Companions of the White Warlock

Smoke Year VII - Companions of the White Warlock Chapter XVIII Sunday, October 12, 1997

"Well, Potter, what do you think?"

"Not bad," Harry said.

"Not bad?" Madam Hooch was surprised. "I think they're doing very well!"

"They're flying brilliantly," Harry agreed, as he watched the twelve members of the 'Flying Squad', led by Ginny, fly through an obstacle course at quite acceptable speeds. "They've made great progress in just three weeks of actual flying."

"Then why 'not bad'?" Hermione, who was in the group watching, asked.

"Because the goal isn't just to fly hard, fast, and maneuverable," Hooch said with a slight sigh. "As far as I know, there have never been any real air battles in the whole history of flying, or even major attacks from the air for that matter."

Hermione frowned. "None at all?"

"Oh, there have been fights on broomsticks," Hooch said, "but never more than two or three on either side. There have also been many cases of wizards on brooms or carpets or such flying to attack stationary targets, but never a real battle."

Ron poked Harry. "He's ready."

"Who is?" Hermione asked.

"Signal the flyers to come over," Harry said.

"Harry, what are you up to?" Hermione demanded.

"A practical test," Harry said. "Remus?"

Remus flicked his wand, and a bundle of brooms suddenly appeared in front of him just as Ginny and the flyers came over. "You all flew great," Harry told them. "Now we'll have two practical tests. In the first case, at least, you are defending."

"What are we defending?" Ginny asked.

"Not a 'what'," Harry answered. "'Who'." He pointed over towards the distant Quidditch stands, where a figure waved from the ground entrance. "That's Neville. The other Proctors -- Mark Stover, Carla Brown, Anthony Goldstein, Ernie Macmillan, and Susan Bones plus Hermione and Remus will be defending Neville from the ground. The flying squad will be defending from the air. Now, we all know the coloring spells, right?" Everyone remembered the simple spells which turned things, or people, different colors. They had all learned them in their first weeks at Hogwarts, where it had been common to prank each other by turning each other various colors. "The ground team will use blue. The flying squad will use orange. The attack squad will use red. Color spells and shields are all that are allowed."

"Who are the flyers?" Hermione and Ginny demanded together.

"Ron, Tonks, Fred, George, Luna, and myself." Harry turned to Hooch and McGonagall, who, along with Russell, formed the rest of the observers. "Would you three care to join in the attack?"

Hooch and McGonagall smiled grimly and nodded. Russell requested and was given permission to join in with the ground defenders instead. "Our goal is to 'kill' Neville," Harry reminded everyone. He turned to the ground defenders. "We can launch anytime after thirty minutes," he warned them. "You'd better get going."

"Where do you attack from?" Ginny asked.

"That's something you'll have to wait to find out," Harry answered.

Fifty minutes later, the three groups limped together to examine the damage inflicted on each other. Luna had been knocked out of the attack group fairly early on, for while she was a very good flyer she was not a great one. The rest of the attackers had repeatedly scored hits on both the ground group and the flying defenders, mostly due to the fact that the attackers (not counting Luna) outclassed all the flying squad other than Ginny.

When the group had healed each other others' minor injuries (caused mostly by mid-air collisions and stumbles on the ground) and everyone had been restored to their normal colors, the twins reluctantly brought out some of the weapons Harry had ordered. "I think we'll sit this next round out," Fred said.

"Yes, err, we need to study the effects from a distance," George added.

"Nonsense," Harry said, "you need to see things up close and personal, like the rest of us. You DID remember to bring blanks, didn't you?"

"A few," George agreed.

"Some of the regular ones might have gotten mixed up with the blanks and duds," Fred acknowledged.

"Well, you two have ten minutes to sort things out," Harry snapped, "because you two lead the next round of attacks."

Fred and George sighed, and went to work.

"What do we have?" Hermione asked. "I want to know before we see them in action."

"I certainly agree," McGonagall stated. She folded her arms. "Unless there is an actual attack, these students are my responsibility."

"For the flying squad, the primary air weapons are four take-offs on a Muggle smart guided missile, although a small one," Harry answered. He pointed at two piles of narrow metal tubes, 42 inches long, some green, some purple, some striped, and some orange. "Before they can be used, each flyer has to touch each tube with their wand while saying an incantation. For the green ones, they also have be spelled while touching the tube with the end of their broom. The orange missiles will head for any wand more than twelve feet in the air that it wasn't set to ignore. The green ones will head towards any brooms. The purple are air-to-ground missiles, in case the flyers get a shot at massed targets. The striped ones are for Inferi, if any ever show up."

"But Madam Hooch said that there have never been any air battles," Neville pointed out. "Why prepare for one?"

"Because it's still possible that Voldemort might send an assault force at the castle that way," Harry answered. "If he does, well, then we will have the first air battle." He turned to Hooch. "We'll have to set these to our wands and brooms as well."

"How many can they be set for?" Hooch asked Fred.

"It should be limitless," Fred answered. "We didn't test for more than twenty, but there weren't any problems."

"After each set of students leave every year, you should remove their settings," George added. "We built that in as well. These are for long-term defense, not just for this year."

"We didn't learn much in History of Magic. . . ." Fred started.

". . . but we did learn that there's always another Dark Lord wannabe, sooner or later," George concluded.

"Now, as for these six sets of spheres," Harry went on. "Notice they are coded not just by color but by shape. That way, the flying squad can learn to distinguish them even if there is a night attack."

"And what do they do?" Ernie asked. "Come to think of it, what happens if you get hit by a missile?"

"The anti-broom missiles should hit the bristle end," Harry replied, "setting them on fire. The anti-wand missiles should produce a small explosion of a freezing potion. Your wand hand should be numb for at least an hour. As for the spheres, these four are pretty simple. The orange ones also have the freezing charm. It dangerous only if you inhale a large amount of it. The small pile of sliver ones, well. . . ." Harry looked at Remus.

"Just in case Voldemort does have some more werewolves?" Remus asked.

Harry nodded. "It releases a cloud of silver dust, which will stick to the skin. It is potentially fatal if it's inhaled, but. . . ."

"But it would be very painful on the skin of a werewolf," Remus agreed.

Harry moved on quickly, "The yellow ones have a version of a Muggle concept called 'tear gas'. It will cause your eyes to burn, cause coughing and possibly vomiting. Again, it shouldn't be too harmful unless you inhale a strong concentration. The final one is a knockout potion."

"Why bother with the other ones?" Ron asked.

"Dispersal," Fred answered.

"The knockout potion doesn't spread very well," George added. "You can just trot right through it without inhaling enough to really affect you. The freezing and tear potions will spread over a ten yard area in less than a second and it will spread slowly unless there is a wind stronger than about eight miles per hour."

"The red ones produce a loud bang, but they are primarily useful for night fights," Harry went on, "as they produce a bright magical fire that lasts for three minutes. That means there will be a lot of light, but it won't start any fires. The small black ones, well, if you get hit by one of those, you could lose body parts."

"These are the duds," George said.

"We promise," Fred agreed.

"They had better be," Harry growled.

Monday, October 13, 1997

"Rough weekend, Potter?" Scrimgeour asked as Harry, limping and obviously hurting, came into the Minister's office led by Percy Weasley.

"We had a very tough training session yesterday," Harry said as Percy shut the door behind him. Harry jabbed his thumb in Percy's direction. "It was made worse by his twin brothers." The twins had misidentified one weapon as a blank.

"From what Weasley has said, I'm not surprised," Scrimgeour pointed out. "Anyway, thank you for coming."

"You're welcome," Harry answered. "Is this about the meeting you were supposed to have with the other European Ministers this month?"

"You mean you didn't know the date?" Scrimgeour asked, surprised.

"I'm sure some of my people know, but the main point, to me, is that you're meeting with them if you haven't already."

"I suppose so," Scrimgeour admitted. "Anyway, we met this past weekend."

"Good," Harry said simply. "How did the elf rights do?"

"As far as I'm concerned, it was a minor point," Scrimgeour answered with a scowl. "Still, let's start there. The rights bill will be announced by all the European Ministries on New Year's Day. They will be phased in over the next year."

"Good," Harry said simply. "What else did you discuss?"

Scrimgeour smiled with triumph. "We didn't just discuss, Potter. We're setting up a special task force for the various aurors around the world. The European Ministries are the last signing on."

"Let me guess, the North American Confederation is pushing this."

Scrimgeour shrugged. "Who else? They finally came up with both some seed money and some safeguards for national security."

"How long until they become effective?" Harry asked.

Scrimgeour sighed. "Probably more than a year. Yes, it's late. We just have to hope that it's not too late."

"You'll have someone brief Mister Weasley?"

"He should have the reports already," Scrimgeour assured Harry.

"Good." Harry pulled a set of parchment out of his robes. "Healer Johnson's report," Harry said simply.

"Snape?"

"Mostly recovered and as obnoxious as ever, from what I hear," Harry said.

"Any new information?"

"Not yet. Professor Russell should be seeing him today."

"How about the Longbottoms?"

"She says they might actually come around over the next few months," Harry said. "They'll never be fully recovered, but they might actually be functional."

"Great," Scrimgeour said. "They were both wonderful people."

John Russell entered the private, secure room at St. Mungo's. Severus Snape sat motionless in a chair looking out a window.

"Hello, Severus," Russell said.

Snape said nothing.

"Whatever complaints I might have, or have had, towards you, your being silent is not one of them."

"Do you know how I was found out?" Snape asked, giving in.

"How?"

"He could not believe you, let alone Potter, found out a way to destroy his dementors."

"Who did he think. . . ?"

"Dumbledore, of course. So, the greatest sin I ever committed came back to destroy what little chance I had to redeem myself."

"True," Russell agreed. "You don't have anything else to tell me?"

Snape made a slight gesture towards a pile of parchment. "I think it's all there. If not, I'll send it along, assuming I'm in any condition to remember anything."

"Why wouldn't you be? It's not like we can feed you to a dementor."

"Very funny, John," Snape retorted, although still without any venom. "Tell me, how did you figure out the dementors' locations, and how to destroy them?"

"There are other powerful, knowledgeable wizards in the world who helped us find them," Russell answered simply. "The thing you should remember is, the reason why we could destroy them is because of Harry."

"He really is this White Warlock?"

"He is."

Snape sighed, and simply said, "Shit."

After a long pause, Russell asked, "Nothing else to say or ask?"

"I take I am not to be executed?"

"No." Russell couldn't resist saying, "It looks like your destination will be where Harry suggested, although the term is yet to be determined."

"Look at those notes carefully, John," Snape said.

"I will."

After a few moments, Snape sighed and gave in. "Where is Potter having me sent."

"South America."

"Not that prison in Venezuela, or the one in Brazil I hope."

"Bolivia, actually."

Snape frowned. "That's not supposed to be too bad. Why there?"

"You get to have the cell next to Pettigrew."

Snape winced, but said nothing.

Friday, October 31, 1997 12:47 am

Hagrid moved quietly through the Forbidden Forest. Something -- someone? -- had screamed, and then the Forest had gone far too silent. That had brought Hagrid rushing out of his hut and into the Forest some twenty minutes before. He was tracing moist splotches which had to be blood of some sort.

He was alone. Fang had refused to come out from under the bed. This didn't bother Hagrid. Fang had grown more cowardly over the years and Hagrid had been going into the Forest for nearly fifty years, sneaking in the first time during the early spring of his Second year. Hagrid had spent decades as the assistant gamekeeper, and had taken over the groundskeeper job in addition. He had succeeded into the job of 'Keeper of the Keys' as well. He was a professor, and over the previous months he had filled in some of the gaps in his magical education that his expulsion had created, although he had picked up a great deal of magical knowledge over the decades.

"Stop right there, Rubeus Hagrid," a soft voice hissed from Hagrid's close right.

Hagrid spun around, the lantern in his left hand, his new wand in his right. Hagrid frowned. "Hello, Tom."

"I dislike that name," Voldemort said, taking a few paces closer to the half giant. "Still, from an old school acquittance, I suppose I can tolerate it . . . for the moment."

"Goin' ta try an' kill me, are yeh?" Hagrid asked.

"Try?" Voldemort asked in return, amused. "I see you have a wand again. Do you really think you can defeat me?"

"Probably not," Hagrid agreed, moving slightly closer. "Yeh really wouldn' expect me to give up easily though, would yeh?"

Voldemort considered this. "To be frank," he finally said, "up until five or six years ago, I believe you would have just stood there in terror and let me kill you. You are more a wizard these days than you were for decades. It may give me more satisfaction to kill you if you fight."

"Yeh stole my education from me, Tom," Hagrid pointed out. "When I saw dementors, it was you I heard an' saw. I've grown pas' that. You can bet I'm gonna fight yeh."

"Oh, bravo," Voldemort sneered.

"Why did yeh frame me all those years ago, Tom?" Hagrid asked.

"Only because you were so easily framable," Voldemort answered. "It was nothing personal."

"Then why did yeh still try ta get me trouble the rest of the time yeh was still a student here?" Hagrid demanded. "I couldn' 'ave meant anythin' ta yeh."

"I believe it was because while you were still here, it meant that Dumbledore still suspected me, and might prove something," Voldemort admitted.

"That's kinda childish, ain't it?"

Voldemort scowled. "Enough of this." He started to raise his wand.

Hagrid quickly responded by throwing his lantern at Voldemort's chest as hard and fast as he could. Voldemort instinctively tried to move out of the way, but the lantern exploded against his back, setting his robe on fire. Hagrid strode forward, and his huge fist clubbed Voldemort to the Forest floor, breaking the Dark Lord's left shoulder.

Voldemort rolled away, screaming in pain. Hagrid tried to stomp on Voldemort's head. Had he connected, Voldemort's body might have been killed.

Voldemort just managed to twist out of the way, screaming, "Stupify!" as he did so. The twisting had also stopped the fire.

Stunning spells generally had little effect on Hagrid. Even Voldemort's, powerful as it was, would have had little effect had it landed in most places on Hagrid's body. This one, shot from the ground up, hit Hagrid in the testicles. That slowed even Hagrid down.

Voldemort knew he could not afford to toy with Hagrid like he had hoped. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Hagrid collapsed on top of Voldemort, breaking the sternum and nine ribs of the self-proclaimed Lord. One of the ribs punctured Voldemort's left lung, another his spleen. His liver was also lacerated. Had he been fully human, he would have died within hours without medical attention. Voldemort's body, however, would repair itself, although it would take some three weeks to fully recover. It took him nearly an hour to crawl out from under Hagrid, and another ten minutes to make a portkey. Voldemort shot off the Dark mark, and activated the portkey.

The Forbidden Forest was completely silent for several more minutes.