Duelling Fear

Harry didn't wait to be attacked.

Digging his heels into the flanks of his Thestral, he spurred it towards the leading Dementor. The Thestral shied. Harry kept it firmly on course, reins wrapped tightly around one hand. With the other he brought his wand up, searching furiously for a happy memory.

...Ginny, beaming at him when he was made Captain of the Order...

'Expecto Patronum!'

The familiar silver stag erupted from the tip of his wand. It charged straight at the first line of Dementors, visibly knocking them backwards. The creatures uttered horrible, screeching sounds and fled.

On his left Harry saw a large, silver otter jumping towards a wall of Dementors. The creatures screeched and backed off, but Hermione's Patronus continued on its way as if it had not a single care in the world.

On his right Draco seemed to be in trouble. He had produced some feeble silvery wisps of vapour, but the Dementors he was facing continued to advance on him. Falling to his knees and dropping his wand, Draco covered his mouth with both hands, furiously shaking his head. One Dementor crouched down. Just when the Dementor raised its grey and slimy hands to lower its hood, the Otter jumped on its back, his four feet clasped firmly around the Dementors waist. Howling in agony, it tried to get the Patronus off its back. The silver Patronus seemed very bright next to the blackness of the Dementor.

The Patronus continued to hold on. The Dementor spread out its arms, made a terrible scream and imploded. The Patronus, now only clutching empty black robes, let them go and hopped to his next row of victims.

On foot when the attackers swept in, Ron had grabbed his wand and conjured an enormous shining terrier. It uttered a soundless bark before charging into yet another wall of Dementors.

All around, Order members were encouraging their Patronuses. About a third of them had been able to conjure a Patronus, but many, like Draco, had been surprised by the Dementors' sudden appearance.

Neville found himself boxed in. Four Dementors reached at him from the roadside. Six more swooped down on him from above.

Fearful of the Dementors, Neville's panicking Thestral bucked.

A silver stag smacked into the Dementors from the roadside.

Neville turned full attention to the creatures coming from above. Holding his wand aloft, he concentrated. A large eagle burst out from the tip of his wand. The Patronus clashed with the Dementors, returned, and clashed once more.

Suddenly Neville was embraced from behind. Another Dementor he had not seen clasped its arms around him. Caught off guard, Neville and the Dementor fell from the Thestral. His wand was lost. As he rolled from pounding hooves and swishing Dementors' robes, he saw Draco's wand lying on the ground. Struggling to his feet, he reached for it.

The Dementor that had unseated him came in for the kill, feeding on the unnatural darkness as it came.

Neville raised the wand, desperately trying to ignore Bellatrix's cackling laughter that became louder with every inch the Dementors got closer. His eyes rolling, he tried to think of what more he could do. Just as everything seemed to become dark, he saw his eagle crash into the Dementor from above.

Ginny leveled her wand and produced a beautiful shining cheetah. The animal lunged at the Dementors, its silvery claws outstretched.

Working its way down the street, Harry's Patronus kept on deflecting its opponents. Trying to keep his Thestral under control, Harry shouted directions and encouragements to the Order.

Taking a deep breath, Harry took a second to look back. He caught a glimpse of Luna. She'd lost her mount and was in the thick of the ferocious scrum. Waves of Dementors were moving in on her. She could not hold them all off with her Patronus in the shape of a butterfly. It seemed to be absorbed by the mass of Dementors. The butterfly repelled half a dozen Dementors, but another group hovered in to take its place.

Luna stepped back, on the point of collapsing, when Ron's terrier marched right through the crowd of rotten black bodies.

Harry took another moment to look around. From every direction more Dementors were approaching. Only a few Order members were still on their feet. Harry could hear the familiar screaming in his head. The Dementors' blackness filled over him, drowning him. He searched for his Patronus, but it was nowhere in sight. His Thestral now completely panicked and started to run. Harry felt an impact against his back. A clawed hand snaked around his body and dug painfully into his chest. Cold rotting breath prickled the nape of his neck. Now the cold, grey hands were eagerly scrabbling at Harry's belt. Harry saw a speck of light from the corner of his eyes. The Dementor let go of him, but was immediately replaced by another. Avidly, the hands encircled his waist again, probing, searching.

And he realized what the Dementor was after.

The cylinder.

No sooner had the thought occurred than the Dementor reached its goal. With a triumphant intake of rattling breath, it seized the artifact and pulled it free.

As Harry felt the prize being tugged away, it seemed to him that time slowed, became pliable, stretching the following instant to an eternity.

Laggard-paced, as though seen with a dreamer's eye, several things happened at once.

He caught the Thestrals flailing reins and yanked on them with all his might. The steed's head jerked back. A great shudder ran through its body.

Another Dementor slowly rose behind him, arm outstretched, hand open.

An object sailed leisurely over Harry's right shoulder. It turned end over end, its burnished surface briefly flashing reflected sunlight as it descended.

Time's frantic tempo returned.

The Dementor snatched the cylinder from the air.

Harry's Thestral went down.

He hit the ground first, rolling the width of the street. Vision swimming, breath knocked out of him, Harry watched as his Thestral struggled to its feet and galloped off towards the other end of the road, one wing bent in a strange angle.

As if on signal all the Dementors started withdrawing. The ones engaging Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Luna and Ron backed off and began to move away. In a matter of seconds the entire street was deserted again.

Hermione saw Harry loping towards them. 'Come on!' she said.

They rushed to meet him.

'The Cylinder!' he raged, half demented.

No further explanation was necessary. It was obvious what had happened.

Harry's face was black with fury. Without a word to any of them, he turned and headed for the rest of the Order. Hermione and Ron exchanged barren glances and followed.

On the street lay half a dozen empty black robes. All the Order members looked pale and sweaty. Draco was still stretched on the ground and being tended to by Luna, but he was awake. Sighting their commander, the Order members moved to him.

'Why did they leave? We were done for,' Dennis asked, but Harry marched past him to Luna, eyes blazing.

'Anybody wounded?' he barked.

'None injured, though the Dementors got very close to some of us.'

Draco, rubbing his head while rising, said, 'Lucky as devils, us.'

Harry glared at him. 'Lucky? Those bastards took the cylinder!'

Palpable shock ran through the Order.

'Thieving little monsters!' Seamus responded indignantly. 'Let's get after 'em!'

The others chorused their approval.

'Think!' Harry bellowed. 'By the time we've cleared this shambles, rounded up the Thestrals...'

'Why not send a small party after them now, and the rest can follow?' Ginny suggested.

'They'd be well outnumbered, and those Dementors can move very fast if they want to. The trail's cold already!'

'But what good is it if we wait until we sort ourselves?' Neville put in. 'Who knows where they've gone?'

There was a moment of silence.

'We should never have entered this street without scouting it first,' Draco grumbled lowly.

'I'm just in the mood for your griping,' Harry told him, his expression like flint. 'If you have something to say about how I'm leading the Order, let's hear it now.'

Draco held up his hands in a placating gesture. 'No, chief.' He turned on an empty grin. 'Not with this mess.'

A tense silence descended. Luna broke in. 'What do you want us to do, Harry?'

'Find as many Thestrals as we can, for a start. We need to get moving.'

The Order melted away.

Hermione remained, looking at him.

'Don't say it,' he told her. 'I know. If we don't get that damn thing back for Scrimgeour, we're as good as dead.'

---

Rufus Scrimgeour paced around the bench-shaped chunk of marble in his personal chambers, pausing a moment in front of the large mirror every time he passed it. Even here, deep below the ground, he thought he could feel the cold breeze that was sweeping the surface.

The frigid winds and falling temperature were harbingers of the encroaching Death Eaters and their foul allies, ever expanding their hold, tearing the heart from the land, interfering with the balance.

They were eating the world's magic.

Scrimgeour had heard that in the southwest, where Death Eaters used to be the most active and densely concentrated, sorcery worked poorly if at all.

And it was his job, no matter the cost, to stop them.

He brought his mind back to the artifact. It was the key to his ambitions, to victory, and it was slipping out of his grasp.

There was a soft knock on the door, and an attendant stepped forward, making a deep bow.

Slimly build, almost petite, the servant was green-skinned with long, bat like ears. The bold head, large bright eyes and long thin nose were typical of its race.

The servant was new, and Scrimgeour was still uncertain as to whether the creature was predominantly male or female. But that problem was common with house-elves.

'Your Senior Secretary is here, Minister,' he or she announced in a piping, singsong voice. 'He, er, has been waiting for some time.'

'Good. I'll see him now.'

The elf ushered in the visitor, bowed discreetly and left.

Percy Weasley was probably in his mid-thirties, and many considered him too young for such a high post.

The expression behind his horn-rimmed glasses spoke of unease, if not a little apprehension.

There were no opening formalities.

'I can see from your face that they haven't come back,' he said, displeasure barely in check.

'No, Minister.' He failed to meet the Minister's eyes. 'Perhaps they ran into greater opposition than expected.'

'Reports from the battle don't indicate that.'

Percy made no reply.

'What do you propose doing about it?'

'A detachment will be sent with all speed to find out what's happened to them, Minister.'

'Are we dealing with treachery here?'

Percy seemed offended. 'We've never had reason to doubt the loyalty of any member of the Order of the Phoenix,' he replied. Their service records are excellent, and...'

'I know that. Do you think I would have sent them on so sensitive a mission if it were otherwise? Do you take me for such a fool?'

Percy's gaze fell to his feet. 'No, Minister.'

'"No, Minister",' he mimicked sarcastically. After a tense pause he added, 'Tell me some more about their leader, about Potter.'

Percy produced several sheets of parchment from inside his robes. Scrimgeour noticed that his hands were trembling slightly.

'I've had quite a few dealings with him personally, sir, back when we were both in Hogwarts. He has limited military experience in service of the Ministry, but worked together excessively with the ex-Auror Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody and former Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher Remus Lupin in a group that called themselves "Dumbledore's Army". They were only pressed into Ministry service after your reforms, sir. He's reasonably bright, received an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts on his O.W.L.s. Did not finish Hogwarts. As you know, there were rumors of a prophecy related to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named just before he turned of age. However, these stories, which have earned him the nickname of "The Chosen One", turned out to be false. But most of this is familiar to the Minister, of course, sir. He has captained the Order of the Phoenix in its current state for almost a year now, though most of its original members were either captured or killed. This day, the Order seems to consist of most of Potter's friends at Hogwarts, and of course your personal last minute addition of Draco Malfoy, sir.'

Scrimgeour nodded. It all started to come back now.

'How long before the detachment will you send reports back?' he asked.

'About five days, assuming they don't run into problems.'

'Then they must be very careful not to. Very well. I expect The Chosen One to be brought here in five days at most. But be clear, Weasley; what he holds is mine, and I will have it. I want the cylinder above all else. Bringing back the Order of the Phoenix for punishment is secondary. Everything is secondary to the cylinder...including the lives of Potter and his band.'

'Yes, Minister.'

'The lives of those sent after them are also expendable.'

Percy hesitated before replying, 'I understand, sir.'

'Be sure that you do.' He drew his wand and pointed it at his secretary. He glanced at the mirror. 'And lest you forget...'

Percy cried out. Excruciating agony seared through his body. He felt his flesh turned inside out.

Scrimgeour lifted his wand.

Percy's skin was perfectly normal. He felt no pain.

Dumbly, he stared at the Minister.

'If you or any of my subordinates fail me,' he stated evenly, 'that's just a taste of what you'll get.'

Embarrassment, shame, and above all, fear were stamped on Percy's features.

'Yes, Minister,' he whispered.

His reaction was gratifying. Scrimgeour always enjoyed making a fully trained wizard quake.

'Now leave me,' he ordered.

Percy bowed stiffly and turned to the door.

Once the secretary had left, Scrimgeour sighed. Making for the high-backed chair, he sank into its relative comfort. He was drained. With the natural energy source so depleted, even casting a simple torture curse took considerable effort. Though it was worth it to keep his underlings in line. Sighing again, he turned back to the huge mirror.

In the corridor outside, Percy's upright demeanour deserted him. His nerve was near doing the same. He slumped against a wall, eyes closed, slowly expelling the breath he had been holding. It would not do for him to be seen in this way. He fought to pull himself together.

After a moment he straightened his shoulders and ran the back of his hand across his sweaty brow. Then with measured deliberateness, he resumed his short journey.

The curving passageway took him to an adjacent anteroom. A young officer snapped to attention when he entered.

'As you were, Captain,' the Senior Secretary to the Minister told him.

The officer relaxed, marginally.

'You're to leave immediately,' Percy said.

'How long do we have, sir?'

'Five days, maximum.'

'That's tight, Secretary.'

'It's as long as he'll allow. And let me make myself plain, Zabini. You're to bring back that artifact. If you can return with the Order, he'll settle for their heads. Given your past history with Potter, I imagine you'll have no problem with that.'

'None, sir, but...'

'But what? You'll outnumber them at least three to one. Those seem like good odds to me. Or have I got the wrong wizard for the job?'

'No, sir,' Zabini quickly responded. 'It's just that the Order has some very powerful members. Their success rate is one of the highest of any of the Auror divisions in the Ministry, and...'

'I know that, Captain. It's why I've assigned the best Aurors we have on this mission.'

'I'm not saying it's going to be impossible, sir. Just difficult.'

'Nobody promised you an easy ride.' He stared hard at the officer's earnest face and added, 'The Minister's position is that, as with the Order, the loss rate of the Aurors under your command is ... without limit.'

'Sir?'

'Do I have to spell it out? You will spend as many lives on this mission as may be necessary.'

'I see.' His tone was doubtful, troubled.

'Look at it this way, Zabini. If you return without his prize, he'll have you all put to death anyway. Horribly, knowing him. Weigh that against losing only some of your troopers and your certain promotion. Not to mention evening the score in the grievance you had with Potter. Of course, if you'd prefer me to find someone else...'

'No, sir, that won't be necessary.'

'Anyway, such talk could be pointless. Your quarry may already be dead.'

'The Order of the Phoenix? I doubt it, sir. I'd say they weren't that easy to kill.'

'Then why no word from them? If they're not dead, it's just as unlikely they've been captured. But I think they're too careful for that. So that only leaves betrayal. And there were no grounds to believe any of them might turn out traitors. Not now all of a sudden, anyway.'

'I'm not so sure. Not all of the Aurors are happy with our present situation, as you know, sir.'

'Do you have reason to believe Potter harbored such thoughts?'

'Well, it's Potter, though I claim no knowledge of his thoughts, sir.'

'Then keep your fancies to yourself. That kind of talk is dangerous. Think only of the cylinder. It has the highest priority. I'm relying on you, Zabini. If you fail, we will both suffer Scrimgeour's wrath.'