The Phoenix and the Serpent

The Phoenix and the Serpent

The entire Harry Potter universe belongs to J. K. Rowling. Any original characters belong to the author and may not be used without permission.

Chapter XV: The Serpent by the Footpath

"Do you all understand what is required of you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you are prepared to carry it out?"

"We are."

Cloth rustled as he stepped forward. "And will you fail me?"

The robed men bowed their heads as one. "No, sir."

"Good. Beware the Auror. He is cunning and watchful. If you stray from my plan, I assure you he will make you regret it. No matter what happens, I want him brought back to me. I want him alive--am I clear?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Very well. Now go, and keep in mind what it means to promise victory."

---

Blinking away rain from his eyes, Harry stared up at the cold gray sky and wondered if he was ever going to make it home. It was as if nature itself was conspiring against them. The sky was thick from end to end with stratus clouds--an unbroken, endless procession that left no trace of where the sun might be. Coupled with the Black Barrier, the sky leached the world of color, turning the surrounding countryside into a miserable portrait of mist and mud. The air was perennially heavy with the scent of rain, but it hardly ever fell. Oh no, that would have been too simple. In the morning, the sky would scowl and threaten and rumble. By noon, however, only a slight drizzle would be pitter-pattering on the leaves and grass, coming and going as the hours slid by. This would continue until the close of day, when the sky would suddenly spit out a cold shower that would send them scampering for shelter. The downpour would last perhaps only ten minutes, but by then Harry always felt like he had waded through a river. It had been like this for the past three days since they left Hillsdale, and now, despite the Waterproofing Charm he'd been casting on his clothes, he had finally succumbed to a cold.

What made it twice as bad was the endless walking, or what passed for walking in his case. The Corpulus disease had yet to completely fade from his body, and his limbs still felt like someone had tied sandbags to his legs. Moody and Danny had to take turns taking his shoulder and half-supported, half-dragged him along on their twenty-something-mile trek to Dunwick. Harry hated every minute of it. A journey that could have been done in a day was taking them thrice as long, and he was the one slowing them down.

To add to that, they had to keep rest periods to a bare minimum. They'd slept maybe six hours in all (there was no way to tell; the moisture had killed Harry's watch). They had no idea if the Dark Army was on their tail, but Moody said they had to take this as a given. "They know we've been up to something back there," he said, "and they'd want to know what it is. They'll try and catch us if they can, so we'd better keep on our feet as much as possible."

The rain continued to fall. A breeze wafted by, and Harry felt his skin tightening against the cold. Beside him, Danny suppressed a sneeze, and a few steps ahead Moody tilted his hat against the slanting drizzle. Harry turned his weary gaze to the path before them. It was not a much of a path, really, just a slightly beaten track through the grass. Moody had insisted on avoiding all Muggle roads and thoroughfares, saying it was much too open to be safe. He directed them instead through thick patches of trees, through streams, hills and ravines. Sometimes, he would stop, scanning the area before him and straining to hear a sound, before signaling them to move on.

Danny protested against all this, saying he was turning twenty miles into a hundred. Moody would not hear of it. "Better this way," he said, "now that the enemy knows we're here. They could be setting traps on our way even as we speak!"

"Only in your head, you old goat," Danny muttered.

Harry was exhausted. More, he was emotionally wrung out. He hated feeling helpless. He hated this English weather. He hated the cold, squishy feeling of his wet socks. He hated the sod that clung to his shoes and the grass that stuck to his robes. He hated the thought that they were being hunted like animals. He hated being in this strange land, wearing a stranger's face. And now that he got to think about it, he was beginning to hate even the company of these two men.

Neither of them, not the gruff old Auror nor his uncouth godson, had spoken more than a dozen words to each other since they agreed to resume the journey. There was not even one breath of reconciliation. They hadn't even bothered to apologize for all this--Harry didn't know how or why all this happened, but neither of them was making it any better. Their troubles had made Harry's temper extremely short indeed; if anyone had said so much as a biting word leading into an argument, he thought he might just do a bit of shouting himself.

Presently they came to the edge of a ravine, and here Moody called for a halt. He stepped forward and peered over the edge, an action that reminded Harry of an old grizzly poised to fish from a river.

Danny helped Harry to a large stone and sat himself down on a nearby tree stump, his legs splayed out before him. "I don't know about you," he puffed, "but there aren't enough Galleons in Gringott's to make me want to pull another one of these trips."

Harry ignored him. He watched Moody, who was still quietly observing the gorge. "This place..." began the old man, his voice oddly subdued.

"Are we finally there?" asked Harry. His aching feet felt too big for his shoes, and he wanted nothing more than to dip them in a bowl of steaming hot water.

"No," came the reply, "but we're close."

"Whatever you say," said Danny. He was lightly pumping his fists on his thighs to massage them. "We'll just get around that gorge then, no problem."

Moody did not seem to hear him. With his back turned to them, he gazed down into the ravine. Curious, Harry shuffled over and looked over the edge himself. The grass ended two feet from the crevice into the yellow sandstone. It was perhaps thirty yards deep, but he could faintly see the bottom even under the dim noon light. The ragged walls of the ravine were sheer and seemingly without handholds. Looking left to right, the ravine ran some twenty feet before twisting away into the surrounding trees.

The Auror raised his arm and gently pushed him back.

"Mr. Moody?" asked Harry, surprised.

"We're not going around it," he said. "Takes too much time. We're going over it."

Danny gaped, as if his godfather told him to swan dive into the crevice. "You're bonkers, old man."

"We're going over this cliff to save ourselves some time and effort--maybe two hours of travel in exchange for fifteen minutes."

"Has it ever occurred to you," Danny said through gritted teeth, "that since we haven't been attacked in the past three days, it's likely we're not being followed?"

"That's exactly the kind of thinking that's going to get us killed."

Harry felt the air souring. The last thing he wanted right now was another argument breaking out. "It doesn't look too deep," he said as calmly as he could. "I think we'll manage if we use Levitation Charms." Danny made a face at him, and Harry belatedly remembered his bodyguard's aversion for heights. Tough, he thought.

"The Levitation Charm won't cut it," replied Moody. "Maximum spell range is ten yards, and the crevice's something like twenty. No, we're using something else."

Moody took out his trunk from his inside pocket and let it land full-sized on the grass. From within he retrieved a coil of rope, a few tiny pieces of cork, and a large crossbow. Harry and Danny watched as the Auror attached one end of the rope to a bolt with a serrated head, then dropped the rest of the coil at his feet. He loaded the crossbow, turned the crank a few times to ready it, and fired. The bolt sailed clear across the gorge and struck the trunk of a tree with an audible THUNK.

Moody tested the rope by giving it a few strong yanks. Satisfied, he proceeded to tie the rope around the trunk of a nearby tree.

"That's never going to hold the weight of any one person," groused Danny, "especially yours."

Moody fixed him a glare as he finished with a knot. "This rope's just our guide. Our real means of getting across will be this." He lurched over to his trunk and gave it two swift kicks on the side. Instantly, the trunk started to hover some inches over the grass.

"Where on earth did you get that thing, anyway?" muttered Danny.

"Dumb thing only floats up or down, though," said Moody. "I'll pull the trunk across using the rope. We'll ride in pairs, first the boy and me, then if I feel like it, I'll come back for you. All in fifteen minutes."

Harry shrugged. "If it'll get us across quickly, I'm all for it." He limped over to the trunk and carefully sat down on it.

"Wait," said Moody. "There's something more we have to do. We have to cover our ears before we go across." He held up the pieces of cork.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What for?"

"Yeah, what for?" echoed Danny.

"No time for questions. It's just something you have to do. For safety."

"Will you listen to yourself!" cried Danny. "You're asking me to go float over a cliff on a trunk with corks stuck up my ears, and you're saying it's for safety? Should I dance the polka while I'm at it?"

"There's a reason why we have to do this, right?" said Harry. "Then you'd better tell us what it is..."

Moody put his hands down. "There's no time, I'll explain when we get across--"

"...Or we can forget the whole thing and just walk around the damn gorge. I can't trust someone who keeps everything to himself."

"Damn straight," said Danny. "Come clean, Moody. What is it with this gorge? Why do we have to do all this just to get across?"

Moody sighed and seemed to debate the matter with himself. "All right, all right," he finally said, "But I'll keep this short since we don't have a lot of time." He motioned to the rock Harry had been sitting on. "That rock. Notice the strange shape at the base?"

Harry turned to the look. Near the bottom of the rock was a flat area he hadn't noticed before. A metal plaque, the words too faded to be readable, was attached to it.

"That rock is all that remains of an obelisk. A memorial, actually."

"For whom?" asked Harry.

"War heroes." Moody scratched his chin, his brows lowering over his eyes. "The inscription on the memorial went something like: 'On this site in the year 1916, the great Auror Nikodemus Grindelwald and his men fought and defeated the Deceiver, banishing him from this mortal plane. Godland keep those who perished for this noble cause.'"

Grindelwald. 'Why did that name sound familiar?' Harry wondered. But before he could ask, Danny cut in. "Who or what was this Deceiver fellow?"

"The Deceiver? No one can say for sure what he was. All we know is, though he looked like a man, he sure as hell didn't come from this world. Some Muggle scientist--or whatever you call them--summoned him here. Maybe the Muggle wanted to ask for power or knowledge or suchlike. The Deceiver didn't give him any of that. Instead, he stole the Muggle's sanity. Then he proceeded to wreak havoc over Britain."

"Sounds kinda familiar," said Danny.

"The Deceiver wielded terrible powers. Not only did he use great magic, he could look into your heart and tell you the one lie you would absolutely believe, that one terrible thought about yourself buried in the back of your head. And he would say it in such a way that it would force you off of your senses--you could be filled with rage and take it out on the world, or you would lose your mind, or you'd be filled with despair and lie down to wait for your doom. It always worked, because no matter what he told you, it was half-true. But it was truth used in the worst way, used to bring out the worst in you."

Harry's stared at the Auror with a kind of amazed horror. "He destroyed people...by telling them lies?"

Moody nodded. "Because he could change his shape at will, there was no one you could absolutely trust. Couldn't think of a better way to bring a country down, by destroying trust in all its citizens.

"The Deceiver would've succeeded if the Aurors hadn't made a timely stand against him. Many were killed or driven mad in the war against the Deceiver. In the end, Grindelwald took seven of his best men and challenged him, right on this spot. They fought, and that battle created the crevice you see here. "

"How'd he win?" Danny asked, his eyes glittering.

Moody glared him. "Do you really have to know that part? I'm trying to keep things short here."

"You're talking to a Duelist, of course I have to know!"

"While his men distracted the Deceiver, Grindelwald cast a spell that deprived himself of all sensory input. He became completely deaf, dumb and blind. All he had to guide him was his will to destroy his enemy. He stabbed the Deceiver with a silver dagger. He was victorious that day, but when he was finally able to see, he found all his men dead. They had sacrificed themselves to protect him."

Moody fell silent for a moment, as if to honor the deeds of those men.

Harry asked, "But...if the Deceiver was killed, why do we have to cover our ears when we cross this gorge?"

"Because I'm a superstitious dolt, that's why," Moody retorted. "I traveled here a couple of times on an Auror pilgrimage. Last time I was here, I swear I heard a voice in the wind. I didn't listen, but I could tell whatever it was saying was absolutely no good. The Deceiver was beaten all right, but he didn't come from this world, and folks not of this world don't necessarily die the way we do. I reckon some part of him got left behind in this reality when he died, left there at the bottom of this gorge. It's probably only a small part, feeble, but even a small mushroom can harm you if you eat it without first checking it out.

"Anyway, the Dunwick outpost's just a mile north of the other side. We can make it there in an hour if we get across quickly. If we take the necessary precautions, we'll be just fine. So what do you say?"

He eyed Harry as he asked this question. Harry thought it over as he looked across the crevice to the other side. It didn't look like much of a stretch from here. They could probably get there in under five minutes.

"So if we keep our ears covered, nothing's going to happen to us?" he asked.

Moody nodded. "It's possible nothing will happen if we keep them open either. But I want to be careful."

Danny was giving Harry a beseeching look.

"I saw that, boy," said Moody. "Let the ones with guts decide this."

That settled it. "All right," said Harry. "Let's do it."

"Good. Danny, stay here and keep your eyes open. First sign of trouble, tug on the rope. Got it?" Moody didn't wait for an answer as he got on the trunk in front of Harry.

"This is insane," muttered Danny, crossing his arms. Harry ignored him and followed Moody's example as the old man slipped the cork snugly into his ears. Moody sat astride the trunk in front of Harry and said something. Harry shook his head to show he couldn't hear. The rope shook as Moody fumbled for it, and they started inching forward. In a moment, they had passed over the lip of the ravine, into empty air.

Harry hugged the trunk with his legs and planted his hands on the lid. He tried not to pay attention at how loud his heart was beating. One glance below reminded him how long a fall it would be. It must have been a terrible battle to make something so huge, and so deep. He could imagine the fissures burned into the cliff walls by lethal magic, and the depth of the ravine carved out by terrible explosions.

Feeling dizzy, he tore his eyes away from the shadowy bottom and stared at Moody's back. The old man kept the line of rope over his shoulder, advancing one hand upon the other as he pulled the trunk towards the opposite side. Twice he glanced over to Harry, who simply nodded for him to go on.

The autumn wind blew around them, touching Harry's cheek with a cold wet hand. Harry shut his eyes to keep them from drying. When he opened them again, he was relieved to see that they were--good!--halfway across. The other side was covered by soft low grass, with large boulders on the right-hand side and a gently rising slope on the left. Another forest began some distance from the cliff edge, and even from where they were Harry could hear crickets chirping as if in welcome.

Harry made a mistake, right then. He gave another glance at the cliff walls, and let his eyes follow the cracks on its surface down to the deep. Was it his imagination, or did the gorge suddenly seem darker? A trick of the light, he thought, shaking his head. Two minutes ago he could glimpse the ravine floor--it couldn't have just vanished. But as he stared, the chasm seemed to open up even more. There seemed no limit to the depth he could fall.

He felt dizzy again, and clutched at the edges of the trunk. He shook his head to clear it. He heard a little pop! and instantly realized the cork had fallen out his left ear. Harry froze, reached up one hand to catch it, but it slipped from between his fingers. He did not turn to look at it; he could already imagine the little cork plummeting down into the depths of the ravine.

He felt panic clutch at his heart, but forced himself to calm down. 'It's all right,' he told himself. 'I'll just tune out for a while. Nothing's going to happen to me. Besides, we're more than halfway across. I'll be fine.'

The wind picked up again, and suddenly there was a voice in the air, whispering quietly in his ear.

"No peace without revenge."

Harry gasped, turning his head. He stared with wide eyes into the empty air. He couldn't have--it must've been a dream, a trick of the mind. He couldn't have heard that voice!

In another minute, they had cleared the gap. Harry unplugged his ear as Moody reached for solid ground with his foot and steadied the trunk. He removed the cork from both his ears and twisted around to face Harry. "You all right?"

Harry nodded out of habit. He felt numb from more than just the cold. He felt as if something inside of him had been frozen solid.

But Moody was looking over Harry's shoulder. His eyes widened. "DAMN IT!"

The Auror sprang off the trunk and stalked towards the cliff edge. Harry immediately reached for his wand and lunged for the grass. He expected something--some hideous man-thing, rising out of the deep to carry him away.

But there was no sign of a threat from either the ravine or the other side. Moody was staring at Danny, who was presently hurrying along the edge of the ravine.

"Where do you think you're going?" cried Moody.

Danny looked back and shouted, "Glad you made it across! I'm sprinting round thing! See you in 20!" And with that, he vanished into the trees.

"That stupid, cowardly git!" bellowed Moody, stomping his foot in helpless anger. "He's going to make us wait here for another twenty minutes! Right when we're so close!"

Harry put down his wand and sat up. He felt too numb inside to care. The words he heard still echoed inside his head, and as he thought longer about it, he found doubt beginning to worm inside his heart. Was this but a small influence of the Deceiver? How could that Auror Grindelwald and his men withstand the full force of it?

That name, Grindelwald. Where had he heard it before?

And it came to him in a sudden jolt of memory.

"Mr. Moody?"

"Eh?" Moody turned, an eyebrow raised.

"That Auror you mentioned, the one who fought the Deceiver? He isn't...the Grindelwald, is he? As in the Dark Lord Grindelwald?"

Moody turned away from him and began retrieving the rope and arrow. Harry thought he wasn't going to get an answer, but finally the Auror said, "He was never called Dark Lord. He was called Deathspeaker, Mugglebane, Creedbreaker, False Father, but never Dark Lord. I suppose you've heard about him from history class?"

"Um, yes sir. Professor Dumbledore--"

"--Defeated him in single combat in the year 1945, effectively ending the War of the Last Dawn. But they never did mention where he came from or what he was before then, eh?" Moody opened his trunk to stow his equipment away.

"They never said he was an Auror."

"He was an Auror, all right," said Moody. He put his trunk away, sat down on one of the rocks and removed his hat. His lips cracked into a wry grin. "You sure you want to hear this story?"

Harry shrugged. "If you feel like telling it. We do have twenty minutes."

"Truth be told, I don't feel like telling it," Moody took out his pipe from his pocket and lit it. "But then, you might learn a little something, and that's always important."

He took a drag from his pipe, and began. "Nikodemus Grindelwald...he was one of the greatest Aurors, the last of the giants. If you think the Aurors are good now, you should've seen them seven decades back. Never was a finer group of men and women dedicated to law and order. Especially Grindelwald. He was a genius, a phenomenon. Men leaped to his command. Criminals and black wizards, they weren't just cowed by the mention of his name; they upped and ran.

"If you've never heard of him being an Auror, that's because after the war the remaining Aurors asked that that little fact not be included in the revised history textbooks. So they could save face, even just a little. Figured future generations wouldn't want to join an organization that once housed someone who advocated Muggle genocide. I didn't truck much with that, but then, I was only a pasty-faced youngster fresh out of the Academy."

"But I don't understand," said Harry. He had always perceived Aurors to be the ultimate good guys. "Why would Grindelwald...?"

"Why? I asked myself that same question many times when I was growing up. To the public, Grindelwald was an upright man. To the Aurors, he was a hero." Moody fell silent. He took one last puff on his pipe before throwing the contents away. "No one really knew why he changed sides, but we knew one thing. Some years after he defeated the Deceiver, Grindelwald returned to this place. He entered the ravine."

Harry's eyes widened. "What?"

"He did it of his own free will. Stayed in there for three days. When he emerged, he came up with a whole new Doctrine for himself. Formed a group that was loyal only to him--the Lantern Bearers. Their mission was simple: reduce the Muggle population and remove them from all positions of power, in order to usher in a new Golden Age for wizards. The Council of Aurors didn't approve, of course. And so the War of the Last Dawn began."

"But...why did Grindelwald come back here? What did he do in that ravine?"

"If we knew the answers, we'd have solved one of the greatest mysteries of the wizarding world."

Moody tucked his pipe back into his pocket. For the first time, Harry saw a look of sorrow on his face. "I asked myself those questions too. But the what is not important; the why is. So I thought, what if Grindelwald didn't adequately protect himself from the Deceiver, after all? What if that devil did get to him? Maybe told him the one lie he would absolutely believe? Maybe the Deceiver told him, 'Muggles are to blame for all the ills of the wizarding world,' or something like that. Or maybe, that dark side was in him all along, and he just needed some trigger to let it loose. For whatever reason, Grindelwald chose to hold that as his truth. It was his choice. A lot of people got killed for his choice, Grindelwald included. Dumbledore cornered him on the Rock of Gibraltar in the last days of the war and killed him."

Again he fell silent, and the only sound in the air was the call of the crickets. Harry waited for him to continue, but the old man stood up and put on his hat.

"And so a legend came to an end. I thought about him many times over the years, lad. Thought long and hard, and in the end I took this lesson--good men must be vigilant not just over their enemies, Harry, but also over their own hearts. Because when the hearts of the high-minded stray, they've got a terrible long way to fall. Did I answer your question?"

Harry nodded, at a loss for words.

"Mind if I ask you something now?"

"What is it?"

"What did you hear when we were crossing the gorge?"

Harry stared at him, dumbstruck. "H-how...?"

"I turned my eye on you right before we made it across. One of your earplugs was missing, and you had this look on your face, like you'd lived through a war or something. So, what did you hear?"

Harry said nothing, watched as Moody waited for him to speak. What could he possibly say? That the voice urged him to seek revenge? Was that what was in his heart? He opened his mouth, a denial on his lips. He was about to say that what he'd heard--if he had heard it--didn't matter. It had no influence over him, he was still master of his own will.

His intent died when Moody raised his hand in alarm. Harry stared, but the old man was ignoring him now. His magical eye spun in a slow circle at their surroundings, stopping to gaze at the forest edge.

"What's the matter?" Harry whispered. The air had changed somehow, and it took him a moment to realize what it was.

The crickets had stopped singing.

Moody drew his wand, his eyes still on the forest. "Someone's coming," he whispered, "and it's not Danny."

Harry did not know how he got to his feet on his own power, but he did. He had also taken out his wand, but Moody grabbed his shoulder and steered him to a nearby log. They lay prone behind it.

The Auror propped himself up on one elbow, staring at the direction of the forest. "No matter what happens, you stay behind this log and keep your head down. Got it?"

"What do you see?" Harry whispered.

"Four men, headed this way. Three are in Death Eater garb. They're chasing one man who's wounded and limping. He...looks familiar." He frowned. "Yeah, he's one of us. Winterwake, from the outpost."

Harry felt the crush of despair even before he fully understood the implication. "Does that mean the outpost in Dunwick's...?"

Moody's gaze did not turn from the forest. "That's something we'll have to ask him." He raised his wand and stood up. "Stay here."

Harry peered over the log as Moody lurched towards the forest edge. He halted halfway there and, with a wave of his wand, conjured up an illusion of a boulder. He ducked a little and vanished into it.

Gritting his teeth against the silence, Harry waited for the inevitable confrontation.

---

Moody crouched low into his illusion, feeling about as safe as a snail in its shell. Their situation was precarious; fleeing was probably the better choice, but there was something more to this. He knew the wounded boy: Jared Winterwake, son of Haley Winterwake. Haley was an Auror who had served under Moody many times before his retirement, and though they weren't close they'd survived many battles together. Haley died a few days ago in Southampton, defending the city to the last minute along with the rest of their old comrades. Of all things, Moody regretted not being there to stand with them.

And here now was Haley's only boy, wounded and unarmed, running for his life. Moody owed it to his friend to save his son, and no way in hell was he going to fail.

Moody primed his wand before him and waited for the chance to attack. His magical eyesight, easily penetrating the dense foliage before him, watched as the pursuers searched out their quarry among the trees. Three Death Eaters. Easy pickings, especially if he had the drop on them. The question was, with young Jared on the run, did this mean that Dunwick had been taken?

The bushes before him rustled as Jared stumbled into the clearing, surprising a flock of birds into the flight. Too noisy. The Death Eaters heard it immediately, started running for the source of the sound. Jared looked too dazed to care. Cradling his bleeding head, he padded straight towards the cliff's edge.

Just as he passed the illusionary rock, Moody leaped up, clamped one hand around the boy's mouth, and dragged him down into safety.

"Quiet, laddie," Moody whispered, "'lest you bring those blackhearts on top of us."

The boy's terrified eyes rolled up to his captor's face, then instantly flashed with recognition.

"Yeah, it's me alright," said Moody. "No need to shout it out though. What happened? Where's the rest of you?"

He loosened his grip on the boy's mouth, and Jared began to sob. More out of shock or relief, Moody could not tell. "Dunwick's lost," he whimpered. "They came out of nowhere. Had those beasts--dozens of 'em. Outnumbered us. Some hadn't even start running before they got cut down..." His words sank into blubbering.

Moody gave the boy a hard stare. The Order, defeated again. It couldn't have been a coincidence: the enemy had been anticipating their arrival. But how could they have known they were coming to Dunwick? How?

Jared went rigid with fear as more rustling came from directly in front of them. No time to think. Moody released his grip on the boy.

"Be still," Moody muttered. "Lie down and keep quiet. Grief's for later, boy. Now we do battle." The Auror raised his wand and faced the forest.

The first Death Eater left the cover of the woods, leading the way with the point of his wand. "I heard him go through here," he said. "I swear it."

"I say you're mistaken!" grumbled the second Death Eater, brushing the twigs form his black robe. "He's still following that trail, he is. We're losing him just by standing here!"

The third man emerged as well, saying, "He could've ducked among those rocks to throw us off. Well worth checking them out before carrying on."

As one they approached the cliff edge. Moody's jaw tightened as the men came within ten feet of them, with absolutely no idea they were right there. Close quarters combat. He grinned--he rarely felt this excited. Blood was singing in his ears.

"We shouldn't go there," said the second man. "He might be setting a trap for us."

"Don't be stupid," said the first Death Eater, stepping forward, "the man's half-blind from blood loss. He couldn't swat a fly."

Just as he bent to peer around what he thought was a real rock, Moody attacked. Grabbing the man's wand with his left hand, he yanked him close and pulled his arm into a lock. Using the Death Eater as a human shield, he fired at the second man. Still in shock, his target had no defense. He fell without a single cry.

Their third companion proved more alert. He raised his wand and loosed a bolt of green energy at Moody. The Auror simply shoved his prisoner in the way. The first man screamed as the curse caught him full on the chest. Moody let him go as he pitched headlong into the dirt.

The remaining Death Eater stared down at his handiwork, then looked up as Moody slowly advanced on him.

"If that was your best spell," growled Moody, "better throw down your wand right now. I bet you my right arm I can mindcast a Disarming Spell before you can even utter a syllable. You game?"

The man hesitated, then aimed his wand. In a half-second both were flying through the air, disappearing into the bushes near the woods.

"Wrong answer."

Moody dusted his robes in satisfaction. Three in fifteen seconds. Not bad. He would bind these men, and in a minute he could have all the information he wanted about the Dark Order's movements. Then he'd leave them dangling from the edge of the cliff for their comrades to pick up. What happens to them afterwards under Voldemort's hands, he'd rather not imagine.

The hairs on the back of neck prickled. He spun about, facing the cliff edge.

Jared had picked himself up and taken the wand from the fallen Death Eater's grip. He stared at Moody with wide, bloodshot eyes.

"It's okay, laddie," Moody said, relaxing. "It's over. No need to be afraid." He could only imagine what anguish this boy had gone through. Losing a parent, and now this. It was enough to drive any man mad.

Jared lifted the wand, pointed it straight at Moody. The Auror's eyes widened.

"Jared?"

"It was your fault," the boy whispered.

"Jared, put that down. I'm here to help, I'm here--"

"You weren't there for him. You weren't there for us. Now they're dead. All of them."

"Jared--!"

The wand flashed like a thunderbolt. Moody moved to dodge, but the boy had been too close. The bolt crashed through the old Auror's body--he did not know where, maybe everywhere. There was no pain, just a sudden embracing numbness as the world around him shattered--

He was young again, standing on a golden beach, and beside him the man who would start him on his journey. Grindelwald's wizened hand took his shoulder as they watched the Aurors's longboats coming in from the sea. "I wonder, will you be one of them, Alastor?" the old man mused. "Will your spirit be equal to the task?"

He was in a room lit solely by candles. On an altar before him were pictures of Aurors he had known, whose bodies they had never recovered. At the fore was that of a young woman, a striking figure with lightning-white hair. Dumbledore stood before this picture. It was the first time Moody had seen the mighty wizard cry. "Will you help me?" Dumbledore asked, without turning around. "Would you stand with me against the Dark?"

He was flat on his back, eyes on the gunmetal sky. Pain screamed throughout his body. On his side, looking down with wide uncomprehending eyes, a little girl held a bloody switchblade before her like a sword. A man stepped forward, stood behind the girl. He smiled a big, wolf-like grin. "Surely you would not forget me, Alastor?" he said, lifting his dark glasses. "We have unfinished business, do we not?"

--And as his consciousness began to succumb to the agony, Moody finally remembered. His old enemy had returned. And he had come to settle old scores.

---

Harry did not think. The moment he saw Moody fall, he suddenly found himself on his feet, wand in hand. He had no coherent plan in his head, only the thought of keeping that bloodied young man as far away from the Auror as possible. "Get away from him!" he shouted as he staggered forward.

He was able to walk five steps before tripping. Damn the disease! He gasped as the wind was knocked out of his lungs, then tried to get up on his elbows. Glancing before him, he saw that the young man hadn't moved. He still kept his wand pointed at Moody's unmoving form, as if he knew nothing else to do. The old man was breathing. Just barely, but still breathing.

Before Harry could push himself up, he heard a loud POP! from his left, and a boot came down on his neck, pressing him back to the earth. He cried out in pain and surprise.

"Don't try it," warned a gruff voice. "I've got orders to bring you in alive, but not undamaged. If the latter doesn't suit you, let me know by trying to get back up again."

Harry peeked up from the corner of his eye. The Death Eater was staring coolly down at him, wand primed for the back of his head. His captor bent down and relieved him of his wand.

"Easy pickings," spoke another Death Eater, walking into view. "Just like the boss said: best way to flush them out is by giving them someone to rescue. But using a Mesmerized Order agent as bait--that Gallowbraid's emotional control's unbelievable! I don't know whether to admire him or fear him."

A third Death Eater approached from the right. "Did we really get him?" he asked, awed. "Did we really get Mad-Eye Moody?"

"Sure did," guffawed the second Death Eater. "Just look at 'im. Flat on his back like a buggerlug bug. Some bloody living legend."

"Be quiet, both of you," said the leader. "Blackthorn, revive the others and look for the last guy, that tall one the boss described. Irian, kill the bait and secure the old man. Let's not get careless now."

The two Death Eaters left to do as they were told. The leader bent down and muttered to Harry, "You made us wait two days out here, looking for you. Don't bother about Dunwick--we destroyed it yesterday. I don't know who you are or why the boss wants you. All I know's me and my men will get richly rewarded for bringing the three of you in. Now, where's your other friend?"

"I don't know," Harry said through gritted teeth. If it wasn't for his disguise...

"No?" He felt the wand press hard against the back of neck. "Where?"

"I don't know! He left us hours ago! I didn't see where he went!"

There was a sound of rushing wind, the flash of green light somewhere beyond his vision. Harry's skin crawled in horror at the dull thud of a body falling onto the grass.

The leader sighed. "You're really making this hard for yourself. Threats are not really my thing but if that's how you like it...Irian, what are you doing!"

Painfully, Harry rolled his eyes to the scene ahead of him. The fallen body of Winterwake lay close by. A few feet way, he saw the Death Eater Irian had removed his mask and was staring at Moody's prone form. Irian looked to be in his twenties, with long matted hair, wide glaring eyes, and a long scar at the side of his mouth. "Wake up, old man," he said, kicking the Auror's flank. "I know you can hear me. Open your eyes and look me in the face."

"Irian, stop playing around!" said the leader. "Bind him and help Blackthorn out! There's plenty of time to taunt him when we're back in the base."

Irian was not paying attention. He aimed his wand at Moody, and said, "Crucio!"

The next seconds were some of the most horrible in Harry's life. Moody's still form suddenly jerked and writhed on the ground. His true eye rolled up, the magical one spun like a top. Every vein on his forehead stood out. He didn't utter a sound, but his teeth clamped together in a death grin. And all the while, Irian kept his wand pointed at him, a look of crazed satisfaction in his eyes.

Shouts filled the air. There was the leader--"Irian! Irian, damn it, what's wrong with you! Have you lost your mind!" Harry belatedly realized he too was shouting--"Stop it! Stop it, leave him alone! You're killing him!"

The other Death Eaters, revived from unconsciousness, watched the scene before them in dazed confusion. Irian did stop, but only to bellow, "Remember me now, Auror? Of course not--I was only a boy then. But I remember you, and I'll never forget what you did to me. Crucio!"

Again Moody convulsed. His eyes shot wide open. Liquid leaked out of the side of his mouth, and a low nggaaaaa rose from the back of his throat. He arched off the ground like a taut bow, and his hands clawed deeply into the earth, tearing out clumps of grass.

"Damn you!" screamed Harry. "I said leave him alone! Bastard!"

The leader yelled, "Blackthorn! Blackthorn, get off your ass and restrain him!" Said man leaped forward, grabbing Irian's arm. But the Death Eater shook Blackthorn off, maintaining the curse over Moody.

"Damn it!" The leader left Harry and rushed forward, tackling Irian to the ground. Released, Moody's body fell limply back to the earth. His pain-wracked face fell to the side, and Harry could see nothing in his eyes. The man was as empty as the void. Harry felt a shocking chill run through his soul.

"What the hell were you thinking!" Clutching Irian's lapels, the leader dragged him to his feet. "You could've killed him! The boss specifically said--!

Irian shoved him away. "Out of my way, Cruniac! I don't care what that monster says! I'm taking my revenge on this piece of garbage right now! I waited 13 years for it!"

"What are you talking about?"

Irian pointed at Moody. "I lost my father because of him! He turned my Dad over to the Dementors after finding out he was with Lord Voldemort! The government confiscated our home! No one would help us! My family starved like dogs! I joined the Death Eaters so that when I found him, I'd have the power to kill him! And that's exactly what I'm doing!"

He started towards Moody, but Cruniac grabbed his arm. He pulled off his mask, revealing him to be just as young as his subordinate.

"Irian, shut your hole and use your head! If Moody dies, we have to answer to Gallowbraid! You think that bastard's going to let this slide? He'll kill us, man. Or worse!"

Irian glared at him, but he didn't pull away.

"I know you lost your family to the war," Cruniac went on. "But ask any man here and they'll all give you a name. We all want revenge on the Aurors as badly as you do. But, damn it, this isn't the time! We've got our orders! Remember what Magnus told us--the cause before the self, the corps before the self! If you kill him now, we all suffer!"

Harry was barely listening. His eyes were fixed on Moody, searching for any sign of life. The old man's chest still quivered, drawing one labored, shallow breath after another. But his face was slowly turning an ashen gray.

"Let Gallowbraid get first crack at him," the leader concluded. "I promise you, you'll have your chance later. For now, just think of the mission!"

Irian turned away from him, looked at Moody with hate-filled eyes. "You can wait, but I can't. This man robbed me of everything. I've suffered for 13 years--that ends today!"

He raised his wand, and before his comrade could react--

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry hadn't turned away. He found he could not. Not long ago, he had witnessed the death of an evil being. He would do the same for a good man.

The bright flash of green robbed him of his sight. Harry felt something inside of him surrender all hope of survival. He blinked, involuntary tears falling from his eyes. When he looked again, Moody was gone. In the curse's afterglow, his body had disintegrated into nothing.

Wait a minute, thought Harry. The Killing Curse doesn't do that.

A cry of alarm rose up among the Death Eaters. They were looking at something to Harry's left. Harry followed their gaze.

Moody's body was floating rapidly away from his tormentors. He rose to some five feet in the air, following the curve of the rise Harry had seen from across the ravine. At the top of the rise, a pair of lanky arms caught him, cradling him like a child.

Daniel set his godfather down on the ground as gently as he could. He gazed at Moody's darkening face, and Harry saw the pain in the boy's creased brows.

"You really did a number on him," Danny said calmly. He did not look at the Death Eaters as he loosened the straps of the guard on his left forearm. "He's a tough guy--I've seen him hurt many times and pick himself right back up. But I've never seen him at death's door.

"Even if you did lose family to the war, what gives you the right to deprive others of their own?"

He straightened up, and the armguard slipped onto the grass. The black wand twisted in his fingers in anticipation.

"If you want to avenge people's memories, don't take it out on the near-dead like a pack of starving jackals."

Daniel raised his left arm. A glow emanated from his hand as another wand, silvery, glowing, and transparent, seemingly grew out from the flesh of his palm.

"You want revenge, put your life on the line..."

The points of his wands blazed as he held them like swords. A crackle of electricity, and suddenly a white ribbon of lightning flashed between them. His scarf flew on a sudden blast of heated air. All traces of pain had fled from Daniel's face. The only thing left was the firestorm in his eyes.

"...AND FIGHT SOMEONE WHO CAN FIGHT BACK!"

To be continued

Chapter XVI: "Battlecry"