A Strange Old World Ch.15 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 15— Rhythm of War

AN: Half of the chapter was Beta'd by Sedition, who has my highest thanks. But the other half is just me; hopefully you don't see too much of discrepancy in quality between povs.

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“Sir, reporting for duty, sir!” Came the overly enthusiastic yell of a ratty looking boy. 

Despite a scarlet Auror robe draped over his shoulders and two badges neatly stuck on his chest, the boy barely managed to look like someone of authority, let alone an Auror.

Even then, no one would ever mistake him to be more than what he was; an unconfirmed initiate with little to no chance of seeing field-work in his career.

Though none but his peers and superiors would dare say so to his face. Everyone else in the general populace would hesitate when faced with the badge declaring him a Level 4 Dueler, only having the guts to whisper behind his back. The second badge, professing him to be an initiate of Auror corps, would simply gain him further respect, even more than his Dueling level. Of course, no one would pay attention to the three white lines diagonally slashed across the badge that simply signalled ‘Awaiting confirmation'.

Preet Pigwetter was his name, or so he claimed—born to an Indian mother and a British father.

Weird name for a lad to wear with such pride, was the thought of one, Gawain Robards. Though no stranger than Longbottom, I suppose.

The other initiates liked to call him ‘Pigwetting Whiskers’ or simply 'Whiskers' for his wildly ratty face.

In normal times, an unconfirmed initiate like Mr. Pigwetter here, would indeed never be seen in a red zone, and Gawain Robards had trouble remembering why the boy was there in the first place.

Whatever the case, Robards knew he couldn’t waste time upon useless digression and let go of the matter with a last suspicious glance. 

'Every hand would be needed for the coming tide anyway.'

Gawain Robards still remembered his recent conversation with the head of DMLE afterall, confirming his—and likely many people’s—worst nightmare to be true.

Their talks had taken place through his telecard. At first, it had come as a welcome surprise  to see his card hailed, impatient and eager that he was for even a drop of news.

"Sir, this is Robards, what is the news!?" He had asked as soon as the card started blinking.

But the voice that answered belonged not to Scrimgeour, but to someone who inspired desire, admiration, respect, and fear in equal amounts amongst all men. Well…maybe an argument can be made for the desire to be a little stronger, but you wouldn’t find anyone actually daring to say it.

"Robards, stop screaming down our throats and get ready for a wave of chaos!” The head of DMLE bellowed, making Gawain flinch back from the card. “People are coming towards you right this moment, control the crowd till we deal with it here."

“C-control how, Ma’am?” He dared to get out. “Should I keep them here an—“

“Use you bloody brain, man!” More flinching. “Can you ever hope to hold back a crowd like this!? Let them go, just prevent any panic from rising.”

Now usually this would be when Gawain Robards gives a quick ‘Yes, Ma’am!’ and scrambles to follow orders. However, the ever-present dark thought that this day might be his last gave him a little more courage today.

"Ma’am, is it true?" The man hesitantly asked before the call could drop. "Is he actually here?"

Thankfully his somber mood was shared by his superior and he received no further chewing.

"...We're dealing with Grindelwald, Robards." The voice answered only after a few moments of letting Robards suffer. "You do your bloody job."

Now came the "Yes, Ma’am!" and scrambling to follow orders.

But the nightmare was now confirmed to be reality and Gawain knew it was a matter of time before he fucked up.

He was quite aware that his people did not hold him in as high a regard as Kingsley Shacklebolt or Frank Longbottom, and for good reason. Watching Robards give commands was far from an inspiring sight. He screamed, he hollered, and while people did listen to him, it was more due to the authority of his position and respect for his power, rather than trust or natural obedience, and most certainly not for his charisma.

The fact that he was constantly compared to wizards like Shacklebolt and Longbottom—that were placed directly under him—only managed to raise the responsibilities and expectations on his shoulders. And whenever he failed to meet them? He lost their respect, piece by piece.

Respect that even his hard earned Lvl 5 dueling status couldn’t recover.

If he were to be honest with himself, he knew Shacklebolt or Longbottom certainly deserved his position more than him. That it was only his loyalty to Scrimgeour which truly landed him the position as Second-in-command of Auror corps.

But he wasn’t honest with himself. He didn’t want to be. He wanted to prove that insecure whispering voice wrong and show that he too could lead.

So he started giving orders. And if he placed the two men in lower positions, he couldn’t be blamed. He was, afterall, doing his best in a stressful situations.

There were three entrances into the stadium, all built on one face of the structure. The central one was where Robards decided to hold his position. The left and right positions, on the other hand…

“Dawlish! Hold the right entrance!” He bellowed, making a snap decision. “Take Shacklebolt and three other teams with you!”

Then, pointedly glancing past Longbottom, he gave further command. “Savage! Take Longbottom, and another three teams to hold the left one!”

The men scrambled to their positions quickly. While there were surely some (many) doubtful gazes in the squads, they wouldn’t question his decision in times like this.

Dawlish and Savage were…not the best of leaders, to say the least. One must realize however, that leaders were few and scant in the wizarding world. Good leaders even fewer still. And those unique few that could pass that filter were usually picked off by old carrions like Rufus Scrimgeour, who were wont to give away their share of power to anyone.

And that’s where men like Robards came in: loyal, powerful, and utterly unambitious. Perfect pawns in the game of politics.

But that wasn’t Robards business to know. His business was to earn good PR for Scrimgeour and maintain a picture of supreme power.

Thus he obeyed his own commands.

Taking the remaining squads, he moved to cover the central entrance, first forming a barricade—quite similar to the type that divided different levels of lands in this place.

They were thick slabs of wood, a foot in girth and even wider at base. Gawain ordered his squad to place them around the entrance, hoping to give the crowd a pause so he may guide them more civilly.

When the time of reckoning arrived, Gawain convinced himself that he was ready. That he’d done all he could to prepare in such a low time.

But one could never be ready for the sight that greeted their eyes. Now, you may wonder, how does a panicking crowd of a hundred thousand wizards and witches look like? Well, to Gawain, they looked like an army of locusts here to reap through a farm.

It was a surreal scene, stretching the boundaries of disbelief, his mind simply unable to comprehend what exactly his eyes were witnessing. Like an army of inferi, thousands upon thousands of wizards burst out of the central entrance—and the other two as well, but Gawain couldn’t have cared less about them right now—crushing through the barricades like they were made of paper.

Screaming, hollering, scrambling, jumping, the crowd tore out through the gates like vengeful hornets.

“Hold them back!” Robard’s scream was drowned out in the crowd. He shot a bright flash of Lumos in the sky, brightening the world from darkness and calming the crowd just a little. “Hold, all of you! All of you, hold! We’re Aurors! Here to help you!”

While the central entrance managed not to stampede over the Aurors, the right side was looking fragile—a push away from complete panic. People were nary to listen to Dawlish afterall, and his group was looking up to him for command.

Dawlish panicked. “Stun anyone who doesn’t stop!”

The Aurors didn’t agree of course, some of them audibly groaning. They knew exactly how disastrous that could be, especially considering everyone in the crowd was carrying a wand.

Thankfully, and unexpectedly, the threats managed to hold back the crowd for a little while. Those that heard him drew back a little, hesitant and uncertain. Now would’ve been the chance to comfort the crowd and earn their trust.

That all came withering down to the ground however when a ratty-faced  Auror initiate, carrying the name Preet Pigwetter, suddenly surged forward—his wand pointing at the crowd. “Avada Kedavra!”

The spell hit an elder woman, and she fell to the ground dead. Stunned silence lay within the crowd for a few precious seconds, enough time for Preet to let loose another killing curse; and down went a young girl of 12.

“Preet!” Robards bellowed, his wand turning to the boy. “What are you doing!?”

Then the shock was washed away in panic and fear, and all hell broke loose. And in no time, Robards was buried under an avalanche of legs and shoes. The last thing he saw before his unfortunate death was the grinning face of 'Preet Pigwetter' bubbling and reducing into a rodent's.

When the dark-robed figures came riding on the brooms, launching the vilest and darkest of curses, the crowd saw no difference between them and the Aurors.

The battle of Dartmoor has started, and while no one knew it yet, it was about to go down in history as the day it all went wrong with the wizarding world.

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While the Auror corps were busy outside the stadium, there was a different type of chaos brewing in the inside.

Minister Bones had been quick to respond to the monumental threat, gathering the best duelers of her country to try and take down the most infamous Dark Lord of all time.

Or well…she was trying to, atleast.

“Rufus!” Her bellow made her entire group wince. “I want Shacklebolt and Longbottom now. They should’ve been here already, what are they doing!?”

There were only 5 present in their group as they made their way to the stadium. Out of these 5, four were level 6 Duelers, some of the very best in the whole world. Scrimgeour, James, and Bones were known to be veterans of war, having earned their titles throughout the years. And while Moody may not be in his prime, he was once hailed as one of the greatest duelist to ever exist, second only to Bellatrix Black.

But even now, a leg down, he could contend with the likes of Shacklebolt and Longbottom, both certified level 6 duelers.

The only one uncertain about her position in the group was Nymphadora Tonks. She’d only just achieved her level 5 status afterall, and her help against Grindelwald may prove to be more hindrance than anything.

Still, she refused to leave. Not just due to her bravery and courage—like the others thought—but also cause…well, it would be really bloody embarrassing to be sent away like a child from an adults fight.

“They’re pinned by the crowd, Minister.” Scrimgeour replied with a grimace. “It’s complete chaos out there, and while both managed to get away safely, Robards was crushed under the stampeding crowd. They are trying to run damage control and rescue their teams.”

“Merlin take them all.” Minister Bones muttered. “Useless, good-for-nothing fools.”

The head of Aurors scowled. “My Aurors are doing their best, I assu—“

“The crowd, stupid.” Bones cut him off. “I’m talking about the crowd. James, are Lily and Bella here yet?”

They passed through the lines of ministry tents, laying empty and abandoned. Most of the officials vacated the premises as soon as they heard about Grindelwald’s presence, despite the Minister’s orders to stay and help however they can.

“I’m afraid not, Minister.” James Potter replied. “I’ve sent a patronus though.”

“Don’t you two have some private cards?” The Minister scowled. “Surely Lily made one for you?”

“She did.” The man gave an awkward chuckle, rubbing his head in consternation. “I forgot to carry it with me today.”

“For god’s sake, James.” The Minister shook her head, though her eyes snapped to the front as they were stopped by a group of armed personnel.

An African man—dark skinned, dark-eyed—walked towards them with 7 other wizards, all dressed in Battle robes and looking ready for a fight.

“Mr. Akingbade?” Minister Bones squinted.

“Minister Bones.” The man nodded. “Me and my team...and a few stragglers...offer our help against the monster. His crimes shall not go unpunished. We must carve out his bones and suckle upon his marrow!”

The Minister looked wary, her eyes flickering around. “I’m thankful. We all are. But I must ask, are you aware of Brazil’s betrayal?”

The wizard nodded grimly. “We were suspicious of them from the start. Though they chose a most unfortunate time to attack. We only just found the dead bodies of our scouts. I understand your suspicions however, and I bid you welcome to test me and mine.”

After a round of legilimence, none of which ended up like Tonks’s, they started their journey to the stadium—now as a group of 12. And there they found him, standing under the moonless night with only a bright lumos overhead.

Gellert Grindelwald.

“Hold.” The Minister commanded, and they obeyed. “Something’s not right.”

Indeed, while the man wasn’t standing alone—with 6 Alliance members crouched around him—but it was clear to all that he was, in fact, standing.

Simply standing. No terrorizing the crowd, no passionate speeches…while there were a few wizards and witches—remnants of the audience who’d stayed behind, swayed by the Dark Lord’s half-assed words—it was also clear to all that the wizard was…waiting.

“What is he waiting for?” Tonks wondered.

It was soon answered however, so there was no point in wondering.

He threw a small green ball down in front of him; and a bright flash mingled with the crack of air, presenting them with the arrival of new figures. There were 5 of them, and they stood against Grindelwald almost defensively.

But the Dark Lord seemed not to mind, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome, my dear partners in crime! I hope you’ll find my arrangements…fascinating.”

The Dark Lord chuckled, making the 5 even more defensive.

“Mussst you, Gellert?” The man in the middle hissed out.

Only after further scrutiny were the group of Aurors able to make out the truth.

‘Not the man…but the bundle in his arms.’

“…He’s like a child.” James whispered, understanding more than others. “Weakened and powerless, but very much alive. Merlin damn you, Dumbledore. You’re right again.”

For reasons unknown, a chill spread through the group as they stood still a mere dozen meters or so away from the Darklord and the creepy child. Their dark wizards were too busy facing off against each other—sizing the ones opposite them up and down—to pay any attention to the Aurors.

“I thought you were busy conquering the Americas?” There was a mocking bite to the hisses this time, though they only proved to amuse the Dark Lord.

“Come now, Tom.” Grindelwald laughed. “You didn’t think I’ll miss the rebirth of Lord Voldemort did you? I took a one-day leave from world domination today, all just for you.”

Now, the understanding flashed in others as well. And the British Minister verbalized all of their thought process on her lonesome.

“Fuck.” She whispered furiously. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

“Well…while I wouldn’t want to see an old Dark Lord copulating with the childish form of Voldemort…” Mr. Akinbade voiced musingly. “I can see why you may say that. It would indeed be better for the world if they both killed each other in the midst of mating. Though I am quite against pedophilia, mind you.”

That disturbing image broke everyone from the unnatural stillness that had seemingly grasped upon their souls.

“We must stop this, Minister.” James Potter announced. “If Voldemort truly recovers from whatever ordeal he is in…”

“I know!” Minister Bones snapped, before sighing stressfully. “I know.”

And so did the others. It need not be stated out. Should Voldemort truly recover his might, the entire wizarding world shall come under fire.

The combined might of two Dark Lords was well known to the people of Britian. 

So they were ready to do anything in their power to keep that from happening again. 

Their chances of success? Less than desirable.

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Four robed figures stood at the edge of Dartmoor forest, their eyes fixed upon the black smoke and wild fire that threatened to drown the land in its thirst. Black cloaked broom-riders flew across the lands, shooting spells and gusts of flames to destroy the tents below.

“Morgana…” Breathed out the captive one, her hands bound tightly with a thin rope that circled her wrist over a hundred times. “I didn’t know they planned for this.”

Stella, Harry had found out her name to be. Stella Cromwell, one of the most famous pure-blood families of America.

Or so she said.

“What did you think Grindelwald is here for?” Harry snorted. “Quidditch finals?”

“No, I just…” She stuttered. “This isn’t…what they said will happen.”

Shaking his head, he tugged at her ropes. “C’mon. We have work to do.”

Fleur and Apolline followed silently, their eyes still stuck upon the burning lands. It was understandable. What laid in front of their eyes was an apocalyptic scene that could chill the most jaded of hearts.

The fire extended to all the levels—its fiery embrace enveloping the tents, player-posters, hanging-clothes, the wooden barricades, and anything else it came in contact with.

People were pouring out from the stadium like it were an inferi apocalypse, desperately crowding upon the various Apparition points. Some tried to salvage their tents, scurrying to save their things, but most simply wanted to escape.

None were able to. The apparition points were all shut down, while the level 7 tents—which had contained fireplaces—were thoroughly destroyed. Some of the crowd even sprinted down towards them, pushing past Harry and his group in hopes of escaping through the dark forest on foot, unheeding or uncaring of the moonless night.

Most though, aimlessly wandered in helpless urgency.

Screams of panic and fear were now taking over the hills, desperation and helplessness clawing at their hearts.

Harry’s lips curled up in a grimace.

He could understand them. Truly, he could. The worst they’d always imagined had just come to pass, Grindelwald was here and looking for blood. It was easy to give into the panic.

And yet, he couldn’t help but see them as stupid sheep that ran around mindlessly. It was the same thing the previous time. No sign of intelligent life was present in their minds, and no sign of resistance seemed to grow in their chest.

Even knowing the uselessness, he couldn’t help but rage in his mind. ‘Why the fuck are you all panicking!? This is what the enemies want! Stop, for once in your life, grow a spine and be useful!’

But he knew his people. He knew their mentality. And he had no time to rage on them, because his family mattered more.

With a last grimaced grunt, he pulled his prisoner along and started their journey upwards—towards the stadium.

They made their way through the maze of flaming tents, occasionally shooting spells to keep the fire at bay. However, his main focus was on guiding them forward while keeping an eye on their prisoner, so he couldn’t quite defend himself when flaming splinters and kindling assaulted him, or when—more than once—his boots stamped through live fire. Thankfully, his Dragon-hide robes and shoes were fire resistant, so he was free to ignore them as much as he liked without the worry of burns or sears.

“They’re targeting the crowd!” A furious whisper came from his prisoner.

He glanced where the woman was pointing and saw three cloaked figures streak past, diving low on the ground and launching killing curses amongst the people willy nilly, before escaping away with mocking laughter.

Most of the wizards were able to take cover—must’ve gotten used to the attacks—but some fell dead upon the ground, lifeless.

His heart angered at the sight but he’d sworn not to have his vision tunneled by it ever again.

So they moved. Stumbling up the Level 5 grounds, sometimes forced to duck down in the shadows to hide from the broom-riders.

Smoke was now rapidly covering the grounds, mixing with cold mist to limit their vision. The fire, while still spreading aggressively, was barely enough to light their passage.

“Where are your Aurors?” Apolline asked in frustration, covering their rear. “Where is ze security zat was promised?”

Harry frowned. “Probably dealing with Grindelwald.”

But something didn’t make sense. James had assured them of how tight the security would be this time. They even had the help of foreign Aurors. He had half expected things to be completely subtle this time, with Aurors and Hitwizards taking care of the matters before public could even become aware.

“Cut me loose, I could help.” Stella whispered harshly, her eyes tracking the skies with righteous anger.

Harry snorted. “Right.”

She opened her mouth to argue but Harry quickly dragged her to the side as a different group of riders bore down on their position. Fleur and Apolline took cover behind remnants of a destroyed tent as well, safe from the green flashes of spells that reaped a new round of casualties from the crowd.

But Harry’s eye caught something shocking. A pale, skull shaped mask with reptilian eyes, covered the faces of these new enemies.

‘Death Eaters!’

Hatred—unbridled and unconstrained—coursed through his veins, unable to be stopped by his passive Occlumency. Almost instinctively, his wand aimed at one of the three passing brooms and cast with deadeye accuracy.

‘Crucio!’

The figure—taken as male from his low-pitched voice— wailed on his broom painfully in the most horrible of cries, his body jerking like a highly electrocuted patient. After the torture stopped, his body toppled down from the sky—unconscious from pain—disappearing down into the fire.

“Y-you killed him.”

He didn’t know which female whispered it, but he was aware of the two shocked—and one fearful, in the case of Stella—pair of eyes staring at him.

Harry rubbed his face, feeling hollow all of a sudden. “I’ve killed a lot of people today, haven’t I?”

First the Delacour man, then those two Alliance members, and now a death eater.

‘What? Getting soft now, Harry?’ A dark whisper needled him.

“I fear you may have to kill some more, Mr. Potter.” Apolline stated grimly, her shock disappearing in caution.

He glanced at her, before turning to stare where her eyes pointed. His stunt seemed to have gained the attention of his enemies. Not just the dead Death Eater’s two partners, but even the rest of the cloaked riders came tearing through the night sky towards them.

This was the exact reason Harry and his group had been moving quietly: To not attract attention.

‘How long did my promise to not act upon anger last?’ He grimaced, though found he wasn’t too bothered by it. Death eaters deserved all of his vengeance and more.

Just the sheer sight of them reminded him of everything he’d went through in the last life. Every struggle to survive, every injustice done, every loved one’s death…all would come roaring back to the forefront of his mind. The dead itself would scream at him for vengeance, begging to be avenged, and Harry was more than happy to deliver.

Without actively occluding his mind, he found the deeply jaded monster that he’d become in the last days rearing its ugly head in his chest again.

“Let me free!” Stella struggled against her bonds, breaking his thoughts. “I can talk to them!”

Harry shook his head, walking forward. “They’re Death Eaters, woman. They serve a different lord.”

Of course, the fact that Death eaters were working with the Alliance was easy to see now. That was the only way they could’ve beaten the security.

A darker, more chilling realization that Voldemort and Grindelwald might also be working together born within him an instant later, but he quickly suppressed it for now. He will have time to ponder upon that later.

Gasps of shock went through the gathered crowd—who had come to surround him in awe—at his words, and they quickly scrambled away when they saw the dark figures riding through the night.

“Then cut me free, please!” Stella begged again. “I can help! I swear to god!”

With his eyes still on the soaring figures, he raised his wand and quickly started shooting. His spells were fast, reaching the sky in barely a couple of seconds. The Death Eaters were by no means professional fliers, and most likely did not expect the flashes of red; for before long another couple of dark figures were falling off of the skies.

The remaining ones wisely flew down.

“Fleur, Apolline, get ready.” He called back at the two before moving towards their captive.

He looked her in the eye, and the grey pupils flushed with fear—and something more—though refused to look away. “I have no god.”

With a swipe of his wand, he cut through the bonds. “But I have magic.”

He took her hand and opened her palm, handing her wand back as she stood frozen. “So swear it. On your blood, like Krafft had.”

She closed her fingers upon the wand and gave a determined nod, taking a deep breath.

By the time their enemies arrived—shearing a path through the crowd, killing and slaughtering, and sending them running—the oath was complete and Harry trusted her to guard his back. Well…for now.

They were ready.

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In the underground section of the stadium, Lily Potter and Bellatrix Black had all but lost any hope of finding one most troublesome young man; Harry Potter. Had it not been for the Stag Patronus to come and assure them of his safety, they would’ve most likely still been haunting the stadium’s underground compartments for years to come.

While some simple assurances would usually not be enough to calm the thunderstorm of worry in their hearts, Grindelwald’s presence made things desperate, forcing them to abandon the search and hope Harry would find them quickly…or perhaps just escape from the whole mess altogether.

In the meantime, the least they could do was to see to the safety of the remaining children.

It wasn’t as if they were caught completely off-guard by the Dark Lord’s presence of course. They’d made plenty of plans in the case of the most unfortunate event's occurring. It would’ve been foolish not to.

Thus, in no time, they were back to the surface and guiding a large group consisting of Weasleys, Tonks, Potters, Longbottoms, and a few of their Hogwarts friends, to the underground section of the stadium. The two women knew exactly what would be happening outside in public entrances, so they had planned ahead for this escape route.

The underground path joined the back entrance of the stadium, through which they would be able to exit and lead their group into the restricted ministry lands behind the stadium. While Grindelwald may have shut down the Apparition routes, he could do nothing about the Floo network that Ministry-officials (and Level 7 tents) had.

However, barely a third of the way away from their destination—when they were just out of the stadium and making way for the ministry tents—they were stopped short by Bella’s twinkling telecard.

“Lily! Bellatrix!” The Minister’s furious voice gonged through the group, spreading winces of pity as they all stared at the two suddenly anxious women.

Lily waved at Bella desperately, mouthing ‘Tell her I’m not here!’

“I know you are there Lily, don’t even try!” Lily winced at the Minister’s angry bellow. “I need you two here, like, yesterday!”

Bella pushed the card towards Lily, urging her to talk, only to have it shoved right back.

“Where are you two!? We are about to be slaughtered!”

Bella cleared her throat. “We’re leading a group of…helpless survivors to escape, Minister.”

She became a target of multiple glares. Not least of them was Alice Longbottom, one of the 10 tested Level 6 duelers.

“We won’t be long though.” Bella finished with an awkward chuckle.

“Bella,” Bones voice was now laced with grim desperation. “Voldemort is here. Along with Grindelwald and his group. We need you two. Now.”

Stunned silence enveloped the group, and the adults had to hush their fearful—and a few daring and raring—children quiet.

Then, in a cold enough tone to send shivers down their spines—something no one would’ve expected from her—Lily spoke out, “If they are both together, then you are simply calling us to our deaths, Minister. I suggest you quickly take your leave and drag my husband along with you. Dumbledore will deal with the mess.”

“No!” Amelia Bones snapped. “We will never get another chance like this! He’s not in his full strength yet, but I fear that won’t be for long. They’re preparing a ritual, Lily. And if they succeed, you can be sure our relatively peaceful days are at an end.”

In the moment of silence that ensued, both women grim-faced and hesitant, Alice Longbottom spoke up. “It’s fine. I know which tents have a Floo network. I can lead us there, and we don’t need any guards. You really have nothing to worry here.”

“We may not be Aurors, but we can defend ourselves, you know.” Andromeda Tonks said with wary amusement.

“Oh, very well then.” Bella grasped Lily and began dragging her to the stadium’s back entrance. “We’re joining you now, Minister. You lot take care!”

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There were eight of them, all cloaked with wide flowing black robes and faces covered by Death Eater masks that no two shared the same. They sauntered over slowly, spreading out through the crowd who drew away at the sight—still over a hundred meters away—to surround them from 3 sides, their gait confident and arrogant.

Harry itched to start casting and lay them low, but with Occlumency now actively running on the forefront of his mind, he stayed still as a stone, controlled and coiled in—ready to let loose anytime he wished.

Once the crowd thinned out, and he was sure they wouldn’t be accidentally murdering civilians, Harry surged forward with a single order to his companions. “Attack.”

And they did.

Picking their targets from the eight, they started casting. Harry chose the one wearing the most intricately crafted mask.

His opponent, just as overconfident as Krafft, found himself without an arm when Harry’s first Reductor cracked apart his shield, and the following Sectumsempre hit him right in the left shoulder.

Harry didn’t stop to finish him, already turning aside from a killing curse and returning fire with a Bone-breaker, before being forced to dance away as two masked wizards targeted him specifically, grouping up to put pressure on him.

This fight was quite different from all the ones he'd had today. There was not an ‘us’ vs ‘them’ here. They didn’t have the luxury of fighting in a single direction, against a single group of opponents. This fight was more ‘us’ vs ‘everyone else’ as spells came from all around them, except from their back.

Yet, that too soon proved wrong and he barely managed to duck down a wild stunner, letting it soar past him. Glancing back, he saw a new squad of Death Eaters aiming at them from behind, coming at them from between the parted crowds.

“Where did they come from?” Harry asked his companions, all of whom were stuck in the similar situation.

“They were patrolling the other entrance.” Stella answered him, a thin sheen of sweat trailing down her brow as she came to cover his back. “Maybe they recognized you.”

Now spells started to come from all sides, but with an Auror-level ally defending his back, Harry was free to deal with the irksome bunch in the front, casting at a breathtaking speed and sending large showers of spells every couple of seconds.

The speed of his casting and sheer power of his spells was such that all 6 opponents—one taken down by Apolline—were forced to turn their full focus upon him.

Beside him, Fleur and Apolline stood back to back as well, with Fleur facing the same side as him.

And she seemed to know exactly what to do, taking advantage of their harried opponents to pick them off one by one whilst Apolline defended her back. Her spells favored fire the most, and in no time one of the 6 remaining Death Eaters at their side was set ablaze—abandoning the fight to run around in panic like a headless chicken.

The opponents turned their attention to the girl then, taking her as the greater threat, and paid an even heftier price when Harry managed to land a perfect transfiguration spell right underneath one pair. The land turned to caltrops; sharp and metallic—piercing deep into two pairs of feet, and sending the couple of Death Eater down on their knees in howls of agony.

The remaining three could do nothing but fall victims to Harry’s second most lethal spell-chain—his power simply too high to defend against, even for them working together—one died from a nasty Entrails-expelling curse that created the most gruesome sight of this battle—indeed, seeing someone (even enemies) vomit out their intestines was not a sight for weak hearted—while the other two took Bone-breakers right to the head, dying a much more cleaner death.

Just in time as well, for their two partners were stuck in a precarious position. There were only five opponents at Stella and Apolline's side, and it was clear to them by now that for all their numbers, these Death Eaters were barely level 4 in dueling skills. 

Normally, Stella and Apolline would’ve surely managed to deal with the bunch, but their task as defenders tied them up too much.

Especially as the whole lot of the masked bastards were able to cast the unforgivables, something that Stella and Apolline could not dodge without risking their partner’s—who were standing right behind them—death.

So they were forced to absorb the pressure and be on the defensive.

The moment Harry and Fleur turned around however, the tide shifted completely to their favor, and in no time five more bodies joined their brethren on the ground, though with only one dead—curtsey of Harry—while the others were stunned and bound by the females.

Harry was eager to move on, but let his group recuperate from their exhaustion first. All three of them had seen almost as much action as him today, and they didn’t have the luxury of an enhanced body.

The Delacours may have joined the fight in the middle, but they’d experienced their own share of demons as well. Harry still wasn’t completely aware of the business with the male Delacour, and swore to get the full story out when this was all over.

“C’mon.” Harry beckoned after a few minutes. “We need to reach the stadium. This will all be over soon.”

Or so he hoped.

It was a false hope, though he did not know so now.

How was he to know, that this was all just the beginning?

How was he to know, that the tune of magic has changed? No longer calm, it sang of blood and destruction; it sang of war.

And it would soon encompass the entire wizarding world. The song of magic has changed; for now it attuned….

The Rhythm of War.

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AN: Aaaaand done! Finally! God I've been working so much on this chapter, haven't slept properly for the past couple of days (due to missing the word count in day 1). Hopefully it was worth it.

Well, its all coming together now. The final stand, the big fight, the main dose of action, you'll get all that and more in the next chapter. I don't know how many chapters are remaining in this arc, but it shouldn't be more than two I think (apart from aftermath and stuff). 

Well, let me know if you enjoyed!

Also, fun fact: Preet Pigwetter is an anagram of Peter Pettigrew. I was slightly weirded out by how normal 'Pigwetter'  seems in HP world. When I first formed it, I thought it was overly ridiculous, even though I was going for something humorous from the start. Now though, it seems quite alright lol.

Anyway, that's all for today.

Take care and good luck, and I'll see you lot tomorrow.

Peace!

P.S: If you notice any inconsistency between povs, pls let me know.