Chapter Text
Part 1.
Chapter 1.
February, 2008.
Egyptian Desert, Unknown.
Kemet. Misr. Egypt.
Once, these great sands and verdant banks had played home to one of the most powerful empires of its time. It had stretched from the shores of modern day Türkiye in the North, bordering the wilderness of Libya to the West and had ran its golden fingers South for many miles along the Nile's spine.
The Pharaoh's of the Old Kingdom had been some of the most respected and feared people in history, reigning supreme for centuries unending. Egypt was one of the most ancient civilizations in the world, its culture, history and peoples could trace their heritage back thousands of years just by stepping outside and gazing upon the works of their forefathers.
Correspondingly, their magics were just as ancient.
Once, the Nile had been the lifeblood of not just an ancient nation, but one of nearly unmatched magical prowess too. The Pharaoh's had wielded not just great armies and resources but supernatural power on top. Spells strong enough to rival invading forces on their lonesome. The priesthoods of the once-great pantheon had called down apocalyptic Sorceries and Spirits from their chosen deities and the lands swam with magical beasts who's bones had long since turned to dust.
The Ancient Egyptians had built monuments to themselves and their Gods unrivaled by all but the most ancient of civilizations and brought the wrath of the unforgiving desert upon those they fought.
But it had all come at a cost.
Once, the Nile had been the lifeblood of the greatest magical empire the world had seen in centuries. Now, the land was blood-stained and weary; foreboding and wrathful to outsiders. There was no Egyptian Ministry or corresponding governance over the snaking, turbulent Nile; only decaying tombs, long forgotten relics and those unfortunate enough to slip through the ICW's Mundaneborn Aid Program remained here. Trapped 'neath the eternal shadow of such foul magics.
Well, that and Gringotts.
But Goblins were greedy little bastards and cared little for disturbing the ancient curses that lay upon this land; especially when there were long abandoned crypts to break into and loot for all they were worth. The ICW certainly wasn't going to stop them, not when the Goblins were offering to deal with possibly problematic magical strongholds with their own employee's only to then sell most of the artifacts to the highest bidder.
Who, more often than not, happened to be the ICW looking for any way to justify why they didn't need to cut back on their overall budget, now that the Cold War had died an ignominious death and all but the most devout of Grindelwald's supporters had lost hope in the cause.
Ah, money, makes the world go round and round and ever further down.
"Isn't the desert supposed to be warm?" An annoyed voice suddenly complained from behind him and Harry Potter quietly snorted. This wasn't the first time he'd heard this complaint.
"In the daylight yes, but do you see the sun, Reiko?" A droll tone answered from over Harry's other shoulder and he could just imagine the casual derision upon the owners face.
"Well, forgive me for wanting to be able to relax in the sun for once, Izsák! Not all of us spawned out of a Siberian snow storm like you!" Harry sighed. Reiko, the teams Japanese Runes Mistress, was not one who possessed a filter.
"I'm Hungarian!" Izsák, their Hungarian Battle Transfiguration Specialist, sounded genuinely offended now, the scrabbling of loose stone indicative of someone standing.
"Do you vant a Varming Charm, Miss Hina?" A third voice broke in, softer than Izsák but deeper than Reiko and with its German accent still somehow bleeding through under the usually monotone translation spell.
"No thank you Otto, I'll be fine," Reiko answered after a second and Harry heard Izsák mutter something under his breath.
Before either Otto, a German Charms Researcher from Beauxbaton's, or Reiko could respond, Harry cut them off. "That's an awful lot of talking for people supposedly maintaining a perimeter back there."
"Sorry boss," Izsák immediately muttered, falling silent.
"Likewise, sir," Otto followed.
Reiko, it seemed however, was still aggravated about her lack of sunlight. "But Harry sir, there isn't anything to keep a perimeter against. Its just sandfly's, wind and really fucking cold."
"Are you sure you don't vant zhat Varming Charm?" Otto asked again.
"If Reiko wants to freeze, she can freeze," Izsák snapped.
"People," Harry broke in again, voice laced with more warning this time, "behave. I am aware there isn't much to look at, but you better be looking. If there are anymore of those... things out there, I will not have your nerves be the reason this perimeter falls. If it does, then you better pray to somebody for mercy cause it won't be coming from me. Understand?"
"Understood boss," all three of them chorused together after a moments silence, finally falling quiet soon after.
Harry sighed quietly to himself and leaned back until he was resting against smooth rock. Beyond and below him, a grand valley of sandstone, half sunken in sand and wind-blown smooth, spread beneath the stars. Over the rolling ridges, a seemingly endless sea of sand stretched until it met the sky at the horizon. There was nothing out here, nothing but the sand, the stone and them.
Oh, and the Ancient Egyptian tomb complex buried deep beneath them, for which they were here to pillage, plunder and eradicate of all occupance in the name of making the world a safer place. All for people who had absolutely zero clue this place even existed, let alone posed any sort of threat to their afternoon luncheon.
Sometimes Harry liked his... Well, job wasn't quite the right word for it. He was neither employed nor needed the money per-say, but it was the closest thing he had to one so his job it was. Anyway, sometimes Harry liked his pseudo-job, it was full of adventure and spellfire and tales fit for a book.
Other times, of course, he was stuck on perimeter duty.
Harry had been made aware of this whole fiasco nearly two weeks ago.
It had been little Rose's second birthday, a grand festivity characteristic of the Weasley Matriarch, and like any good uncle, Harry had been in attendance. The field surrounding the wonderfully rebuilt Burrow had been remade into a rainbow wonderland of dancing balloons and tricksey illusions which he had gladly helped set up the day before. He and Andromeda had brought Teddy through the Floo and the little blighter had gone running off in search of his friends with nary a backward glance. When he'd turned to Andy to ask if she would like anything to drink, the blasted woman had already disappeared into the lively crowd so completely that even her starkly monochrome outfit was indistinguishable from where he had stood.
So, feeling no obligation to play either vigilant Godfather nor (mostly) attentive chauffeur, Harry had went in search of some friends.
He'd found a few and made polite conversation about this and that, pointedly avoiding the area from which he heard Ginny's laughter, until he'd stumbled upon Neville and Luna. Both were hunched over a decidedly strange half-plant, half-rabbit looking thing, poking gently at its side with their wands. He'd been cautiously asking if it was in any way venomous, (cause that seemed like the type of thing those two would bring) when a strong voice had called his name.
Turning to find where it had come from, Harry had quickly locked eyes with the lanky form of William 'Bill' Weasley.
The tall ginger had made an 'over there' gesture with his head, indicating a less populated space sectioned off by a few food tables and began wandering off without looking back. It was about then that Harry had begun to wonder if it was something in the British air that had everyone wandering off without so much as a 'by your leave.'
He had debated for a second over whether to follow Bill or simply stay with Neville and Luna just to be spiteful before shaking his head. Bill had just recently become the head of the Curse Breaker Division at Gringotts and if he wanted a private conversation then that usually meant work. Harry liked work.
It hadn't been hard to wind his way through the crowd and behind the tables after he'd said his goodbyes; one never quite forgot how to most efficiently navigate crowded spaces after having to escape through them with murderers on their heels.
"Harry," Bill had greeted him with a smile as he'd approached, "It's good to see you again."
"Likewise," Harry returned, raising a glass of Sparkling Wizzjuice he'd pinched from a table on the way, the magical liquid making his stomach crackle. "What's up?"
Bill's face was long and his features hard. This combined with his sharply analytical eyes and the deep claw marks falling along his jaw gave him a sense of perpetual sternness Harry knew the Curse Breaker both loved and hated. Still, when Harry had poked him for the reason for this chat, he was sure he'd never seen Bill's face so serious.
"Somethings happened. At work," he added hastily upon seeing Harry's smile fade and his shoulders fall back; the air slowly beginning to churn with loose magic.
"Right," Harry forced his shoulders to relax, taking another sip of his Wizzjuice. Stupid name.
As the air returned to its natural flow, Bill continued quietly. "Four days ago, I was brought into a meeting with the Chief Directory Council. The full council."
Harry blinked, eyes widening behind his glasses. The Chief Directory Council was the absolute top of Gringotts, 13 Goblin Chiefs appointed by the other members of the Board and answerable only to the Goblin Nation as a whole. Together they managed the entirety of Gringotts and her operations, each one personally heading one of the 13 major branches of the bank around the world, their word second to none in matters of Gringotts.
"In person?" Harry cut in, leaning forward.
"Yes," Bill confirmed, nodding along as Harry whistled quietly.
"Uhuh, I was shit scared. Thought I was about to be the cause for the next Goblin War or something, but no. I was sat next to the Head of Security for the Rome branch and the Artifact Recovery Minister and told to speak when spoken to."
Harry huffed but motioned him onward.
"Anyway, I can't divulge everything that was said, security concerns and all, not to mention I have no doubt we weren't told anywhere near everything, but what I can tell you is..."
And that, right there, was when Harry knew he was not going to like this. Not at all.
Three days later and Harry was in Rome.
The city was a sprawling mass of history and culture the world renown; 2,760 years of rainfall and fire-gutting, occupation and liberation, conquest and concession had shaped the settlement and her peoples into what they were. All the signs were there if you knew where to look and what for, but even the Muggles could feel it in the air.
Ephemeral and hidden in the cracks of millennia old stone and the breath of ancient wind was a sense of history. Of sacred and storied alleyway's, of weighted decisions that went on to shape the entire course of the planet, of a city that was, even devoid of its people, alive.
Harry loved it here.
It was also, notably less to Harry's liking, the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wixen Representative Assembly. (Read: Witches and Wizards with the occasional guest star for the diplomatic circus.)
Today's guest stars, however, were being taken slightly more seriously than usual.
"Chief Director Grishclaw," an elderly witch of obvious Indian persuasion called, standing at her podium along the far edge of the amphitheater. Behind her sat a panel of various other Wixen, heads of the various ICW Ordos or Departments. Around the room, various delegations from the different magical nations promptly silenced themselves. Harry leaned forward in his chair in the public viewing gallery above.
"Supreme Mugwump Ayyar," Director Grishclaw acknowledged from where he stood, surrounded by heavily armoured, but notably unarmed, guards on a clear platform in the center. Not that Harry believed those guards to be as unarmed as they seemed for a second but it was the thought that counted.
"You have scheduled this matter as one of great import. What matter has Gringotts to bring before this Assembly?"
Grishclaw nodded his head and after a second, began to speak. "About three months ago, a team of Gringotts Curse Breakers operating in the Egyptian desert encountered an unknown magical creature in the dead of night."
The Supreme Mugwump watched the Goblin Director with quiet stoicism as he continued.
"This creature struck in the dead of night. Despite Gringotts issued wards being erected around the campsite, none of the company were alerted to this creatures intrusion until it struck and killed the Wardmaster."
This got whispers snaking throughout the room. Unknown magical creatures from the depths of the Egyptian desert were of concern enough, but one able to sneak by wards? Harry smiled as he watched the unease wash through the delegations.
"Have you any description of this creature?" An American spoke up, leaning forward in his seat. Murmurs of likewise comments echo from around the room.
Grishclaw visibly stops himself from snapping something out in return, grudgingly shaking his head after a second.
"Not a very good one, unfortunately," the Director admitted through gritted teeth, "the creature was swift in its attack. Out of the thirteen Curse Breakers, only six managed to escape. None managed to gather a complete image of their attacker."
"Then how do you know what happened?" Questioned the Head of the Ordo Iustitiae.
"We tracked it!" Grishclaw growled in return. "A much larger team was assembled in December, tasked with finding this attacker and returning the bodies of the dead." -here, Grishclaw paused again, looking as if he was fighting to keep stationary.- "They set up a decoy camp and waited for the creature to strike again."
Harry leaned forward in his seat, watching the Goblins with interest.
"After two days, the thing struck," Grishclaw's voice lowers significantly, "it tore apart the camp and the capture team raised their own wards around the decoy. It was not able to sneak past these wards, but it did not need too."
The entire Assembly, small amount of viewers included, were now on the edge of their seats. Harry sat back, eyes still glued to the people below.
"There was more than one," Grishclaw said in lieu of an in-depth explanation. "37 trained Curse Breakers were injured or killed in the ensuing fight, along with 17 Goblin Sentinels. A few of the creatures were injured, one reportedly losing an arm before retreating. We have tracked their flight to an uninhabited mountain range deep in the desert."
Shocked gasps and mutterings at the number of casualty's rippled through the Assembly once again. When Grishclaw did not continue, the Supreme Mugwump spoke.
"This is... Very concerning, Director," were her measured words, drawing attention back to her once more. "However, you have not quite answered my question: what, exactly, is it that you are requesting?"
Grishclaw had gathered himself in lieu of speaking, but addressed the Supreme Mugwump with an admirable amount of levelness in his gravelly voice.
"The Chief Directory Council of the Bank of Gringotts has seen fit to petition the ICW, to lend aid in finding and destroying these creatures, via deployment of ICW Warmages sanctioned under the International Magical Security Bill of 1948; in aid of Gringotts Expeditionary employees in the Egyptian desert."
Silence was the immediate answer to his declaration, followed suddenly by the scraping of hundreds of chairs.
And then, the Assembly erupted into complete and utterly incomprehensible chaos.
Harry James Potter was not a name magical beings took lightly.
The Killing Curse was pure malevolent magic given form, an attack not only on the body but upon the very soul. To have survived such at barely a year old was a miracle of the highest order, to do so again at 18 and go on to defeat the darkest mage of the past three centuries, along with his army?
Harry Potter's legend had been growing since he was one. He'd made international household name status by 18. At 29, Harry Potter was practically a living legend.
From the rediscovery of Slytherin's Chamber and the hunting of a Lesser Sea Serpent to thwarting a cabal of Fleshcrafters in the heart of the Amazon, his list of titles, history and notable feats had also made him the owner of the longest and most updated Chocolate Frog card to date.
He'd been a Triwizard champion, serpent slayer, dark magic hunter, dragon rider, artifact finder and hardened Battle Mage before he'd even graduated. People had been whispering legends of his school years all the way in Moscow and that was before the full story had leaked. The list of events in that tale boggled the mind, but Harry Potter had continued to live up to his reputation ever since and neither he nor his friends ever changed their stories.
It was because of this astounding pedigree that led Gringotts to agree to Harry Potter's restitution deal; which included a heavily interested repayment for the loss of the dragon and damages done, as well as a public apology.
Since then, Gringotts had maintained a cordial working relationship with Harry, even sometimes hiring him on for some job or other. Harry had been happy to help, for a split of the treasure of course.
Still, entering the marble and granite halls of Gringotts' Rome branch, the sounds of milling customers echoing off the granite pillars and up into the arched glass ceiling, was always a slightly breathtaking event.
Harry, pack slung over his back and self-enchanted robes donned, made his way towards the head tellers desk. The Goblin sat behind the lions-footed monstrosity was a particularly wrinkly specimen; gnarled ears drawing his skin into a perpetual scowl. Or perhaps the Goblin was just pissed right this moment, that was always an option.
"How may Gringotts assist you today?" The Goblin never looked up from a piece of parchment spread on his desk but his tone was laced with malice and loathing and his pudgy, clawed hands dug into the quill visibly.
'Oh yeah, definitely angry,' Harry thought, shucking his pack higher up his shoulder.
"I am here for the assemblage of Operation Arcanite Gauntlet," Harry declared simply.
The Goblin blinked, jerking his head up in surprise. Then he opened his mouth to say something likely to be rude. Harry preempted him by shoving a card into his calloused fingers.
The teller looked down at the card in askanced curiosity before blinking rapidly once more.
"Uh, yes- right. Of course, this way Mr. Potter," and, much to the Goblins credit, he jumped from his raised seat and set off briskly down a side hall with barely a beckoning hand to slow him. Harry followed at a far more sedate pace, the sound of his footfalls bouncing loudly. Every now and then, Harry would stop peering at the old paintings hanging here and there and catch the Goblin peering over his shoulder with some emotion the wizard couldn't place.
They walked for several minutes, following the hallway until it split; one way continued onward, the other down at wide set of stairs. The Goblin took the stairs and led Harry down them, out a door, through a hallway and into another door. This one was an elevator and he was quick to usher Harry within and punch in a code Harry memorized idly.
The ornate cage did not rattle as it began to move, one moment it was standing perfectly still and then the next they fell, light from the cracks between door frames flashing by at an ever increasing pace. The wind fluttered around the two and Harry's hair whipped over his eyes. In the time it took him to unglue his hand from the railing he was clutching for dear life, despite his feet never leaving the ground, and wipe it clear, they had stopped.
"This way," the Goblin said in a faux-bored tone, grinning far too smugly to pull it off.
Harry resisted the urge to make a smart comment as he was again led out and down a hallway. This one was darker, with no art or memorabilia and the only doors heavy double pinewood behemoths at the far end. They swung open with a low groan and several eyes snapped to meet them. The room beyond was as poorly lit as the hallway behind but still Harry could make out the forms of dozens, all gathered around a long stone table. The right side was mostly dominated by taller figures, some sitting, some standing, all different looking. Even in the gloom of the meeting room, the bright, sky blue robes of the ICW Warmages stood out, the only uniting aspect.
On the other side was mostly Goblins, managers with thick folders sitting bookended by guards in thick glimmering armor. There were a few humans among them, including Bill looking very uncomfortable next to some spectacled Goblin and...
"Fleur, darling!" Harry called, striding around the table to give the French Veela a kiss on each cheek.
"'Arry," she replied with an exasperated smile, ruffling his hair in return.
"Who is this?" A voice asked, but Harry ignored them.
"How've you been? How's Victoire and Dominique?"
Fleur smiled, dazzling teeth flashing in the light. "Good. Good. They 'ave been good. I 'ave been busy, azzistant 'ead Curse Breaker and all. Comment vas-tu?"
"I've been stellar! Sup Bill!" Harry grinned right back, before turning to slap Bill on the shoulder.
"How did he get here?"
"Hello Harry," Bill did not rise but Harry didn't mind.
"Was he invited?"
"Indeed he was," a loud voice broke in and all heads turned to look at the head of the table. There sat a Goblin in a stark business suit, cane clutched lightly across her(?) lap. The Goblin that had led Harry here was standing at her (probably) side.
"By who, Director Mortoruth?" A wizard, who sat in prime position among the Warmages, pressed, leaning over the table. Harry pegged him as the most likely leader on that side.
"Mr. Weasley, our head Curse Breaker. However, Mr. Potters invitation would've been extended either way, Warmage Illios."
At the mention of who, exactly, they were inquiring after, the Warmage contingent broke into hushed whispers and barely concealed interest. Harry barely payed them any mind, circling back to the open end of the table and nodding his head to the cane-wielding Goblin.
"For which I much appreciate," Harry acknowledged, dropping his bag with a quiet thump.
"I thought he'd be taller," one wizard whispered probably not as quietly as he thought.
"And I thought Warmages were meant to be professionals?" Harry shot back with no real fire, long since having grown indifferent. The wizards cheeks reddened.
The Director spoke before be could reply. "Regardless. Now that all parties are assembled, shall we get down to business?"
Who Harry assumed to be the head Warmage nodded his wrinkled head, leaning back into his chair and regarding both the Gringotts employees and Harry with sharp eyes.
"Indeed. Let us do just that."
Nobody left that room until long after the sun had risen and a proper plan had been put in place. By that time, Harry swore he never wanted to see another stapled file ever again.
"This has gotta be the dumbest idea I've ever seen,"
"Ja. Likevise."
"It's so cold,"
Harry ignored the chattering of his new teammates, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of his breathing. In, hold, 1, 2, out.
"Of all the suicidal plans they could've concocted, this is the one they decided on?" Harry didn't need to open his eyes to picture the Hungarian's scowl, much was evident from his tone.
"And of course we have to get stuck right in the middle of it!" The Japanese one added in. In, hold, 1, 2, out.
"I don't know," how strong an accent did that German have to have? "Ve do 'ave Mr. Potter."
For an awkward second the clearing they sat in was silent, save the crackling of the bonfire in the center. The rustle of wind across the numerous tents added a tense background noise that worked to drive the minds paranoia into absurdity. Was that the rustle of the wind or something else? Did the shadows dance just so or was their something hidden within?
Where was everyone else?
In, hold, 1, 2, out.
Another second of silence stretched by and Harry suddenly realized they were waiting for him to speak. He sighed, lifting his head starward though his eyes never opened.
"It's a terrible idea," he stated simply. In, hold, 1, 2, out.
"See!"
Harry scowled. "Be quiet."
For a blessed second, a collectively held breath, it seemed as if the Warmages were actually going to take his advise right then.
"What?"
"I wasn't talking!"
"Vhy?"
Harry's scowl deepened, he forced himself to sit up straighter. "Because if you all keep jabbering on, I won't be able to sense the fucking things were hunting!"
They were very silent after that.
In, hold, 1, 2, out.
Harry sat with his back to the fire, cross-legged and hands resting lightly on his knees. In one hand twirled his wand, his fingers deftly shifting the 11 inches of Holly with long accustomed familiarity; a pirouette he'd performed and mastered through sheer repetition since age 11. In the other, sat an armguard.
Upon its face was the icon of the ICW; the dual crossed wands and arching phoenix wings ringed by the motto, 'Servare; Ducere; Ad protegere,' were engraved impossibly neat, perfectly centered and aligned. The only other marking upon its face was a stylized set of three W's melded into one at the bottom.
Harry traced that engraving with his thumb, feeling out its contours and indents. The armguard was one of the latest ICW issued inventions manufactured in partnership with Weasley Wizard Works; parent company of Weasley Wizard Wheezes. While George's talent and passion would always be firmly jokes and pranks, he was far less averse to taking contracts from organizations than his twin had been.
Either way, the armguard was a wonderful addition to the average Warmages kit. An evolved and improved version of the Protean Charm, it allowed for instantaneous communication with any corresponding armguard with the same Runic Security Code (whatever that meant) that was in range. It also doubled as a light, magic detector and easy to apply piece of armor.
George was still figuring out how to make it more accessible and versatile in order to sell it to the public but once he did, Harry had been assured, it would sell like wonders. Even if the current range was a bit on the low end of 150 meters.
They -they consisting of a bolstered squadron of Warmages, 60 in total, 20 Gringotts Curse Breakers, two squads of elite Goblin Sentinels numbering a further 25 and Harry- had made camp atop a smooth-stone ridge. Surrounded on two sides by sheer drop-offs that fell into deep rolling sand and an incredibly tall, equally smooth, cliff face on another. It was about the most sensible place they could've set up camp for the night.
That, unfortunately, was about where the sensibility ended.
The plan, on its surface, was simple: draw the creatures in with another tasty looking, but mostly empty, camp and fall from the sky like the wrathful hammer of the gods.
A simple and efficient plan that only entailed four pressure points; the portrayal of the camp, the movements of the creatures, the attack from above and whether or not their wards would hold for long enough. Harry's mind screamed that even those were too many, two of them relying completely on their enemies, but they'd make do.
Unsurprisingly, Gringotts had attempted to get the Warmages to play meatshield, preserving their own employees. Also unsurprisingly, the ICW had tried the same. Then Harry had walked in. This was the outcome. He was the compromise.
"I need a drink," Izsák, that was the Hungarians name right? Yes. Izsák muttered.
Well, he and his new teammates, along with a smattering of other Warmages and Curse Breakers to sell the sounds of a slumbering camp.
Shaking his head, his wand suddenly stopped flickering through his fingers and Harry breathed in deep. The night air smelt of smoked pork and sizzling anticipation, the stars above glimmered just as intent as their overwatch contingent and Harry slowly let the air slip through his lips; escaping back into dark.
As the last wisps of his breath left him, Harry twisted his wand-wrist and grabbed onto that feeling of expulsion. Drawing it up inside of him and feeding it with memories of beautiful sunrises witnessed from the back of a broom and fresh air cascading through open windows. The first time he'd done this he'd used the memory of a Wronski Feint and had almost overloaded the spell, very nearly sending his conscience tumbling far, far from his body.
But that had been years ago. Now? Now, he could do this in his sleep.
Nurturing that bone deep feeling of movement and release and discharge between one breath and the next, Harry allowed his mind to be swept along with its current. And then suddenly, he could see.
The fire crackled warmly behind him. On the opposite side to where he sat, the Japanese one, Reiko he thought, was warming herself, hands outstretched. Behind her stood the German, nervous eyes betraying what his training otherwise didn't allow him too. Izsák was stood staring up at the night sky as if in prayer, his form still visible despite the fiery twilight he was cast in.
The tents around them rustled slightly in the desert wind, their minute movements now suddenly as clear as dawn to him. Obscured from the clearing in which they sat, a Curse Breaker shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feet growing sore. Another wizard was sat outside a tent on the far edge of the camp, writing swiftly in a journal, the scratch of his quill quick and concise despite the loops he added to every third letter.
Above, the assault teams lounged, taking turns between watching the camp below, holding a perimeter just in case and sleeping.
Harry could see everything, taste the thrum and pop of magic in the air and feel the rush of wind that swept over and along the rocks. It was too much, too little and too strange all at once.
In, hold, 1, 2, out.
Feeling the wind travel down your throat, through your insides, into your lungs and back out again was always a novel experience in Harry's opinion.
The German (Otto?) shivered as Harry drew in a third breath exactly in rhythm, forcing his body to continue to operate.
"Vhat vas that?" He murmured and Harry felt his words bounce off canvas and rock alike and be swallowed in the flames. The scrape of his boots and the scratching shift of his robes trailing along with it.
"Me," he replied, seizing control of his mouth and vocal cords after a second, though the word remained slow and slightly... off. Turns out, a lot went into making comprehensible sounds.
"You?" Otto's voice echoed and this time Harry heard him fifteen times over before the simple word fled skyward.
Harry felt a migraine beginning to gnaw at the base of his skull. "Yes. Me. A spell."
"What kind of spell?" The Japanese woman spoke up, her hair rustling loudly.
"Scrying. All-seeing."
Otto shared a look with the Japanese woman next to him, shoulders tensing. Reiko looked back at him with shared discomfort but Harry ignored them. They could endure a little discomfort if it meant being safer. They were Warmages, trained and prepared for harsher conditions than this.
That in mind, Harry pushed his awareness outward, turning his focus away from immediate surroundings in favor of scanning the borders of the camp. There was scarcely a few meters between the wardline and the edge of the cliff, the area smooth and bare of any cover to hide behind.
The other side was much the same, just as barren and rocky and windswept.
The witchlights drifted slowly through the air, their pale blue light sometimes peaking through the gaps between tents. Harry kept his focus on the border of their camp for several minutes, the gnawing migraine graduating into a squeezing and silent throbbing.
He couldn't hold this forever, a while yes, but not forever. The human mind wasn't meant to exist outside its body, spread so thin and bare. Fortunately, he didn't have too.
It happened as he swept over the border of the camp once more, there was another Curse Breaker standing, drinking a glass of water, he shuddered as Harry's attention passed over him. The wizard from before was still writing in his journal, bent over the book with hands loose and blood coating the pa- Wait.
"Fuck," Harry cursed, pulling his conscience back towards his body. How had the thing snuck past the wards? Past him? How come he couldn't see it? Doesn't matter, raise the alarm.
As his conscience returned to his body and he released his hold upon the magic, he jerked his hands together, laying his wand onto the armguard. A second later, the thing flashed red and every other armguard did so as well.
"Wha?!" The Japanese woman squawked, jumping to her feet.
"Third Quarter, someones dead." Harry barked, repeating the message he'd sent through the armguard.
"Goddamnit," the German cursed, already moving.
Harry followed suite, standing clumsily as his body reconnected with his brain. Still, he set off after his new teammates, ignoring the distant sounds of shouting and running and the throbbing of his building migraine.
"Shit," Warmage Illios cursed, standing next to his dead compatriot. "Search the camp! Stick to your teams and don't let anyone out of your sight!"
They stood in a loose semi-circle, the smell of blood and decaying meat pungent in the air. It brought with it a stomach turning sensation even through the filter of the Bubblehead Charm. At the Warmages words, the gathered witches and wizards spread out in varying groups, some taking to the air, others weaving between tents with wands raised.
"Potter," Illios barked, Harry turned back to look at him.
"Yes?"
The Warmage Captain walked up to him. "Can you track this thing?"
Harry hummed. "I can try."
Illios nodded. "Find it. Before it kills anyone else, preferably."
"I'm taking those three," Harry decided, indicating the three Warmages he'd been paired with. They all looked back from where they were eyeing the shadows at his words.
"Sure, whatever," Illios nodded, not sparing a second glance as he turned to devising a search pattern with a gruff looking Goblin.
Harry turned back to his new team. "Right then kiddos, you heard the Captain, follow me! We've got a monster to slay."
The camp was arrayed in a circular grid fashion, split into four quarters, each quarter sectioned off by powerful wards. The Third Quarter was the closest to the eastern side of the ridge and mostly made up of Curse Breakers. It was also the most heavily warded area, due to its denizens proficiency. As soon as Harry had raised the alarm, the wards had been slammed into full readiness, trapping the creature
Of course, it also meant that most of the fighting force was trapped on the other side of the dividing wards, acting as a secondary perimeter but also limiting the speed with which they could respond and the force they could bring to bare.
Harry stopped at an intersection between a few tents and surveyed each of the three paths carefully, searching with more than just his physical senses for his quarry. Above, a steady patrol of broomriders circled overhead or ferried more Warmages overtop of the wardline, which had been very specifically cut short to allow for such a thing.
"This way," Harry decided after a second, striding down the right most path.
And yet, despite all their preparations, this creature had alluded them. It had ferreted itself around the camp wide wards and alert spells, slipped past any sentry's it had encountered and right under Harry's nose to kill an unsuspecting wizard before disappearing back into the darkness.
Harry hated wild goose chases.
The space between tents was poorly lit in most places, a majority of the light spilling from tent flaps and the occasional wandering witchlight. Harry had no issue navigating the winding paths however, his body moving on instinct as his eyes roved from one shadow to the next. However the night was empty of any unimaginable horrors, and as Harry led his team in a winding pattern, the thoughts of this creature having already escaped began to gnaw.
Were they too late? Had it gotten into another Quarter? Had it killed again?
They came upon a small clearing, an empty patch of space between a congregation of tents mostly empty except for a disregarded milk crate used to house potions. Harry stepped into the center of the path, examining each shadowy path carefully. Only, there was something. Not a major something, a little, wriggling, sensation as his eyes passed over the tents and wires and a witchlight floated lazily in from the side.
As it crossed the threshold into the open space, Otto let out a cry.
Harry spun, a shield charm already coalescing on the tip of his wand before he paused. Otto was kneeling over the crate, hand poised over an empty vial in the dirt that gleamed in the sudden light.
"What? What is it?!" Reiko snapped, a particularly vicious looking yellow light emanating from her wand.
"Look," said Otto and Harry stepped forward, signaling Izsák to watch behind him, which the Hungarian did without complaint.
Harry knelt next to the German, looking over his shoulder. "What's up?"
Otto pointed to the discarded vial. "The vial, its got blood on it."
Harry peered closer and, sure enough, there was a vial, a smattering of rich red droplets across its face. And, now that he looked closer, his shield charm replaced with a quick Lumos, there were more droplets, splattered on the rock in an arching fashion. Harry followed the trail, watching as it was joined by another arch and a trail of thick droplets and then a bloody outline of three fingers, dragged along the rock.
Fresh blood. A trail. One which led straight to the entrance of a sandy red tent.
"Fuck," Harry cursed, raising his wand once again to the armband.
'Potter: Blood found, Third Quarter, near edge, head count requested. Searching area now, backup requested on signal.' Rapidly scrawled its way onto the armband and Harry saw Otto's own flash with the message.
Then, he turned to Reiko. "Signal."
She nodded, raising her wand and shooting out a trail of golden sparks that arched high into the air.
"Right," Harry nodded, "eyes peeled, stick together. Izsák, you're with me. Reiko, Otto, on the right. Move."
The Warmages acted quickly, Reiko and Otto taking staggered firing positions, wands raised as Izsák slipped into position just behind and to the side of Harry.
"We're taking this tent and clearing it, teams of two, don't let your partner out of your sight, shields ready." Harry instructed. Izsák nodded, face calm but Harry could see his eyes searching out any possible material he could transfigure at a moments notice.
As the witchlight floated sluggishly out of the clearing, Harry raised his wand, exhaled his nerves, and pulled the tent flap aside.
The inside was nothing remarkable, a simple hardwood floor supporting a canvas hallway that widened at the end into a communal eating space. On either side were marked doorways, bedrooms numbering eight in total, positioned near the entrance to allow for faster response.
Harry entered first, armguard raised, a pale shield emanating from it. He flowed left, turning to face the first door, trusting the others to have his back. The cloth 'doors' were blown aside with a simple charm and revealed an spartan bedroom, cot empty.
"Clear," he whispered and spun, taking the position that Izsák had just occupied, the Hungarian advancing forward to the next door.
Otto and Reiko mimicked their movements on the other side of the entrance, smoothly clearing the other first room.
"Clear," Otto whispered as well.
Harry nodded to himself. "Move."
Without hesitation they did so, Izsák parting the doorway this time as Harry moved to shield his back. Only when the Hungarian muttered clear and spun behind Harry's back did they continue.
The third room was slightly more well adorned then the last, a picture of a Kneazel sitting on the bedside table. The table itself was covered in a loose table cloth that dripped wet blood onto the floor mockingly. It was torn and the photo frame was cracked.
"Signs of struggle, blood," Harry called, "no body."
"Clear," Otto reported and they advanced.
The final rooms were similarly non-bloody, the third door apparently an outlier. Bedrooms cleared, the team paused at the threshold to the communal space. There was a couch, some chairs and a low table to the right, the glass rendered opaque due to the splattering of blood across it.
Harry scowled and jerked his head at Otto next to him. The German nodded back, eyes hard.
"Move," he ordered and stepped into the room, turning left, shield raised in preparation of an attack that never came.
There was a table, a long, dark rectangle with eight simple chairs arrayed around it. There was food set out, five bowls of soup now tinged with spilt blood. The tablecloth lay rumpled on the floor, a viscous spray marring its stitching.
There was the pungent tang of copper and rotting meat in the air, but no bodies.
'Illios: head count completed, 1 dead, 5 short, all Curse Breakers. Position, Potter?' Their armbands flashed and Harry scowled. That matched with his rough headcount.
"Izsák," Harry turned to the Hungarian, "is there any other way out of these tents?"
"No, only the front door."
"And how many rooms are there exactly?"
"Excluding bedrooms- three/four? Communal/kitchen, bathroom and storage."
Harry nodded. "Right then, return to the entrance, guard it and get the rest of your fellows attention. Don't come in unless there is a good helping of you and I start screaming. Clear?"
"What are you planning, Potter?" Izsák pressed, narrowing his eyes.
Harry smiled, twirling his wand between his fingers. "I'm gonna hunt us a monster."
The bathroom was empty, the kitchen still smelled of soup broth. That left storage.
It was an unassuming door hanging half open just past the couch. Harry slipped himself inside, disengaging his shield once he saw how packed it was. Piles of boxes and trunks, potions storage crates and a hanging garden off to one side.
"Great," Harry muttered, eyes flickering over every nook and crevasse and only finding more and more after every sweep, "super stealth murder machine and where do I get to fight it? In a crowded storage closet after it's already killed six mages. Just great."
Still, he was Harry Potter and it wasn't like he hadn't dealt with worse odds before. Hell, this was practically Tuesday for him!
'Potter: Moving into storage now.' Was all he sent via armband before he strode forward, wand held loosely in his fingers.
The room smelt of potions fumes and worn leather, undercut with a hint of rotting flesh and Harry was suddenly sure. This thing, whatever it was, was here.
"Come out, come out, wherever you hide!" He called, slipping between two stacks of trunks. This room vaguely reminded him of the Room of Hidden Things back before it'd all gone up in Fiendfyre, all those years ago. The memory returned to him like a hazy mirage.
Merlin, he had almost forgotten how haphazardly that room's contents had been stored.
Still, this room was miles smaller, though just about as tightly packed. Illuminated by flickering bulbs strung overhead on wires, Harry privately wondering how the ICW got away with such blatant fire hazards.
His musings on health and safety were interrupted, however, when he turned a corner near the back of the room and had to cover his nose from the smell.
"Morgana's tits," he cursed, peaking back round a jar of animal parts to confirm what he saw. "Damn it."
'Potter: Curse Breakers found. All KIA. Look to have been attacked and then... drained, for lack of a better word. Like a Vampire but no bite marks visible.'
"Alright, you bastard," he hissed, striding away from the smell of blood and rotting stink, "you've made your point. You're a hunter, a thing that goes bump in the night. Very good. Now, come here and I'll show you exactly why there ain't no shadows you can hide in."
Predictably, there was no reply, except the light buzzing of the bulbs overhead.
Harry wasn't deterred, striding rapidly through the teetering items back to the doorway, making no effort to conceal his path. It was when he caught sight of the doorway that it happened.
Harry scanned the shelves either side of him, eyes catching on every hiding spot he could find and glaring as if trying to set the damn things on fire. His eyes moved up and down, side to side and over the items piled high on his right. Where was this bastard? He knew it was around here somewhere, he could smell it, but nothing large enough to hide in had been stacked this si-
"...Wait a minute."
And that was when a suitcase buried in a pile to the left of him exploded.
His wand was up in a flash and a shield blossomed into reality a hares breath before a mass of putrid flesh and elongated nails slammed into him. Harry went tumbling with the force of the hit, crashing through a piles of containers that fell on top of him a second later.
He held the shield charm long enough to feel the crates and jars fall and shatter before, with a shout, a Banishing Charm pulsed from him. Shattered glass, fresh splinters and juices the consistency of which Harry would've rather not known, exploded in a tidal wave away from him. The creature let out a shrill hiss to his left and Harry smiled viciously. It could feel pain.
The wizard rolled to his right a heartbeat later, pushing himself to his knees as the detritus sent straight up began to rain back down. His wand was trained on the source of the hiss before even his eyes but he paused when he finally got a good look at the thing.
It was... not.
As in, Harry was having a hard time focusing on its physical appearance. There certainly was something there, he knew that, but what exactly alluded him. Its form was both understandable and fuzzy. The creature was lithe and sallow, gaunt arms too many to count, wrapped in putrid flesh that flaked from its bone even now, wrapped beneath a tattered cloak of desert brown.
It's head was sharp and Harry got the distinct impression of a mouth that opened wider than any should, with misshapen teeth stabbing into bloody and diseased gums.
Something right out of H.P. Lovecraft's head, in essence.
The creature gave another shrill wail, as if sensing his thoughts, and Harry cringed at the sound.
"Alright then! Irae Tempestates!" Harry called back, swinging his wand over his head and ripping a variety of items from gravity's hold. The creature wasted no time in reacting, skittering forward on broken feet and a hundred hands in a blur that was hard to follow. But Harry didn't need precision, only direction.
His gathered items whistled past his still kneeling self, a mixture of makeshift shivs and heavy luggage repurposed into a magical shotgun-tornado that sent his opponent diving for cover. The cursed things cloak absorbed most of the smaller projectiles that struck it, but it tumbled all the same when a trio of jars the size of Harry's head shattered over its shoulders.
Harry smiled viciously, but before he could press his advantage a trunk flew back at him and he hastily dived out of the way, cutting himself on the sharp remnants of shattered items as he tumbled.
"You ever thought about playing baseball?" He shouted as he scrambled behind a still standing pile of items. The creature screamed. "Not a fan of banter, I see."
Harry heard the squelching pitter-patter dash of the creature circling around after him long before it came into view. He scrabbled further around the pile, looking it over with a keen eye. There, near the mounds base, was another trunk, supporting most of the piles weight. Harry smiled, leaned forward and tapped his wand on the trunks corner. From the tip sprung a light red line, and he quickly turned and attached the other end to a sturdy looking jar on his other side.
Then he stood, took several steps back and watched as the thing came skidding around the corner.
"Come on then you ugly bastard," he growled, taking another step back and readying his wand.
The creature gave a contemptuous snort, skittered forward and stepped clear over the softly glowing line. Almost mockingly, it lifted limb after mass of limbs, jaw cracking wide in mimicry of a smile.
"Oh you think you're so smart?" Harry questioned once the creature was about halfway over the line, the creature snarled in return. "Not so, bitch. Inchoare!"
And then the Spectral Rope contracted and dragged the trunk, jar and both piles of stuff directly down onto the unsuspecting creature. It gave an unholy shriek as the trunk knocked it flat and the jar, apparently filled with some sort of acid, impacted a second later; its limbs now melting disgustingly.
It didn't have long to scream and flail as the rest of the junk came crashing down on its rotting face. Harry raised his wand as he saw the thing buried and with a yell, a great torrent of water flew from his wand, sending the damn thing skating backwards along with its debris trap.
Harry saw its cursed head poke from between swirling supplies one last time and gave the damn thing a vicious smile as he cut the torrent and sliced his wand down.
The water instantly froze into thick ice, the creatures final, petulant scream cut short in a flash. Silence descended upon the storage room, the only sound that of Harry's ragged, and now suddenly visible, breathing.
"Gotcha," he muttered, relaxing only after a few minutes, when the thing showed no inclination of still being alive.
'Potter: Creature eliminated, all clear in here. Bit of a mess though. My bad.'
'Illios: ...What?'
"Harry!" A voice called from higher on the cliff and he craned his neck to see.
"Yea?!" Harry shouted back, raising a hand to shield his eyes.
"You, uh, might wanna come see this!" Bill beckoned him with an arm, turning to look uncertainly over his shoulder.
Sighing, Harry sometimes wondered why he even agreed to these things anymore.