Time of the Turning -- Chapter 13 Part Two

[wreckplunderer]

Disclaimer: Just think. If this were mine, I’d be currently touring the world in my private jet... :dreamy sigh: I like airplanes. And travelling.

Note: Again, split into bits...

Written: 2003 sometime, revised 2004, 2008. Those were the days...

Rating: A bit gory, as far as things go. I should add in animal death warnings, shouldn't I.

Genre: The stressful sort

Type: Multi-chapter. Novel-length.

Title:

The Time of the Turning

Chapter Thirteen: A Sort of Homecoming

“Go to bed. You shall serve your punishment tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir.” He kept his head bowed as the aged wizard left the room, but the gesture was not born out of deference. Had he levelled such a scorching glare at his Gramps as he was presently giving the floor, he would likely not live to see the morning.

Knowing he was being closely watched, he took a deep breath, careful to keep both his expression inscrutable and his footfall soundless as he passed the portraits lining the corridors, ignoring the snide remarks and curious looks sent his way. He did not stop until he reached his chambers and slipped noiselessly inside. Chris would surely want to know what had happened-Gramps never drew a punishment out for so long.

Things were usually tackled head on, dealt with in the old wizard’s unique style, and done with. Today was different. Certainly, he had been dealt with- was being dealt with. Probably would be, for the rest of his life. He might not show it sometimes, like that morning, for example, but he was anything but stupid.

This would not end here.

There was a soft noise on the other side of the wall, the tell-tale rasp of the linking passage being opened.

He did the only sensible thing he could at the moment: he strode to his third-storey window and opened it, slipping out onto the narrow ledge in a swift, practiced movement, and pulled himself upwards on the roof, arms trembling from the effort and his every fibre protesting at the motions he was subjecting his body to.

He preferred the pain to the alternative.

His brother was coming, and he would want answers he could not give. At the moment, he was unable to cook up the lamest of excuses.

He scrambled along the roof, cursing his stupidity for the hundredth time that day, whilst turning a deaf ear to the soft call of his name that somehow hurt more than the thorough belting he had received.

Go away. You can’t help me.

Fearing the other would follow, he made his way to the West Tower as fast as he could and lowered himself on a narrow ledge that was conveniently hidden from view. It provided, perhaps, barely space enough for him to sit, not to mention that it was exposed to the strong wind coming from the sea, cold and biting. Conversely, it also provided the much needed isolation; the only way he could be spotted was if someone clambered onto the roof of Stable One and peered up at him, and at this time of night, the chances of such a thing happening were about as likely as the Chudley Cannons winning the League this year.

He shifted his position, leaning against the wall and hugging his knees to his chest, teeth clenched at the pain searing across his back. It was the least of his troubles, however.

It had seemed such a good idea at the time, sky diving.

He snorted derisively, banging his head against the wall. He had forgotten Gramps had set the wards lower after that fire had broken out on Stable Four. He had not spared them a second thought and jumped up at once when the other suggested to turn the routine exercise of their horses into something more alluring.

He ought to have known better, dammit!

It had simply slipped his mind, bypassed as another of the many features of the ancient place, unimportant in their familiarity. Not anymore, though. He now knew the reasons for the wards.

He felt the strong wind ruffle his hair, icy and as unyielding as the old wizard’s glare, bringing rain with it. Once, he had come here in need of solitude and found comfort in the gusts of wind whipping his robes around. Not anymore.

He had fallen from grace, irrevocably at that.

The droplets of water from above grew in size and number, and his hair was soon dripping wet, as was the rest of him. Yet he refused to move from the spot, even though he was shaking. Of anger, pain or cold, he could not tell. Maybe all three.

It did not matter.

He wrenched his streaming eyes shut, fighting the tears that nevertheless continued to fall, mingling with the rainwater on his face, only to be blown away by the relentless wind. He gave a sigh, somehow feeling his childhood flow out of him with every breath.

Knowledge.

It was his punishment for endangering everything, everyone. Responsibility, his burden. An oath not to stray.

Anger welled up inside, the part of him that still believed it was unfair speaking up... he forcefully suppressed it.

He deserved so much worse than this.

A veritable storm unleashed itself upon the silent, darkened estate, and he remained on the ledge, staring dully at the fields, where he could see the helpers bringing the herds in.

The vision came as abruptly as the others had, unbidden, unwanted. He could not stop it; he never could of late.

A fat boy, cowering in a dark corner next to an overflowing dumpster.

An unearthly cry, piercing and shrill. A glimpse of green light reflected on the low clouds overhead.

Dread washed over him, coupled with... was that hope?

“Can you take us to Surrey? It’s to the south.” Hands moved automatically, soothing a silver-grey face into calmness, while well-known dark eyes bored into his, pleading.

“Come on, we’re out of here.”

“I-I said I wasn’t going to fly anywhere!” A shriek, frightened, from the corner.

Coward, he thought with grim amusement.

“You said no broomsticks, and this isn’t a broom.”

A flash of lightning split the sky in two. He gave a start, shaking his head to clear it, a feeling of foreboding rising up in his chest, his breath coming in heavy gasps.

Aster...? But...

He frowned, looking down at Stable One once more, where he could just make out Moonshine, followed closely by Aldebaran, her three-month old, coal-black foal. Aster brought up the rear, looking as haughty and alert as he always did as one of the helpers ushered them inside, clearly disgruntled and wishing to turn in for the night.

Aster never follows... he’s the leader of the herd!

Realisation hit.

Someone stole my horse.

His blood ran cold.

The thought alone was staggering. Aster had been his ever since he was born, just like Moonshine had been given to Chris, having belonged to their mum. His eyes narrowed in anger, fixed upon the scene below.

He leapt to his feet, not caring that he was standing on a narrow ledge, forgetting his searing back and the wind, even his resentment towards his old Gramps. Three quick, firm movements later, he was heaving himself up the tower window, over ten feet above the ledge. He drew his wand as he raced down the stairs, wiping at the wetness on his face with his right hand. Something was very wrong.

Flaming pits of hell-someone stole my horse!

“Gramps! Sir!” He shouted, loud enough to wake the entire household. He cursed under his breath as he ran, his boots slipping on the polished wooden floor. The house was too big to be allowed. Someone stole my horse!

“Gramps!”

“What is it?” The old man left his quarters, tying a long bathrobe in the tartan pattern of the family, nearly colliding with the frantic boy. “Why are you wet? Didn’t I tell you to go to your room?”

“Never mind that,” Connor said urgently, trying to regain his breath and speak at the same time. “I just saw... Aster-he... he was last, Sir, and-” He gasped for breath, absently aware that Gramps was giving him a strange look. “I... I was in the West Tower, Sir, and I saw...”

How to explain that? Gramps would surely think him insane. As if that mattered now. He tried again, tried to impress the urgency of the situation on the old man before him.

“I saw Aster, Sir. He wasn’t leading the herd, and he’s the leader... he was last, Sir!” Still Gramps did not move, his penetrating stare scrutinising his grandson from under his bushy eyebrows.

“Sir, I had this... flash of... of somewhere else, and Aster was there. But then I saw him here, and he was last...” He paused, finally untying his tongue to say the words that had been racing haphazardly in his head. “Someone stole my horse.”

Someone breached the wards and stole my horse. Merlin...

“Dilly!” The old man roared so loudly that the ground shook, his eyes flashing. “Dilly, wake everyone! We are under attack! You!” Gramps turned to his grandson, drenched to the bone and shivering. “Get your brother and Holly. Meet me downstairs.” The old man turned to leave, but stopped at the last minute. A gnarled hand landed hard on his shoulder, almost making his knees buckle, as heavy as the burden entrusted to him.

“You know what is at stake. Protect your brother.” Green eyes bored into his, reminding him of his duty. As if he needed a reminder, so soon after...

“Yes, Sir.” He successfully kept his voice from shaking.

“At all costs.” The tone was grave, almost threatening.

“Aye, and if it kills me.” The answer came automatically, startling him even as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

The old man gave a grim smile, his expression... triumphant?!

“And if it kills you.” The confirmation was spoken softly, yet no less meaningful. He shivered, all sense of reassurance gone.

The old man smiled, despite the urgency of the situation. He had done his work well. The look he bestowed upon his grandson was probably the warmest he had ever given him throughout his life. He knew the boy would hold true to his promise. Until the death, so he had sworn. So much like his father... For the first time in long years, he thought of the man with less than bitter loathing. He just hoped his sacrifice would not come tonight.

The moment could not last, however. He turned away, calling for his personal elf.

“Dilly! Bring me my dragonhide vest!”

* * *

“Come on, you can do better than that!” The cheerful voice he’d never hear again resounded amidst the rushing whirlwind in his head-he fought it.

“Turn around-get away from here, come on!” Harry shouted desperately, trying to make the horse fly away. It flew onwards, towards the pier, heedless of its rider’s urging. “What are you doing?!”

It’s a trap! the little voice in his head screamed, only to be drowned out by a much colder one.

“Bow to death, Harry... It might even be painless...”

He pulled out his wand, feeling the horse carrying him lower, ever closer towards the Dementors that were gathering straight underneath him. It was shaking now, fighting to stay in the air, just as he was fighting to scrounge up a memory... a happy one.

“Expecto-” He could not breathe, could see nothing except darkness, could think of nothing except-

“Come on, you can do better than that!”

“He can’t come back, Harry. He can’t come back, because he’s d-”

“NO! Expecto Patronum!” A thin wisp of silver shot out of his wand, but it was not nearly enough: no sooner had it left his wand, that it dissolved into thin air.

“Did you love him, baby Potter?”

“Kill the boy, Dumbledore... End it now...”

He could feel the Dementors on the street below, could hear their rattling breath as they raised their heads, even as the horse struggled to remain airborne, its hooves flaying wildly in the air.

Think of something happy, dammit!

“You can do better than that!”

But no thoughts of happiness came to him. The rush in his ears became unbearable, and he clung to the horse’s mane for dear life, his wand useless in his hand.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” A deep, commanding voice roared from the pier, and moments later was joined by others. Harry opened his eyes as the voices in his head subsided abruptly.

He could see again.

A huge streak of silver shot towards the Dementors, breaking their ranks, slithering and biting its way between them, driving them back from the pier... and the three invisible horses hovering overhead, while an eagle charged the Dementors from above, nearly bowling Harry over in its furious flight as it dove sharply onto them.

The moon shone brightly once more, but the cold did not leave. Chest heaving and feeling rather windswept, Harry kept his eyes on the long line of Dementors gliding quickly away, ushered on by a humongous snake and the eagle, towards the north-eastern edge of the town.

Fancy that, being saved by Death Eaters, he thought darkly, suppressing a shiver and catching his breath.

Turning his attention to the pier, he saw the wizards gathered there shrouded in a silver fog that seemed to be fed by more than one of their wands. By all looks of it, they were as rattled by the sudden onslaught as Harry was, and sank to the ground, weak-kneed and shaking.

Harry glared at them, the smell of the carnage, burnt flesh and hair filling his nostrils. His horse had remained hovering on the spot, two hundred feet above the ground, and threw its head up and down wildly, kicking the air... and staring at the bound horses at the pier.

They were huddled closely together now, their tails clamped firmly between their hind legs, unable to flee from the gruesome fate that awaited them.

Oh. Right.

Can’t very well leave them to it, now can we?

Harry gritted his teeth.

“Dudley, are you still around?” he called softly, his eyes never leaving the group of Death Eaters, who did not seem all that keen on continuing their butchery at the moment.

A weak gibber came from close behind him. It was enough, really. The less he heard from Dudley, the better.

What now?

“Dud...” Harry said slowly, his eyes scanning the row of warehouses separating the pier from the rest of the town and finding the needed opening. “Dud, I’m going to need your help.”

They’ll never know what hit them.

“Wh...?” Dudley started, but Harry was already directing his horse towards the side street. Dudley’s followed at once.

* * *

“Anything familiar, Professor?” George asked, shivering in the cold. Tonks had insisted he and Fred should take off their dragonhide jackets before they left for Scourie. Too conspicuous, she had said.

Inwardly, he scoffed. She should talk, with that even more lurid lime-green hair colour she now sported. Not that anyone had so much as given them a second glance so far. At Scourie, they had simply been given a wide berth, and Rhiconich was proving to be even more dull and sleepy than the first town they had traipsed across.

Or maybe it was the time of night.

In fact, the inhabitants of the town-although village was a lot nearer the mark, this place was roughly the same size as Ottery St. Catchpole-had all but left the streets. There was a fair throng gathered in a pub, but other than that, they were free to roam at their heart’s content.

Lupin sighed. This was not the right village, or at least he didn’t think it was. He glanced over at the only part of Rhiconich they had not yet explored, his heart sinking.

None of the streets seemed familiar, and the outskirts did nothing to stir his memory.

“Let’s try at the next town,” he decided, receiving four relieved nods in response as he led them to an empty plot of land and behind a tractor.

“That would be Inverarray...” Tonks calculated the Apparition coordinates, and they decided upon a spot near the outskirts of the town.

Five wands rose in the air in a practiced movement-

Nothing happened.

Tonks repeated the movements, her actions mirrored by the others.

Again, nothing. They exchanged uneasy glances.

“Are you sure you got them right?” Bill reached for the map.

“Yes,” Tonks said, handing it over. “Why can’t we apparate?”

“I don’t know...” Lupin frowned.

“Well, the coordinates are correct,” Bill muttered after a few moments.

“Anti-Apparition wards, maybe?” Fred threw in, and the three older Order members groaned. They were heartily sick of Anti-Apparition wards. Of any type of wards, really, seeing as they had spent every free moment of the past few weeks either tearing wards down or setting wards up.

Fat lot of good that had done them.

However, Fred did have a point.

“Who is on duty at the Ministry tonight?” Lupin asked abruptly.

“Today, you mean-it’s past one in the morning.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“Kingsley has to report at six,” Tonks said, checking her watch. “Why?”

“I think this might be the town we’ve been looking for.” Lupin answered. “If it is, we’ll need backup.”

“Do you want to wait until six in the morning to find out?” Bill asked incredulously. For him, the presence of the wards alone was indication enough that something was not right.

“No-I’ll send a message over now. Do you think we could get there by another way?”

“We could take a car,” suggested Tonks. “I can drive.”

“Why not set up a portkey and be done with it?” said Fred, jumping from one foot to the other, his teeth chattering.

“Wouldn’t be too smart if there are indeed Death Eaters around.” Tonks rolled her eyes at the twins. “Oh, put on your jackets if you’re so miserable.”

“What happened to the whole blending-in thing?” George asked, feigning horror, while Fred wasted no time and slipped into his gloriously warm - and glow-in-the-dark - jacket.

“It’s a bit useless if you’re deep frozen, isn’t it?” she replied, as if that settled the matter.

It was enough for the twins, though.

Lupin smirked, waving his wand at the sky. A bright silver sheep shot out of the tip, disappearing from view after a few moments.

“What now, o fearless leader?” Fred’s tone was much more chipper now he was warm. Thawing, more like.

“Well... we need a car, but...” Lupin stopped short as he saw the grins on the twins’ faces.

“Give us...”

“...five minutes.”

With identical mournful sighs, the twins shimmied out of their jackets again and disappeared down the street.

Five and a half minutes later, they returned, driving a pink double-cabin pick-up truck.

“We hope to have been of service,” said George, bowing low and letting Tonks take the steering wheel.

“Yes, sorry for the delay-we had to stop and get some more of this pet roll thing.”

“Just get in and let’s go.”

Once everyone was comfortably seated, Tonks drove off.

* * *

“So.” Harry said moments later, peering around the corner of the street and watching the Death Eaters sitting some fifty feet away. “You are going to attract the Death Eaters, but then you have to fly away fast, because they are bound to shoot spells your way as soon as they hear you. I’ll get them from behind and free the horses, how’s that for a plan?”

“Harry, I can’t-”

“I’m talking to your horse, Dud.” Harry sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “It’s going to do all the work, after all. All you have to do is scream bloody murder and try not to fall off.”

“What?” Dudley shook his head resolutely. “No-I... I shan’t do it.”

“Dud-we don’t have time for this,” Harry hissed. “They’re right around the corner!”

“You can’t make me!” Dudley hissed back, fumbling about and grabbing hold of Harry’s Invisibility Cloak, pulling his cousin closer to strangle him. “I want to go home!”

“Or you can oink for the rest of your days...” Harry went on as if nothing were wrong with the world, tapping his wand idly against Dudley’s clenched fingers. “You choose.”

Dudley released the cloak as if stung, and Harry wished he could see the expressions on his cousin’s face. It would make for a good laugh.

“They’ll kill me!”

“Then I’ll announce the Sunday barbecue.” Harry said coolly, righting his cloak. “Stay here and start screaming. I’ll go get those horses.” Without waiting for an answer, and hoping to take advantage of the Death Eaters’ current state, Harry urged the horse upwards.

He didn’t expect it to rear up in the air, kicking out and issuing a loud, wild neigh.

“No, wait! What are you-?” The horse shot forward, and it was all Harry could do to remain on its back.

So much for a stealthy approach, eh? the little voice in the back of his head quipped.

Oh, shut up.

The Death Eaters leapt to their feet as two dozen hopeful neighs answered the first, the horses rearing up and resuming their struggle for freedom, kicking and tearing at the ropes holding them in place-

“It’s that mad horse again!” one of the Death Eaters shouted. Harry recognised the voice.

Ah, it’s Mr. Obvious.

“Kill it-one less core will not make a difference,” a deep voice snarled, and Harry recognised the caster of the snake Patronus.

I’ll thank you in a bit, you murdering bastard.

Mere moments later, nine wands were aimed at the dark sky, shooting as many jets of light upwards, while the remaining three Death Eaters abandoned the crates they were loading on a boat and hurried back to help the rest.

They shot blindly, but not without aim.

The horse dodged the curses, weaving its way around the ghostly beams of light, narrowly avoiding being hit. It reared up, challenging the Death Eaters with another wild neigh.

Harry decided, then and there, that he rather preferred his broomstick, thank you very much. The horse had a mind of its own, and for some reason, its views on a surprise attack were greatly different from his.

Dudley wasn’t screaming.

“Dud! Go on!” Harry shouted, hoping to make himself heard over the din the Death Eaters were making. Dudley’s voice was conspicuous only by its continued absence, and Harry quickly realised he had to try another approach. He was still as good as invisible-and he needed that narrow advantage, particularly now that his fat cousin seemed to have deserted him.

Damn you, you fat, yellow-bellied gorilla!

Harry aimed his wand at the Death Eaters. The beam of his spells would surely make him an easier target, but he couldn’t dodge forever... and this horse, although fast, lacked the ability to perform sudden turns in narrow spaces.

Not to mention it moved out of its own accord and he was holding on for dear life. He raised his wand-

“Everbero!” he shouted, not waiting to see if he hit to cast another curse. “Reducto! Impedimenta! Stupefy!”

Clinging to the horse’s back as it gave an equestrian rendition of what felt horribly like a Wonski Feint to avoid being hit by a jet of green light, Harry plunged his hand deep inside his escape kit, withdrawing his Firebolt.

Enough was enough.

“You carry on,” he muttered. “Distract them-I’ll try and get past.”

A wild neigh resounded across the pier in response, and the horse went into a dive, headed straight for the cluster of Death Eaters, who had clearly not expected an attack by a wizard-

“Stupefy! Stupefy! Everbero!” Harry shouted, the spells leaving his wand one after the other.

He saw one of his spells hit, and as many answering curses were sent against him in response. The horse swerved to the right, even as Harry leapt off to the left, mounting his Firebolt as he fell and whooshing over the Death Eaters’ heads.

Part of him relaxed as he was on his broomstick again.

Much better.

The horse charged with another cry, its outline faintly visible to Harry, causing the Death Eaters to flatten themselves to the ground to avoid being hit. Two were caught completely unawares and were sent ten feet in the air, ending their impromptu flight against a nearby fishing boat with a crash.

Confused shouts trailed to Harry’s ears as he approached the cluster of horses as stealthily as he could.

“McNair! McNair, are you all right?”

“Where is it?”

“Are there more?”

“I can’t see it!”

“There it is! Avada-” Mr. Obvious raised his wand.

“No, you don’t-” Harry turned his broom, charging from behind. “Eructo evomo,” he hissed, watching Mr. Obvious clutch his stomach and retch all over the tall, deep-voiced Death Eater, who seemed to be the leader.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” he yelled, pushing Mr. Obvious away from him in disgust. “KILL THAT DAMNED BEAST!”

“It would be easier if we could see it!” another Death Eater shouted angrily, tilting his head upwards and pointing at a spot some twenty feet away from where Harry could see the horse plunge into another dive.

“Then make it visible first, damn you all!” the deep voice boomed, and instants later, shouts of “Finite Incantatem!” added themselves to the din.

Harry executed a perfectly-timed Sloth Grip Roll, avoiding a stray beam of light that ricocheted off a window pane, before he went into a last dive-he leapt to the ground, his broom in his hand-he rolled over twice... and came to a stop against what he had believed to be a pile of rubbish with a wet squelching sound.

Only it wasn’t rubbish.

The stench of blood and innards was overwhelming, even despite the wind, making his eyes water and his stomach flip over. Clenching his teeth, Harry backed off from the pile of discarded carcasses, slipping and sliding on the blood-drenched planks-he was covered with the stuff-

He saw a floppy-eared head amidst the rubbish.

A house elf.

Gods...

He averted his eyes from the sight.

Acutely aware that the horses had suddenly gone very quiet, Harry crept and slid towards them, his eyes constantly darting to the group of wizards, who were still shooting spells at the sky-

Harry examined the ropes, his pulse throbbing in his ears. They were seamlessly affixed to a large iron ring- but he had practiced Binding Spells in Charms class, and most could be cancelled with a simple counter-spell.

Ducking away from a fiery-yellow spell whizzing past, Harry tapped the first rope and watched the glow disappear.

He made short work of the ropes, tapping them in quick succession to cancel the charms, and was soon in the process of casting a strong enough Severing Charm to cut the link to the ring.

One by one, the horses were freed. They seemed to understand the importance of not drawing attention to themselves, because they remained still, unmoving...

Suddenly, one of them snorted, backing off-Harry’s neck prickled.

“What do we have here?” a voice said softly behind Harry. “A horse thief, how touching... I’ll have that wand, if you please.”

Harry froze, his wand raised-only to have it plucked out of his hand.

Oh, Damn.

“McAlpin, I should have known,” the man snarled, jabbing his wand at Harry’s neck. “Which one are you? Turn around.”

Mc...Who?

The man thought he was someone else.

Not that it mattered-

Harry turned, rising from his crouch, not daring to breathe. There was little to recognise from the Death Eater before him; he wore a silver mask underneath his hood, and all Harry could see was a pair of dark eyes glinting at him, two rows of perfectly white teeth revealed in a cold smile.

“Hm, you’ve learned the Disillusionment Charm already, have you? Not that it helps when you decide to cover yourself in blood-Finite.”

Dark eyes widened as they saw who was standing there. Harry tensed himself for a sprint.

“Well, I’ll be-Impossible!” The man’s look of bewilderment became manic. “The Master will be pleased... Harry Pot-”

“AIEEEEEEE!” The scream was bloodcurdling.

It was also coming from up above.

Both the Death Eater and Harry looked up as one-Harry recognised what was coming at them and leapt back just in time-

Dudley fell bodily on top of the tall Death Eater, who had no time to react and crumbled underneath his considerable weight with a dull crunching sound and a squawk. Harry doubted he would be getting up anytime soon.

“Dud? You all right?” Harry crouched down beside his cousin, his hand closing around his wand once more. He did not expect Dudley to nearly leap up at once.

“THAT DAMNED HORSE THREW ME OFF!”

One thing might be said on Dudley’s behalf. His lungs were clearly well-developed.

Dudley’s outraged bellow not only made the horses back away further and take flight, it also startled the Death Eaters long enough to keep them from shooting curses all over the place-for a moment, everything went quiet.

Harry took the chance, grabbing Dudley’s armpit to pull him off the fallen Death Eater instants before the others recovered their senses and started firing curses much nearer home. And sure enough-

“Oy! Oy! Muldoon is down!”

“The horses! They’re getting away!”

“AAAAHHH!”

“Flaming pits of hell, Dudley-shut it!” Harry hastily reached out and clapped a hand over Dudley’s mouth. It was rather squishy. “What took you so long?”

“Th-the horse...” Dudley stammered, thankfully keeping his voice low. “I...It ran into a Dismember...”

“A Dementor?” Harry echoed, remembering how Dudley had refused to speak for nearly an hour the previous year.

“There is someone-Bloody hell, it’s Harry Potter! GET HIM!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry saw the green spell come at him-he rolled out of the way, dragging Dudley with him-they struggled to their feet, even as one of the Death Eaters lunged at them-only to be knocked clean off his feet when Dudley’s fist instinctively shot forward.

Harry glanced sideways at Dudley, who goggled at the fallen wizard with something akin to disbelief.

“Extundo!”

Harry was ready. The spell had hardly been spoken, when he had dragged the stunned Dudley down and a shield up, which shimmered brightly in the darkness.

“Contra Contego!” he shouted the Shield Charm and the Hammer Hex broke in a burst of sparks, but his shield was still in place- three more spells impacted against it, but he never heard what they were.

There was a noise of something large shattering, followed by an almighty roar and a familiar WHEEE! BANG! WHOOEY!

It was the most beautiful sound in Harry’s ears.

The trolls had heard the din.

Harry saw them smashing their way towards the fires. They seemed to be still looking for whoever had glued those fireworks on their leader’s bum, and looked no less furious than before.

The Whiz-Bangs that continued to tail them closely like giant burning flies probably had something to do with that.

The Death Eaters ignored the sky completely, their attention entirely devoted to the angry trolls approaching. None of them noticed the flying chameleon that dove sharply less than a foot over their heads, landing quietly next to Harry, even as the trolls reached the wharf and chaos erupted.

“Let’s go!” Harry helped Dudley mount and scrambled onto the horse’s back in front of him, all the while trying to keep an eye on the Death Eaters.

Surprisingly, the Death Eaters seemed to have forgotten all about Harry in the face of the new threat. Which suited him just fine.

“Don’t let them get to the cores!” one of them shouted, and they quickly regrouped, standing defensively before a stack of studded crates Harry had not paid attention to before.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Harry muttered, patting the horse’s neck to get it moving again.

Ten-foot long wings spread wide, and a mighty heave later, they were soaring across the skies, leaving Inverarray, with its crazy trolls, Death Eaters and Dementors, far behind.

Harry craned his neck around to get a last look at the goings-on below.

Shouts of curses filled the air, mingled with the roars and guttural grunts of the trolls, the whizzing of the fireworks, and the smashing of everything within the trolls’ reach-

A strangled cry was heard, and one of the Death Eaters was hurled against the stack of crates-

“Avada Kedavra!” The troll crumbled with an earth-shattering thump. Behind it, two more blandished their clubs-one of them threw a massive arm back-and its club connected with a Catherine Wheel, sending it straight against the Death Eaters, who leapt aside-and landed smack in the purple fire.

Flames shot up over twenty feet high, licking away at the planks of the pier, the fire spreading so fast it seemed alive-

In one word: Pandemonium.

The horse gained speed and altitude, and soon Harry was shivering. Behind him, Dudley was clutching Harry’s sides, hunched against his back. He too, was trembling, but Harry supposed it was more out of fear than the biting cold.

He smiled in relief; nothing could make him feel miserable right now. Not even Dudley clinging to him like an overgrown leech.

He took a deep breath, feeling the wind icy against his face, so cold it numbed him, the horse’s powerful wings effortlessly keeping them in the air. Soon he was aware of a number of shadows trailing closely behind them-the horses he’d freed were following.

They had made it.

They flew on in silence, only occasionally broken by Dudley’s sniffles or a whinny, passing a couple of villages on their way. Harry’s expression had not changed; he doubted he’d be able to get rid of that stupid smile in a while.

“You like the view, Dud?” he asked loudly. Dudley did not answer. “Dud?”

He looked back over his shoulder. Dudley was still hunched against Harry’s back, his face a blank mask.

“You know, I noticed something,” Harry went on brightly, “that’s some right hook you’ve got, Popkin.”

“DON’T CALL ME POPKIN, YOU STUPID FREAK!”

Harry gave a barking laugh that made Dudley jump.

* * *

“Okay, who’s next?” Harry asked, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper again. He was knackered.

They had landed on a mountainside that was located uncomfortably close to Inverarray, when Harry’s euphoria had abruptly subsided, leaving a sudden exhaustion in its wake that made it clear he would be unable to hold himself upright much longer. The intention was to rest for a while before resuming their journey.

Harry, exhausted as he felt, had no such luck.

Upon landing he had set up the tent and ushered the horses inside-and seen the real state they were in. Most sported whip-marks, cuts and even burns, aside from the deep welts on their necks that came from the ropes they had been bound with.

The jar of Gunmore’s Gash Gelatin was almost empty now, and he knew he ought to feel glad that it was all it took to heal the... well, herd would be the proper term, seeing as there were almost thirty horses dozing in the entrance hall.

It would be much easier, too, if it weren’t for the bouts of fear and dread that started gripping him every time he relaxed, if only a little.

As far as he knew, they were somewhere in the Highlands, and nobody had followed them, so there was no reason for his heart to start racing as if a hundred Dementors were towering all over him. Or for him to have sudden flashes of disconnected images and sounds that accompanied every one of those bouts of fear.

Harry shivered, closing his eyes against the nausea welling up inside him, and slid into a sitting position against the wall...

The rattling breath came ever closer, wind rushing in his ears-as if from afar, he heard a shrill shriek as the girl hit the earth, hands thrown over her head in a futile protective gesture.

No! Holly!

The other tried to reach her, tried to get her to flee--

“No! Chris, Run!” Harry shouted, stumbling to reach his brother, who was struggling to get the girl to move.

They were closing in on them, bringing darkness.

Cold.

He raised his wand, knowing he had no chance-he had never so much as managed a silver mist-

“Expecto-Expecto...”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, his world reduced to perceptions of fear, of voices he never wanted to hear again-

“I wish that you had died instead of your mother.” A bitter growl, full of hate-

“No, please... Expecto... Expecto Patronum...” A happy memory... think of a happy memory!

Screams in his head, around him-panic. Fire. Pain.

“She died because of you-you shall die for her son. It shall be your punishment.”

I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorrysosorry--

The other gave a loud wail, falling to the ground-they were going for him.

Protect your brother. At all costs.

And if it kills me.

It was not a happy memory, quite the contrary. But it was strong. He raised his wand again, directed unseeing eyes to the source of the rattling breath, stumbling backwards towards the other.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

A dragon rose from the wand, huge wings spread wide-it threw a flame of silver in a silent roar as it charged against the ever-advancing mass of black cloaks and hoods-they backed away-

“GET BACK IN THE HOUSE! NOW!”

Gramps.

Harry snapped into motion automatically, turning his back on the hooded creatures even as the old man’s eagle Patronus joined his dragon. One hand grabbed the collar of the other, hauling him back to safety, while his other hand reached out for the girl and lifted her up as he went.

Harry’s eyes snapped open, not knowing where he was at first, feeling his breath catch in his throat while his heart threatened to leap out of his mouth. He gave himself a strong shake, willing the feelings of panic away.

They were not his. He knew it.

He brought a shaking hand up, wiping the cold sweat from his face. There were no Dementors here, no threats. His scar prickled, and he suddenly felt a strong urge to laugh out loud.

Things were going better than he had expected- No. That was Voldemort talking, not him... Harry was feeling terrified and happy all at once, exhausted and hurt and hyped-up and awake.

He was losing his mind.

And wasting precious moments.

“Dudley!” he called suddenly, leaping to unsteady feet. “Dudley! We’re leaving. NOW!”

It was a surprisingly quick departure, even despite the large number of Disillusionment Charms Harry had to administer. The horses, although tired, were willing to go on, and Dudley himself was behaving strangely cooperative.

Harry, in turn, was nothing short of frantic.

A sense of urgency was now taking hold of him, mixed in with all those contradictory feelings, and he was not going to ignore it.

Conjuring a few soft ropes out of thin air, he tried to turn them into makeshift reins, but his hands were trembling and clumsy. To his disbelieving surprise, Dudley timidly offered to do it instead.

I must look a sodding wreck...

He had thought he would feel better once they were underway, but the relief brought by the wind in his face as they soared across the clear night sky was short-lived.

Soon Harry was fighting tears of despair, alternately wanting to celebrate an anticipated victory-and trying his hardest not to fall off his horse. He clung to its neck, nauseous and clammy, his eyes tightly shut, in a futile attempt to stem the flow of alien emotions.

What felt like an eternity later, the sun rose in the horizon, slowly filling the world with light, dispelling the shadows and warming Harry’s every fibre.

Relief washed over him, as if the sunlight had the power to vanquish the fear and despair-He opened his eyes, as if seeing the world for the first time. The sight was breathtaking.

The mane of the horse carrying him moved in a light breeze, tickling his throat and face, which he had hereto held pressed against its neck, a source of warmth for his cold and clammy body. He looked down, seeing a forest in the morning light, out of which a flock of birds flew, racing the near-invisible horses for a few moments before turning eastwards.

Harry straightened up, a slow smile spreading on his face. Looking around him, he felt the powerful beat of the wings carrying him safely across the sky, saw the horses following them, their bodies adapting to the changes in the scenery, as if they were made of water.

The tiredness had suddenly left him, replaced a by sensation he could not quite define; happiness, relief, even exhilaration and freedom and awareness all rolled into one emotion.

And this one was his own.

It was a fine day for flying, Harry noticed. The skies were clear, only a few cotton-candy clouds high above them, and the sun did a spiffing job of warming the air, which in itself carried the smells of a highland countryside in the summer.

His horse whinnied, receiving answers from the rest of the herd. Harry patted it on the neck, infinitely grateful for its sense of direction and care. It led them steadily southwards, avoiding towns and villages, never losing the route even when they had to give a large detour to avoid a city.

It was so thorough, in fact, that not even paranoid Mad-Eye would object to its tactics.

The thought of the Ex-Auror brought others with it, and Harry found himself wondering beyond just getting back to Surrey for the first time since this twisted adventure had begun. Would he be expelled from Hogwarts? For all he knew, he could be. The Obliviation Squad would have had its work cut out for them, and there were so many witnesses to his trampling of the International Statute of Secrecy that it didn’t really matter that he was using an untraceable wand at the time.

Then there was the Order, only it wasn’t. It wasn’t there. He had seen them storm the play park, but they could all have vanished into thin air for all he knew. There had been no contact, which he partly attributed to the tent’s features, but still... they could have sent Hedwig. She would have had no problems finding him, of that he was certain.

Part of him wanted to worry about them, they could have been hurt in the attack, after all, but a greater part of him was completely estranged from them. They had held him in storage like a thing, and all their plans, all their guarding had been of no help to him whatsoever. Now, he had been hiding out in the backyard of Azkaban, of all places-and he’d found better help from a pack of strange horses than from the wizards and witches who were supposed to be his friends, his protectors, for sod’s sake!

He supposed he was entirely entitled to be angry, to feel betrayed. Although he knew that they were acting with the best of intentions, the war was not going to be won on good intentions alone.

Good intentions, he reminded himself bitterly, were what he had acted upon when he led his friends into a mortal trap. And no one knew what they had amounted to in the end better than he himself did.

Wish you were here, he found himself thinking, a lump settling in his throat again. Wish you hadn’t gone to the Department of Mysteries. Wish I had rubbed two brain cells together before getting you killed. I wish you were here to help me. I wish...

I wish.

He drew his Omnioculars out of his pocket, more to give himself something else to do before he crumbled than out of interest in sight-seeing.

Harry focused his Omnioculars on a large cluster of dwellings, spotting the name Stirling on another signpost far below. He dug the map out of his pocket, and sought the name out. A few hurried calculations later, he realised they still had a good five hundred miles to go.

“Would you like a rest?” he asked the horse, his strangled voice pathetic in his own ears. “If you do, could you find us a safe spot to land?”

His question was answered as the horse turned into a sharp dive, circling a patch of grassland on a gentle slope a few times. Hooves hit the ground with a soft flump, and the horse galloped lightly across the clearing before it came to a halt at the edge of a quiet forest.

“Thank god!” Dudley exclaimed, sliding from his own horse and sinking to the earth, rolling over onto his back and flattening the thick grass and flowers like a steamroller. “I thought we’d never stop.”

“We still have a long way to fly, Dud,” Harry answered, rapping his head with his wand and becoming visible once more. He was tired of not seeing anyone-besides, they still had the cloaks, didn’t they?

“What about a train?” Dudley suggested hopefully.

“Too slow. Too dangerous, too,” said Harry at once, shaking his head dismissively. Dudley did not share his point of view.

“Too slow? Too dangerous? They reach hundred sixty bloody miles per hour!”

“Yeah, I know. ‘S still too slow. My broom’s faster than that.” Harry slid off his horse and patted it on the neck.

“You lot are a bunch of weirdoes, you know that, don’t you?” Dudley wheezed from the spot he had landed, apparently kissing the ground.

“Yep,” said Harry proudly, rapping Dudley and lifting the Disillusionment Charm from him as well.

They did not set up the tent this time, but had a breakfast of some leftover, quite squashed pies Mrs. Weasley had sent Harry what felt like ages earlier, which they washed down with butterbeer-altogether an excellent meal.

The clearing they were in was located at the edge of a forest that seemed alive with songbirds. The horses took to grazing all over the place, drinking deeply from a nearby stream that flowed down the hill and reached a sleepy village surrounded by green fields not far ahead.

Now this is more like it, Harry thought drowsily as he lay on his back in the sun, listening to the noises Dudley was making in his sleep. He absently scratched his prickling scar, resolutely ignoring whatever Voldemort was feeling. He was too content to worry about anything at the moment.

They had left Inverarray, and they would make it to Surrey in the early afternoon. The sun was shining, and he had just had an excellent breakfast, even if it did look like that Death Eater Dudley had squashed flat on the pier...

Life was, for the first time in what felt like forever, good.

But his scar would not be ignored. Harry rubbed his hand against it, anger welling up inside him, mingled with frustration and not a little bewilderment.

“Caught on, have you?” he muttered with satisfaction. His scar began to throb-hardly unexpected, that. Harry chuckled grimly.

“That’s right, snakeface, I got away again.”

It had to be jarring for the most fearsome wizard in the world, really, to be thwarted over and over again by his fifteen-year-old enemy. And this time, Harry had done it by pure coincidence.

Priceless.

A thought crossed his mind, tempting and tantalising. What if...?

What if he dropped Dudley off at Privet Drive and eloped with the horses? He had the tent Sirius had given him, and it had proven to be hard to trace, at best-he could spend the summer wherever he wanted, without having the Order breathing down his neck at all times - not that they had been of much use anyway.

Harry chuckled, and this time it was out of amusement. Dumbledore would go bloody ballistic! The mere thought of his headmaster hopping up and down in a temper made the idea worthwhile. Plus... it was feasible.

Freedom.

A dreamy smile spread across his face, as his eyes followed the trail of a butterfly around the clearing.

What could stop him from doing just that? From getting away for a while and have himself a real vacation for a change?

His scar seared.

“Ah!” A hand clapped against his forehead.

Voldemort, at least, had already gone bloody ballistic and was close to hopping up and down in a rage. He had just been told of what had happened at the pier-Harry had a glimpse of cowering Death Eaters in a circle, awaiting punishment. He braced himself, sensing a huge tantrum building-

“Damn you, Voldemort-aah...” He bit his knuckles to keep from crying out. He was in the open, he could be heard. He bit down so hard he drew blood, but the pain was only mounting... he wouldn’t cry out... he was outside, he couldn’t... he wouldn’t...

Harry came to, tangled impossibly in his Invisibility Cloak, once again subjected to Dudley’s preferred method to wake him up: shaking and shouting.

And slapping him in the face when that alone did not do the trick.

“Ow...” Harry moaned, swatting at Dudley’s fat hand and twisting around away from him, bile rising in his throat... his stomach turned over and he retched, his breakfast splattering on the spot where he had lain moments earlier.

“Are you awake?” Dudley sounded uncertain, and seemed to consider slapping Harry again, just in case.

“I am now,” Harry wheezed, sitting up shakily and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wh...what is it?”

“I just woke up, and you were all weird-rolling all over the place, biting your hand and not listening to me.”

“I’m listening,” Harry said thickly, bringing a trembling hand to his forehead. His scar was oozing blood, and his head and left eye felt like twin balloons about to explode. “What do you want?”

“I want to go home!” Dudley wailed. “I’ve had it with your ruddy camping trip and all!”

* * *

Half past one, his watch informed.

Harry sighed heavily. He’d washed up as well as he could in the river, and was now trying to walk back without his knees buckling under him.

It proved a daunting task and it took a lot of wheezing and cursing to get it done. By the time he had reached the clearing again, he was tripping over his feet t every other step and in a rotten mood. It was a mark of how badly Dudley wanted to go home that he actually helped Harry mount before getting on his horse unaided this time.

They took off sharply, losing themselves above the clouds, a realm open to birds, flying beasts... and Harry.

The fast flight raised his spirits considerably, not in the least because he hardly had to do anything other than enjoy the ride. They flew over Kendal, Skipton, Leeds, and the outskirts of Sheffield (where a huge mall with glass roof dominated the scene), before his throbbing headache developed into a sharp, white-hot pain once more.

Voldemort was quite satisfied with the way something was going. He was planning to attack soon.

Harry gritted his teeth, urging the horse to fly faster. Whatever this news was, it was anything but good.

He lost all track of time shortly after, the pain in his scar coming on and off, sending him flashes of images through eyes other than his own...

“My Lord and Master, the attack was successful. They are as oblivious as can be. The old man sent out a group to search for the horses-the insiders volunteered.”

He gave a high-pitched laugh.

Bitter resentment welled up inside him, and he knew it wasn’t his own.

Hours passed, and riding on horseback ceased to be much fun. Sure, Harry didn’t have to steer or concentrate on maintaining the course, but his legs were cramped, and his back was aching. The sunlight burning on his back had long stopped to be relieving. He could have sworn that the annoying little noises coming from his left were Dudley’s whimpers, but his eyes didn’t seem to want to cooperate with him, either, so he gave his cousin the reluctant benefit of doubt.

By the time they were giving London the widest possible berth, Harry was reduced to clinging to the horse’s neck, his head throbbing madly, vision unfocused, a jumble of feelings and images racing each other in his head, with no clear significance-

Anger. Bitterness. Anticipation. Remorse. Laughter. Pain.

An owl, bursting into flame-

A bone-white hand, holding a cloud of green vapour-

Green eyes boring into his, accusing him of what had happened-

A furious hiss-

“How much longer, Rasmus?”

“Until sundown, My Lord. The outer layer is light-sensitive. There is no other way. After that, the innermost layer will be accessible, particularly if the old man is exhausted... there is ancient magic at work here.”

He’d have to warn the Order. Whatever Voldemort was up to, it was important, he could feel it.

Harry gave himself a little shake to stem the increasing mixture of feelings surfacing at the oddest of moments, so that he did not know where his own ended and the alien ones began. He needed to concentrate on finding Privet Drive.

He had never flown to Little Whinging, only away from it, over the past five years. Both times, it had been at night, and he had been so glad to leave that he had not cared to pay any attention to the landmarks of the place.

Clearly, he should have.

He squinted blearily down, trying to make out anything that could tell them where Privet Drive was located, but seeing little more than blurs.

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought Dudley would be able to find his way home on his own, much less by air.

“Look!” Dudley croaked, his voice breaking in the middle of the word. “I can see the mall from here!”

“Where?”

“There, to the left!”

Harry couldn’t see Dudley pointing, but apparently the horses had. He felt the horse-Aster, his mind supplied-turn a smooth curve, as he continued to squint at the mass of colours below.

“I can see the play park!” Dudley exclaimed, and after a few tries, Harry saw it, too. Sort of.

“About time!” Dudley yelled, throwing caution to the winds. Harry opened his mouth to shut him up, but it was quite unnecessary. “Come on, you stupid donkey, get me home!”

This, as Dudley found out the hard way, was not the smartest thing to tell a flying horse, particularly one that so just happened to have saved your life. Not on the ground, and most certainly not one and a half miles above it.

Harry saw a watery shape fold its wings and plummet a few hundred feet, heard Dudley’s yelp, before the horse-Moonshine, the little voice in his head corrected-caught him and rose to the previous height, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker.

It was at this point that Harry decided he quite liked horses.

He couldn’t help it; he laughed. With relief at having gotten so far, at Dudley’s swearing, at the sun, at the throbbing in his skull, it didn’t matter. For better or worse, it was over.

* * *

They began their descent only after Dudley had shut up.

“A fine thing it would be,” Harry told him irritably, “if you go bleating all over the place, and we find it’s been taken over by Death Eaters. Now shut your trap and don’t move until I tell you to.”

The horses began their descent, circling over the large, square houses that made up Privet Drive. Everything, as far as he could tell, was normal; cars were parked in their drives, Mrs. Number Seven was arguing with her children about something or other - the words “ice cream” were the only ones that stuck with Harry, for some reason - and there was no outward sign of magical presence.

Harry mutely directed Aster-he was still trying to figure out how he knew the name-to the back garden of Number Four, where he could see the familiar glow of the wards around the house. They gave one last turn, and went into a gentle dive, preparing to land-

The Disillusionment Charms fell off as soon as they drew level with the roof. A loud honking alarm went off, and the horses landed, some rearing up in fright.

What the-

Harry’s wand was out before they touched the earth.

The kitchen door flew open, and out poured...

Aunt Petunia. McGonagall. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, nearly bowled over by Uncle Vernon, who stood on the threshold, gaping at the many animals crowding his garden and blocking the way out.

“Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked in a choked voice, leaping forward.

Harry did not move. Aster, however, did.

He reared up, stomping his hooves on the Dursleys’ beautiful lawn, sending clumps of grass flying in an unmistakable gesture of warning.

“Oy! It’s Harry! Harry’s here!” the yells came muffled from within the house, and soon Uncle Vernon was unceremoniously pushed aside to make way for the rest of the Order.

“Har-”

They froze at the sight, coming to a stop next to Mrs. Weasley, who had been pulled back by Mr. Weasley. Their eyes wandered from Harry to Dudley to the horses, then back to Harry, to Harry’s wand...

Harry raised an eyebrow at them, surveying them coldly. He had expected to feel glad to see them, relieved at the very least-he felt deep mistrust instead.

The message was lost on nobody present. Not even Aunt Petunia moved towards Dudley.

There was a harsh laugh, followed by appreciative clapping, coming from the house.

“Very good, Potter, excellent work,” Mad-Eye Moody chuckled from the doorway, his magical eye swivelling in every possible direction. “You do have a fondness for making an entrance, I must say.” Harry tilted his head to a side, not speaking. “Yes, yes, you know the rules-and so do we. Let us all prove we are who we claim to be.”

He clunked down the two steps to the garden, allowing the last member of the Order to face Harry.

Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling as they wandered across the scene much like Mad-Eye’s had, to rest on Harry, who continued to train his wand on them, not giving the slightest indication he would dismount anytime soon.

Aster kicked the earth, snorting and throwing his ears back at the strange wizards and witches gathered before them. Harry felt Aster’s muscles tense, ready to carry him away the very instant any of them so much as looked at Harry the wrong way.

The reaction made him want to smile.

“Will it suffice for your headmaster to prove his identity?” Dumbledore said gravely, all hints of amusement gone from his aged face.

Harry nodded once, still surveying the group before him with deep mistrust.

“Fawkes, I need proof!”

* * *

TBC.