The Last Gunfighter

The Last Gunfighter - II - When the Man Comes Around

(There's a man

Goin' round

Takin' names)

Jesse was not a religious man, but he prayed all the same. Under the Imperius curse, your eyes glazed over, and you had this idiot smile on your face. The man before him had neither. His face was that of grim Death's, and there was hardness in his eyes that had not been there before. If Jesse McCaughlin stuttered his last words, it was because he knew something even Harry himself had not realized - they were all going to die.

(And he decides

Who to free

And who to blame)

"G-give me your wand," the gravelly voice ventured, sounding more like a plea than a command. He nearly jumped when Harry moved for his wand, but steadied himself. He would not go out cowering. His wand hand hardly trembled at all, now.

This man sees Death, and is ready for him, Harry thought. Well, I'll introduce them.

He drew his wand smoothly from the leather strap on his thigh, a tribute to both Royal Knights and American Gunfighters. He was in no way slow about it, but the man called Jesse waited a full second with Harry's wand almost touching his navel before nothing happened, and then he reached for it.

Harry felt the pressure of a tug, which didn't pull his wand from his grip, but instead seemed to pull his mouth apart into a smile that was in a thousand ways worse than a straight face.

(And everybody

Won't be treated

All the same)

Erich McCaughlin's vision seemed to fill with a red light, a brilliant flash that went off like a warning signal in his head. Couldn't anyone tell how dangerous this man was? His little brother, hand wrapped around the bastard's wand, seemed frozen in a silent dual image. One way, he was disarming the man. The other, he was steadying his shot.

As the second red flash went off, not in his mind but into his brother's stomach, he sadly realized there had been only one image to see.

(There'll be

A Golden Ladder

Reaching Down)

John Farland, who had passed the paper around with a grain, proclaiming him the Ninth Most Wanted Wizard in Britain, knew that gut feelings were often lifesaving. What was there to be said to the churning in the pit of his stomach that told him the Ten Most Wanted list was shortly going to be Nine?

It was no surprise when Jesse was blown backwards, crashing through a table and scattering chairs. His final resting place was just short of the back door, eyes fixed on some point far beyond that which living men could see.

John was not afraid to die, and no man would accuse him of inaction, but he found himself bound to his chair, all the same. There was a blurry speed to which the man flicked his wand, but what John saw was a lazy ballet, men being crushed by a nonlethal spell being cast with such magical intensity that if the energies didn't kill a man outright, the incredible force of impact would kill him shortly afterwards. One of his "Stunners" tore a clean but bloody hole through Erich, through which it hammered the coward behind him so hard the wet crack of skull meets concrete made John's stomach twist.

He blinked once during all of this, when the man hooked his leg under one of the small tables in the tavern, kicking it up into Andrew's face. The Stunner smashed the table in half, flinging long splinters in a wide arc and leaving Andrew clutching his bloody face.

When it came John's turn, not a man of his gang had fired a single spell. Every one died with a wand in his hand, every one dead without a chance, every one dead with their eyes locked on his. Before the table had hit the ground, John Farland had lined the motherfucker up and was screaming.

Avada Kedavra!

Gut instincts were never wrong, John knew. The bastard dropped to one knee; the Killing Curse hardly singed his shoulder, but caught Andrew full in the chest, and cut his gasping cough short with a pronounced thump. His arm had already swung to bear, and John felt his eyes cross as he tried to follow the spell's path. His head whipped back as the Stunner hit home, his eyes meeting Harry Potter's as

(When the Man

Comes around)

He died, hands grasping out for the jagged scar that shone brightly in the gathering darkness.