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Chapter 10 — Or No Way At All (reprise)

Absolute mayhem — that's what a battle really is.   It's a chaotic blend of spears, rocks, crossbow bolts, blades, and of course spells.   That's what you find yourself in the middle of at the moment.  

Baba Yaga's forces aren't even close to being prepared for your assault and now it's their turn to suffer the consequences.   The wizard who just ate your three piercing curses lies in a pool of reddening snow.   The man probably had a wife and kids.   He also had a choice — be in your way or be somewhere else.

He made the wrong choice.   Moreover, he's about to have lots of company.

A goblin, hurriedly quaffing his Worg potion, tries to fire his crossbow at you, one-handed.   You vanish the bolt as it leaves the device and follow with "The Bloody Puddle Maker" - it's not so much a bonecrusher as it is a bone detonator.   His entire arm ruptures in mid-transformation as bone chips moving at high-speed cause further injury to him and the two others close by.   The wretched creature finishes it's transformation into a now one-winged firebat flopping on the snow like a fish out of water.

You've already processed his death and moved on to the next opponent — a witch this time.   She moves well for an older bird close to Mrs. Weasley's age.   You roll out of the way of her firewhip as it slices through the snow, gouging a furrow in the white powder beneath your feet.   It'll cut your flesh just as easily if you let it.

A flick of the wand and a snarled incantation later, you have your own firewhip, and both of you begin a fight resembling those rhythmic gymnasts Auntie Petunia used to watch on the telly.   Fire does make nearly everything better!   The winner here doesn't get a gold medal, just another chance to keep fighting.  

She screams at you in a dialect you don't recognize as her tongue of flame passes close … too close for your comfort.   Had you been a moment slower, you'd lost an arm, or worse.       Diving under it, you close the distance to her.   She tries to dodge your counter, but you're faster than she anticipated and almost on top of her.   Her whip is on a backward trajectory after missing its mark.   Yours isn't and the lethal flames cut her arm off at the elbow.   She collapses to the ground, clutches at her suddenly free arm, and activates a Portkey.

Their Portkeys must be keyed to the wards or she was willing to risk probable death against the certain death of staying.   The predator spirit in your soul feels cheated out of the kill, but the more practical side realizes that it's one less enemy on the battlefield.

Your battle with the witch pulled you to an isolated part of the battlefield — either that or the others gave the two of you a wide berth.   It doesn't matter.   Getting back into the fight where you can do some good does.   Transforming, you cover the distance quickly as an Animagus.   Hack wrestles with one of the giants.   Another is threatening Moody and a couple of the mercenaries.  

That's another thing about large-scale battles, you don't have time to sit and decide who to help.   Instinct takes over and you know that your troll has that giant in hand despite the apparent mismatch.   You feel his confidence — maybe it is feeding off your own.   Moody and the others are at a disadvantage with the heavily magic resistant humanoid so close.  

The monster is a nearly twenty-five foot tall rampaging terror.   It bleeds from numerous wounds and probably won't live beyond the battle, but it obviously doesn't care.   That massive wooden club with iron spikes swings around as you come out of your transformation.   You banish one of the mercs out of the way of certain death.   The creature's other hand snaps out and grabs Alastor Moody like a rag doll.  

Credit the grizzled former Auror, he immediately blinds the giant with a Conjunctive curse followed by a blaster that mangles one of them completely.   That's obviously the thinking that's kept him alive for so long.     You cast a cutter at the back of its leading leg — hamstring the bastard!

The giant teeters, goes to one knee, and tries to slam Moody into the snow.   You snap off a Cushioning charm and hope it helps as the two mercs lash out at it.   The falling mass forces you to scramble out of the way, but only for a moment.   The teachings of Kwan Chang-Ho leap to mind.

The second most vulnerable point on a giant, or a dragon for that matter, is its eyes.   Most, except for a psychotic hitwizard wouldn't think of the ear canal — a large-enough-for-a-wand direct path to the squishy cranial material.   Of course, the tricky part is getting a giant in a position to take advantage of that easy access port.

Your Blasting curse shatters its eardrum and scrambles its brains.   It's not getting back up.   One of the remaining ‘Daves,’ his right arm bloodied and limp, is already levitating the massive hand off of Moody.   The compacted snow takes on a springy feel and you get your hopes up.

They are dashed when you see the barely moving form of Alastor Moody.   He strains just to spit out a mouth full of blood.   Your spell spared him instantaneous death, but that just means that he gets to suffer.

The already injured Dave says, "I'll do what I can for him.   Get back in the fight!"

He's right.   Your knowledge of healing spells is way too limited to help out here.   This one's out of your hands.   Nevertheless, there's a burning anger in your chest for Moody.   That anger fuels your magic and it needs to be directed at someone.   There's a whole battlefield full of "someones" right over there.

Rage is an old, familiar feeling.   The Dursleys nurtured it and fed it to you on a daily basis.   They forced you to bottle up that feeling.     The animal inside you is probably the result of all that pent up aggression.  

Spells erupt from your wand, a physical manifestation of your anger.     The walls they were constructing collapse under a volley of explosive curses.   At your command a summoned rock weaves in front of a killing curse.   The caster becomes your next target.

You recognize him.   He's known as The White Horseman - one of Baba Yaga’s main henchmen.   Conjuring wind, you blow a snow squall at him.   Your hopes of enveloping and blinding him are dashed when the man dispels the driving winds.

Eyes lock and spells begin to fly.   You traded the now one-armed woman for another dance partner.   "Whitey" didn't get where he was by being a push over and neither did you.   Well, maybe that's an overstatement.   You used to be a creampuff, but have since outgrown it.    

Kwan Chang-Ho's lessons in combat come to you like sheer instinct. When possible always dodge the spells to conserve your firepower.   The heavy-duty spells require power to perform correctly.   If you know the spell, evade it.   If you don't, shield and evade it.   Then again, Kwan doesn't have your kind of power - does he?

The old saying, "Chop off the head and the snake dies," applies here.   He's one of the leaders.   Defeat him and the rest of them will break.   It's really that simple - except, of course, the whole defeating him part.

A solid shield soaks up his punishment, as the older man weaves unknown spells in your direction.   You keep moving, changing your directions and profile, waiting for him to let up and looking for your opening.   There it is!   No time for schoolyard spells.

You cast, "Ossium Scindus!"   - the bone ripper, followed by, "Aveugli" - A blinding curse, perhaps not the best choice, but the end motion of the ripper spell chains right into the first motion of the blinder, and it will keep him on his heels.

The Horseman dodges the ripper and shields the blinding curse that follows.   You go with another option.   There's a goblin loading his crossbow.

"Imperio."   Unforgivable?   In England, yes, and perhaps here.   You didn't stop to read the local provisions.   Either way, the damn goblin experiences a momentary lapse of loyalty - somewhat like the typical Hogwarts student.   The goblin's "magekiller" bolt wings the horseman, lodging in his non-wand arm.   Enraged, "Whitey" disembowels your hapless pawn with another arcane spell you fail to recognize.

Less than twenty feet separate the two of you.   His face is a mask of anger and you sidestep his Killing curse.   The bolt was no doubt poisoned.   The longer you can keep him from doing anything about it, the more the advantage shifts to your favor.   Keep up the pressure!   Fast Cutting curses, bludgeoners, and piercers swarm around him like a cloud of deadly insects.   A cutter breaks through and stains his ivory robes.   It is followed by a bludgeoner that spins him to the ground and shatters ribs.

The White Horseman struggles to bring up his wand, but you swat away his curse with a dueling shield.   He begins to writhe in pain as Svetlanna comes up by your side - obviously she doesn't care too much for the local laws either.  

Her eyes blaze with fury and she speaks with an aura of command.   "He won't be able to activate his Portkey, like this.   Finish the others, Harry.   I will hold him."

You turn to leave, already looking for the next opponent, but you get that feeling of wrongness.   Glancing back at Svetlanna, you see her arm - twice as long as it should be, reaching for you.   An oversized hand wraps around your wand hand and she activates a Portkey.

Shit!

------

Coming out of the Portkey, she's still got your wand arm wrapped up.   Svetlanna is incredibly strong.   You shift into your Animagus form and twist out of her grasp.   Her limbs continue to reshape themselves as you snarl.   She's a metamorphagus!

The room is large and well lit.   There are many others present — too many others!   More arrive via Portkey and they aren't part of your team.   Angry looks follow your every move.

Svetlanna returns to "normal" and looks unafraid of the angry jaguar mere feet away from her.   She holds your wand in her grasp, damn you hoped it would transformed with you.   Still, you have your backup wand.  

"Relax, Harry Potter.   Resume your human form.   Assuming you do nothing foolish, no harm will come to you."

Sparing a glance at a somewhat familiar witch, screaming while getting her arm reattached, you somehow doubt that.   Since you're not already dead, you might as well play along.   Becoming human again, you shrug.   "Metamorph huh?   I just thought you were very flexible."

"I am that and so much more," she replies.

Glancing around you see two healers hovering over the White Horseman.   You did a number on him.   "Well, I guess this is the part where I say, 'Take me to your leader,' isn't it?"

"Very well, the Bone Mother is ready to see you.   Follow me.   As for the rest of you, I'm certain you know how poorly you performed."

She leads you past the wounded and through the hallway.   The walls are lined with paintings and artwork from around the world.   At least she's not Baba Yaga, herself.   Bill would never let you live that down.   Speaking of which, "What about the rest of my group?   What are her plans for them?"

"They are of no consequence.   The remaining humanoids will slow them down, for now.   I suspect that your business here will be concluded long before they become a threat.   Honestly, if you didn't have those photographs and a plan for penetrating the defenses, I would have never agreed to be your guide.   The valley's protections will have to be upgraded."

The witch opens a set of doors into a private chamber.   Much like Dumbledore's office, it is filled with magical devices.   The old bastard would be jealous.   You recognize several of them, but you're not interested in such bric-a-brac at the moment.   Caged songbirds with tiny human faces immediately begin singing a soft tune.

One item draws your attention, however.   Beside a large and rather comfortable looking chaise lounge rests a hookah-looking device.   Floating inside it is a very familiar locket.   It glows with a pale blue light and emits tiny wisps of smoke.   Apparently, smoking really isn't just bad for someone's body — it's bad for the soul.

"What about your grandmother?   Was that a lie too?"

"Svetlanna was the last one to seriously challenge me.   Wearing her form amuses me and allows me the means to travel out amongst the people.   It is far easier to eat the lamb special when the cook isn't quivering in fear."

Oh that sounds bad, that trickle of bile in the back of your throat confirms it.   "Please tell me you're not Baba Yaga."

"I could Harry, but it would be another lie.   Would you be more comfortable if I adopted another form?   I did say that men my age fail to hold my attention."

Gross!   She's the old crone!   And you slept with her.   "No, this is fine."

She sits on the lounge and uses the hookah, savoring whatever it is she's breathing in.   "Would you care to try?   It is quite invigorating."

It's also rather sick.   "You do know what that is, or rather who that is?"

"Naturally, it is a Horcrux and a fairly powerful one at that.   From your interest in it, I now know the identity of the maker."

She relaxes and strips off her furs revealing the simple robe that you were rather eager to get her out of just a short while ago.   Another dribble of bile swirls at the back of your throat.

"There are many paths to immortality.   For one blessed with shape changing abilities, such as myself, there are doors open to me that are closed to others.   Those stories about me eating children are mostly lies, but souls are another item altogether.   This locket is a veritable feast.   I am loathe to part with it, but I assume you have an offer in mind."

Hurray, it gets better!   She's a soul-eating, shape changing, old crone — one part gorgeous witch and one part Dementor.   You should just puke and get it over with.

Of course she's eating Voldemort's soul, so there is a definite upside.   "How long before the piece of his soul is gone?"

"A few years, no more than three at the most."

"A little too long for my liking - I'm just planning on destroying it.   Is there any way I can convince you to speed up the process?"

She laughs, "It would be like throwing out a feast.   However, because I like you, and because I suspect you have enough Daemonbone to offer as compensation, I'll do it.   But tell me, what will you do about his other one?"

"I'll find the cup."

"The cup?   I wasn't talking about a cup.   I was referring to that scar on your head."

"What?"   That's something you weren't prepared for and you really don't like the sound of it.   "What do you mean the scar?"

"Oh dear, I thought you knew.   There's a piece of him with you.   At first I couldn't understand my own attraction for you.   I normally like my boys a bit older, but around you I was unable to explain or deny my infatuation."

You don't have a good comeback to this.   In the light of this new development, your witty banter fails.   All you have left in your inventory is, "What?"

"Don't get me wrong, Harry.   Your power, your drive, and your youth — it is a rather tasty package, one made even more delicious by the taint of the soul I am devouring.   It drew me like a moth to a flame."

The locket doesn't seem that important at the moment.   "Can you remove it?"

She motions for you to sit and lacking any other idea you sit next to her.   She traces the scar with her finger.   The motion stirs a reaction in you that you definitely don't want at this particular time.   Svetlanna, it's easier to think of her by that name, brings her lips to it and moves them slowly across it.

This is disgustingly erotic.

She breaks away and you notice her chest heaving a bit and the flush of her cheeks.   "I'm afraid that the only rituals I know for extracting that shard of your enemy would be fatal to you as well.   That is obviously not the result you are looking for.   Though if you destroy both this cup you speak of and his physical form, you may be forced down that path to ensure he cannot return."

"Fantastic!   Even more good news!"

"Still, you may be able to use this to your advantage — I offer no guarantee, but his magic will be less effective against his own Horcrux.   If your enemy does not know this, it could be of great use to you."

You want to tell her that this nugget of hope she is offering you is about as useful as a galleon buried in a steaming pile of dragon dung, but she seems genuine — for a seven-hundred year old witch, who has be lying to you all this time.

Svetlanna, sensing your discomfort, stands and stretches.   She summons an owl.   "Write your friends and have them to hold their position.   There is no further need for bloodshed."

You scribble a quick note, telling Bill that you're okay and negotiating for the locket and signing it with one of his runic schemes to give him confidence that you're not writing this under duress — or at least much duress.

"How much bone do you want and what will you use the Daemonbone for?"

"What do you think my hut is made of?   Chickenbones?   I've been planning a renovation for several years, but lacked the raw material."

"How much do you know about them?   The one I fought left me with an impression that we could possibly meet again."

"They're known for lying and twisting the truth, only a few have the gift of prophecy and they are all greater …" Her voice trails off before she looks at you with a sly smile.   "I was about to say surely not, but you and I Harry, we are legend.   Tell me about the Daemon you faced and I will tell you how much I require.   I will also consult my scrolls and learn what I can for you of this creature.   You will likely find none more knowledgeable than I."

You show her a Pensieve memory — not the battle, but the first time you entered Chilotha's temple, when it was still trapped behind the barrier.     The two of you watch it deliver the taunts.   Given your last experience with these memories, you pay special attention to the creature for any "hidden messages" it may have.

It's surprising how terrified you looked back then.   The Daemon turns its head and smiles broadly at the two of you and winks!

Damn that thing is unnerving!

Exiting, Svetlanna says, "From the shape, I believe I know this one.   It is a master of falsehoods and half-truths — and a most dangerous foe."

"Any suggestions if I have to fight it again?"

"How powerful is your Patronus?"

"Enough to hurt it.   Combined with my Animagus form, it was enough to defeat its physical body."

"Make weapons from its bones.   Infuse them with the power of your Patronus.   Poison them with the blood of a failed thief and that of a repentant liar and pray that you'll never have to use it.   Now, let us barter for the Horcrux."

It ends up costing you an arm and a leg — fortunately, not your own, but she removes the locket after taking a long inhale on the hookah.   One killing curse later and the locket is no more.   Riddle is another step closer to his next great adventure.   The one inside of you is troubling.   The marked as an equal part of the prophecy come to mind, as does the neither can live part.

Svetlanna interrupts your musings."Now, what do you have to offer for my services as a Daemon scholar?"

Sighing, you ask, "What else do you want?"

Her fingers work her robe open.   "Though I have a rational explanation for my infatuation with you and know it will lessen eventually, I still have the infatuation."

The bile in your throat returns, but then again you're a teenaged male.   Since Bill is already going to give you no end of shit about this, you might as well.

After all, she is incredibly flexible.

------

A few hours and one encounter you're trying to decide whether or not to forget later, you land your Thestral at the area where Bill and the others are waiting.   The Red Horseman is your escort and there to collect the Daemonbone.   It's hard not to think back to your last Thestral ride.   So much has changed since then.  

Don't worry about the Horcrux in your head, get rid of the cup first, Voldemort next, and then worry about whether or not you have to take one for the good of humanity.

Looking to your approaching red-haired friend, you ask, "Hey Bill, did Moody make it?"

He shakes his head.   "We lost Sean and one of the Daves as well.   That arse Charlie claims he's in charge of the mercs now.   He's just been waiting for you to show up so he can officially end their contract."

"Why?"

"You're technically the employer.   You have to release them from their papers."

You look at Kwan who looks tired.   "And if I don't?"

"The price doubles, but they must continue working."

"What do you think?   Is it worth it?"

"No, they've lost too much.   Edge is worn away — too fat from your coins.   Will be looking over their shoulders to see who dies next and wondering if they'll live to spend their money."

You can't exactly blame them, "Fine, I'll cut them loose.   Kwan, can you find us some replacements."

The Korean nods, "Always someone willing to die for money.   I have contacts in Korea and Mexico.   It will take time."

Without Kwan your backside just became less safe, but you're a big boy.   "Go ahead and get a crew together and meet us back in England."

Bill looks at the pouch you're carrying.   "Is that the locket?   Is it done?"

"Yes."

"What'd it cost us?"

"Daemonbone — one arm and a leg.   That gentleman over there is waiting for it."

He cringes.   "That's almost everything we brought with us!   Harry, you should have worn the old crone down a little."

"I did."   Not the way he would think, but being vague is the best path here.   The less said about that — the better.   "She also agreed to do some research into our four-armed goat-headed friend.   She has an extensive collection of scrolls."

"Okay, as long as she delivers some useful information."

"I think we can trust her about as much as we trust Dumbledore.   She seems to like me and her motivations are more transparent than his."

"Fair enough, I'll go get the bone.   You and Kwan go fire the mercs."

A few minutes later, you find yourself in front of Charlie.   There's an atmosphere of insincerity wafting about.

"I'm sorry to see you guys go.   They gave me a salve to fix Ivan."

The merc nods and accepts the jar from you.   "The money was good, Potter, but Sean let things go to his head.   You're a good employer, but it's time to move on."

Kwan doesn't care about being nice, "Terms still apply.   None of your people working for his enemies for one year."

"I know the terms, slant-eyes," a subtle reminder that Charlie doesn't care for Kwan.

Kwan smiles.   It's the kind of leer that can still send a chill up your spine.   "Maybe when all this over, I come and find you."

"Maybe we could settle this right now, old man?"

Someone's a bit eager to die.   Kwan laughs at him.   "You're time will come, but I still work for Phoenix Expeditions."

That reminds you, the name of the company needs to be changed.   Fawkes doesn't exactly like you much anymore.   You watch Charlie posture for a minute before losing interest.   Even with only one leg, Kwan could take him.  

You, Bill, and Hack have the responsibility of escorting Alastor Moody's body home — proof that even legends can die.

-----

Using the same high-speed sledding, your group retrieves the rest of the supplies and makes good time out of the Bone Mother's territory.   At the edge of the witch's valley, you see a familiar figure circling the sky.   What does Dumbledore want?   More importantly, what on Earth does Baba Yaga have that keeps a phoenix out?  

It swoops down and looks at Moody's body strapped to the back of the sled.   The phoenix turns an accusing gaze at you, as if to say, "How could you let this happen?"

"Yeah, where were you when we needed you?"

Fawkes answers with an angry hiss.   Flitting over to Bill, it extends a leg.   He removes the message.

William,

I hope your mission is going well.   Normally, I would be reluctant to interrupt, but sadly circumstances at the castle force my hand.   Events are occurring in England at a rapid pace and Harry is needed back here.

The Castle's wards are once again in danger of failing.   It is regrettable, but the blood anchor has been stolen and taken from school grounds.   My hope is that it is now destroyed, for I fear what Riddle is capable of with a piece of blood magic in his hands.

The theft corresponds with the disappearance of Miss Parkinson from the school, so I do not believe we have to look far for a suspect.

If that were the only piece of bad news, it would certainly be serious, but I'm afraid the situation is dire.

The Goblin Nations in both Britain and Brazil have gone into open revolt.   Those on the continent have not joined in at the moment, but that situation could change at any time.   Naturally, I suspect our enemy's hand in this.   Gringott's has closed its doors and sealed off their vault system.   This has, of course, had an adverse effect on the financial system.  

Although Harry's return is greatly needed, I wish you the best of luck in the recovery of the stolen artifact.

Albus Dumbledore

Bill finishes reading it aloud and looks at you.   "Ready to fight a Goblin war?"

"Sure, why not.   Go ahead and put it on my list of things to do."

"Hack and I will bring Moody back.  You catch a ride with Fawkes."

You shrug, "If it will take me.   How about it?"

The phoenix looks like it would rather drink curdled milk, but heads in your direction.

Bill calls out to you, "So what was the story with Svetlanna anyway?"

"She was really Baba Yaga?"

Bill stares in amazement as Fawkes digs its claws in to your shoulder.   "That's disgusting!"

As the swirl of magic begins, you laugh and shout, "For someone pushing seven hundred, she wasn't a bad shag!"

The magic fades and you find yourself standing in the middle of the Great Hall at mealtime.   Instantly, you feel the weight of Hogwarts wards — siphoning on your magic like a greedy sponge.   Everyone is staring at you including Dumbledore, many with their eyes bulging and mouths open.   Fawkes did that on purpose - damn bird!

Dumbledore clears his throat.   "Ahem, with that we welcome back, Mr. Potter."

"Bugger."

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• I was Born to Run I was Born to Dream The Craziest Boy You've Ever Seen I Gotta Do It My Way Or No Way at All And I'm Here to Please I'm Even On My Knees Making Love to Whoever I Please I Gotta Do It My Way (reprise) Or No Way at All (reprise) And Then You Came Around Tried to Tie Me Down I Was Such a Clown You Had to Have It Your Way, I'm Saying No Way So Why Don't You Turn Me Loose? Turn Me Loose
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