7

"So, what's this about then?" Harry asked with a deceptive calm as he looked at the small, simple building that in a few decades would house Fred and George's pride and joy.

"It is a club," Charlus stated as he nodded to the solidly built door with a rather ornate knocker. "Of a most particular variety."

"I can and will hex you," Harry stated simply as he gave Charlus a look that promised that obfuscation would be met with pain.

"No one appreciates the art of conversation anymore," Charlus noted almost mournfully and shook his head. "It's a club for the surviving veterans of Grindelwald's war."

"Most everyone else calls it World War two," Harry noted with a slow shake of his head, though his tone had shifted more towards the curious now.

"Yes, well to us it was always about the magical side, not the rest of it. We had muggle chaps for that bit."

"Of course," Harry stated sarcastically as he affixed Charlus with a mildly scathing look. "Because the two wars had nothing to do with each other, and were totally and completely separate."

Charlus winced slightly at the statement before shrugging his shoulders. "It is what it is. It's hard to equate the wars being the same, when they weren't joined the same. We didn't serve with the muggles. We didn't fight with them. We didn't fight against them. The only forces we fought were Grindelwald's."

Harry sighed and shook his head, his eyes searching over the familiar building that looked so alien. So many things had changed and yet he could still imagine the shop this would become. He could almost close his eyes and remember the smell of sweets, the sound of laughter, the sight of wide, wondering eyes.

Another little thing. So close and yet so far away. A reminder of what he had lost.

"So what exactly do you expect me to do?" Harry asked quietly.

"Well, I rather imagine you're going to have to put a number of distinguished gentleman promptly upon their arses," Charlus noted with no small amount of ill-concealed glee.

"… You do realize," Harry started to say as he slowly drew his eyes to Charlus's gaze, "that to do that, it will likely require me to demolish a great deal of the surrounding environment, yes?"

"… Exactly how much is a great deal?" Charlus asked, shifting his hands with certain amount of nervousness as a pit of dread sank into his stomach.

"I could, potentially, leave the building standing."

"… That would be preferable, yes," Charlus allowed nodding his head again. "Even more preferable would be to keep the damage to a minimum."

"But Charlus, I'm a young man full of vim and vigor," Harry responded with a predatory smile that flashed coldly into his eyes. "Don't you know, we aren't known for our self-control."

"I have a sinking suspicion, one of auspicious dread, that within your mind looks a certain… malice that might, by chance, be directed upon my person," Charlus observed with a sudden nervous energy to his stance. "You wouldn't feel that way towards family, now would you, Harry?"

"Remind me to tell you about my aunt and uncle on my mother's side, the ones tasked with my care and upbringing after my parents rather grisly murder," Harry never let the smile slip from his lips. "They too were family."

"Right then," Charlus coughed and then glanced at the door with a kind of nervousness. "Perhaps… Well, no. I can't ask you to leave the talking to me. One, because then they wouldn't respect you, and two, I bloody well doubt you'd let me."

"Now Charlus, I do believe you're starting to learn!" Harry noted dryly as he shook his head. "And all without me resorting to doing something horribly violent."

"… I wonder if this is what it's like to have to deal with a Potter for someone else," Charlus muttered loud enough for Harry to hear him before shaking his head and sighing softly. "I suppose this could be magic's revenge upon me."

"Have you done something in particular that magic would want vengeance upon you for?" Harry asked with a blink as he looked more fully at Charlus as he arched a brow.

"Well, obviously I've done something. After all here I am and you stand there, eagerly and happily tormenting me," Charlus declared with a long, weary sigh before straightening his back. "I would prefer that the building remains standing and stable, though. It is a nice place and one of the few where we don't have to worry about those damnedable blood supremacists."

"At least until they decide to target it," Harry agreed with a faint nod of his head as he imagined now how such a building had lain dormant for the twins to make the purchase.

"Must you be so bloody cynical?" Charlus asked before shaking his head and walking up to the door and pointedly tapping on the knocker with his wand.

For a moment, there was no response, before slowly somewhat ornamental wooden door with brass fixtures folded in on itself, revealing a second door, this time of gleaming bronze, wrought with glowing arcane runes and set with a particularly malevolent looking red orb resembling an eye.

Charlus merely looked back at the orb. A moment later the door seemed to disassemble itself much in the same manner the brick wall entrance to Diagon Alley did. When it finished, a distinguished looking gentleman in sharp cut robes could be seen.

"Mr. Potter," the wizard stated simply. "Should I announce you?"

"And guest," Charlus stated as he nodded towards Harry before frowning a bit. "Though, I'd advise them to keep the more exuberant personalities restrained."

"I'm sure they'll be delighted, sir," the wizard stated politely and nodded his head. "You have explained the rules, yes?"

"Mr. Smythe, I'd be more afraid for our members than my guest," Charlus stated blandly and shook his head. "Which is why I requested the restraint."

The man arched a brow, turning his attention to Harry for a moment, who gave him back a thin, bland smile that never reached his eyes.

For a moment the man merely searched Harry's face before curtly nodding his head and stepping back out of the way. "Very well, Mr. Potter."

Harry shook his head a bit, but none the less stayed almost silent as he followed after Charlus, his eyes wandering around with an almost bored laziness.

Finally, after they came to a sitting room, he looked once more about and then back to Charlus, a brow arching upwards. "Awfully posh."

"You were expecting us to languish in poverty and mediocrity?" Charlus asked with a sound of incredulity. "We come here to relax and get away from the rest of the world. Why would we want that to be in anything but the best when we can afford to indulge in such?"

"Never really much saw the appeal, honestly," Harry admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "But, then again, most people I knew with the wealth for it tended to flaunt it and use it to bully people around, so that probably taints my point of view."

"An interesting perspective," another voice commented, drawing their attention to a seated middle aged wizard smoking peacefully upon a cigar, a glass of brandy decanted on a stand next to his deep, high backed seat. "You don't often bring in young bucks like this normally, Charlus."

"I don't ever bring in anyone like this," Charlus corrected with a shake of his head. "Harry Potter. Martellus Longbottom."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Harry drawled out with a faint amount of cheek coloring his tone.

"Impertinent one too, I see," Martellus noted with a slight frown as he took a draw of his cigar. "I suppose you're going to inflict the reason you brought him here upon me then, Charlus?"

"He's the Storm Chaser," Charlus stated with a slight drawl of sarcasm. "I imagine that comes with a natural impertinence."

"True," Harry admitted with a nod of his head. "Of course, it might just be the Potter side of things, too. That seems to be a popular theory among certain individuals."

Charlus glowered back at him for a moment while Martellus barked off a soft laugh. "Oh, he's certainly got the Potter cheek of it. Glib and offsetting. I can see why Charlus requested restraint from us."

"I rather like this social club and would hate to see my investment turned to shambles," Charlus declared as he gave Martellus a look. "I have seen enough of our members in action to know little of this place would survive an unrestrained confrontation."

"I'm going to guess you're referring to the overly exuberant gentlemen of… distinguished age?" Harry asked as he decided to at least try to be polite.

"He's calling us old, isn't he?" Martellus asked with a note of irritation in his voice.

"That does seem to be the case, yes," Charlus agreed slowly before pointing out. "But he's at least being polite about it."

"Right. Of course," Martellus repeated with a trace of sharpness in his tone. "Because all that matters is manners and decorum, hmmm?"

"… I think I should point out that Martellus does not have the best of tempers," Charlus noted with a weary sigh. "You do realize we're here to talk about fighting others, not him, yes?"

"It's the principal of the matter!" Martellus declared angrily as he glared back at Charlus and Harry. "I am still in the prime of my life! I…!"

"Don't look at me," Harry reminded him with a shake of his head. "This was all your idea, remember?"

"Yes, well, I didn't think you'd be so purposely antagonistic!" Charlus rebuked with a huff.

"I'm a Potter; what were you expecting?" Harry shot back with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, Charlus, what were you expecting? Someone that is somehow less insufferable than yourself?" Martellus asked as he took another long draw on his cigar before sipping at his brandy. "You should know by now that's highly unlikely."

"I swear, somehow you have conspired against me on this. I know not how, yet, but I know you have, Harry," Charlus declared with a look of absolute loathing on his face.

"Why would I need to do that? You do it plenty on your own without any input from me." Harry responded simply before sighing a bit. "But, as much fun as it is to poke at Charlus, that's not why we're here."

"Do tell," Martellus asked as he puffed again on his cigar. "You have certainly made waves but what brings you here, now?"

"As he apparently wants to keep dancing around it, I suppose it'll come down to me explaining it." Charlus exclaimed with a sigh and a glower back at Harry.

"It was your idea to begin with. I'm still a bit leery of it," Harry told him flatly as he shook his head.

"Oh, dash it all, fine," Charlus stated in resigned frustration before turning his attention Martellus. "We have another Grindelwald. This one actually British of all things."

"… You're certain? Not just a group of over eager little children looking to follow his ideals without understanding them?" Martellus asked, though in his voice they could hear he wasn't rejecting their position.

"You heard about Hogsmeade. Merlin's crotch pox, Martellus, your wife was there to see it firsthand!" Charlus stated with a flat look and a growl.

That almost made Harry start as he reexamined Martellus more closely and this time saw a few faint echoes of the man Neville Longbottom had grown to be. He had wondered what had happened to the man but, after things with Neville's own parents, he thought it best to not push. And now here he was apparently standing in front of that grandfather.

"Yes, well, some things can get conflagrated at times," Martellus reminded him with a sip of brandy.

"Shall we tell Augusta you thought that?" Harry asked blandly, hiding a smirk when the man began coughing up his drink.

"Dirty pool, my boy," Charlus stated with a sound of faint approval in his voice. "I like it!"

"You would," Martellus stated sourly as he glowered at Charlus and Harry before sighing and slumping down into his seat. "How much do we know?"

"Lord Voldemort," Harry started, earning a snort from Martellus. "Born Tom Marvolo Riddle to Merope Gaunt and a muggle nob she fancied enough to keep under love potions until she either ran out or ended up delusional enough to think he actually loved her. He threw her out, she died in child birth and Tom went to an orphanage."

Martellus twitched slightly at the statement. "I see. And you can prove all of this?"

"Shouldn't be that hard for someone to go looking for it. If I just gave you the information, how could you trust it?" Harry responded back easily enough. "He is running low on his Knights of Walpurgis, though. For some reason the lads keep finding themselves falling into gruesome and unpleasant fates."

"Isn't that the name of those little blood purists running around, trying to act all menacing?" Martellus clarified as he frowned a bit as the name triggered a memory. "The ones calling for the purge of muggleborn and halfbloods?"

"Ah, you noticed the hypocrisy right off the top, good for you," Harry noted dryly as he seemed bemused. "They're too busy being caught up with the novelty of someone of Riddle's power preaching their idealogy."

"And you're now looking for someone to help you fight him," Martellus stated flatly as he frowned back at him.

"Well, the way I was looking at it, Charlus, in his infinite wisdom, has managed to convince me to take the role of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry stated with a drawl of his voice. "Wherein I can do my best to at least help the children learn to keep themselves alive."

He paused before he looked meaningfully at the man. "And with my attention so focused, I will be unable to work to track down and… remonstrate with these misguided knights. While they're not exactly something wholly dangerous at the moment, if they begin to apply themselves to subtler tactics, then they can whittle away at those who would come together to rebuke them."

"You think they're going to start targeting those of us who would fight back." Martellus stated with a slow, hard frown and a look of bubbling determination that Harry had seen more than once upon his grand child's countenance.

"For everything that he is, Riddle is not stupid," Harry stated bluntly. "I forced him to reveal himself earlier than he wanted because his idiots kept running across me and dying messily. He needed to put me down in front of everyone to make up for it. Instead, he was saved by Dumbledore."

"Must you give me a headache?" Martellus asked with a sigh as he drank deeper from his brandy. "I suppose you have some insights into how this Lord Voldemort's mind works then?"

"As I had the unfortunate experience of being in it, yes," Harry agreed with a nod of his head and a sour twist of his lips. "He will not let it go. And since he now knows that fighting me is not a sure victory like he thought it would be, he will try to stack the game in his favor. Which means attacking others who might support me, or oppose him."

"Dash it all, I was hoping that all of this was just another bit of foolishness," Martellus stated before gesturing with his wand and refilling his glass. "I suppose that we would fall into the category of those who would oppose him."

Harry snorted softly, "I know if he had his way, no one would even know about anyone opposing dark lords that are not a name too grand for him to destroy, someone like Dumbledore. In that particular case he just has to find a way to be written as the one to overcome him."

"Delightful," he stated with a sigh before shaking his head. "I suppose then we'll have to get the lads together and have them see what you can do. Merlin knows we won't follow Dumbledore again after the way things went to bollocks with Grindelwald."

Harry blinked slightly at that but decided to say nothing, merely keeping his lips pressed together and his eyes slightly narrowed.

"He's not going to take the bait is he," Martellus noted with a slight almost pouting frown of disappointment.

"You don't want him to take the bait," Charlus countered back as he shuddered at the thought before perking up a bit. "I am, however, looking forward to the sight of him wiping the floor with the lot of you. It shall be a treasured memory for my pensive long, long into the future!"

Harry fought down the desire to twitch at that. These men, the both of them, had not originally survived the war with Voldemort. For good reason he was now starting to realize. While his grandfather and his wife had been felled by Dragonpox, he was quite sure that such natural causes weren't the fall of these men before him.

Sighing a bit, he shook his head. "I'm not exactly sure how I feel about beating up a bunch of pompous old men but I'm sure that when the time comes, one of you will certainly do something to withdraw my reservations."

"Ha! He's certainly got spirit. We'll see if he can back it up," Martellus stated with a broad, eager smile.

Harry could already feel the headache starting to grow behind his eyes before shaking his head as he turned to Charlus. "This was your idea so you organize it."

"I suppose have that coming," Charlus admitted with before nodding his head. "It shouldn't take long; a bit of cajoling, some implied insults, playing on copious amounts of pride. Making a few bets…"

Harry considered that before narrowing his eyes at Charlus. "We'll be talking about that later."

Charlus had a sneaking suspicion he was going to end up making a significantly smaller amount than what he was originally.

-o-o-o-

The men assembled on the otherwise empty dirt ring had the look of crotchety irritation on their faces. They all stood tall and proud and their eyes filled with a muted wariness. In part they reminded him of Mad Eye, though their caution weathered down by a life of peace.

The other part reminded him of the retired members of his team that liked to drop in on him when they were in town, to swap stories and share drinks with the only others who really knew what it meant to be one of them.

It made him smile slightly at the familiarity, even if the faces themselves weren't ones he knew. These were men who had been tempered in the fires of war before and had come out of it stronger. What would his world have been like if these men had lived beyond Voldemort's reign?

As he looked from one of them to the next, he couldn't help but feel the answer was 'very'.

And he was going to have to fight them all at once to drive in the point about just how dangerous both he himself and Voldemort were.

He smiled at that thought. Some things never changed. Men like these would only listen if he proved he was worth listening to. Charlus and Martellus' words had been enough to get him a shot, along with the rumors of his fights against the Knights of Walpurgis and their Lord.

They were curious but more than a little wary of him. Dumbledore and Grindelwald has left them with no small amount of wariness when it came to stronger wizards, even if it was for different reasons. And now here they were, with another pair of wizards supposedly of the same caliber.

If only they knew that one of them wanted to be so much worse than Grindelwald was ever willing to be. But they were about to learn one very important fact: He was no Dumbledore.

"Gentlemen," he spoke softly enough for them to hear, the subdued conversations falling instantly silent as their eyes locked upon him.

"Well, you lot at least have an inkling of why you're here," Charlus cleared his throat and addressed them when it became obvious Harry was going to let him at least open things up. "Specifically the actions of a certain group of individuals titling themselves Knights of Walpurgis."

"As ponced up a name for a bunch of thugs as Grindelwald's call for the greater good," one of the men stated with a growl and a spit off to the side.

"True enough, but as some of you heard from Hogsmeade, they've got a lord backing them," Charlus agreed with a nod of his head and an exaggerated grimace. "And this one's apparently lacking anything resembling restraint or decorum. He's willing to toss around dark curses and unforgivable without even pausing to think about it. In fact, they seem to be his go to choices."

"Bloody hell. A true Dark Lord?" one of the men stated, looking both perturbed and appalled. "Why hadn't we heard about him before now then?"

"He was forced to make his grand reveal before he was really ready," Harry noted quietly as he spoke up again. "Likely he was going to originally wait until he had quietly picked the lot of you off one by one before finishing the last of you off as his great reveal to leave the rest of them quaking in fear and the only one they'd have to turn to Dumbledore."

"… That's likely to have been a more effective plan than the bastard thought," one of the men noted with a grimace. "Once you wipe away the next coming of Merlin off of the man's reputation, he's worse than ineffective."

"Not that Riddle realizes that. He just wants them to put all their hope into Dumbledore so he can whittle away at it and him," Harry stated simply and shook his head. "So he can just start killing everything and everyone he wants."

"And you're supposed to be the remedy to that, hum?" one of the more jaded looking men asked as he gave Harry a long look, that visibly showed his opinion that the man was wanting. "Some sort of Chosen one?"

There was a time when Harry would've flinched back from that title, filled with fear an insecurity as the responsibilities set on his shoulders since he was a child weighed down upon him. That was not who he was anymore. Instead he snorted in disdain.

"Do I look like some sort of wide-eyed idiot who would just walk around hoping things work out for the best?" Harry snapped back with a glower. "I'm the bloody wanker that, when shits thrown at him, turns around and buries those fucking shit throwers in it."

"Well, he's got a bit more attitude than Dumbledore." one of them noted with a grudging nod.

"Means all of jack shite if he's just a bunch of talk."

"Well then, gentlemen, by all means, let's find out!" Charlus stated happily. "But, before we do, can we get some gentlemanly wagers or are you all too craven to back up your disdain with actual cold, hard galleons?"

That got their attention as they looked from Charlus to Harry and then back again with narrowed eyes before one of them spoke up. "I smell something foul about this."

"Aye. Charlus is a might bit too eager for it," another one of them agreed with a frown. "Even if he is a wastrel of a lout…"

"Oi!" Charlus protested with a glower and a glare. "I am not a wastrel! Nor am I a lout!"

"You made your fortunes at Monte Carlo," one of them stated flatly, glaring at him. "Lucius is the respectable one in the family. He at least invented something to make a profit off of."

"A slaughter really," another one of the men agreed with a look of frustration. "Damned bastard and his hair care products. You don't want to know how much of my money has gone to him because of my wife and daughters."

"Gentleman," Harry interrupted them with a drawl of amusement, "As much as I approve and encourage the mocking of Charlus' character," he ignored the way Charlus made various sounds of protest at that, "or lack there-of, I believe he was going to offer a wager on the outcome of the entirety of you against myself."

That made them blink as they looked from Harry to Charlus and back.

"In addition, should he win, he will then have to wager at least half of his winnings against me in a one on one bit of fun."

"Wait a moment, I never agreed to that!" Charlus quickly protested, his eyes wide and worried.

"Then you shouldn't have insulted me with such a low cut of the winnings," Harry drawled back at him.

"You weren't the one staking the money to begin with or making the bet!" Charlus argued back at him.

"I'm just the one agreeing to take on a group of war veterans all by my lonesome just to prove I can," Harry countered back with a roll of his eyes. "And you are trying to profit off of my hard work."

"You know, it'd be worth it just to see Charlus finally getting what for and having to work for his winnings for a change." one of them noted with a thoughtful hum.

"I can set up the anti-apparition and port key wards as well so he can't just run away," another one added with a nod of his head, causing Charlus to frown, either from the affront at the suggestion he might run or from his plan being thwarted already. Harry couldn't tell.

"We could just skip the middle man entirely and pay the man the amount just to duel Charlus and show us he can back up his claims." another one pointed out.

"Oh, I rather like that one."

"You're all trying to take the fun and profit out of this for me!" Charlus accused with a hearty glare at them.

"You expected differently?"

Charlus opened his mouth but then shut it again and glowered back at them. "I wasn't expecting this mutiny and insubordination! You're supposed to at least humor the officer and wait until his back's turned and he can't hear you before you start mocking and disparaging him!"

"That's only when you're still enlisted and the officer can do something like put you on latrine duty," one of them reminded him. "Now you're just like the rest of us and you weasel enough money out of us as it is."

"… The burdens of command," Charlus stated with a dramatic sigh. "How they weigh upon me. With churls and uncultured barbarians, uncouth and ill mannered. How, I wonder, did I manage to keep you lot alive again without burying each and every one of you in one of the Grindy latrines?"

"Your Sergeant was a saint and kept you from getting the lot of us killed and kept the lot of us from doing you in!" another voice chimed in with a laugh.

"No, my Sergeant was a goddess, which is why I married her as soon as we were discharged and left the rest of you jealous ever since." Charlus declared with a sniff and a huff.

"… And this is how you know the Lieutenant wants the argument over with," one of the men noted. "He plays the Black card. Dirty pool. Dirty, dirty pool."

"Almost thirty years later and still they hold it against me," Charlus stated proudly, a beaming smile on his face. "That, Harry m'boy, is how you know you're blessed."

"I'm still taking the offers to duel Charlus after this is over," Harry reminded the lot of them. "Minimum buy in is 5 galleons, front row seats will run you 10, particular humiliations, as long as they aren't too extreme will run you 20-30, depending upon their severity."

When their eyes all gleamed and Charlus' face paled, Harry beamed back at Charlus. "And that, Charlus m'boy, is how you then play someone else's blessing to your advantage."

"… This, this is why I stay away from the rest of my family most of the time," Charlus lamented with a long sigh. "I keep forgetting we're entirely too clever for each other's good."

Harry however, was too busy taking payments and notes to answer him.

-o-o-o-

Books had long been coveted by Tom Riddle. In them one could find information, knowledge, and ideas. All different words for the same underlying thing. Power.

Everything was power if one could find the right way to use it.

But now he was finding himself dealing with something his books were little help with.

What the Storm Chaser had done should have been impossible. It defied what he knew about magic and left him with a feeling of inadequacy he didn't particularly care for. The idea that someone so unknown, someone without any apparent past, any history had managed to discover it… It was impossible.

Animation should have broken, shattered against his spells. The idea of Fiendfyre being captured, contained, turned back upon its master? The spell's control could be broken easily enough for weak, lesser wizards to have it wrestled away from them. But he was not lesser wizards.

But that thing had still managed to take it from him.

And he could find no mention of such a thing ever being attempted before.

"How was he doing it?" he hissed softly, his new eye burning angrily as it churned around in his thoughts.

The man had turned his greatest weapons back against him. The curses he had drawn forth from forgotten and forbidden tomes. The secrets he had unearthed, the terror of the past and that which lesser wizards had tried desperately to erase.

All of them brushed aside at best and at worst, like his fiendfyre, turned against him.

His mind still rebelled at that very concept. Fiendfyre of all things, being consumed by a pathetic animation. It made no sense!

He almost threw the book in front of him away in rage, hissing in anger. It made no sense. None of it made any sense. What this blasted Storm Chaser, this Harry Potter, doing made no sense at all!

There was a dark part of him he struggled to ignore, whispering to him that somehow, this one knew more about magic than he did. That he understood secrets he didn't. That this man had already reached heights he couldn't imagine.

Then he remembered the things he had said to him, what he had called him. How he had taunted him. The way he had inferred things was… How could the man have known those things?! Not even his closest confidants knew those things.

He had done his best to make sure no one could find that information. That he was removed from it. He had hunted down every piece of reference to that existence among the wizarding world and destroyed it.

But, somehow, that was not enough.

If it had been Dumbledore, he might've been able to accept it. The old man had been in power for long enough, had lain his foundations before he was even born. He had built himself into an unassailable position of power.

However much of a fool the man might be, Voldemort could grudgingly respect the power he had slowly built up. The tendrils he had all throughout Britain. He would not deny the power he held.

Just that he was too foolish to use it.

And it galled him so, to see all that power, languishing and almost unused. The things he could have done with it; the heights he could have achieved. The things he would do once he buried the old man and this newest complication.

Which brought him back to his problem. How was he supposed to deal with this newest complication? He wasn't sure he'd be able to keep the man power he'd need to fully harass the wizarding world into submission with the way that bastard Potter had been whittling away at his forces.

He needed something new. Something that they weren't going to expect. Something that they weren't going to be prepared for.

He needed a nightmare. A horror beyond the realms of sanity to crush their spirits and to break their will. Something aberrant to their sensibilities.

It was then that the idea came to him.

It was then that a cold, reptilian smile curled over his lips.

A nightmare. Or, more precisely, nightmares. All he needed was a way to make them real.

And he remembered something so very promising in that regards.

-o-o-o-

Looking around himself, Harry slowly seemed to ponder the groups of men who had split themselves into smaller squads and arrayed themselves at different points in front of him. It was, he had to admit, a rather good formation, keeping them just far enough keep any of the more common area attacks from catching them all and yet close enough that, if they needed to pool power, one or two of the squads could quickly come together.

And the varied angles and distances would allow them to cover each other. This, he decided, was going to be tricky. And probably rather painful for him.

Cracking his neck from one side to the next, he held his wand almost delicately between his fingers as he took on a loose, ready stance.

They immediately put him on the defensive, not waiting for a sound to begin as bunker shields rose up while heavy spells were slung out towards him from every position in front of him. Immediately he began to move, jumping, twisting, dodging across the field as their spells tore it to pieces all around him. Repeatedly pieces of shrapnel hit him, bounced off his clothes and skin, leaving small bruises and abrasions.

The old men were, in essence, controlling the entire tempo of the battle in a way that seemed to leave Harry scrambling to keep up. And then he was thrown through the air by an explosive curse landing right at his feet, throwing him back through the air. And the men didn't rest on their laurels at that as spell fire quickly followed him.

Only, as he landed, rolling on his side, the debris around him seemed to collect and roll with him, until it suddenly formed a sharp, angled wall between him and the wizards he was fighting.

Their spell fire slammed into it, tearing it to pieces within moments to reveal nothing be empty earth where Harry had been just moments before.

"Detection!" one of them called out, and one of the men went to work as the rest watched the field with wary eyes and ready wands.

All around them they could see the pieces of earth and stone they'd churned up began to rise up, pulling together into rough, brutish forms that the wizards wasted no time in trying to blast apart. Only, their spells only seemed to make them stumbled back for a moment. The chunks and pieces of their bodies freezing in mid-air before pulling back into themselves.

"What the hell kind of spell is this?!" one of them demanded as a spell blew off the thing's 'head', only for it to stumble back maybe a step as it quickly reformed in a slightly different configuration.

That was when the wizard running through detection spells suddenly felt a tapping on his shoulders. Feeling a sudden surge of dread running down his spine, he turned about to find a rough approximation of a giant hand waving at him before grabbing a hold of him and pulling him roughly down to his chin in the earth.

"He's coming from behind!" the wizard managed to call out before a much smaller hand reached up and slapped over his mouth.

Immediately the wizards closed ranks, pulling together as they prepared themselves to be caught in a pincer attack.

Then another hand appeared in front of them, immediately being blasted to pieces before it reformed, pointing to a position above their heads. Where they found themselves suddenly caught up in a massive shadow as a hand formed above them, fingers curling down like claws before it fell down upon the assembled men.

They caught it with shields and spells, fighting against an almost irresistible force as it bore down upon them. And as they fought against it, suddenly they found the ground around them rising at all sides, like they were in the palm of another hand rising to cup them between the two palms. With a startled shout the first of them tried to apparate away and failed.

"Anti-apparition is up!"

"Portkey ward is up too!"

It was then that the hand above them suddenly seemed to liquefy, turning from solid clumps of dirty into clay and mud and dripping down upon them.

"Bloody hell!" one of them noted before narrowly ducking from where a muddy tendril tried to smack him. "Watch out! They're animated!"

"Merlin's Nimue-born crotch mites!" someone swore as an attempt at an explosive hex at one of the mud tendrils turned it into a nest of snakes on the ground around them. "What is this?!"

It was that that moment that the earth beneath each of them suddenly exploded into earthen tendrils that wrapped about each of them and the mud ceiling above them collapsed fully upon them. A moment later they were all buried in mud, unable to move with their heads sticking up above the ground. Centered between them all, Harry stood, bleeding slightly from a few scrapes and looking more than a little worse for wear, but still standing with them at his mercy.

"How the bloody hell did you do that?!" one of the man demanded.

"Practice, apparition, and levitating and disillusioning a few tonnes of earth and mud above your head before all of this even started." Harry stated with a tired smirk on his face.

"You bloody well cheated!" one of the particularly sullen looking men accused.

"I knew the time and the place this was happening, I knew I was going to be outnumbered however many to one," Harry started to list off. "I got here before the rest of you louts even thought about dragging your lazy arses out of your nice, comfortable beds. You bloody well bet your old, saggy bollocks I prepared the battlefield to my advantage. It's you lot's fault for letting me."

"Now do you old mouthy bastards see what I was talking about?" Charlus asked smugly as he leaned back in his seat where he'd been watching the entire time.

"Besides, I had to keep you lot alive and relatively unharmed," Harry continued as if Charlus hadn't spoken, lightly scratching the slight stubble on his chin. "Can't really do that much with a lot like you without a good bit of preparation. Would've been easier to just grind ya to bloody pulp when the whole thing started."

"And how exactly do you think you'd do that?" one of them demanded, only to blink as suddenly a stone wyrm erupted from the earth he was still buried in, with a mouth full of shattered, jagged rocks opened directly about his head. "… Oh."

It was then that the mud and dirt receded enough for them to climb their way back to their feet, swapping cleaning spells one to the other as they made themselves presentable.

Once they finished, Harry suddenly grinned at them predatorily. "Now that we've finished with that, I do believe now its Charlus' turn, isn't it?"

It was at that time that Charlus realized that the wards against apparition and port keys had never been removed.