souls, crossover fic that's in the back of my head begging to be released as well as a couple others. My novel is stagnant at the moment and has been for months. It's a shame but a reality that my lack of inspiration has spread to that medium as well. It'll happen, eventually.
I can't say for sure when I'll start writing the next instalment of the Deception series but you can be sure that it'll be within the next week, when the chapter is posted is another story entirely. We'll all just have to wait and see how my muse feels.
Tune in next time for Chapter One of Harry Potter and the Falsehood Ploy: Cold Zero
As always thanks for Reading and other Shenanigans. See you next time!
LGreymark