Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Harry Potter and the Soul of the Hero

Chapter 19 - Plans of the Light and of the Dark

No sympathy. No eternity.

~~Nightwish

After leaving the Forbidden Forest with a new sense of who he was, and what he still had left to do, Harry materialised in the kitchen of the Black Manor he had called home these last few weeks. In real time he had left it only about two and a half hours ago, telling his friends he would be back soon and they would be going to England. But to him it felt longer, at least a day.

Shaking his head, Harry dispelled his memories of the centaur drug trip. He didn't want to recall the majority of it just then, if ever, and hoped an awful lot that the little man, Beelzebub, was gone from his head.

Not surprised in the least, Harry found Ron enjoying a late breakfast/early lunch right where he had left him so much time ago. In the few days after utilising this house Harry had stocked it well with food and supplies from the Muggle world. Ron seemed to have a deep fixation for Coca Cola, as the table was littered with empty cans of the sugary drink.

"You do know that that stuff rots your teeth," Harry whispered. He had appeared silently behind Ron and smirked as his best friend jumped in his chair and flicked his wrist, propelling his wand into his hand.

"Very funny," Ron grunted, sitting back down and returning to his plate of Poptarts and Smarties. "You do what you had to do?"

"Always," Harry nodded, swiping one of the cokes and pulling the tab. "I did more than I thought I would, too."

Harry gazed at Ron hard, staring straight into his eyes. Ron shifted in his seat under his gaze but didn't say anything. It had been one hell of a revelation at the end of the magic powder visions. One hand, perhaps of the Creator, but a hand held five fingers. Now that he had realised that, Harry thought Ron should look different, perhaps stronger, but there was no change in his friend.

He was human - they all were - but for some reason it was Harry who had been given all the strength and power. He was the Darkslayer, which was the Hand of God, so did that mean Ron, Hermione and Ginny, Ethan as well, were also, in part, the Darkslayer? Harry didn't think so. That was his curse, and his alone.

And then Hermione and Ginny came out of their respective rooms. The kitchen was fitted against the far wall in a large, somewhat empty room that was extremely big and open. The guest rooms were fitted against one of the side walls, and in between all of that was the comfortable sitting room. Light poured into the magically expanded room from the long, clear glass window that was also the front wall.

What do I tell them...? Harry wondered, feeling nothing much one way or the other. To tell the truth he was fed up with all these cryptic prophecies and half glimpsed futures shrouded in uncertain secrets. It had gone on too long and he didn't want to dance to the tune of it anymore. Getting out was impossible though - when you had to be in it to win it.

"I thought I heard you," Ginny smiled warmly. "What happened to your cheek? And your shoulder! Did you even notice the gash in it!?"

Harry blinked and then remembered the injuries he had suffered in the... dream world... Ralph the houseplant had stabbed him and an enemy soldier had grazed his shoulder with a sizzling hot bullet. There was also a gash in his lower leg as well. He waved his hand in a few complex movements and all the cuts and grazes across his body knitted themselves back together.

"I forgot, Ginny," he shrugged. "But... but just come and sit down. I've something to tell you that you could consider important. I don't think it is that important, but then I am tired of this game... very tired... it might shock you, however."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, glancing nervously at Ginny. "Is Ginny--?"

"Not just Ginny," Harry said carefully, gesturing to the empty seats at the kitchen table. "All of you."

Hermione sat down silently next to Ron, who wiped his mouth of poptart residue and raised an eyebrow in Harry's direction. Ginny seemed to sense the seriousness of the situation and calmly took a seat opposite Harry, who stood leaning against the kitchen cabinets.

So Harry told them their fate. In the simplest terms that he could. They were destined, it seemed, to suffer the wars of evil. He spoke about the memories he had that could confirm the five-finger theory he knew to be true. He mentioned Ethan, and his belief that the man had been in his head for so long because, just like them, he had a vital role to play in what was to come.

Harry knew how each of his friends would react, and he wasn't surprised in the least that Ron, Hermione and Ginny accepted what he said without hesitations. There was no fear, only a steely determination. That said, Ron's appetite did seem to dwindle somewhat and he pushed his plate of junk food away.

"The five of us," Harry said, after giving them time to digest this latest development. "We five are all that stand between Creation and Annihilation. Opposites again there - it's all connected, it always been. Everything that we have ever done or will ever do, that anyone has ever done, has been leading up to our final fight...."

"This is... big," Ron decided.

"I don't want to be overly dramatic," Harry continued. "We're all part of this story and we can try and stop it becoming too cliché, but I do have to say this... we are the Hand of God, each of us an avatar of the Creator... Beyond that I don't know what it means, or even if it matters, but it is true. Somewhere along the line our story split from the insane and became the absurd... we just have to live with that, whatever the cost...."

Harry took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. "Countless worlds exist just out of sight, within choice and chance... imagination is looking into another possible world. Stories are what make a universe - anyone that has ever written 'fiction' has created another world that we can reach, through magic. I'm saying this because I want you to understand the scope, the awesome size of Existence, and know how much will be lost should we fail."

"We won't fail," Ginny said fiercely. "We can't fail."

Hermione shuddered. "I wish I shared your conviction, Gin," she whispered. "We'll give it our best, Harry."

Ron, surprising them all, began to laugh - to chuckle even. "Why not?" he said. "You're running out of coke, by the way, Harry."

Harry grinned. It was both calm and insane. "Well you know now," he said, shaking his head slightly. "You know who you are and you know where we're going. I want you to make all your future choices knowing full well the consequences should it all go to hell. And now that all that crap is out of the way, get your coats, we're going home."

Ron and Hermione moved off towards their rooms, to do just what Harry had asked, but Ginny stayed. She eyed Harry for a moment, and he stared out of the far window, probably millions of miles away searching for a way out of this mess.

"What's next, Harry?" she asked him. "Where do we go from here, Mr. Twilight?"

Harry blinked when she called him that. Beelzebub had done the same. It brought a smile to his face. "What's next, she asks," he whispered. "Well, Gin, my army is next. The Twilight Guardians are next... this world, is next."

The Twilight Guardians were something Harry had been giving a lot of thought to. He needed to expand their numbers beyond thirty, and add some wizarding folk into their ranks, too, but the list of people he could trust wasn't exactly a mile long. One thing Harry had to make certain was that the Guardians were deeply entrenched in the Light. He couldn't have dark wizards in their number.

There could be no betrayal at a critical moment, nothing to disrupt his all too shaky plans. He could take no prisoners; he could show no mercy - anyone that stood against him, who was evil, would die. It wasn't easy looking at everything in black and white, but the many shades of grey no longer had any place in this world.

Everyone had to choose a side.

Damned if you do damned if you don't.

Oh, heck.

Maggie Thorn would look after things in his Australian Ministry for a few days, perhaps even a week if he needed it. She had come to see the need for him, after having dozens of her Aurors slaughtered in the foyer of the Ministry by only five, albeit super-charged, Death Eaters.

Harry's bandana slipped down and he absently pushed it back up under his fringe, all the while thinking and thinking, the thoughts turning and turning - searching for the one answer that could solve all of his problems and that most likely did not exist.

At times, Harry wondered if the last hundred years had been just a vivid nightmare, and that at any moment now he would wake up, back at Privet Drive in the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts. That was a dream, wishful thinking, something he could not allow himself to be distracted by.

There were and would be too many battles in the future, and just thinking about the coming months gave Harry a headache. So far this week leading up to his birthday had been as hectic as most in his life, and it wasn't over yet. Voldemort stood at the head of it all, always Voldemort.

Harry had no doubt that, given the chance, Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, could bend the mighty Destroyer army to his will. He was that powerful. Harry knew he could do it, because Harry knew that he himself could do it. He had destroyed them once and would do so again, and at the same time deliver a serious blow against Voldemort.

Best laid plans, however....

"All set," Ron said, his arm around Hermione's waist as they came back over to the kitchen. Despite all they had learnt over the last few weeks, Harry was certain his friends were as strong as he had to be when it came to dicing with fate and the powers that sought control of Creation. They had handled it well, and would continue to do so.

Harry nodded, shoving the sleeves of his robes back and exposing his arms. "Grab an arm," he said to Ginny and then offered his other to Ron and Hermione. "Grimmauld Place first up, I reckon. Then I need to set some plans in motion."

*~*~*~*

The Prime Minister stared with tired eyes out of his window at Number 10, Downing Street. The last few weeks had been his hardest since taking office, most likely the hardest any Prime Minister had had to face in this office. Save perhaps the great Winston Churchill, who led the world to war and saved civilisation so many years ago.

Sighing, the Prime Minister returned to his desk and looked at the growing pile of deaths reported in the newspapers and the odd occurrences happening all across the planet. No names were mentioned of the perpetrators of some really terrible crimes, as the perpetrators hadn't even been seen let along caught. It stunk of the magical world, however, it could be nothing else.

The mass grave robberies had been another headache. In Britain alone fifteen thousand - 15,000! - corpses had simply vanished. Overseas the number was higher. The Minister for Magic Arthur Weasley had informed him, after being pushed to it, that Voldemort had reanimated the corpses and swelled his armies.

The Prime Minister shuddered. Such a thing was unbelievable; unacceptable... he was powerless to stop it. Inferi, Minster Weasley had called them, and not for the first time the Prime Minister was afraid of this magical war.

He had heard nothing from Harry Potter in over a fortnight and that in itself was worrying. Apparently the boy had secured the magical Ministry in Australia, and the Ministry of his own island was now supporting him, but that still left the rest of the world... and it was a big world.

The Prime Minister wondered how long it would be before he could spend some quality time with his family again. The job had been keeping him busy working twenty hour days for too long now, and he was close to snapping. The public were screaming for the government to protect them from the terrorists that had disturbed their idyllic world....

But these madmen had powers the majority of the nation didn't, and the attacks were getting more and more frequent. Dementors - he really wished he had never heard of those monsters - were leaving dozens of people as soulless husks every week. Everything was spiralling out of control.

"Hello, Prime Minister," a dark voice whispered.

Jerking his head up, the Prime Minister had not heard the man enter his office, and only had to take one look at the intruder to know why. A tall man in long flowing black robes stood before him. His hair was dark and cut close on his head and his eyes seemed haunted, shrunken back into his skull... and they shone faintly with a red light.

"Who are you?" the Prime Minister growled. "Did Weasley send you?" The man laughed and his eyes flashed. The Prime Minister blinked and the man held his magical wand firmly in his hand.

"No, my master is not your master, muggle," the man laughed. "Though there can be no harm in knowing my name... I am Rodolphus Lestrange."

The Prime Minister rose and took a deep breath, exhaling sharply. "What can I do for you, Mr. Lestrange?"

Lestrange laughed and his eyes burnt with Voldemort's power. "You can die, fool," he laughed. "Avada Kedavra!"

The Prime Minister slumped over his desk, dead, before he could blink. Removing a vial of ugly looking potion from his robes, Lestrange moved over to the corpse and cut off all of the man's hair with a cutting charm, placing it into a box and dropping a strand into the Polyjuice.

He disposed of the body with a portkey, sending the man to his master where he would become a mindless zombie, joining the Dark Lord's legion of Inferi. He then swallowed the potion with a grimace and took his seat, scowling at his despicable reflection in a mirror on the wall before transfiguring his robes into muggle attire.

Rodolphus Lestrange had just become the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

*~*~*~*

Fred and George Weasley had owned and operated their own store in Diagon Alley for about a year, give or take a few months, and business was booming. Apparently the darker the war got the more people wanted cheering up, so the two Weasley twins were hard pressed to keep up with demand.

As such, they had rebuilt their Hogsmeade branch after the village was annihilated last March, and taken on more staff in a production facility buried beneath that store. Diagon Alley was still their main branch, and they were making galleons faster than they could spend them.

Harry had been told all of this by Ron after he had dropped his friends off at Grimmauld Place. It had been a relieving, tearful for some, reunion between Ron and Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Harry had not stayed long, trusting his friends to do all the explaining that was necessary.

He found himself in Diagon Alley now, having made a quick trip back to his base in Australia to grab a few things he didn't want his friends knowing about yet. They had not explored his large house in its entirety, and the War Room - in which Harry had briefed the Twilight Guardians before leading them into battle - was sealed because of the dangerous equipment inside. It hid his armoury, which was protected by so many wards and spells that the metal cages were scorchingly hot to the touch.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny had charged some clear magical crystals for him, but not enough and not many - they simply didn't have the strength to mass produce them. Harry did, but it took time, and he knew that later on today he'd have to go see Dumbledore about the crystals they had spoken about a few days ago. He needed those crystals.

The armoury in the War Room also held the rolls of parchment upon which he had written down all the knowledge he could recall from the Ways of Twilight. He carried a few of those scrolls now, in a small pocket-sized trunk, along with a few dozen packets of charged crystals.

The glowing crystals were extremely explosive in their current, almost raw, form. Harry carried enough of them in his pocket to turn London and most of the south eastern land mass of Britain into a new ocean. The thought made him grin and just once he questioned whether it was wise to give such power to the Weasley twins.

Bending light around himself so that he was invisible to all, Harry entered the bright and ever vibrant shop, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It wasn't that busy at this early hour. It had only just turned eight o'clock, and Harry caught a glimpse of either Fred or George entering the supply room through the back.

He walked across the store and followed him, sealing the door behind him as he entered the darkened store room.

"We need to increase production, Fred, on the fireworks, swamps, toffees, and hats," George said, handing his brother a scroll of parchment. "We're selling them faster than we can make them."

Fred nodded, running his hand back through his red hair. "Hire more staff at the factory then, it seems."

"Or we could sell the designs to Zonko, and have him make them for us," George mused. "There wouldn't be that big of a loss in profit, and it would increase the product range."

Fred shrugged his shoulders. "We'll see what--AH!"

Harry dropped his cloak of light with a thought and appeared leaning against a stack of crates, running a galleon across the back of his knuckles. He smiled as both George and Fred reached for their wands, assuming a duelling stance, before recognising him.

"Hi, guys," Harry nodded. "Long time no see."

"Harry," Fred exclaimed, slipping his wand out of sight. "How spiffing to see you, mate. Are we to understand you have brought our dear brother and sister back with you?"

"They're over at Grimmauld Place calming your mother down before I head over there. I'd face Voldemort's wrath over Molly's any day."

George nodded sagely. "As would anyone with half a brain. Anyway, Harry, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"If we knew," Fred continued, "that the world's most wanted criminal was going to waltz into our humble shop today, we would have provided tea and biscuits and brushed our hair."

Harry grinned. "I'm sorry I didn't make an appointment, but I've been keeping a low profile of late."

"Low profile!?" the twins exclaimed as one.

"Harry," George laughed. "You fought a storm demon in the skies above London for the whole world to see!"

"You declared war on the International Confederation," Fred smiled.

"You're Minister for Magic in Australia, you fool," George grinned and then walked over to slap Harry on the back. "What can we do for you, Minister?"

"Or have you just dropped in to say hi?"

Harry shook his head and removed his shrunken trunk from his pocket. He expanded it on the floor and then flipped the lid open, revealing the glowing racks and sealed power crystals, along with the dozens of scrolls of parchment, packed tight with his small untidy scrawl. He picked up the first scroll and unfurled it.

"This," he said, noting the eager glint in the eyes of the Weasley twins. They at least had some idea of what the crystals were. "This is a plan for a shield device, using a mix of muggle and magical technology that doesn't exist yet."

"Shield device?"

Harry nodded. "Powerful enough to block any type of dark magic when fitted with three of those crystals there. It is also big enough to surround Hogwarts, including the forest, and this is just the small model."

"Technology that doesn't exist yet?" said George.

"That's right," Harry replied. "Because you two are going to invent it."

"We are?" the two twins chorused.

"You are."

Fred and George exchanged one of those glances that only twins can, in which an entire conversation and agreement was made silently. They nodded to each other and then took the plans for the shield from Harry.

"When do you need this by?"

"As soon as possible." Harry inclined his head in thanks. "I don't just need that one. There are dozens of other... devices that I want you two to build for me. All of them are detailed in these scrolls and all of them need these power crystals to make them work to their maximum potential."

Fred and George nodded. "And how much of each unit do you need?"

"Hundreds, guys, hundreds."

They took it in their stride. "No worries. And while we're at it, why don't we go tackle Voldemort and let you have the day off. Least we can do for saddling us with such an impossible task."

"Two and a half million galleons will be transferred into your vault by lunch time today," Harry said. "To build as many of everything in this trunk as you can, in the time we've got, we'll probably take about five hundred thousand of those galleons. Two million for your trouble and to pay any workers you need to hire to build this stuff."

"Staff...?" George wondered aloud. "I thought you chose us to do this, Harry, because you wanted it kept a secret."

"Those plans are useless without a power crystal personally charged by me, at least one in each device. And I chose you two because you have a knack for creating the absurd." Harry laughed and the age old madness flashed in his eyes. "Some of the things in these plans go beyond even absurd."

Fred reached down into the trunk and selected a scroll of parchment at random. He could feel the heat and power radiating off of the crystals in waves. They would be searing hot to the touch, so specialist equipment was going to be needed for this. Fred undid the clasp on the scroll and glanced at this... this....

"Harry," Fred said slowly, carefully, and for once with an utter and complete seriousness. "Is this what I think it is?"

Harry raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "I dunno? What've I called it?"

Fred shook his head. "You've just scribbled 'LAST RESORT' at the top of the page and underlined it six times."

Harry grinned again and George shuddered as he took the plans from his brother. "Ah... that," Harry said. "That, my friends, is... well, I suppose you could call it a bomb."

"A bomb," Fred whispered. "If those calculations and magical-yield estimates were correct, Harry, then that is more than just a bomb."

Harry nodded. "The Final Bomb," he whispered. "An ace up my sleeve... if this world is going to hell it's going there my way, on my terms."

George swallowed and carefully put the scroll down on the floor before him, as if afraid that it would explode. "Well that would certainly do the trick," he managed. "Harry, don't take this the wrong way... but are you bloody insane?"

"That parchment shouldn't exist," Fred hissed. "We should burn it right now. Do you know what you're asking us to make!?"

Harry had to admire the blazing set of morals that had been instilled in the entire Weasley family. As it stood now, Harry wouldn't hesitate to detonate such a device if it would end the war, but the cost of doing so would be astronomical. Here, the Weasley twins did not even want to know it could exist. They were right, of course, it shouldn't....

In a perfect world it wouldn't, but no world is perfect.

"I'm asking you to make... a future," Harry said, his voice calm yet hard. "All of the devices in this trunk are going to be used to end a war, free the world, stop the fighting... and save lives...."

George shook his head, glaring down at the parchment at his feet. "This... this thing, Harry, won't save lives. It has only one use, and it is beyond stupid to make it."

"If it comes to it," Harry growled. "I will need this bomb to stop Voldemort leaving this planet."

"Leave it!?" Fred exclaimed. "Where could he possibly go?"

Harry closed his eyes and hung his head down. "We live side by side with a thousand million other worlds, and Voldemort is strong enough and will live long enough to destroy them all, should he attempt it. One world, our world, is a small price to pay to end it here."

May you be damned, once again, for it, Ethan chuckled.

"How could a weapon like this possibly work anyway?" Fred asked, throwing up his hands. "There can't be enough power to...."

Harry grinned that maddening grin once again. "How much power, Fred, do you think is inside of a human being? How much raw energy?"

Glancing once again down at the plans, and then at each other, both Fred and George paled as they realised the final, ultimate implications of Harry's Final Bomb.

"We will not," they spat. "We will never make that! It shouldn't be possible, Harry, it shouldn't--"

"What?" Harry shrugged, still smiling calmly. "My bomb here connects the life forces of every single human being on this planet together, joins them all across the face of the earth, and then...."

"BOOM!" Fred exclaimed.

"Boom," Harry agreed. "One helluva boom, boys. Every single atom in every single human being on this planet, coupled with those who possess raw magical energy, exploding, splitting, erupting all in the blink of an eye. It would be quite painless and humane compared to a world under Voldemort's rule."

Fred and George had paled and they fell back until they were leaning against the crates of supplies and merchandise. "This is unbelievable," George whispered. "You're supposed to be the good guy, Harry." It was clear from the look in his eyes that he would never have any part in creating the bomb.

"The hero," Fred muttered. "That's who you're supposed to be."

Harry thought about that for a long moment, staring into the faint light of his power crystals, sealed as they were in the trunk. "The hero...." he finally said. "No, Fred, I'm no hero. I'm just a guy who gets the job done. You two are heroes, I reckon, for standing by your morals and refusing to build this monstrosity." He gestured to the plans for the bomb. "I'm sorry I asked you to. Trust me when I say there is nothing this horrific in the other plans, but I'll understand if you don't want to make some of it."

He summoned the Final Bomb parchment and tucked it into his pocket. Fred and George wouldn't build it, so Harry would have to find the time to himself. It had to be built, as he saw it, but with any luck never used. The truly terrifying thing of it was, that once it was built it would fit comfortably into the palm of his hand.

Harry was about to say more but he suddenly felt a great pulling in his stomach, a pulling that had only ever meant one thing. Darkness, trouble, great power. He shuddered for a moment as the possibility briefly occurred to him that the Destroyers could have just broken through. No, he thought, it is too early... they can't have yet.

Also, his senses were attuned to the Darkslayer pull in his stomach, and he knew that this evil was close by. Out in Diagon Alley. Harry sighed and closed the trunk at his feet.

"Don't suppose you fellas were expecting a Death Eater attack today," he said.

Fred chuckled. "No, why do you ask?"

From beyond the walls of the shop came the screams, the familiar screams, and then the sounds of curse fire and muffled explosions. Harry disappeared, leaving Fred and George, and reappeared outside of their shop in the early morning sunlight of Diagon Alley.

A thick sparkling stream of dark green light threatened to wash his life away as soon as he appeared. Time seemed to slow and Harry took a smooth step to his left across the cobblestones, the killing curse cutting passed his left ear and freezing the air. Harry never flinched in the face of death, and now was no exception.

In the time he had spent with Fred and George, the number of patrons in the alley, the wizards and witches, must have tripled. Dozens of scared and terrified individuals were running by either side of him, tripping over each other and jostling the crowd in their haste to escape the advancing line of Death Eaters.

Fifty at least, burning and pillaging their way up Diagon Alley. Green flames and billowing plumes of smoke rose up from the destruction behind them, and on the wind Harry caught the all too familiar smell of burning flesh. A searing hot parcel of air rushed into his back and Harry turned, his eyes widening momentarily as he caught sight of the mounted Death Eaters.

The Dragon Riders.

Four of them, circling and diving in the skies above London and Diagon Alley. Every few moments one of the Death Eaters would pull their leashed monster down and the dragon would shoot liquid hot flames onto the dry rooftops in the alley and surrounding Muggle establishments.

Like they had done a thousand times before, Harry's palms flared and white power roared up his arms, encasing them and burning away the sleeves of his shirt and robes. His skin tingled, as usual, and was left unburnt. He began to burn away and intercept the curses, dodging and letting go the killing curse he couldn't do anything about.

He sent two dozen curses, explosion hexes and blasting jinxes for the most part, deflecting up into the sky towards the large bulk of the nearest dragon. His skin thick and magically reinforced, all the spells managed to do was knock the beast momentarily off course.

Harry began to slaughter the Death Eaters.

Light flared in his fingertips and silver arrows burst from that light, ripping through the air and then ripping through the Death Eaters. At their velocity, the arrows rocked the alley at just short of the speed of sound. Fifteen Death Eaters died from the first five of Harry's arrows.

Long since immune to the death he caused, Harry thrust his hands together and began to pool his magic into a ball of sparkling light, all the while never taking his eyes from the rain of curses and deflecting those he could with his thoughts. When necessary, he sidestepped the dark green light of the Avada Kedavra. The pressure between his palms grew to an extraordinary level, and the strain of it broke out in the form of sweat on his forehead, which was kept out of his eyes by the bandana he had taken to wearing.

"Boom," he whispered, releasing the sphere of power and closing his eyes, searching for any feeling or emotion to affect him now. There was nothing.

It grew laterally at first, until it reached the store fronts on either side of the alley, and then it burst forward in a stream of the purest light that annihilated any flesh that was caught in its awesome radiance. The Death Eaters shadows appeared against the light and they were scorched into the pavement.

The remaining three dozen Death Eaters simply disintegrated. They ceased to exist this side of death.

Harry turned his attention skywards and to the flying menaces above him. He cursed and raised his hand above his head as one of the massive monsters landed on the rooftops above him and breathed down its liquid fire. As the flames fell, a dome shield rose above Harry and deflected the heat either side of him. He was encased in a dome of the hottest flames for a full minute before the dragon finally let up.

In that time, two of the other beasts had landed on the rooftops of Diagon Alley and the final dragon was circling overhead still. The three on the rooftops seemed to be staring into his eyes, seeking him out as the biggest and only threat amongst the scurrying humans beneath them.

The dragons roared as one, not releasing their fires but breath hot enough to scorch Harry's skin. He stood his ground, surrounded in a personal shield, and called his twin swords into existence, crossing his arms over his chest. With a single slash of these blades he could level London.

Wield your swords with full knowledge of the consequences, Ethan said, and his laughter echoed across and through Harry's mind. Be very, very careful... There's no mercy in those blades, Harry, just your intent. Death will not make such a distinction....

Harry chuckled. "The Reaper is always one step behind me...."

He raised his swords above his head and they shone in the sun. From the cloudless sky forks of powerful, deadly and colourful lightning tore towards the earth and the tips of Harry's weapons. Harry himself fell to one knee when they struck, spiralling around his long swords and crackling across his hilt. Once again his palms burnt from the effort.

The twin swords of Godric Gryffindor, of the Guardian, shone red and blue, green and silver, white and black.... A metallic taste entered the air as Harry rose and spun on the spot. Reality vibrated around him and threatened to collapse under the weight of his strength - but it held, for now.

Harry pointed the glowing tip of his sword towards the nearest dragon crushing the buildings on his far left and released the power, whilst pointing his other sword at the opposite dragon. A beam of the purest, darkest and cruellest magic shot from the swords like twin cannons.

It simply obliterated the dragons, destroying their heads in an explosion of flesh, blood and bone. Dragon skin could not stand against a power as old, if not older, than eternity and Fate herself.

Harry swung his arms around as the other dragon took flight, but nothing in this world could now save it. Harry's beams cut through its retreating body, which became nothing more than a falling mass of dead flesh that struck the rooftops over London a moment later. The final dragon was already racing for the horizon, and Harry let it go.

"Blimey, Harry," Fred or George Weasley said a moment later, as Harry released the power and put his swords away.

Uninjured, but very tired, Harry watched the first two dragons he had 'beheaded'. He watched their bodies fall across the alley and crush storefronts. A part of him realised then that it might not be worth rebuilding Diagon Alley, for this was still only the beginning.

"I'll send more crystals in a week," Harry muttered, his eyes always alert for danger. He scanned the sky now. "I need those devices built fast, Fred, George... I'm sorry."

A wave of the fabric of reality washed over Harry and he was gone.

*~*~*~*

Harry apparated across the face of the planet and reappeared, as planned, in a lower level of this reality. He was invisible deeper into the canvas than the surface world, but not so deep that everything was missing. Only a few colours were not yet painted onto the world at this level - everything else was there.

He had apparated into the heart of the Australian continent, and to the facility he had had his Ministry construct and build over the last few weeks. Across the desert to the horizon dozens of straight and magically enchanted barracks stretched and shimmered in the hot desert sun.

There was a town of sorts growing in the centre of the army barracks, with food stores and entertainment for the soldiers. Each long white shed was more comfortable on the inside than it looked on the outside. Private rooms for the officers and long shared rooms for the regular soldiers, but sporting all the usual comforts such as bathrooms, kitchens, and even games rooms.

He didn't want his soldiers forgetting what they were fighting for.

A surprising number had turned up after he announced his proclamation to the world - and so far only to the magical world. He believed the number of recruits being trained to fight by the Muggle soldiers, the Twilight Guardians, and being trained to duel by Australia's Aurors, was somewhere between 7000 and 10000, with that number rising everyday as more and more wizards and witches from the international community signed up.

There was enough space here to house millions upon millions of people, and even without wards and charms they would probably never be seen or found deep within the outback as they were. Still, Harry intended to place a few safety measures around the visible facility before he left - just until Fred and George completed a few of the defensive devices he had signed them on for.

He began constructing the wards in his mind, painting them onto the reality canvas he stood in. It didn't take long and he tied their strength into his magical core. No one could break these wards, save Voldemort, and it would take even him some time.

The majority of the white barrack houses were empty, awaiting other soldiers, and if Harry had to guess - he knew the Ministry was still constructing even more barracks - he would say the camp currently held maybe 5% of its maximum capacity.

He Apparated to the main operations centre within the complex and stepped into the first layer of reality. The man he had left in charge, the Muggle whose name was a secret and known only as Alpha One, showed no surprise when Harry appeared out of thin air before him. As if he had been expecting it, he saluted his superior.

"Commander Potter," Alpha One said.

Harry inclined his head. "At ease, soldier," he said. His voice was tinged with the sound of experience. And why not? He had led enough armies to war over the years to know how to run one. Even when he had just been a soldier in some, or a commander in others, he had learnt how to do the job.

"We've been expecting you for some time, sir," Alpha One said. He was unshaven and dark rings surrounded his eyes. Even in this slightly cooled complex the desert heat was making the Englishman sweat and his brown locks seemed glued to his forehead.

Harry looked around the room at the desks and chairs, the maps on the walls and spread haphazardly across the tables. Light shone in through the windows and half a dozen people were always coming and going. Trained as they were, not a one spared a second glance towards Harry and Alpha One.

"I would like a progress report," Harry said, taking a seat and conjuring two glasses of ice cold water. He offered one to Alpha One, who accepted it gratefully.

"We're on schedule to the conditions set, sir," Alpha One said, and drained his glass of water. "There have been a few deserters, I'm sorry to say, but those arriving more than offset the loss."

"What are the numbers?" Harry asked. Harry noticed that the man, even though he wasn't dressed for battle or probably even expecting a fight, concealed a weapon - modified pistol - around his ankle and one under the arm of his jacket. It was the mark of a good soldier.

Not even needing to consult a list of figures, Alpha One said, "Eight thousand, nine hundred and forty seven soldiers are currently housed here at Twilight One, Commander. Four hundred and twelve officers live and sleep in their facilities here, too."

"The training? You've trained four hundred officers already?"

Alpha One nodded. "Not to the greatest standard, sir," he said. "But the soldiers need discipline and to see a chain of command established. The Twilight Guardians have personally undertaken the task of training the officers in accelerated courses. We started with a thousand recruits, and the remaining four hundred and twelve have what it takes."

Harry agreed with that - it was the right thing to do. "And the soldiers' training? How are the instructors managing with so many students?"

Alpha One shook his head. "Slow but steady," he told Harry. "We haven't enough weapons to outfit each and every soldier, so most days they're on rotation at the firing ranges whilst the majority of candidates are taught basic survival tactics in the bush, and duelling skills by the Ministry Aurors."

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose as he nodded. He could fell another headache coming on and wondered if it was a side effect of the centaur drugs. His leg had begun to ache as well, from an old injury, and just thinking about that caused his shoulder to flare up too. He didn't sigh, however, a leader could not indulge in such weaknesses.

The weapons were a major problem, he knew, and one that needed to be solved fast.

"How many guns do you have in the armoury here?" he asked. "There are fifty rifles back at the manor... and several dozen more waiting to be modified. I'm expecting a shipment from your Prime Minister soon."

"At the moment, sir," Alpha One breathed a long sigh. "We can equip one hundred and twenty seven of the recruits with full battle gear and weaponry. They have their... magical wands... but the rifles are the preferred weapon in this war. More devastating, faster, and guaranteed kills."

Yeah, with today's weaponry there's no longer any need for medics in the field, Ethan scoffed.

"Within two weeks...." Harry began slowly, weighing up his options against his allies and enemies. "Within two weeks, Alpha One, I can deliver one thousand modified rifles. How long after that before I could send a unit into battle?"

Alpha One shrugged. "I'd ask for three months," he said. "But with the timeframe you outlined I know that's not possible... who would they be fighting?"

"Not who," Harry said, "what. I need a fair few hundred soldiers to tackle a growing problem on United Kingdom soil. They'd be fighting the dead - living corpses. Mindless zombies that would only put up a fight because of their sheer numbers. Inferi, they are called. I intend to have the army slaughter them."

Alpha One paled at hearing of the enemy, but that was the only sign of his discomfort he allowed to show. "Six weeks from today, and you can confidently take five hundred men out of here," he said. "That is, if the weapons are delivered within a fortnight."

Harry nodded. "They will be. What's the state of the supplies?"

Alpha One waved his hand towards the large piles of documents and loose sheets of paper littering the office. "We are really only short of weapons," he said. "But seeing as how this army is in violation of several dozen treaties - both Muggle and Magical, apparently - our food supplies and basic building and living supplies have been coming from Australia only, and as of a few days ago the magical government of Britain. We're stretched, but managing."

Too many potential allies were stacked against him, Harry knew. He needed to assume command of the other magical nations soon or risk being wiped out before his campaign even truly began. His army was the largest in the world, if Voldemort's legions of dark creatures were not counted, and that had to worry the IC.

His greatest political opposition was the Americans, or more specifically Sorcerer John Rafter, whose motives were not clear. Harry didn't want to get involved with the politicians of the world, but he knew a lot of people were going to die for Rafter's refusal to submit. And while that may be admirable, none of them could ever understand the true threat and the strength of Harry's resolve.

"We're doing well," Harry eventually said and stood up. He had been here too long and still had a lot to do today. "You're doing well, Alpha One. Continue as planned and I'll see about the weapons."

"Commander," Alpha One said just as Harry was about to leave. "The troops here know that you are in charge, and yet none of them have ever even seen you. I would advise making a public announcement down in the square...."

Harry nodded and thought about that. It would take at least an hour to get the eight thousand recruits to the large empty square that was, in fact, just a desert plain. He didn't have that time.

"Not today," he said to Alpha One. "Soon, Captain, but not today."

*~*~*~*

It was late afternoon in Australia when Harry apparated into the Australian Ministry of Magic, into his Ministry, and headed straight for the Muggle Information office. He was invisible, doing his bending the light trick, and soon came to the small office he knew was buried on the fourth floor behind the Improper Use of Magic Offices.

As it was late in the day, the sun slowly sinking beneath the horizon, very few people were left in the Ministry. But there were a few. Harry avoided these few easily enough and knew that they would never even know he was there. Over the years he had perfected many abilities that allowed him to disappear even without the use of magic. Every step he took was silent and his breathing was too.

He didn't exist.

The door to the Muggle records office was, of course, locked, so Harry apparated through the wards and quickly began his search of the alphabetical stacks of information relating to the muggle world. It did not take him long to find what he was looking for. A detailed description of the muggle army bases dotted around the country.

The first place he recognised was one in Western Australia that was fairly close to the city of Perth, which was still being sifted for the dead and dying after the attack the other day. Harry actually struggled to remember what had happened there, as it was just another tragedy on the long list in his mind. It came to him, however, and he sighed. The tallest buildings in the city had been toppled.

But still, it would be beyond easy to jump to this military base now he had a location and even a small picture of it in the wizarding file. There would be a weapon storage facility there. Harry grinned as he flipped the page of the file in his hands to reveal a detailed map of the complex built just outside of Perth.

Swanbourne Barracks.

The Australian Ministry had obviously done its reconnaissance in the defensive capabilities of its muggle counterpart. On the map in his hands was a clear label of the armoury, and that was all he needed to see. Still invisible, Harry replaced the file and then apparated once again across the country, a few thousand miles, and into the armoury he had just seen on the map.

It was a lightless room but equipped with a state of the art security system. Harry knew he would have to be quick in... acquiring what he needed. The large underground warehouse he stood in was piled high with muggle weapons, the most useful being the large crates along the far wall filled with Steyr-Aug rifles, the rifle of choice for the Australian armed forces.

Trying very hard not to feel like a kid in a candy store, and only take what he needed, Harry jumped over - took a single step across the warehouse and appeared next to the rifles. He was getting quite adept at quirking with reality. The rifles were conveniently stacked together, so Harry cast a sealing and binding charm on all the crates and then, working fast, created a gateway into his manor house.

As long as the warehouse and forty feet high, Harry looked through into the ballroom of the house on the coast of Australia. It was largely empty, as Harry remembered, and had been doing nothing but gathering dust for decades. Harry picked up the bound crates of weapons with a levitation charm and began to move the bulky metal object through.

The alarm went off then, but Harry expected it to. Lights flashed on overhead and large metal grates began to slide down over the walls of the room, designed to seal in any thieves.

Harry ignored it all as he moved the three thousand rifles through the gateway and deposited them in the centre of the ballroom. Following them through, he closed the gateway and the sirens of the alarm were instantly cut off. He unbound the stacks of guns and knew he had at least one more stop today.

He had to go see Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley about getting some spellworkers to come here and charge crystals and to modify the muggle guns. Amongst other things, that was. Merlin, but there was a lot to do.

Harry allowed himself a five minute break and made himself a quick snack in the kitchen before setting back out.

*~*~*~*

In a deep pit, infinitely long and wide, within the Boundary's darkest and desolate reach, hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of demons writhed and squirmed in their eternal prison. Freed only once against the Darkslayer, the demons had savoured their brief freedom only for the shortest of times - one hundred mortal years - before the Darkslayer had changed history and sealed them away again.

Converging on the Pit were millions of Destroyers, who had defeated the Guardians of this quadrant of the Boundary and now had the demons in their grasp and, very soon, their control.

The Destroyer army was a collective, of sorts, and each creature was part of a whole, and that whole had sworn their allegiance to the Dark Lord Voldemort, who was as strong as the Darkslayer and even lived on the same world that the Darkslayer had disappeared to after altering the history of Existence.

The demons would be delivered to the front lines of the Boundary, within reach of Voldemort's home world, and they would be the first wave of many to descend upon the Darkslayer.

War the likes of which even the infamous Harry Potter had never suffered through before would surge against that world, under Voldemort's command, and the oceans would turn crimson with the blood of the defiant human race.

*~*~*~*