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 XX: Doom Hound

In his quarters, high above his fortress, the Dark Lord awaited a field report that was no longer forthcoming.

Brooding, he sat in his high-backed chair, facing the candelabra that sat on a little table before him. For the past few weeks he had received reports from his agents scattered across Britain this way. He had been keen over the past few days on hearing from Captain Aragon, for he had discovered his suspicions were true: the agents of the Order had indeed been in Hillsdale, at the very inn he had seen in his dream.

There were three of them, in fact.

Yesterday, complications arose. More agents of the Order, apparently a search party sent to look for the three, had attacked Captain Aragon's platoon and nearly decimated them. Of 20 Death Eaters, only 10 remained.

And today--nothing.

Voldemort waited with growing impatience for the candelabra to burst into flames, for Captain Magnus to once more reassure him that things were proceeding as planned. His impatience grew as the hours ticked by, made worse by the physical discomfort he had been experiencing as of late--inexplicable muscle pains, frequent itching on his scalp and forehead. No medicine he knew would help, and so today he drank mulled wine to dull his senses.

It worked too well. By late afternoon, he had fallen asleep.

A half moon was rising on the gray ocean when he finally awoke. He sat up stiffly, wide eyes staring into the gloom. With a hiss of fury, he bolted from his chair and grabbed the Felwing skull on the nearby shelf.

"Necropolis!"

The incantation sent him spiraling down to the bowels of his fortress, into the dungeons that housed his "factory." The air was stale with the pungent scent of chemicals and animal waste. Torches cast long shadows on the cold, moist walls, and the stones themselves seemed to tremble with the sound of his beasts' heavy breathing.

He approached the nearest wall and followed it in a counter-clockwise direction. He was forced to stop a moment when the muscles in his legs began to seize up. Gritting his teeth, making sure no eyes were watching, the Dark Lord leaned against the wall and waited for the pain to pass. It came more often nowadays, too often to simply ignore. It was unnatural--sometimes his limbs would constrict, or appear like he had the shakes. Other times, he felt as if his muscles were rearranging themselves beneath his skin.

Lately, he had found something even more disconcerting, something that made him draw back into the shadows of his hood: his hair was growing back. There was no doubt about it . The mirror showed tiny strands of black hair emerging from his brows, and even the pale skin of his scalp was darkening with them.

What was causing all this? Some instability with the potions that kept him strong? Perhaps some unknown side-effect of the Necropotence spell that had brought back his body? He did not know. But one thing he did know: for as long as his body felt weak, he had to keep all this secret. However loyal they were, should his followers find out they might house certain thoughts in their heads. Thoughts that would turn into schemes, schemes that would turn into action. The young officers in his army, for example--he had to keep them cowed, always. Lucius was a valued retainer, but even he had his ambitions. And Gallowbraid...

The world smiles with wolf teeth, he thought to himself, and I must answer with a tiger's grin. His rule must be unquestioned, unchallenged. Else he would not rule at all.

After casting a furtive glance around him, he resumed walking, and presently stopped before the largest of the cages.

The Doom Hound lay there at the center of the floor, bathed in moonshine flowing in from its window. Even at rest it seemed restless: cords of muscles undulated beneath its ebony skin, and its mandibles quivered and dripped with saliva. Long scratches had been gouged where it had stroked the stone floor, perhaps in boredom--if it was capable of feeling any. But now it was alert, eyes shining on its visitor like twin full moons.

Beast and master contemplated each other for a few moments.

"I had a dream," said Voldemort.

"In my dream, I saw Captain Aragon, my strongest, most willful Death Eater, battling a youngling in a duel to the death. Though my vassal showed great prowess and skill, it was all for naught, for he was defeated.

"I dreamt I saw nine of my Death Eaters, wands raised high in attack, vanishing in a sudden golden mist that sprang from the ground. I watched from some height above them, watched their bodies fall as they were assailed by spellfire that seemingly came from my own hand.

"Now night has come, and no one has called to report."

Voldemort knelt, so his face was level with the Doom Hound's. The creature inclined its massive head, as if to breathe in its master's scent.

"Are these merely products of an unquiet mind," whispered the Dark Lord, "or are they reality?

"These I know for certain: that there are three men whom I seek, three whose skills combined could outfox Gallowbraid and outmatch Magnus. I know that one of them is the Auror Alastor Moody, the other that blond youth I saw in my dream. But who is this third agent?"

The beast let out a low snort. Voldemort reached out and ran his fingers along the cold curve of a mandible. "That is the question, is it not? That, and why I never catch a glimpse of him in my dreams."

Voldemort cupped his hand around the beast's huge jaw. There was not a flicker of pleasure or approval in the Doom Hound's expression. It merely accepted the gesture.

"Oh, but I am merely confusing myself. I already suspect whose eyes it is I see through. In my first dream the old Auror brought his face close to mine and spoke a name." The crimson eyes narrowed. "He called me, Harry."

This time, the Doom Hound's ears twitched in sudden interest, and a growl issued from its throat. The sound rumbled through its powerful body, seemed to pass into the floor.

"Yet my mind rebels against what I suspect in my heart," Voldemort continued, "because my spy in Hogwarts swears, to this moment, that Harry Potter is there, living the life of any normal boy. So we are at an impasse: what my agent says and what I say cannot both be true, can they?

"And so, you come in.

"I had hoped to keep you for the very last minute, but it seems there is a need for you here and now. You are my greatest creation, Michael Dunn. You shall be my sword to cut this Gordian Knot. Go and find the truth. You cannot be fooled. Potter's scent drifts in your mind, and his very blood stirs in your body. You will find him even if he hides at the ends of the earth. You are his Doom Hound."

Voldemort stood up. His bone-white hands hovered over the beast, and he cut his wrist open with his silver knife, as he had several days before. Blood dripped down onto the open jaws of the Hound, sharpening the taste in its memory.

Then Voldemort took out his wand and pointed it at the opposite wall of the creature's cage. There came a mighty crash as the bricks exploded outward, and a huge hole gaped in the wall of the cell. Moonlight filtered in through a cloud of dust, as did the sound of the surf.

Voldemort bent low towards the beast's ear, as if to share a secret. "He is a brave boy, truly worthy of Gryffindor." He smiled savagely. "Bring me his heart."

And the great beast reared up on its hind legs and gave a hunting cry. The walls rumbled, and the creatures in the other cages turned their faces away and whimpered to themselves. Many levels above, sleeping Death Eaters shivered in their beds as untold horrors crept into their dreams.

The Doom Hound turned and leaped through the hole, hurtling towards the sea.

Satisfied, the Dark Lord watched it go. In a minute, he would go to his quarters and lie on his bed. If he should fall asleep again, why, it wouldn't bother him one bit. To be truthful, he wouldn't mind dreaming again.

No, he thought, grinning a tiger's grin, I wouldn't mind dreaming at all.

---

"But where in the world are they?"

Marius Haggerty bent over the map that spanned nearly the whole of Lyle's desk and peered at the forested area north of Hillsdale. A long line marked the chasm known as the Deceiver's Fall. Further north was a token that marked the location of Sirius and Remus's platoon.

"Isn't that the question of the year?" said Arabella wearily. Their meeting in the commander's quarters had been running for three hours now, and with the exception of Lyle, their eyes had grown bleary from reading reports and staring at maps. The light had nearly gone from the west, and Marius had eventually gotten up to light a candle.

"Well, they can't have just vanished into thin air," Marius said for the third time that night. He dipped his quill in the ink pot and peered at the map again. "Given the time it's been since they left the Deceiver's Fall, and assuming they walked all day with few stops, they would be within..." he drew a large semicircle on the map, "...this area."

Lyle, who had listened to the length of Marius's drawing, said, "Take into account that they would be traveling much slower, as Harry may not have fully recovered from his illness."

"Ah, quite..." Marius drew a smaller shape. "Sirius and Remus should search this area, then."

"They can't possibly cover all that by themselves," Arabella said, "not after their battle with the Death Eaters--they'd be spread out too thin."

"True, but they have to keep at it or the Dark Army will beat them to their quarry."

"Then we must send help. I suggest using Centaur pathfinders, Commander."

Instead of answering her, Lyle turned to Marius. "How well is Galino holding the Front?"

"They've won a second victory in Ottery St. Catchpole," replied Marius. "Marvelous work considering those men had little time to train with their Golems. Minimal losses on our side. Plus their position in the hills is highly defensible."

"Then perhaps they can do without reinforcements for a while." Lyle turned to Arabella. "We can afford to send a squad of Centaur pathfinders. Pull them out of the Felixstowe and have them rendezvous with Sirius and Remus."

"I shall do so instantly...half a minute, Commander." Lyle heard her shift in her seat, then set something softly on the table. "Mr. Gunther has come with some news," she said. "Urgent, it seems, as he rarely comes straight to me when I'm in a meeting--yes, darling, what is it?"

Both Lyle and Marius waited patiently as Arabella conferred with her Kneazle in short, distinct little mews. After a minute, she raised her head. "It's from Snape, sir."

Lyle instantly leaned forward.

"He says he has succeeded. He is on the ghost ship, heading from Portsmouth to Onyx Isle."

Marius drew in a quick, shuddering breath, and a smile broke on the Commander's face. "That is the most welcome news I've heard in a while," said Lyle, "far better than we'd hoped."

"Indeed...but there's more, Commander," Arabella's tone grew serious. "He says he witnessed something strange early this morning, before he left on the ship."

"What is it?"

"Something came out of the ocean: a creature of some sort. It had swum its way to Portsmouth from the open sea, apparently. The Death Eater captains have been expecting it, as they were watching for it from the dock. But they did not approach it, sir. They seemed, well, afraid to."

She paused, aware of Marius watching her, and how still Lyle had become. She went on, "After it had emerged from the sea, it ran straightaway to the edge of town and vanished into the forest. It was in a tearing hurry."

Lyle said, "What did it look like?"

Arabella bent low once more to confirm with Mr. Gunther. Then she said, "Snape found it very hard to describe, sir, he'd seen nothing like it. It was something monstrous. But...if he had to choose some animal to compare to, he said it looked like a great, black dog."

"A dog?" repeated Marius.

"Well, a hound, to be more precise..."

A pregnant pause filled the air, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the wall, and the tallow dropping softly from the edge of the candle holder.

Lyle said, "I want those Centaur pathfinders out there. Pull them out, Arabella. Right now."

---

The Doom Hound of Lord Voldemort had left Onyx Isle on the eve of Magnus's defeat and swam throughout the night, reaching England the following morning. By noon the next day, it was twelve miles south of Hillsdale. At the same time, the Centaur pathfinder squad had made it to the forests and rendezvoused with Sirius and Remus.

What no one of the Order knew was that Harry and his two companions were several miles northeast of the location being searched, en route to Lake Mab to find the home of Nicholas Flamel. The Doom Hound, however, had no such problem. It had the fragrant scent of Harry's blood in its mind, and hurled itself forward on its path as if drawn by an invisible string.

It sprang over rocks and rivers, sped through farms and meadows. It rushed through a pond, surprising a flock of geese into flight. It leaped and caught one between its mandibles, and feasted while it ran. Later that night, it sped across the road to Dover, causing motorists to scream and slam down on the brakes, resulting in a ten-car pileup that appeared on the evening news. The beast, of course, took no notice of the damage it had caused. No memory of roads and men visited its dim brain as it veered away from the forests north of Hillsdale, choosing a course closer to the sea.

Never once did it rest or stop.

By the third night since the battle with Magnus, the Doom Hound had come within twenty miles of its quarry.

---

Harry set down the backpack he was carrying beside the tree and leaned his tired body against the trunk. Beside him, Moody was deploying his Dark Detectors in a tight circle on the ground. Danny leaned on the other side of the tree, scanning their surroundings.

"Moody..." Danny began.

"You asked me the same question everyday for the past three days," the old man cut him off, "and it's the second time today. My answer's still the same: we'll see."

Danny's question would have been: "Are we going to get to Flamel's house by today?" Normally, they would have finished their journey after a day and a half of constant walking, but their current conditions made that too much to hope for.

The trek from their original campsite three days ago had not been an easy one. Danny's knee injuries made a torture out of walking, and this time it was Harry who had to lend an arm just so they could move along. Moody, who also could not walk for long, led the way by riding the floating shield he'd used back in Evensdale ("If you'd told me you had that thing, I wouldn't have had to carry you!" Danny groused). They had stumbled along, looking for all the world like they survivors of a war. The going was slow, and the fear of pursuit ever-present.

But no one, neither friend nor foe, came for them. Save for frequent rests to re-bandage wounds and refresh tired muscles, the journey was unbroken and uneventful. After a day of travel, they emerged from the forest. Fences and roads now littered the landscape, and in the distance they could spy the borders of a small farm. They had to be even more careful then, for there were few means for cover, and highways flowed down from the hills and cut across the open plain. Moody had insisted they not be seen by anyone, so they had to crouch in the grass like rabbits, waiting for the cars to streak past before crossing to the other side. Danny did not think much of this, but his pain seemed to occupy him too much for him to complain.

On their second day of travel, Harry woke to find himself shifting between Harry Potter and Robert Jerome Smith. He sat up and touched his hands to his face ashis disguise flickered in and out of existence. It felt like a mass of confused ants were marching up and down his body.

"Looks like the enchantment's almost used up," said Moody, who was watching him. "Better give it up completely. You'll catch less attention that way. We'll just have to be more careful from now on."

Feeling even more vulnerable than ever, Harry spoke his true name and ended the effects of the Polymien Pill.

And so they had gone, ducking behind rocks and bushes, resting in thickets, and trying to cover as much ground as they could muster, and taking whatever food they could find: acorns, wild berries, mushrooms, apples stolen from orchards. Their third night, like every night before, found them exhausted and hungry.

"I'll take first watch," said Danny. Nobody argued.

Harry spread out his bedroll and eased himself into it. There was not much to do in the evenings but sleep and regain their strength. It was difficult to imagine getting any sleep here in the wilderness, with the constant fear of being hunted down, yet they managed somehow.

"I have an announcement," said Danny, who was rummaging through their food pouch. "We have officially reached the bottom of our food supply. Unless we find something suitable by tomorrow, we won't have a bite to eat until we reach Flamel's." The pouch came hurtling from around the tree to land beside Harry. "Have a walnut."

There was nothing to do but accept it. Harry and Moody nibbled on their last planned supper: six raisins, four berries and three kinds of nuts. A grand feast indeed.

The one good thing going for them was the agreeable weather, which seemed to be apologizing for drenching them their first few days out of Hillsdale. Each day the sun warmed the grass beneath their feet and a breeze cooled their faces. Despite the shadow of the Black Barrier, the sapphire sky stretched above them. In the late afternoons, they were treated to a light show: as the sinking sun touched the horizon, its last rays refracted through the Black Barrier, turning the western sky into a red-orange haze that deepened with each passing hour. It was this sight that greeted them now as they turned their gaze west.

"Funny how something so wicked could make something so beautiful," Moody said, and Harry agreed.

Soon the light faded away, and only a few diminished stars came out in the night sky. Harry pulled his cloak closer around him as the cold crept around them in a fine mist. Even now, he thought, a desolate land like this was beautiful. How strange.

He closed his eyes and, as he had done so for the past few nights, remembered things that eased his mind. He thought of the Burrow and the meadow beside it, covered in a summer's coat of wildflowers. He thought of waking up in a soft bed to the scent of bacon from the kitchen below. He thought of many meals in the Great Hall, of long chess games by the common room fire, and the way Hermione's face lit up whenever Ron approached her.

Mostly, he imagined Ginny's laughter. He remembered the sound of it shimmering in the air whenever she found something funny. He pictured her face shining in delight when a butterfly surprised her by landing on her shoulder. The image of that smile spreading to her freckled cheeks, her head thrown back in mirth, her laughter filling the air...These foolish little things warmed him and kept the darkness at bay. He wished he could hear her laughter for real, but he could not quite forget that they had very little reason to laugh together.

After a time, he slept, and his mind slipped away into some distant, nameless place.

He dreamt of the forest they had left many miles behind, where the night breeze stirred the leaves and hidden owls hooted amongst the branches. Somewhere in that well of shadows he thought he heard a forlorn cry, like the call of a lost child. The sound struck an answering chord inside of him, and he too longed for the comfort of a mother's presence.

But the air suddenly grew dank and heavy around him. A terrible weight pressed against his chest, and as in his dreams before his limbs would not obey him. The cry sounded again, closer this time. But no longer did it seem melancholy. Instead it took on an alien shrill, and in a layer on its own beneath it, the timbre of a dull roar.

Harry gritted his teeth as the noise pierced his brain. He struggled against the paralysis, straining to cover his ears, and as he did so he found himself waking up. But not before he saw a dark shadow rising out from the depths of the woods, and twin full moons blazing into the night sky.

He woke up gasping.

At the sound, Moody's eyes snapped open and regarded him.

"Bad dream?"

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his sleep-fogged brain. "I...I'm not sure. I suppose so..."

At the sound of their voices, Danny poked his head out from the other side of the tree. "What's up? I was just about to wake Moody. It's nearly been five hours...just wanted you guys to get some more sleep..."

"The lad had a nightmare," said Moody. He and Danny traded a glance, and both turned to look at Harry expectantly.

"I saw the moonrise..." said Harry.

"Well, that's not much of a worry," said Danny, turning his gaze to the sky. The moon shone down on them, a bright silver coin falling through the fingers of the clouds.

Harry shook his head again. "No, not in the east," he said. "In the south. And...there were two of them."

Danny raised an eyebrow.

"Two moons?" repeated Moody. "That mean anything to you?"

It did. He realized it now, and the thought sent goosebumps rippling down his arms. The beast was out. It was finally coming for him, that thing that had haunted his dreams.

"Michael Dunn," he said.

---

It was a credit to how much they believed in Harry's link to Voldemort that neither Danny nor Moody questioned him when he explained why they had to leave. They grabbed their belongings and broke camp within the minute. While this cheered him, Harry also felt a twinge of guilt. Moody, at least, could now walk by himself. But Danny hadn't slept at all. His eyes were red and glazed, and after an hour's walking he was starting to lag behind. He kept refusing Moody's demands to take a turn on the floating shield. After a couple of hours, however, he finally reached his limit and succumbed, comporting himself cross-legged on the thing while Harry and Moody flanked him.

"I feel like a baby in a carriage," he complained.

"You even carry on like one," replied Moody.

They marched on, northwest across the hills and plains, with Moody occasionally using the Point Me Charm to ensure they were still on course. Darkness lay before them, darkness behind. Harry turned his gaze at the black windows of the farm houses they passed, imagining the residents asleep in their soft, warm beds with the blankets tucked beneath their chins, and felt himself aching for comfort. But more often he would look over his shoulder at something distant and unseen, something that convinced--no, commanded him to keep moving.

And now, with every step they took, the signs of civilization began to thin away. Farms and houses receded into the distance as they once more entered the wilderness. The land undulated in low grassy hills, and here and there thin bare trees stood in solitary guardianship of the plain.

When dawn finally came, pushing through the darkness and mist, they found themselves at the edge of a bog. Reeds and tall grass lined the patches of murky water, and the air around them carried the heavy scent of damp earth.

Moody surveyed the marsh from one end to the other. "Through here," he said. "The river out of Lake Mab feeds this bog. If we can just get past this..."

"And how do you expect us to do that, eh?" said Danny. "Look at how wet it is. I don't fancy stepping wrong and sinking without a trace, Moody."

"Neither do I. But whatever's chasing us isn't gettin' any further into this place either. As for crossing it ourselves, you leave that to me." Moody tapped the side of his head, near his magical eye. "I've got the solution right here."

He seemed to notice that Harry's legs were visibly shaking, and Danny's face was white with fatigue.

"You two take a breather," said Moody, "but keep your eyes peeled. I'll start looking for a safe way across. Once we're in the middle it'll probably be safe enough to get more rest." He left them, stumping along the edge of the swamp.

"I'd never thought I'd be glad to hear him order me around," said Danny. Together, he and Harry hobbled over to a shriveled tree and hunkered down on its exposed roots.

"So this Michael Dunn fellow," Danny said, as they leaned back on the trunk. "Voldemort did something to him?"

"Yes, and not just him." Harry replied. Part of him recoiled from talking about the worst nightmare he'd had in recent memory, but any bit of information may be important in saving their lives. "First he...he killed Michael's sons, right before his eyes."

Danny was silent for a minute, and Harry saw a muscle stand out in his jaw. "Why'd he do that?"

"Voldemort said it was to make him stronger. Maybe to make him hateful, hateful enough to want to survive...whatever Voldemort had in store for him. And now, I don't think he's human anymore."

"And you're sure he's coming for you?"

"I can feel it, somehow. I know it sounds downright stupid, but I do. Maybe it has something to do with my link to Voldemort..." He wished Dumbledore were here; he was far better at formulating theories on the matter.

"Right," said Danny. "Well, he's not the first non-human we've faced down, is he? And we did all right with that Wagnard bloke. What could be worse?"

Harry only nodded.

"Don't you worry," Danny yawned. "Now...you don't mind if I just...shut my eyes for a bit?"

"Go ahead. I'll keep watch."

"Powerful long way we've come," Danny mumbled, "and a good way more to go. Got to...keep up our strength...you know..."

His head lolled forward, seemingly asleep even before he finished his sentence.

Harry stared into the gray veil of the mists. Very soon, the warmth of the sun would melt through it all and give him a clearer view of their surroundings. The wind in the empty sky above them sounded like the dull roar of a low-flying jet. Harry watched and listened to all this, and though his eyes burned and his muscles ached for rest, his mind refused to sleep. His assassin was somewhere in that fog-shrouded land. He would be glad to be moving once again.

To ease his mind, he tried to think of Ginny's laughter. But the memory felt thin and hollow; it had no place here, where there was nothing beautiful to warm his heart, nothing but a ghostly gray shroud around him and the cold wind that stung his eyes. He momentarily shut them, and that was when his nose caught the scent.

He had never smelled anything quite like it before, and its strangeness disoriented him.

No, that was not quite right. He remembered the first time his Uncle Vernon thrust him into the cupboard under the stairs, without even a light bulb to illuminate his little room. It smelled of age and dust and mildew--and something beneath it all. Some indefinable stench, a rich iron tang that reminded him strongly of blood. It set his imagination into overdrive: something was in the dark there with him, hidden and biding its time.

That was the first time he had smelled it, and it made him scream with all the power of his lungs. And though he did not remember it now, he had caught it a few other times while he was growing up--while entering a dark alley, while climbing a ledge on a dare, upon entering the Chamber of Secrets, and in the graveyard where he last faced Voldemort.

That alien reek was here now, and with it his childhood fear. Both were more potent than before, creeping into his blood like a virulent poison. He sat up at once, peered around, but saw nothing. He listened hard, but the mist dampened all sound.

There were shapes in the mist around them. He was sure he knew what they were--rocks, bushes, small trees. But one dark shape moved, extracting itself from the rest. It looked like a piece of the night had somehow returned. It grew more defined as it moved past the mist and into view.

And Harry took his first long look at the face of Michael Dunn.

The beast was as in his dreams--the ebony, hairless skin, the long hound-like snout, the thin gray lips that did nothing to conceal its teeth, and those restless, clicking, granite-toned mandibles he'd heard many, many times before. Its muscles twitched and rippled as it padded through the grass. It was like no creature on earth, yet somehow looked familiar to him. It looked--inevitable.

He tried to shout, tried to turn away. But the only movement he could muster was to touch his fingers to Danny's wrist.

The beast stopped several yards from him, regarding him with orbs of silver. When Michael Dunn died they put coins over his eyes, Harry thought wildly, and he hasn't taken them off ever since.

He tried to curl his fingers around Danny's wrist, but his hand refused to respond. That same lethargy he'd experienced in his sleep had stolen over him, and a crushing weight pressed down on his chest. His ribcage felt as if it had shrunk around his trembling little heart. He could not cry out--his tongue had frozen. All he could do was stare back in a kind of awe, as if he had experienced an epiphany. Only when its jaws openedlike a strange, carnivorous bloom, revealing rows of dripping teeth, did terror strike a trembling chord in him.

Its jaws were impossibly wide. It could easily swallow his head.

The beast reared back and hurled itself at him. Harry remained rooted in his seat, staring as the dark hulk rumbled towards him.In three bounds it was nearly upon him, but Harry lost sight of it as something suddenly blocked his view.

Danny crouched before him. He faced the oncoming beast with his left hand outstretched, as if commanding it to stop. The phantom wand shot out of from his palm. The beast leaped at him, claws outstretched. A brilliant flash of light erupted as Danny fired into its mouth.

Harry heard the curse's thunderclap a split-second later. It woke him out of his stupor. The sound was followed by a low thud and a tremor as the beast hit the ground some distance away.

A screamed bubbled up from Harry's throat, but with the constriction around his chest it came out in a low haaaahhh. Clinging onto the tree behind him, he forced himself to his feet.

Danny seemed oblivious to his state. He kept his eyes focused on the inert body of the beast. "Looks like I got 'im," he said over his shoulder. "Went down pretty fast, didn't he..."

His words died as the beast picked itself up. This time it stood on its hind legs, towering over them like a massive bear. Its claws were daggers of jet, its eyes were savage moons.

"Bloody hell," said Danny, in a voice Harry had never heard him use. It was high and as taut as violin strings. The two of them stared with wide eyes as the hulking figure raised its head and cried out in two terrible voices--a roar that Harry felt in his very bones, and a vulture-like screech that raked at his ears. Harry felt like he'd been punched in the chest. He willed himself to stay on his feet.

Danny stepped back and stood beside Harry, leaning against the tree. He had pulled out his other wand with one trembling hand. But the beast hardly seemed to register his presence at all. It kept its long face pointed towards Harry. It roared again, then charged again.

This time Harry found the strength to react. He threw himself to one side, and Danny lunged in the other. A split second later the beast's mandibles closed around the trunk of the tree. It sounded like an axeblade biting into wood.

Harry, who had fallen onto his backside, hurriedly scrambled to his feet. Danny was taking more time struggling to get up, all the while keeping both wands primed at the monster between them. It was crouching against the tree, its teeth seemingly stuck on the bark. But Harry heard the snap and groan of straining wood, and the roots burst out of the ground.

With nary an effort, the beast stood up, taking the tree with it.

Harry could only watch in horror as it lifted the tree in its jaws high overhead, like a dog fetching a stick. The beast swung its head towards him, flinging clumps of earth and grass. Harry could see the gleam of light on its teeth.

Shots rang out and a spray of electricity erupted on the back of the monster. Danny was hurling curses at it, both his wands flaring like signal torches. But he might as well have been trying to level a mountain with a pair of trowels. The beast hardly noticed him, its thick chitinous hide shrugging off all damage. It reared back its head to fling the tree at Harry.

Harry drew his wand, but a strong hand snatched him backwards. A hoarse cry rang out in his right ear and the tree exploded. Bits of wood peppered his body, and when he lowered his arms he saw Mad-Eye Moody standing before him. The tree lay in two smoking pieces on either side of the beast.

The beast did not look angry or frustrated. It did not have any expression at all, nor did it seem to notice the old man. It kept its idiot stare straight at Harry. And to Harry those white orbs seemed like punctures in reality; if he kept looking at them, he might fall through to someplace he would never escape from.

Moody's hand clutched at his forearm like a talon. "Don't stare at it!" he shouted. His magical eye shot towards him once, then turned back to the beast. "Don't look at its eyes!"

Behind it, Danny kept flinging one curse after another at the beast, but it stepped almost casually forward. Harry could not turn his face away; there was something completely arresting in the beast's gaze. Come to me, its vacant face seemed to say. You were meant to come to me. I am your fate, your rest, your last breath. I am your doom.

Its gaze vanished in a bright yellow haze as Moody fired a curse at its face. That monstrous head snapped back as if punched, then fell forward again. It did not even blink. As more lightning bolts flowed from Danny's wands, Moody fire two more curses straight at the beast's chest. The first one discharged harmlessly, the second ricocheted away like a golden bullet.

"What are you doing?" bellowed Moody, shoving Harry back. "Get back, you bloody fool! Get back or it'll kill--"

The old man's words were lost as the beast let out another half-roar, half-shriek. Harry planted his hands against his ears, but sickness still washed over him in a dark wave. There was no standing against it. Church bells rang in his brain, his legs felt like water. Dimly he was aware of Moody shrinking back, nearly crumpling at the terrible wail. And just when Harry thought the undertow would drag him down to darkness, the sound was cut off.

Harry opened his eyes, grateful for the respite. The beast still stood before them, but a thick membrane of what appeared to be spider silk was stretched across its neck and jaws. The threads gathered at the tips of Danny's wands, and Danny was pulling back at that monstrous head with all his might.

"Ignore ME, would you?" grunted the Duomancer. "See how you like THIS!"

He yanked as hard as he could, leaning back and digging his heels into the earth. Caught in the web, the beast's mandibles spread outwards. It snorted in pain through its mask of silvery silk and tried to claw it off, but the webbing stuck to its hairless skin.

"Hold 'im, Danny!" shouted Moody, who was back on his feet. "Just buy me a second!" He reached into coat for his trunk and dropped it onto the ground. The strongbox immediately expanded to its full size.

But the Auror did not even get the chance to command it. Harry realized it belatedly: Danny could not possibly hold back the creature. Not with his injured legs.

The beast suddenly dropped onto all fours. Danny barely had time to yell before he was yanked into the air. He flew over the beast like a stone fired from a slingshot. Moody held out his arms--to catch Danny or to ward him off, Harry was not sure. Either way, it didn't work. The two crashed into each other and were thrown onto the ground in a heap, wands flying from their hands.

Before Harry could raise his own wand to defend himself or rush to pull his friends up, a clicking noise caught his attention. He turned to the see the beast extracting the spider web from its face. It was clicking its pincers experimentally, and when it was satisfied it locked eyes again with Harry.

Those soul-consuming eyes. Harry felt the weight settle once again on his chest. He could not move. The scent of the beast was overwhelming--dark and deep and rich as blood.

As if from the bottom of a deep well, he heard Moody shouting at him: "Harry! Harry, open the fourth compartment! The fourth!"

It took a supreme effort to take a step forward. Harry felt like he was knee-deep in molasses. Before him, the beast crouched low, jaws and pincers wide open in welcome.

"Four, Harry!" screamed Moody. "Hit the side and shout Four!"

Harry flung himself onto the trunk's lid. Fighting the pressure on his chest, he filled his lungs with air.

The beast leaped.

Harry knocked his fist at the side of the trunk. "Four!"

For a split-second, he thought he was too late. His heart stopped when those jaws came for his head--he found himself staring into the deep darkness of that monstrous throat, and his lungs caught its revolting, fetid breath.

Then the lid sprang open and knocked him flat on his back. Both his cry of surprise and the beast's roar were lost in the sudden howl of rushing air.

A tornado had come shrieking out of Moody's trunk, sucking up the mist like a storm drain consuming water. It caught the monster in mid-leap and dragged it high into the air. Harry lay still and watched, amazed, as the pillar of cloud spun the fiend round and round, higher and higher, until it was just a black speck against the blue.

Soon after, the rushing wind died away, and the air was still and clear of mist.

Moody was at Harry's side at an instant, pulling him up by the arm. "You hurt?" he asked. Harry shook his head, not trusting his tongue to work just yet.

Danny stumbled towards them, clutching his shoulder. "Moody," he gasped. "Mind telling us what the hell that was?"

"The north wind," said the Auror. "A part of it, anyway."

"And why on earth would you put a part of the north wind in your trunk?"

"In the off-chance I needed to blow a two-ton monster away in a hurry. Any more stupid questions?" He shook Harry by the shoulder. "Can you stand, lad?"

Harry felt his heart slowing down. His throat burned and his tongue felt like he had been licking sand. He took several gulps of air before saying, "I can. Could...could I have some water, please?"

Moody uncapped his hip flask and passed it to Harry, who drank gratefully.

"That...thing," said Danny, "it's him?"

Harry nodded. "It WAS Michael Dunn. Now it's something else. And it's come for me. The Dark Lord knows." He looked at his friends in turn. "Somehow he knows I'm out here. Why else would he send it?"

Moody nodded. "Then we'd better get moving. We've got to get through that bog before sunset and find Flamel."

"What's the rush?" Danny asked. "You got rid of the damn thing, didn't you?"

Moody raised a warning finger. "No corpse, not dead. Good words to live by. Now let's get out of here."

---

With Moody in the lead, they entered the swamp without further delay, pushing aside the reeds and weeds and watching every step they took. The bog was enormous. A hundred yards of muddy black water, lined with clumps of grass and moss, stretched in all directions before vanishing into the morning haze. The soupy ground teemed with tiny insects. Withered trees rose from the damp soil like skeletal hands. The air stank of mud and rotting wood. Some places seemed dry enough to walk upon, but the reeds made them difficult to find.

Not fifteen minutes into the swamp, Harry was thanking his lucky stars that Moody was his guide. The ground seemed solid enough in places, but as the old man demonstrated with a stick, one step forward and he would find his foot plunging through the deceptive layer of moss and straight into muddy water. And if he were unfortunate enough to trip into it, well, the bog would have sucked him straight down, and that would be the end of his little quest.

But Moody's eye deftly picked out which parts were safe to step on, and soon they were leaping from one clump of dry land to another (Like frogs on lily-pads, Harry thought, suppressing a laugh). Sometimes these places were too small for more than one person, and Moody had to jump to the next spot before Harry or Danny could follow.

None of this meant that they moved quickly. One or twice, Moody would slip or misstep, and his leg would sink into the muck up to his knee. The first time it happened to his peg leg, and he pulled himself out without a problem. The second time his other leg sank all the way to his knee and when he pulled it out he was minus a boot. The old man uttered a stream of curses at it, then turned around and kept moving. The two boys neither cared nor dared to laugh.

Danny was worse off. As time passed it seemed to Harry he was having a harder time walking. The fight must've worsened his injuries, he realized. Gone was the Duomancer's easy, over-confident gait; Danny would limp along, favoring one leg then the other. His lips were pale and tightly pressed. Once his leap came up short and he fell sprawling into the mud. Harry immediately pulled him out and sat him up. There was a dazed look in Danny's eyes. The mud on his legs teemed with wriggly things.

"We...we have to change your bandages," said Harry, who felt sick in spite of himself. They cleaned Danny up as best they could before putting him on the shield again. But as the shield moved slowly, this reduced their speed.

The haze vanished as the morning wore on, and Harry saw something that gave him hope. In the very direction they were heading, the horizon was a dark green line. Trees. Solid ground.

"Just need to get past those trees," wheezed Moody, "and we're at Lake Mab. Just a little further, lads." And they pressed on as fast as they could manage, their eyes always drawn to that green horizon.

The swamp, however, did not want to let them go just yet. Solid ground became smaller and harder to find. Four times they came to a dead end, and had to turn back and cast around for a different route.

"Feels like we're in the world's largest rat maze," muttered Danny, shifting his legs in his seat.

Harry had to agree, and worried about the time. By now it was mid-afternoon, and the sun was on its way down to the western hills. Moody was good at finding their way, but not even he could work in the dark.

The hours slid by, and the green horizon inched closer.

By sunset, they had reached a particularly large piece of solid ground. A lone tree, rotten and moss-covered, stood as its single sentinel. Here, Moody called for a halt.

The trees were tantalizingly close now, perhaps less than fifty yards. But it was fifty yards of dark, still water, fed by the river that meandered out of the trees. There was not a single solid piece in sight.

"Brilliant," said Danny. "Bloody brilliant. I suppose we'll be taking a dip, then?"

"If we have to, we will," said Moody. "We can build a fire and get dry when we make it to the other side."

Harry turned his gaze at them, then at himself. They were all covered in mud, with bits of grass and reeds clinging to their legs as added bonus. With a spear and mask, they might as well be hunting crocodiles for some primitive tribe.

"I think we need another breather then," he said. He was weary, both in body and spirit. How much more of this could he take?

In a repeat of their previous nights, they leaned against the dead tree, facing separate directions. Moody took out his Heat Stone again and lit a candle on it. It was nearly dark now. The western hills were turning gold as they swallowed the sun, and the reeds and trees around them were blurring with shadows. Or maybe that was just from the fatigue and hunger.

"Think we're still being followed?" Harry asked no one in particular.

"I hope to God not," said Moody unhelpfully. "I'd go half a mile before dropping dead, I think." He looked slightly ashamed of admitting that.

"I hope Flamel has a well-stocked larder." Danny said. "I could use some real food. Like smoked salmon and seasoned ham and a bit of bacon."

"I doubt he'd get much outside of civilization," said Moody. "But even a rotting turnip sounds good about now."

"A man can dream, can't he?" replied Danny. "I'd ask if he has venison, or lamb, or pheasant, or..."

"Duck," said Moody. "Juicy, roasted, Peking duck."

"Steak," Harry joined in. "And some mashed potatoes."

"Yum," agreed Danny. "And to drink, some brandy."

Moody nodded. "Rum."

"Pumpkin juice," said Harry.

"And for dessert," Danny went on, "I'd like some apple pie with whipped cream on top."

"A pineapple, sliced into eight," said Moody.

Harry's voice sank to a whisper. "Creampuffins."

They were silent for a time, watching their surroundings with weary eyes. Not for the first time, Harry wondered how much weight he'd lost. They had only been traveling for a handful of days, but already he felt like skin and bones. One northeastern gust and I'll end up back Hillsdale, he thought, and covered his mouth to stifle a giggle.

But...suppose they never found Nicholas Flamel? What then? Would they have to walk all the way to Hogwarts? How long would that take? A month? Two months? Harry imagined himself trudging through a layer of snow, reciting the places he'd have to pass on his way north: Manchester, Middlesbrough, New Castle Upon Tyne, Glasgow...

Stop it, you ninny! He shook his head angrily. This line of thinking's going to drive you insane. But the phrase stuck in his mind like some hellish last song. Manchester, Middlesbrough, New Castle Upon Tyne, Glasgow... Manchester, Middlesbrough, New Castle Upon Tyne, Glasgow--

"Did you hear that?" Moody said.

Harry's eyes snapped open--he had no memory of closing them. Suddenly alert, he looked wildly around him. It was cold and misty and dark. Too dark.

"What? What is it?"

Moody sat with his head cocked to one side. "I don't know." He stood up, and turned. For some reason he could not understand, Harry was chilled to see him facing the direction they came from.

Danny's voice came from the other side of the tree, sounding flat and tense. "You see anything?"

Moody did not speak for a long time. Then he said, "It comes and goes, but I'm sure of it. Two pinpricks of light that make up its eyes." He pulled out his wand. "It's here."

As if to confirm it, they heard its cry: the shriek of a banshee, the roar of a jungle cat.

It was as if a cold hand reached into Harry's stomach and twisted his insides. His skin crawled with invisible insects. "No," he said, leaping to his feet. "No, it can't be! It can't have survived that fall!"

"Maybe it knows how to land on its feet," said Danny, who had also picked himself up.

They turned southwest. Harry could see it. Two tiny orbs of moonlight and a shadow in the mist. It was moving slowly, swimming through the mud.

Danny had taken out his wands, but he held them down. "What do we do, Moody? Curses can't stop it."

For a while, it seemed Moody was out of ideas. He cast about for a minute before his gaze landed on the tree itself.

"Stand back!" he said. He raised his wand and brought it down, like he was chopping with an invisible sword. He sliced at the air twice more horizontally, then vertically.

Harry heard the creak and snap of wood as the tree they had been leaning on split in three long pieces. Moody sliced at it again and more wood was cut away, leaving a sharp end on each piece.

Harry turned his head to look for the beast. Those white orbs were closer now, perhaps two dozen yards away. He could hear its labored breathing as it pushed through the mud, and despite the stench of the swamp he could caught the scent of disease and death.

Its eyes watched him. Somehow that was the worst thing of all--how the beast seemed to have eyes only for him.

"Help me with this!" said Moody, grabbing onto one of the makeshift spears. The three of them hauled the wood to Moody's trunk, where they propped them up diagonally, pointed ends facing the oncoming beast. To Harry, they looked like missiles in a launcher.

"You still remember that Propulsion Charm, Danny?" asked Moody.

Danny understood quickly. Grinning, he hunkered down near the first stick and aimed the sharpened end at the beast.

The old Auror turned to Harry. "Listen, lad, take the shield and make for the trees. Leave the fighting to us."

Harry's eyes widened. "What? But--"

"No buts. You're susceptible to it somehow. I've seen your face when you look at it. You can't let it get to you."

The cry sounded again, even closer now. Fear clutching at his heart, Harry turned to look, but Moody grabbed his shoulder to stop him.

"I'm not leaving you here!" said Harry hotly.

Danny spoke up. "Didn't I tell you not to pull any of that hero crap on me? Get going before I kick you off this island."

"But--"

"Harry!" bellowed Moody. "We can't fight and protect you at the same time! Go!"

Harry hesitated but a moment, then hurried to Danny's side and picked up the shield.

"Don't miss," he said.

There was a smile in Danny's voice. "Don't worry."

Feeling much like a coward, Harry made for the water. He stepped onto the shield with one foot and gently pushed off the island with the other. The shield began to float across the black water.

He turned to watch his friends. He could not see the beast, but he could see the hunched figures of Danny and Moody, concentrating on the enemy. "On my mark," said the old man. "Aim for the chest, then, the mouth, and when it gets close, the eyes."

Harry turned to look at the line of trees. He was some thirty yards away from them. He figured if the monster made it past Moody and Danny, he might be able to climb a tree and hide out for a while, at least until help arrived.

"NOW!"

Harry looked back. Danny had tapped the blunt end of the first spear, and it burst into a spray of fireworks. The spear flew out of the boy's grasp, then Harry heard a grunt of pain.

"YEAH!" he heard Danny whoop. But Harry also heard the sickening swirl of mud as the beast kept coming. The spear did not stop it.

"AGAIN!" shouted Moody.

Danny launched the second spear--the sparks threw the outline of his body into sharp relief. There came the sound of crunching wood, then he heard Moody curse.

"The last one!" cried the Auror. "Aim for the eyes, boy!"

For no reason at all, the chant came back to Harry's mind. Manchester, Middlesbrough, New Castle Upon Tyne, Glasgow... He glanced back at the trees...it was still too far for him to risk swimming for it.

"Don't let it reach the ground!" he heard Moody cry. "Fire!"

But at the same time, he heard the beast let out an ear-splitting roar. He turned back just in time to see a black hulk leaping through the air, over Moody and Danny's heads, to land with a splash on the other side of the island.

Harry felt himself freezing again. The beast rose out of the water, like the ghost of some prehistoric animal. A broken piece of a spear protruded from its chest, another piece caught between its mandibles. It spat it away like a toothpick, then lunged forward.

"Don't look at it, Harry!" he heard Moody cry. Harry tore his eyes away from his pursuer just as a volley of curses landed on its back. The line of trees was not far now, perhaps just a dozen yards away. But the beast was moving faster than his little floating vessel. He could hear its labored breathing somewhere close behind him. Its growls sent unholy chills down his spine. Somewhere he heard twin splashes as his friends leaped in after him. But they were too far away now, too far to do any good. It was down to him and his beast.

Perhaps out of sheer panic, Harry took a gamble. Within ten yards of dry land, he stood up on the shield and dove into the water. His feet found the ground and he surfaced immediately. He was lucky--it wasn't as deep as he thought, but it was like swimming in thick soup. Pushing hard against the silt, he waded through the last stretch towards the trees.

Now that he was in the water, the beast seemed to double its efforts. Its grunts filled Harry's mind, as did its horrible stench. Terror filled his heart to almost an ecstasy. Manchester, Middlesbrough, New Castle Upon Tyne, Glasgow...

He made it to land, wet and coughing. He only had enough strength to crawl forward a few more feet. "Manchester," he croaked, unaware he'd spoken out loud. "Middlesbrough...New Castle..."

There was a loud splash behind him, and a huge paw planted itself left of his head.

He froze. He had no choice. He turned to look.

The hound was upon him. Those glaring, moon-like eyes shone down, illuminating his face with a pale, hellish light. Its fetid breath came like a dark wind from its open mouth. Strands of saliva webbed its teeth and greased its mandibles. It seemed to be grinning.

Harry could not close his eyes. Not even when the beast opened its mandibles and reared back to strike at his neck.

A blast of thunder sounded from somewhere close by, and Harry blinked at a sudden bright flash. Then he found himself staring up at the stars and the real moon.

Harry sat up quickly and crawled backwards on his elbows. The beast lay near his feet in a twitching ball of agony. It cried and snorted like a sick pig. The side of its head was roasted and smoking.

There came a second shot and something flew out from the beast's face--its lower jaw, trailing some black liquid that did not look like blood.

The monster gave one more savage cry, its mandibles quivering like the tines of a tuning fork, before collapsing onto the mud.

Harry turned at the sound of running feet. Someone came sprinting out of the trees behind him--an old man with a hunter's cap and a green sleeveless vest. In his hands he held something that looked like a rifle, except that its muzzle flared out like a trumpet.

Seemingly without fear, the old man stepped up to the beast and put one foot against its head. Harry winced as he fired into its chest, once, twice, three times. The shots sounded like grenades, and each one flared a different color.

Soon the beast's twitching ceased, and the light went out of its eyes.

The stranger poked the beast's flank with the barrel of his gun, then nodded in satisfaction. He turned to Harry. "That was a tad too close for comfort. Are you all right?"

Harry could not speak, his tongue felt too large for his head. He only nodded numbly as the old man slung his rifle on his shoulder and approached him.

"I've been expecting you for some time now," he said, as he held out his hand. "I'm glad to meet you at last, Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore will be pleased."

Harry accepted his hand, and the old man pulled him up with unexpected strength. He sported a thin gray mustache and a well-trimmed beard. Large ears stuck out from the sides of his head. Though his skin was pocked and wrinkled, it glowed in the moonlight with some unknown vitality.

"Who are you?" asked Harry.

The old man smiled, removed his cap, and bowed. "Nicholas Flamel, at your service."

To be continued

Chapter XXI: "Heavenly Shades of Night are Falling"