Harry crouched behind a thick oak, his breathing steady and controlled. The listening charm he'd cast twenty minutes ago was working perfectly, carrying the snatchers' voices to him as clearly as if he were standing right beside them.
"—don't like it, Dregg," one of them was saying. "Three teams gone silent in four days. That's not normal."
"Shut your mouth, Wicks," the leader—Dregg, apparently—snapped back. "You think I don't know that?"
Harry shifted his weight as he adjusted his mask, keeping low. There were five of them total, trudging through the forest like they owned the place. They didn't know they were being hunted. Not yet, anyway.
It had been three days since he'd left the manor. Three days of tracking, waiting, and eliminating these bastards one group at a time. Hermione and Celeste hadn't been happy about it. At all.
xXx
"You want to do what?"
Hermione's voice had climbed several octaves. She stood in the middle of the sitting room, her hands on her hips, staring at Harry like he'd just announced he was going to wrestle a dragon bare-handed. Even though he was her Master, that didn't change that attitude of hers towards him, exactly how Harry preferred it to be.
"Hunt snatchers," Harry repeated calmly. "Track them down, save whoever I can, thin their numbers."
"Absolutely not."
"Well, I for one think it's a brilliant idea. The execution though… eh…"
That was Celeste. She was standing by the fireplace, her arms crossed under her ample bust as she shrugged.
Hermione nodded as she tried to regain her composure, although it barely masked her disapproval. "It's too dangerous. You'll be outnumbered, outpositioned, and if something goes wrong—"
"I'll be fine," Harry interrupted. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Hermione's eyes flashed. "Because this sounds like the same reckless Harry I know. The one who rushes into things without thinking, without planning, without considering that people care about whether he comes back alive!"
"I've thought about it plenty." Harry met her gaze steadily. "These people are out there right now, rounding up Muggleborns, torturing them, killing them. Families are being destroyed every single day. And we're sitting here doing nothing."
"We're preparing for the next ritual," Hermione said, her tone clipped. "Which is the priority. Getting that Horcrux out of your head—"
"Come on, Hermione. You know it'd take time. It's not as if we can owl order five women who would be willing to have sex with me." Harry rolled his eyes, and Celeste snorted. "Look, I'm not saying I'll do this forever. Just a few days. A week at most. Make a dent in their operations, save some lives, and then I'm back."
"And what if you don't come back?" Hermione's voice cracked slightly. "What if you get caught, or overwhelmed, or—"
"I won't."
"You can't promise that!"
Harry took a breath, watching the fear and frustration war on Hermione's face. "You're right. I can't promise nothing will happen. But I can promise I'll be careful. Strategic. I won't take unnecessary risks."
Hermione stepped closer, her expression softening but her jaw still set with determination. "Then I'm coming with you."
"No."
"Harry—"
"No, Hermione. You're not ready for this."
Her face flushed red, and Harry could see the anger sparking in her eyes. "Excuse me? Did you forget I was on the Horcrux hunt too? I fought Death Eaters at the Ministry when I was fifteen. I fought them when they attacked Hogwarts a year later. I'm perfectly capable of fighting—"
"In a defensive situation, yes," Harry cut in gently. "When we were hiding, running, or trying to survive. That's not what this is. This is hunting them down, engaging them head-on, choosing when and where to fight. It's different, Hermione. Completely different."
"I can handle myself!" Her voice rose. "I've proven that time and time again—"
"I know you can." Harry's voice softened even more. "You're brilliant, Hermione. One of the best witches I know. But this..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "This isn't about ability. It's about experience with this specific type of combat. Guerrilla tactics, ambush scenarios, kill-or-be-killed situations where there's no room for hesitation. And I don't want to endanger you like this. Not when I don't have to."
"And since when are you an expert in guerrilla warfare?"
Harry remained silent, staring her down.
Hermione's jaw worked, and she took a sharp breath through her nose. "What about me caring about you? What about me not wanting you endangered? Does that not matter?"
Harry sighed. She had him there. He could see it in Celeste's eyes too—the same concern, and the same frustration at his apparent hypocrisy.
"Alright," he said slowly, an idea forming in his mind. "I have a proposal. We duel. Right now. If you can land even one spell on me—just one—I'll take you with me. No arguments."
Hermione blinked, clearly taken aback. "What?"
"You heard me. One spell. That's all it takes. A stunner, a hex, doesn't matter. If it hits me, you win, and we go together."
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face for any sign of mockery. Finding none, she nodded sharply. "Fine. Done. Let's do it."
"Garden," Harry said. "More space. And Celeste can referee."
"I don't need a referee to beat you," Hermione muttered, but she was already heading for the door.
xXx
The duel lasted four and a half minutes.
Hermione came at him with everything she had. She opened with a rapid-fire series of stunners, each one aimed at different points—chest, legs, head—trying to overwhelm his defenses through sheer volume. Harry sidestepped them all.
Hermione cast the petrification hex silently as she switched tactics, trying to catch him off-guard.
Harry's shield appeared without him even moving his wand. The spell splashed against it like water against stone.
"Incarcerous!" Ropes shot toward him.
Harry vanished them with a casual flick.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. She began moving, circling him, trying to find an angle. "Stupefy! Impedimenta! Expelliarmus!"
Three spells in quick succession, each from a different position as she kept moving. Harry blocked the first, dodged the second, and caught the third on another shield that materialized exactly where it needed to be.
"Is that all you've got?" Harry's voice was calm, almost conversational. He wasn't taunting her—he was teaching her. "You're telegraphing every move. I can see what you're going to cast before you cast it. And keep to non-verbal casting, Hermione."
Hermione's jaw tightened. She raised her wand higher, and Harry saw the shift in her stance. Something more dangerous was coming.
The cutting curse sliced through the air, aimed at his shoulder. Harry heard Celeste's sharp intake of breath from the sidelines as she gave Hermione a look of disapproval, but he didn't flinch. A shield appeared, this one glowing silver, and the curse ricocheted harmlessly into the sky.
"Better," Harry acknowledged. "But still not good enough."
Hermione was breathing hard now, sweat beading on her forehead purely out of frustration.
Blasting curses, banishing charms, and reductor curses followed in rapid succession. Harry moved through them like smoke, his body flowing from one position to another with ease. When a spell got too close, a shield appeared. When he had space, he simply wasn't there anymore.
"You're not even trying," Hermione panted, frustration clear in her voice.
"I don't need to try." Harry's tone remained even. "That's the point I'm making."
Hermione's eyes flashed with determination. She conjured chains from thin air, sending them whipping toward him from multiple directions. At the same time, she cast a stunner at his feet, trying to catch him in the blast radius when he dodged.
Harry simply raised his free hand—not even his wand hand—and the chains froze in midair before clattering to the ground. The stunner hit a shield that had formed beneath his feet.
"How are you—" Hermione started, then cut herself off. She tried again, this time with a series of transfigurations. The ground beneath Harry's feet turned to quicksand. Rocks around him transformed into birds that dive-bombed his position. A nearby tree's branches reached out like grasping hands.
Harry stepped out of the quicksand before it could even begin to pull him down. The birds veered off course as if hitting an invisible dome. The branches stopped just short of touching him, trembling against a barrier Hermione couldn't see.
"Your spellwork is excellent," Harry said, and he meant it. "Your variety, your creativity, your raw power—all top tier. But you're fighting the way you learned in school. The way you learned from books. I'm giving you the time to conjure everything. The quicksand, the birds, those branches. That's not how real combat works. In real combat, you won't get the time to be this creative. Not against someone who can hold their own."
Hermione lowered her wand slightly, her chest heaving. "Then show me."
"No." Harry shook his head. "Because if I attack back, even holding back as much as I can, I'll hurt you. And I'm not going to do that."
"I can take it—"
"I know. But I won't risk it." Harry lowered his wand completely. "One more try. Give it everything you've got. If you land anything, even a scratch, you win."
Hermione stared at him for a long moment. Then her expression hardened. She raised her wand, and Harry could see her gathering her magic, focusing it, preparing for one last assault.
What came next was impressive. She created a layered attack—first a smokescreen to block his vision, then a series of stunners from different angles hidden in the smoke, followed by a binding curse aimed low where he couldn't see it. As a finisher, she cast a powerful knockback jinx that would hit the moment he dodged the others.
It was clever. Creative. Exactly the kind of tactical thinking that had saved their lives during the Horcrux hunt. But ultimately, something suited for situations when you'd planned, prepared, and had the time to execute it all. Not the chaos of combat.
Harry had spent months in his mindscape. Months preparing, feeling how magic flowed, understanding how it moved, and much more. He could sense her spells through the smoke, could feel their trajectories as clearly as if they were lit up in his mind.
He stepped to the left. A stunner missed him by inches. He tilted his head right. Another stunner flew past. He dropped to one knee as the binding curse sailed overhead. And when the knockback jinx came, he simply absorbed it with a shield so strong it didn't even ripple.
The smoke cleared.
Harry stood unharmed, not even his clothes disturbed.
Hermione's wand arm dropped completely to her side. She just stared at him, her mouth slightly open.
"How?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
Harry lowered his wand fully, his expression softening. "I told you. I spent months in my mindscape. Months understanding myself, the magic inside me, how it all works together. My magic, the ritual's magic, Mum's protection—they're all connected now. I can feel magic moving around me. I can sense attacks coming before they land. I can shield without thinking, react without planning. I'm not the same person I was before I went under, Hermione."
Hermione's wand slipped from her fingers, landing in the grass. She looked shell-shocked, almost dazed.
Harry walked over to her, picking up her wand and pressing it gently back into her hand. "You're incredible, Hermione. Truly. In a few years, you'll be ready for it. But right now, for this specific thing..." He paused. "I need you to trust me when I say you're not ready. Not yet."
Hermione's eyes were shining with unshed tears, though whether from frustration or her inability to join him, Harry couldn't tell. "I just... I don't want to lose you."
"You won't." Harry pulled her into a hug, holding her tight. "I promise I'll be careful. I'll come back. Always."
Over Hermione's shoulder, Harry met Celeste's eyes. The succubus was watching them with an unreadable expression, but she gave a small nod.
"Fine," Hermione said, her voice muffled against his chest. "But you check in every day. Every single day. And if you're not back in a week, I'm coming after you whether you like it or not."
"Deal," Harry said softly.
Hermione nodded as Celeste walked over, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. She relaxed almost immediately under her touch.
"I'll be back in a few days," Harry said quietly, pulling back slightly to look at her. "I promise."
Hermione nodded, wiping at her eyes quickly. "You better be."
xXx
The memory faded as Harry refocused on the present. The snatchers were still moving, still talking. Their conversation had shifted to darker topics.
"Heard there was a bounty posted," one of them—a younger guy with a ratty face—was saying. "Ten thousand Galleons for Potter. Dead or alive."
"That so?" Dregg sounded interested. "Tempting. Very tempting."
"You think he's even still alive?" Wicks asked. "Been months since anyone's seen him."
"He's alive." Dregg's voice was certain. "Boy-Who-Lived doesn't die easy. Trust me on that. But if we could find him..." He whistled low. "Ten thousand Galleons would set us up nice."
"It's those blood traitors we need to worry about right now," another snatcher grumbled. "They're the ones picking us off."
"Has to be Order remnants," Wicks agreed. "Probably a whole cell of them. We should call in a Death Eater, have them—"
"Are you thick?" Dregg's voice dripped with contempt. "You want to call in a Death Eater and admit we can't handle a few vigilantes? You know what happens then? They replace us. Or worse. They decide we're not useful anymore, and we end up on the wrong end of a Killing Curse. Use your brain for once, Wicks."
"But Boss, three teams—"
"I heard you the first time." Dregg's voice was sharp. "And I'm handling it. We stick to our routes, stay in groups, watch each other's backs. Whoever's hunting us will slip up eventually. They all do."
Harry smiled grimly in his hiding spot. Three teams… Order remnants… They had no idea how wrong they were.
He'd been careful. Methodical. Every attack was planned, every escape route mapped. He never engaged unless he had the advantage, never stayed in one area too long. The snatchers thought they were being hunted by a group. That was good. It meant they didn't know to look for one person.
It meant they didn't know to look for him.
xXx
Two nights ago, near the Scottish border.
Four snatchers had cornered a young couple in a burned-out farmhouse. Harry had watched from the shadows as they laughed, as they cast casual hexes that made the couple scream. The girl was pregnant, he'd noticed. Maybe six months along.
That made him angrier than he'd been in days.
"Please," the man had begged, trying to shield his wife with his body. "We haven't done anything wrong. We're just trying to survive—"
"Shut up, Mudblood." The snatcher kicked him in the ribs, and the man crumpled with a cry of pain. "Your kind shouldn't even exist. And bringing another one of you into the world?" He looked at the pregnant girl with disgust. "That's a crime right there."
"No!" The girl scrambled backward, one hand protectively over her belly. "Please don't hurt my baby—"
"Baby?" Another snatcher laughed. "That's not a baby. That's an abomination."
Harry had seen enough. More than enough.
He'd waited until they were focused on their victims, until their wands were lowered and their attention split. Then he'd struck.
The first snatcher never saw it coming. One moment he was laughing, the next his body was convulsing from the concussion hex that hit him square in the nape of his neck. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
The sound of him hitting the floor made the others spin around, their wands rising.
"Who the fuck—"
The second snatcher's question ended in a gurgle as a cutting curse sliced through his throat. His hands flew to his neck, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it poured between his fingers in pulsing jets. His eyes were wide with shock and terror as he fell to his knees, then face-first onto the dusty floor.
"It's him!" The third snatcher's voice cracked with fear as Harry stepped fully out of the shadows. "It's the one who's been—"
Harry didn't let him finish. A blasting curse caught him in the chest, throwing him backward into the wall with enough force to crack the old stone. The snatcher's body made a wet sound as it hit, then slid down to the floor, leaving a smear of blood on the wall.
The last snatcher raised his wand, but his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold it steady. "Please. I'll leave. I won't tell anyone. I won't—"
"Won't what?" Harry's voice was cold, devoid of emotion. He stepped closer, his wand trained on the man's chest. "Won't torture anyone else? Won't round up more Muggleborns? Won't threaten to murder unborn children?"
"I was just following orders!" The snatcher's voice climbed higher. "I don't have a choice—"
"Everyone has a choice." Harry's voice was still flat. "You made yours. Now you get to live with the consequences. Or rather, you don't."
The snatcher tried to run. He made it maybe three steps before Harry's cutting curse caught him across the back of the legs. He went down screaming, and Harry's second curse ended the noise.
Silence filled the farmhouse.
Harry turned to the couple, who were huddled together on the floor, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. The man had his arms around his wife, and she had both hands pressed protectively over her belly.
"You're safe now," Harry said quietly, his voice gentler. He flicked his wand, and the ropes binding them vanished. "Can you walk?"
The man nodded mutely, helping his wife to her feet.
"There's a safe house network," Harry continued, pulling out a small stone from his pocket. "For Muggleborns trying to survive. This will take you to one of them. There'll be food, shelter, people who can help."
He held out the stone. The man took it with trembling hands.
"Who are you?" the girl asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry didn't answer. Instead, he activated the portkey for them, and they vanished in a swirl of magic.
He stood alone in the farmhouse, surrounded by the bodies of the snatchers he'd killed. Four more. That made... he'd lost count at this point. Twenty? Twenty-five?
Not enough. There were still so many more out there.
Harry vanished the bodies with a wave of his wand—he'd learned that spell from Celeste, who'd insisted he know it for situations exactly like this—and disappeared back into the night.
xXx
Yesterday evening, in a small village in Wales.
This time it had been three snatchers, and they'd been sloppy. They'd caught two teenage boys, brothers by the look of them, and were parading them through the village square. Making an example of them.
"Let this be a lesson!" One of the snatchers—a girl with a cruel smile—called out to the terrified villagers watching from their windows. "This is what happens to Mudbloods who try to hide!"
She raised her wand, and Harry knew exactly what curse was coming.
He'd been faster.
His blasting curse hit her from behind, and she never knew what killed her. Her body was thrown forward, landing in a crumpled heap at the brothers' feet.
The other two snatchers spun around, but Harry was already moving. He'd learned the value of momentum, of never staying in one place, of keeping his opponents off-balance.
"Crucio!" The male snatcher's Cruciatus went wide as Harry rolled behind a fountain.
Harry popped up on the other side and sent a cutting curse that took the man's wand arm off at the elbow. The scream was brief—Harry's next curse silenced it permanently.
The last snatcher—young, maybe only a few years older than Harry—dropped his wand and raised his hands. "Wait! I surrender!"
Harry stepped out from behind the fountain, his wand steady.
"Please!" The snatcher's voice shook. "I didn't want to do this! They forced me! The Dark Lord's people, they said they'd kill my family if I didn't—"
"So you decided to kill other people's families instead?" Harry's voice was quiet. Dangerous.
"I didn't have a choice!"
"Yes, you did." Harry looked at him, really looked at him. Saw the fear, the desperation, maybe even genuine regret. For a moment, he considered it. Considered showing mercy.
Then he looked at the two brothers, at the bruises covering their faces, at the terror in their eyes, and at the shivers coursing through them. He looked at the villagers hiding in their homes, too afraid to even watch.
He truly considered mercy, but ultimately, he decided against it.
The cutting curse was quick. Cleaner than the snatcher deserved.
Walking over, Harry freed the brothers, pointed them toward safety, and left before anyone could thank him or ask questions.
He was getting good at leaving.
xXx
"Hold up."
Dregg's voice cut through Harry's thoughts, pulling him sharply back to the present. The snatchers had stopped moving.
"What is it, Boss?" Wicks asked, looking around nervously.
"Quiet." Dregg's tone was sharp, his eyes focused. His wand was out now, held loosely but ready. "You hear that?"
Harry frowned, straining his own ears through the listening charm. He couldn't hear anything unusual. Just the wind through the trees, the distant call of a bird, and the normal sounds one hears in a forest.
"I don't hear nothing," another snatcher—Grimes—said. He was a heavy-set man with a scarred face. "Think you're being paranoid, Boss."
"That's because you're an idiot, Grimes." Dregg was slowly turning in a circle, his eyes scanning the trees. "Something's not right. I can feel it."
Harry tensed. Had Dregg somehow sensed him? No, impossible. He was too far away, his Invisibility Cloak too strong for anyone to detect him through it. But something had set the man on edge.
Wicks laughed nervously. "Come on, Boss. You're being para—"
The cutting curse came out of nowhere.
It was silent, which meant whoever cast it knew what they were doing. The spell sliced a thin red line across Wicks's neck. For a moment, nothing happened. Wicks just stood there, his eyes wide with confusion, and his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Then blood began to pour from the wound. Wicks's hands flew to his throat, trying to hold the wound closed, but it was useless. His knees buckled, and he toppled forward, hitting the ground with a heavy thump.
"Fuck!" Grimes stumbled backward, his wand coming up in a shaking hand. "Where did that come from? Where—"
He never finished the sentence. Another cutting curse, this one cleaner and more powerful, took his head clean off his shoulders. It rolled to the side like some macabre ball, coming to rest against a tree root. His body remained standing for a bizarre, impossible second before it seemed to realize what had happened and collapsed.
The remaining three snatchers—Dregg and two others Harry hadn't bothered learning the names of—snapped into action. They formed a tight triangle, backs together, wands out and searching the forest.
"Show yourself!" Dregg bellowed, his voice echoing through the trees. "Come on, you fucking coward! Face us like a—"
The blasting curse that answered him was powerful enough to shake the ground. Harry felt the tremor even from his position thirty yards away. Dregg's shield charm appeared just in time, a shimmering blue dome that encased all three of them.
The blasting curse hit the shield dead center. For a moment, the barrier held. Then cracks began spreading across its surface like a breaking windshield, spiderwebbing out from the point of impact. The shield shattered with a sound like breaking glass, magical shards dissipating into the air.
Dregg's face had gone white. "Bloody hell. That power—"
Another curse followed immediately, this one a reductor that would have blown them all apart if it landed. The snatchers scattered, their formation breaking as they each dove for cover behind trees.
Harry was already moving, circling around to get a better angle. He needed to see who was attacking. The spells were coming from deeper in the forest, maybe fifty yards out, but the trees were too thick. He couldn't get a clean line of sight.
"There!" Dregg pointed into the woods, his wand tracking something. "I see movement!"
Harry looked. There—a flash of dark fabric between the trees.
"Crucio!" Dregg's voice was filled with rage as he sent the Unforgivable curse streaking toward the figure.
The scream that followed was distinctly female. High-pitched and raw with agony. It went on for several seconds before cutting off abruptly, replaced by ragged breathing and small sounds of pain.
"Got you, bitch!" Dregg's grin was savage and triumphant. "Come on, boys! Let's see what we've caught!"
The three remaining snatchers rushed forward, crashing through the underbrush without any attempt at stealth. They were confident now, sensing victory.
Harry followed, keeping to the shadows and moving silently. His mind was racing. Whoever this girl was, it seemed she'd been hunting snatchers just like he had. But she'd made mistakes. Got too close, let them spot her, and now she was paying for it.
He couldn't let them have her.
He reached the clearing just as the snatchers surrounded their target. His breath caught in his throat as he took stock of the situation.
The girl was sprawled on the ground, her body trembling with the aftershocks of the Cruciatus. Blood seeped through her clothing in several places. Her left shoulder looked particularly bad, the wound there graver than any other.
Her face was twisted with pain, tear-stained but somehow still defiant. She was young, probably his age or around it, with honey blonde hair that was matted with blood, sweat and dirt. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead, running down into her eye.
Harry stared. There was something familiar about her. He'd seen her before, he was sure of it, but he couldn't place where or when.
"Well, well, well." Dregg loomed over her, his grin turning vicious. "Look what we have here. The little vigilante who's been causing us so much trouble. My, aren't you a looker—"
The girl spat at him. The glob of saliva hit Dregg right in the face, and for a moment, there was complete silence in the clearing.
Dregg wiped it off slowly, as if he was taking his time, and his grin widened. "Oh, you're going to regret that, sweetheart. You're going to regret that very much."
"Fuck you," the girl hissed, her voice hoarse but full of venom.
"That's the idea." Dregg crouched down, getting close to her face. His tone shifted, becoming almost conversational, which somehow made it worse. "See, me and my boys here, we're going to have some fun with you. And I do mean fun. We're going to strip you down nice and slow. Going to take turns with that pretty little body of yours. Every hole, every way we can think of. And when we're done with that, when you're nothing but a broken, sobbing mess, we'll get creative. Maybe see how many times we can make you scream before your voice gives out completely. Maybe carve our names into your skin so you remember us. Maybe do worse. Depends on how long you last, really."
One of the other snatchers—a thin man with greasy hair—laughed. "Can I go first, Boss? Been a while since I had me a good piece."
"Me first, and then you'll draw straws," Dregg said, still staring at the girl. "But first, we make sure she understands the situation. That she knows exactly what's going to happen to her. Fear makes it better, you know? When they're terrified, when they're begging, when they've given up hope... that's when it's really good."
The girl's defiance cracked slightly. Harry could see fear flickering in her eyes now, real terror mixing with the pain and determination. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling rapidly as more blood oozed out of the wound on her left.
"And when we're completely done," Dregg continued, his voice dropping to almost a whisper, "when we're bored and you're used up, when there's nothing left of you but a broken shell... then, and only then, are we going to kill you. Might take days. Might take weeks. We've got time. We've got all the time in the world."
He stood up, looking down at her with satisfaction. "Hold her down," he ordered his companions. "I'm going to show this bitch that there are consequences for—"
Harry didn't let him finish.
His cutting curse was silent and quick. The snatcher on the left—the greasy-haired one who'd been so eager—never got to move. One moment he was reaching for the girl, a sick grin on his face. The next, his head was rolling off his shoulders, severed so cleanly there was barely any blood at first. It hit the ground with a dull thud, the eyes still blinking in confusion.
Then the blood came, spurting from the neck stump in rhythmic pulses.
"What the—" The second snatcher spun around, but he was too slow, too shocked to react properly. Harry's next curse took him the same way. His head separated from his body mid-turn, and he crumpled without even understanding what had killed him.
Dregg stared at the carnage around him, his face draining of all color. "No. No, no, no—"
He looked around wildly, trying to spot his attacker, his wand shaking in his hand. His eyes finally landed on a figure in the distance, partially hidden by shadow and trees.
"Crucio!" Dregg screamed, desperation making his voice crack. He sent the curse toward where he believed his attacker was with everything he had.
Harry took off the cloak and stepped forward, out of the shadows, and Dregg whirled to his left. His eyes bugged out when he got his first clear look at him.
The snatcher's eyes went wide. "You. You're the one who—"
A bonebreaker slammed into him, pulverizing his wand arm. The little wooden stick dropped silently, Dregg's pained cries echoing in the silent forest.
"Please—" the pitiful man managed, his voice breaking as Harry stepped closer. "I'll tell you anything. Where the others are, what routes they use, everything—"
Harry raised his wand.
"Wait! I have information! About the Dark Lord's—"
The cutting curse was Harry's only answer. It was quick. Cleaner than Dregg deserved. The snatcher's head toppled from his shoulders, joining his companions' on the forest floor.
Silence fell over the clearing. Just the sound of blood dripping and of leaves rustling in the breeze was heard over the crunching of Harry's footsteps as he stepped forward, moving carefully toward the girl.
She was staring at the bodies around her, her expression a mixture of shock and relief. Her chest heaved with labored breaths, each one obviously painful.
When she saw Harry approaching, her eyes widened even further. Recognition flashed across her face, followed by disbelief.
Harry held up his hands, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "Easy. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."
The girl winced as another jolt of pain flared through her.
"You're... you're him," she managed, her voice rough. "The one who's been hunting them."
"Yeah." Harry knelt in front of her carefully, keeping his movements slow and as non-threatening as possible. "And you've been doing the same thing, from the looks of it."
Up close, he could see just how bad her injuries were. It seemed a knife had been buried deep in her shoulder, and blood was slowly oozing around it. There were burns on her arms. Her left leg looked twisted at an odd angle. Broken, maybe. And there was blood everywhere, soaking through her clothes, pooling on the ground beneath her.
"I'm pants at healing spells," Harry admitted quietly. "Absolutely rubbish at them, actually. But I've got potions. They'll help. I need to... the knife would has to be treated first. Okay?"
The girl nodded, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.
Harry pointed his wand at the wound and tried to heal the flesh. He frowned when the wound resisted any attempt.
"Cursed knife," she gasped, her breathing heavy.
"I see," he said quietly. "This is going to hurt then. I'm sorry."
He pulled out a flask and held it aloft for a moment, clearly wondering if it'd work. He shook his head and uncorked it with his teeth.
"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered.
The girl's raw scream echoed through the forest, full of agony as he poured the potion. Blood immediately began flowing more freely from the wound, running down her shoulder in rivulets.
"Shit, shit, shit." Harry dropped the vial and pulled out a vial of healing potion. He uncorked it with his teeth and poured it directly onto the wound. Steam rose from the injury as the magic went to work, and the girl hissed through clenched teeth, her whole body going rigid with pain.
"I know," Harry said quietly, trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring. "I know it hurts. But it'll help, I promise. Just hold on."
He worked quickly, his hands moving with more confidence than he felt. Dittany on the burns, watching as the raw, blistered skin began to knit itself back together. A pain relief draught, which he helped her drink when her hands shook too much to hold the vial herself. Blood replenishing potion, because she'd lost so much already.
But as he worked, he noticed her skin was getting paler. Not the healthy kind of pale that came with shock—this was worse. Ashen. Like the color was literally draining from her face. Her breathing was becoming more shallow, more rapid. Her eyes were starting to unfocus.
"No." Harry's own hands started shaking as realization hit him. She was fading. Internal injuries, probably. Bleeding out somewhere he couldn't see, couldn't treat. "No, no, no."
He fumbled for another blood replenishing potion, uncorking it desperately. "Come on. Stay with me. You have to drink this."
He tilted her head back, pressing the vial to her lips. She managed a few swallows, but most of it spilled down her chin. Her head lolled to the side, and Harry felt panic claw at his chest.
"Don't you dare," he said, his voice cracking. "Don't you dare die on me. Not after everything. Not after—"
He looked around desperately. Where had she come from? Was there anyone else with her? Any way to get proper help, someone who actually knew healing magic?
But the forest was silent. Empty except for him, her, and the corpses of the snatchers.
There was only one option.
Harry scooped the girl into his arms as gently as he could, trying not to jostle her injuries. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, rapid and irregular, like a bird's wings beating frantically as it tried to keep flying. Her situation was very similar, he thought.
"Hold on," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Just hold on. Please."
He pulled out the portkey Celeste had created for him to be used for emergencies. It was keyed to the manor, specifically to the entrance hall where the wards could be adjusted quickly if needed.
The girl's eyes fluttered open slightly. She looked up at him, and for a moment, clarity returned to her gaze. Her lips moved, forming words he couldn't quite hear.
Harry leaned closer. "What? What is it?"
"Potter," she breathed. "It's you, right? You're... Harry Potter."
"Yeah." Harry pressed his thumb to the coin. "And you're going to be fine. I promise."
He didn't know if that was a lie or not.
The portkey activated.
Harry felt the familiar hook behind his navel, and the forest dissolved around them.
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