After the Shadows

The Order of the Phoenix was ready to move. The only disagreement was where.

'I say we get ourselves back to the Ministry and confess all to Scrimgeour,' Draco argued. A handful of Order members murmured approval. 'We have Floo powder, and that should stand for something. Let's go back and throw ourselves on his mercy.'

'We'd be in for a hard landing,' Ginny said. 'And the Floo powder wasn't what he sent us for.'

'Ginny's right,' Harry agreed. 'The only chance we have is to regain the cylinder.'

'You mean your only chance is to regain the cylinder.' Draco said. 'I would rather go back to the Ministry. This is your mess.' His eyes shined with malice. 'After all, I'm just an observer. If I explain to Scrimgeour what happened, I'm sure he'll let me live.'

'Maybe he's right,' Ron said carefully. 'Why don't we send one or two of the Order to Scrimgeour to explain what the rest of us are doing?'

Harry shook his head. 'And send them to their deaths? No. All of us and the cylinder or none at all.'

But he had to admit the prospect of losing Malfoy was a tempting one.

'But, Draco, for you I'll make an exception. If you wish to run back to Scrimgeour with your ferret tail between your legs, that's fine by me. You have my permission to leave the Order.'

Draco looked at the hopeful, expectant faces of the other Order members. Head back to the safety of the Ministry and almost certain death, or stay with these self-righteous simpletons? After a moment of hesitation, self-preservation got the upper hand.

'I'll grace you lot with my presence for a little longer,' Draco decided.

Most of the Order members looked disappointed.

'But where do we look?' Ginny wanted to know.

'It has to be the Dementors' homeland,' Ron said.

'All the way to Azkaban?' Draco scoffed. 'That's long odds, Weasel.'

'Can you think of a better idea?'

Draco's resentful silence indicated that he couldn't.

'They could have gone anywhere,' Ginny told her brother.

'True, but we don't know where anywhere is. But Azkaban...we know how to get there.'

Harry smiled thinly. 'Ron's got a point. We might spend our lives combing this countryside for those bastards. Azkaban makes more sense, and if the group that robbed us isn't there now, they might turn up.'

Draco spat, 'Might.'

'If you want to head back to London, go ahead.'

Again, Draco did not take him up on the offer.

'It's settled, then: Azkaban. What do you think, Hermione, four days?'

'About that. Maybe more because of the Thestrals we lost. Five or six of us are going to have to double up.'

'What about splitting into two groups?' proposed Seamus. 'One group...those physically healthy...go ahead to Azkaban. The others...those wounded...can follow at their own pace.'

'No. The wounded would be too vulnerable to attack. I've lost the cylinder, I don't want to lose half the Order as well. We stick together. Now let's get out of here.'

It was late afternoon before they set off on a northeastern bearing. This time Harry did not neglect to send scouts ahead of the main party.

He flew at the head of the column, Ginny beside him.

'What do we do when we get to Azkaban?' she said. 'Would you have us take on the whole army of the Dementors?'

'Only the spirits know, Ginny. I'm making this up as I go along, if you hadn't noticed.' He glanced behind him and added in a conspiratorial tone, 'But don't tell them that.'

'This is all we can do, isn't it, Harry? Make for Azkaban, I mean.'

'Only thing I could think of. Because the way I see it, if we can't get the cylinder back, at least we can have the glory of dying while we try, fighting the Dark Lord.'

'I see it that way too. Though it seems a pity we have to do it for Scrimgeour and a Ministry cause.'

There she goes again, he thought. What does she expect me to say?

He was tempted to speak frankly, but didn't have the chance.

'You've no idea what's in the cylinder?' she wondered. 'You were given no hint as to why it's so important?'

'Like I said, Scrimgeour didn't take me into his confidence,' he replied wryly.

'Yet the Dementors obviously thought it was worth facing a group of Aurors to gain it.'

'You know Dementors. They'll go for any group of wizards. We're just not as powerful as we used to be.'

'So you reckon that they just acted on a venture for feeding?'

'Yes.'

'So with all sorts of travelers crossing these parts, including Muggles who couldn't fight them even if they wanted to, they pick on us, a large group of Aurors trained for combat. All on the off chance we were a very happy lot. Does that seem likely?'

'You're saying they were after the cylinder? But how would they know we had it? Our mission was secret.'

'Perhaps our secret mission wasn't so secret after all, Harry.'

---

'... and you can slither your way back for all I care!' Harry concluded.

His captain's feelings having been made quite clear, Draco glowered murderously and tugged on his Thestral's reins. The Thestral gracefully cantered back to its place in the column.

'Don't bite my head off,' Ginny ventured, 'but didn't he have a point about stopping to rest?'

'Yes,' Harry grunted, 'and we will. If I give the order now, though, it'll look like his doing.' He scanned the barren terrain through pecks of clouds. He nodded at a rise further behind their route. 'We'll wait till we get over there.'

They had not stopped since setting out, traveling through the night and the new morning. Now the sun was at its highest point, its meager warmth finally dispelling the lingering chill.

Conjuring his Patronus with his wand, he sent it ahead to alert the forward scouts. He immediately felt drained and his arm hurt, as if he had been dueling for hours. Raising a hand, he gestured for the rest of the Order to land on the hill.

As Hermione conjured some portable fires and the Creevey brothers watered the Thestrals, Harry went into a huddle with the other senior Phoenix members.

'We're making decent headway,' he announced, 'but it's time for a decision on our route.' He drew his wand and kneeled. 'The Muggle city ... what was it called?'

'Manchester,' Ron offered.

Harry made a cross in a patch of hardened mud with his wand. 'Manchester was here, in the northern end of the Great Plains, and the nearest hostile Death Eater's foothold to Hogwarts.'

'Not any more,' Draco remarked with dark glee.

Disregarding him, Harry slashed a downward line. 'We've been moving north.' He carved another cross at the line's end. 'To here. We need to turn northeast for Azkaban. But we've got a problem.' To the right and up a little of the second cross, he gouged a circle.

'The Highlands,' Neville said.

'Right. The trolls' homeland. It's smack in the path of the most direct route to Azkaban.'

Draco shrugged his shoulders. 'So?'

'Given how belligerent trolls can be,' Ginny told him, 'we should avoid it.'

'You might want to run from a fight. I don't.'

'We've no need of one, Malfoy,' Harry intervened coolly. 'Why make extra trouble for ourselves?'

'Because going round The Highlands will cost us time.'

'We'll lose a lot more if we get caught up in a fight there, and a group of Aurors flying through their territory is just the thing to start one. No, we will skirt the place. Question is, which way?'

Ginny jabbed her finger at the improvised map. 'The next shortest way would be to head east now, towards Newcastle and the coast. Then we'd make our way north, through or around The Highlands, to Azkaban.'

'I'm not happy about going near Newcastle either,' Harry said. 'I know it's a free port, which means plenty of other races. We're bound to tangle with at least one that has a grudge against wizards. And the forest's infested with creatures.'

'Not to mention that turning east from here takes us closer to Scrimgeour's forces. Surely they will be looking for us,' Hermione said, joining them.

'The advantage of approaching Azkaban from the forest side is that we will have the cover of trees,' Neville put in.

'That's scant return for all the risks we'd run.' Harry employed his wand again, extending the line down beyond the elliptical shape he'd drawn. 'I think we have to carry on North, past the Highlands, then turn northeast.'

'In which case, don't forget this.' Ginny leaned over and used her finger to outline a small cross above the Manchester. 'Mort Manors. A Death Eater settlement, like Death's Lair, but much bigger. Word is that the Death Eaters there are more fanatical than most.'

'Is that possible?' Ron asked dryly of no one in particular.

'We'd have to pass between the two,' Harry granted. 'But it's all flat plains in those parts, so at least we could see trouble coming.'

Ginny studied the markings. 'It's the longest route, Harry.'

'I know, but it's also the safest. Or the least dangerous, anyway. We'll have a couple of hours rest now. I'll tell you when we move out. I need to think.'

After a couple of hours' fitful sleep, the Order resumed their journey.

Flying just below the clouds, to their right they saw the Lake District, its waters seemingly endless. But the scene was askew. What had once been fecund now lacked vitality, and it seemed that much of the colour had washed out of the landscape. In many places the grass was turning yellow and dying in patches. Low growing shrubbery was stunted and brittle. Tree barks were patterned with sickly parasitic growths. A brief fall of light rain was tawny-hued and smelt unwholesome, as though sulphurous.

Dusk saw them arriving at a point roughly parallel with the first mountains of the Highlands. If they flew on at the same rate, Harry reckoned, they could turn east at dawn.

Flying alone at the head of the file, he was preoccupied with weightier thoughts than navigations. He pondered the mystery of the dreams that were afflicting him, and his sense of futility in the face of the odds stacked against them was growing. But what would happen if they didn't find the Dementor raiding party, and the cylinder, was something he tried not to think about.

Melancholy had as cold a grip on him as the chill night air by the time one of the advance scouts appeared. The Order member was approaching at great speed, his mount's nostrils huffing steamy clouds. Reaching the column, he reined in sharply and with a tight turn wheeled the sweating Thestral about.

Harry put out a hand to catch the reins, steadying his ride. 'What is it, Seamus?'

'Village ahead, Harry.'

'Alright. We'll alter course to avoid it.'

'But Captain, it's a magical community, and it looks deserted.'

'Are you sure?'

'Dennis and me have been watching the place, it's just a few houses and there's no sign of movement.'

'All right. Go back to him and wait for us. Don't do anything till we get there.'

'You got it!' Seamus turned his Thestral and flew off.

Harry called Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Draco forward and explained the situation.

'Is a magical community something you'd expect to come across in these parts?' Hermione asked.

'Not really.' Ron explained. 'But after the Ministry got all messed up some folks decided to live away from all the troubles.'

'If Seamus reports no activity, we should approach with caution,' Ginny suggested.

'That's my feeling,' Harry agreed. 'It may be a magical community, but that does not mean we will find wizards there. Until we know better, we treat it as hostile. Let's go.'

Ten minutes later they landed near Seamus, who was waiting for them by a large copse. Its trees shed brown leaves, and the bushes were turning autumnal colours, though summer's midpoint was still a phase of the moon away.

Harry had everybody quietly dismount. Luna stayed with the Thestrals. With Seamus in the lead, the Order stealthily entered the grove.

Twenty paces in, they found Dennis, stretched full-length behind a fallen tree, keeping watch.

Enough dappled light from the setting sun penetrated the swaying canopy to show what lay below. Harry saw three modest roundhouses with brick walls and thatched roofs. To the left was a fourth, smaller still, its roof incomplete. Sluggish spring water trickled feebly through churned mud. Some brooms stood neatly lined up against a wall. There were no roads, no lights.

As Harry took it all in, the memory of the dream or vision he'd had came back to him, but in diametric opposition to what he now saw. The magical settlement in his dream had been redolent with light and clean air. This was dark and stifling. The dream was life-affirming. This spoke of death.

He heard Hermione whisper, 'Abandoned, you think?'

'Wouldn't be surprised,' Ron replied in a hushed tone, 'bearing in mind it's close to the Highlands and not that far from a Death Eater settlement.'

'But why leave the brooms?'

Harry roused himself. 'Let's find out. Ron, take a third of the Order and work your way round the other side. Draco, Neville, move another third to the right flank. Ginny and the rest, stay with me. We go in on my signal.'

It took a few minutes for the groups to position themselves. When he was sure all were in place, Harry stood and shot some red sparks from the tip of his wand. The Order drew their wands and began moving down toward the settlement.

They reached level without incident. Around the dwellings the ground was strewn with objects of various kinds. An upended cooking cauldron, broken pottery, some trampled clothes, bones of fowl. Ashes of long-dead fires were heaped in several places.

Harry led his detachment to the nearest roundhouse. He raised a finger to his lips, and pointed with his wand to deploy the group around the shanty. When they were in place, he and Ginny crept to the entrance. It had no door; a piece of tattered sacking served the purpose. Wands up, they positioned themselves.

He nodded. Ginny ripped aside the cloth.

An overpoweringly foul smell hit them like a physical blow. It was mouldy, sickly and unmistakable.

The odour of decaying flesh.

Covering his mouth with his free hand, Harry stepped inside.

The light was poor, but it only took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust.

The house was filled with dead people. They lay three and four deep on makeshift cots. Others completely covered the floor. A pall of corruption hung heavy in the air. Only the scurrying of carrion eaters disturbed the stillness.

Ginny was at Harry's side, palm pressed against her mouth. She tugged at his arm and they backed out. They retreated from the entrance and gulped air as the rest of their group craned for a look inside the house.

Harry moved to the second of the larger roundhouses, Ginny in tow, arriving as Neville emerged ashen-faced. The stench was just as strong. A glance at the interior revealed an identical scene of huddled corpses.

Neville breathed deeply. 'All women and children. Dead for some time.'

'The same over there,' Harry told him.

'No adult wizards?'

'None that I could see.'

'Why not? Where are they?'

'I can't be sure, Neville, but I think this is a dispossessed camp.'

'I've heard Gran talk about those once, just before she died. She said it was an outrage, but what does it mean?'

'When Death Eaters are killed or fail their missions, Voldemort tends to punish their families. Many turn away from the dark side and become refugees, but the Ministry can't handle them all. Or does not want to handle them. Anyway, many are cast out. Some of the dispossessed band together.'

'The Ministry feels it is a waste of resources to help them who betrayed them earlier. The Ministry has been very firm since Scrimgeour took over,' Ginny added.

'They're left to fend for themselves?' Neville asked.

Harry nodded. 'Some justice, isn't it?'

'You're damn right!' Draco said, failing to notice Harry's sarcasm. 'But who killed them? I'd like to send thanks.'

'Would you thank them if it were your parents there, Malfoy?' Ron asked.

Malfoy instantly turned very pale, but before he could respond Harry interrupted.

'I don't know who or what killed them. Mass suicide's not impossible, though, it's been known. Or maybe they...'

'Harry!'

Hermione was standing by the smallest hut, waving him over.

Harry went to her. Ginny, Ron, Draco and some of the others followed.

'Someone is still alive in there.' Hermione pointed at the entrance.

Harry peered into the gloom. 'Get Luna. Lumos.'

He entered.

There was just one lonely figure, lying on a bed of filthy rags.

Harry approached and heard strained breathing. He bent over to get a better look. In the poor light from his wand he could just make out the features of an old witch. Her eyes were closed and her face glistened under a film of perspiration.

A soft voice at Harry's back heralded Luna's arrival.

'She's wounded.'

Luna kneeled next to the filthy bed. The aged witch opened her eyes. Her lips trembled, as though she were trying to say something. Luna bent to listen. There was a final outrush of breath, like a sigh, and the distinctive sound of the death rattle.

Luna lit the tip of her own wand and held it over the dead witch's body.

'Dear God,' Harry said in a hoarse whisper.

'What is it?' Ron's voice sounded from outside.

'Luna, get out!' Harry snapped. 'Luna, now!'

But Luna merely looked surprised at the body. 'What do you think could have done this?' she asked, staring curiously at the long black wounds, the red veins and the skin that seemed partly turned inside out. 'A curse of some sort? But no, that would not leave these kinds of marks. Maybe it was a potion of sorts, but then how...'

Luna's wondering was cut short when Harry bodily picked her up and scrambled to the exit. Outside, he put her down and looked her in the eyes.

'Did you touch her or any of the other dead?' Harry demanded of Luna.

'Me? Any? ... No I didn't.' She seemed surprised at the mere suggestion.

Harry turned to the others. 'Did any of you touch the corpses?'

They shook their heads.

'What's going on, Harry?' Dennis asked.

'They have been murdered. All of them.'

'What? Why murder them if they have already been punished?'

'I don't know, Dennis,' Harry responded. 'These were not just plain murders. These people have been poisoned or something. I want us out of here fast. Burn everything.'

Harry pointed his wand at the nearest house. The straw caught fire immediately. In seconds the interior was an inferno.

The Order dispersed to spread the fire.

---

Blaise Zabini's boot crunched against something. Looking down, he found he'd trodden on a broken slab of wood displaying part of a crudely painted word.

It read: Death's La

He kicked it aside and returned his attention to the destroyed concrete building. His Aurors were sifting through the ruin, rummaging in debris, upending charred desks, disturbing clouds of ash and dust. On his left he saw a couple of wizards trying to lift a huge vault's steel door.

The search had begun before dawn. Now it was early afternoon, and they were no nearer to finding anything of importance, least of all the cylinder. Nor was there any sign of what had happened to the Order of the Phoenix. That much had been obvious from shortly after they arrived, and Zabini had send out parties to scout the surrounding area for clues. None had yet returned.

He paced before the entrance to the building. An unseasonable wind was gusting in from the north, picking up bite as if funneled over the chalky line of far-off mountains. The Captain puffed into his cupped hands.

Vincent Crabbe, one of Zabini's officers, came away from the search and trotted toward him. He shook his head as he approached.

'Nothing?' Zabini said.

'No, sir. Nothing.' A moment of silence. 'And no cylinder neither, sir,' he added.

Zabini rubbed his chin. 'We know none of the Order members were killed in the main battle...there are clear reports of them being seen in the battle line. Potter and his officers are known well enough to be recognized, so we can take that as true.'

'Then you reckon they're still alive, sir?'

'I never really doubted it. I couldn't see a quality band of Aurors losing out to the kind of opposition they met here. The real mystery is what's happened to them.'

Crabbe, a stolid veteran of many duels, was better suited to combat than solving riddles. The best he could do was to remind Zabini of another puzzle. 'What about the empty cellar in the destroyed house, Captain? You think that has anything to do with it?'

'I don't know. But a cleaned-out silo, not even a grain, at a time when you'd expect to find corn down there seems odd. I'd wager the Death Eaters were using it to store something.'

'Food?'

Zabini ignored him. 'What it comes to is that the Order of he Phoenix aren't dead, they're gone. And it looks like they've taken at least one valuable with them.'

Zabini's rivalry with the Order's leader and the long-standing animosity between their respective Houses was widely known.

Crabbe, eyeing his Captain, did not know what else to say, so he kept to a neutral, 'Permission to resume duties, sir.'

The Captain waved him away.

Well beyond mid point, the arching sun continued its inexorable journey across the sky. Half his allotted time used up, Zabini's apprehension was growing. He should be heading back for London in the next couple of hours to meet the deadline ...and quite possibly his death.

A rapid decision had to be made.

There were three options. Finding the cylinder here and returning home in triumph seemed less likely by the minute. That left going back without it and facing Scrimgeour's wrath, or disobeying orders and continuing to look for the Order of the Phoenix.

Cursing the Minister's impatience, he agonized about what to do. His deliberations were interrupted by the appearance of two of the scouts he'd sent earlier.

Dismounting their brooms, (Zabini hated Thestrals, Hippogriffs or any other animals that might function as a mount) they headed towards him. One was a lowly member, the other a junior officer.

Zabini gave them a curt nod.

The junior officer spoke, 'I think we have found something, sir. There is a report of a fight south of here, near London, sir!'

A fragile hope stirred in the Captains breast. 'Go on.'

'The place is littered with remains of Dementors, and there are traces of Thestrals everywhere.'

'Dementors?'

'From the narrow street and the places of the remains it looks like they ambushed somebody.'

'It could have been the Order, but why would the Dementors attack them?' Zabini thought out loud.

'I honestly don't know, sir,' the junior officer responded.

Zabini gave him a threatening look, but immediately relented.

He had made his decision.

'You've done well.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Your scout will lead us to the scene of the fight. Meanwhile, I want you to find yourself a broom ...a fast broom... and carry out a special mission.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Congratulations. You're going to get home earlier than the rest of us. I need you to carry a message to London with all speed. For the Minister.'

'Sir.' This time there was a slight hesitancy in the junior officer's response.

'You're to deliver the message to Senior Secretary Weasley personally. No one else. Is that understood?'

'Yes, sir.'

'The Secretary is to tell Scrimgeour that I have a lead on where the Order of the Phoenix has gone and am in hot pursuit. I'm sure I can catch them and return the item the Minister desires. I beg more time, and will send further message. Repeat that.'

The junior officer paled a little as he recited it. He didn't doubt it wasn't what Scrimgeour would want to hear. But he was disciplined enough, or fearful enough, to obey orders without question.

'Good,' Zabini said, 'Dismissed.'

Gloomy faced, the junior officer walked off to get a fast broom.

Zabini was giving Scrimgeour no choice. It was a dangerous play, and his only change of surviving it lay in recovering the artifact. But he couldn't see another way.

He consoled himself with the thought that the Minister had to be amenable to reason, notwithstanding his dreadful reputation.

---

Harry flew on at the head of his little convoy. Ginny, who was flying just behind him, stared at his messy black hair as it ruffled in the wind. None spoke of it, but what they had seen at the dispossessed camp, and their perilous situation, hung heavy on the entire Order.

Despite the tired Thestrals, they had made good progress, resting every hour but keeping up a steady pace. Before the day was over, they should have reached a point midway between the Highlands and Mort Manors. Harry's hope was that they'd pass through the corridor without meeting trouble from either disputatious trolls to the East or zealous Death Eaters in the South.

The terrain had begun to change. Plains were giving way to hilly country, with shallow valleys and winding trails. Looking down, Harry noticed that colours seemed even more faded here.

A commotion down the line of Thestrals broke his train of thought. He looked back. Draco and Ron were squabbling loudly.

Harry sighted. 'Keep our heading,' he told Ginny and swung his Thestral out.

In the moment it took to gallop to them, Ron and Draco had come close on hexing each other. They quietened on seeing him.

'Are you two my joint seconds or spoilt first years?'

'It's his fault,' Draco complained. 'He...'

'My fault?' Ron snapped. 'You bastard! I should...'

'Shut it!' Harry ordered. 'Ron! Neville and Seamus need relieving from their scout duties. Take Colin and leave your share of Floo powder with Ginny.'

Ron shot his antagonist a parting scowl and spurred off.

Harry returned his attention to Draco. 'You're pushing me, Malfoy. Much more of this and I'll demote you, senior Obliviator or not.'

'Shouldn't have to work with that idiot,' Draco muttered.

'This isn't a debate, Malfoy. Work with Ron or make your own way home. Your choice.'

With a last penetrating gaze, Harry flew back to the column's prow.

Draco noticed some of the nearby Order members were staring at him. 'We wouldn't be in this mess if we were properly led,' he grumbled sourly.

The Order members looked away.

When Harry reached Ginny, Hermione came forward to join them.

'On this bearing we'll be passing nearer Mort Manors than the Highlands. What's our plan if we meet trouble?'

'Mort Manors was the first all-Death Eater settlement. It's also the most fanatical,' Harry said. 'That makes them unpredictable. Just bear that in mind.'

Ahead of the flying column, and out of sight, Ron and Colin took over as pathfinders. Ron watched as Neville and Seamus, the pair of scouts they had relieved, flew back towards the main party.

Only now was he beginning to calm down from his latest tangle with Malfoy. He goaded his mount, a mite harder than necessary, and concentrated on the ground beyond.

'Know these parts, Ron?' Colin asked. He spoke quietly, as though a raised voice might betray their presence, despite the wilderness in all directions.

'A little. From here on we can expect the terrain to alter quite a bit. Soon we'll have to start maneuvering through the mountains.'

As though on cue, the hills below them changed into rocky mountains. Soon now those mountains would be as high as they were flying. Colin had overheard Harry telling the senior Order members he would fly through the mountains here. 'Lay low and be swift' he had said. Or at least something like that.

Descending, Ron and Colin began to round a blind bend.

'But if the Order keeps to its present course,' Ron continued, 'we shouldn't have anything ...'

Some sort of dark mist stretched across their path.

'... to worry about.'

The dark, unnaturally thick mist hovered motionless in the mountain pass. It was guarded by wizards dressed uniformly in black. They numbered at least a score.

Ron and Colin pulled back on their reins just as the Death Eaters spotted them.

'Oh, bollocks...' Ron groaned.

A great yell went up from the figures near the mist. Waving their wands, all but a handful of the Death Eaters rushed to mount their slick, black brooms. Ron and Collin fought to turn their Thestrals.

Then they were racing away, pursued by a howling posse baying for blood.