Why We Fight​

Harry stood at attention, feet apart and hands clasped behind him. “You asked to see me, Chief Warlock?”

“Take a seat, Harry,” Riddle said, not even looking up as a chair of feather-soft marble materialized. He continued to whet his sickle sword, Salazar, with smooth strokes that hissed like Parseltongue. When Harry sat, he continued, “As you’re aware, fifth years are assigned a relevant posting to cross-train in. Longbottom wishes to venture into the Forbidden Forest, Weasley is to guard the Gringotts Greatforge, and Miss Granger’s disposition makes her suited for the Ministry.”

Riddle sharpened the gleaming goblin-wrought silver one last time, before setting it down on the table. “Have you given it any thought?”

“I thought I’d be stationed with a warlock, sir. Perhaps at Liverpool or Anglesey,” Harry said. Both bastion cities were on the frontier.

“Warlock Shacklebolt reports sightings of a wizard-killer nest on the outskirts of Anglesey,” Riddle said. “You understand the importance of that, I hope?”

The island was humanity’s southernmost bastion city on the British Isles, and a lifeline to their constantly besieged muggles in Dublin. Harry nodded. “What type of Grimm, sir?”

“Myrkálfar.”

The word sent shivers down Harry’s spine—fear blended with anticipation. He breathed out, and nodded. “I’m ready for this.”

Riddle’s trimmed brow arched elegantly. “Need I remind you the hunt is reserved for seventh years?”

“I won the Triwizard Tournament. I stopped Krum from snatching a third consecutive victory,” Harry said, fists clenching into tight balls. “We had a deal, and I held up my end.”

“I didn’t specify it would be this hunt, just a hunt,” Riddle said, standing to watch the falling flakes of snow outside his office window. “Hunters need so much more than skill at arms to succeed. They must exhibit flexibility, awareness, and discernment.” Riddle faced him, his dark red eyes—the only hint of non-conformity on an otherwise handsome face—boring into Harry’s. “In your case, it’s the last of these qualities that’s in doubt.”

“If you make the exception, no one will question it, not even Dumbledore or the other Grand Sorcerers,” Harry said.

“No one should be so eager to face a myrkálfar.”

“I’ve done it before,” Harry said. “You know what they call me.”

Riddle’s lips thinned. “You were eleven back then, yes, but you are still a boy if that encounter failed to instill fear in you. That myrkálfar was tired, injured and alone, and you still would’ve died if not for Dumbledore’s timely arrival.” His eyes narrowed. “Was winning the Tournament not enough glory for you? Your parents did not lay down their lives just so you could throw yours away.”

Not glory, vengeance, Harry thought to himself. “What does it matter to you? There are a hundred people in my year—a fifth of which will leave Hogwarts in a body bag.”

“It matters to people who matter,” Riddle said. “There are those who believe you represent something bigger than yourself now. You are, after all, the last living Potter, and the second person to win a Triwizard Tournament at fourteen.”

The first, Harry knew, was Riddle himself. “Place me under someone you trust then. Captain Mad-Eye or—”

“And when you come across a myrkálfar, will you vow to obey your captain in all things? Even if he tells you to run?”

Harry said nothing.

“I thought so. A different posting will be found for you, Harry.” Riddle sat, and said in a clear, cutting voice, “Dismissed.”

Harry bit his tongue, saluted, and turned on his heel.

—WhyWeFight—​

A cold November day found all one hundred of them marching out the gates of Hogwarts and into the streets of Hogsmeade. While snow piled high on the sides of the road, the enchanted cobblestones flared with heat each time a snowflake touched it. A gaggle of muggleborn kids too young for Hogwarts trailed after them, mimicking their quick-step.

Finally, they reached the Hogwarts Terminal, situated on the bastion city’s outskirts and draped in the shadow of the colossal walls.

Deputy Headmistress McGonagall stood just before the entrance to the train station, the Sorting Hat in hand. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and be told your posting,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

The pink-faced blonde with pigtails stumbled out of line.

It had barely touched her head when the hat shouted, “The Forbidden Forest under Specialist Sprout!”

Hannah took off the oversized, floppy hat, looking downcast as McGonagall gestured for her to stand to the side. There’d be no need for her to get on a train.

“Bones, Susan!”

Ron nudged Harry’s side with his elbow. “Any idea where you’ll be headed, mate?” he asked, leaning on his oversized spiked warmaul. For some, this ceremony was just a formality.

“Our patron wouldn’t tell me,” Harry said. “All I know is it’s not the hunt.”

“Ah, well you’ll get in next time,” Ron said with a pat on the back. “I mean, in two years he’ll have to let you join. No one in our year is even close to having your skill in DADA.”

“You could probably add the sixth and seventh years to that too,” Neville added.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione nodded to them. “I’m up. Stay out of trouble while I’m away, you three.”

Harry let a small smile fall on his face. “You’re the one who wanted to hunt down that basilisk to impress Riddle.”

They couldn’t see her blush with her back to them. “He was thinking of picking another team to sponsor. We’re supposed to impress him into picking us,” she retorted as she walked away.

They clapped as the hat announced, “The Administration of Awareness under Administrator Lockhart!”

After her was Daphne Greengrass, who approached the hat in her heels with poise.

The hat took a whole minute speaking with her, before shouting, “The Hesperides Sanitorium under Healer Black!”

Ron raised a brow at that. “St. Moon-goes? How do you suppose they’ll get her up there?”

“Who knows?” Harry said, shrugging. Everyone knew of the moon hospital, but how anyone got up there was a guarded secret, and security had only tightened after the breach of St. Mungo’s led to London falling. “Maybe they’ll fly us up there with an enchanted car.”

Neville joined Abbott in the care of Sprout, while Malfoy, swaggering forward when his name was called, was stationed in Nurmengard under one of five Grand Sorcerers, the Gellert Grindelwald. He was perhaps the only person in Europe First Minister Malfoy had no sway over, given his famous disdain for nepotism.

There weren’t many people left now.

Nott, Parkinson, the Patil Twins, Sally-Anne Perks who’d transferred back from Beauxbatons... and then, at last—

“Potter, Harry!”

As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out like little hissing fires from the watching children.

“That’s him! The boy-who-lived!” Harry scowled at the name. He hated that reminder of what he’d failed to avenge.

“I thought he’d be taller.”

“He’s going to be the first four time champion in history!”

The hat dropped over Harry’s head, and even at fifteen it was still wide enough to cover his eyes.

“It’s spelled to do that,” said a voice in his ear. “Helps keep the eyes and mind from wandering.” The hat wiggled. “Hmm, where to put you? They gave me a bit of leeway for your case, if you can believe it, as long as I didn’t put you in—”

The hunt, Harry finished.

“Exactly,” the hat said. “Lacking discernment, hmm? Then better be the Hesperides Sanitorium under Healer Black!”

Harry ripped off the hat, returning it to McGonagall, who offered him a firm nod. “Kindly stand to the side.”

Harry complied, watching as his classmates entered the Hogwarts Terminal one by one after being sorted. Most of them would fall under the tutelage of warlocks, captains, and specialists, and the Hogwarts Express could take them to all the bastion cities on the British Isles.

Finally, as Zabini disappeared into the station, McGonagall gestured for the remaining students to approach. The Deputy Headmistress addressed Hannah and Neville first, instructing them to return to the castle and look for Madame Sprout. Hermione was sent back to Hogsmeade where Lockhart’s office was located, and that left Harry and Daphne with McGonagall.

“Come with me,” she said, entering the Hogwarts Terminal.

The place was a riot of steam and sound, with locomotives arriving, disembarking their occupants, and departing constantly. A score of constables kept the muggles moving and out of their way, and while Harry didn’t spot any hunters bearing Dumbledore’s phoenix badge, he knew they’d show themselves if there was any magical trouble.

They stopped before a brick wall, and McGonagall faced them. “I need not remind you that you are about to become privy to a state secret.” She pulled out a tiny roll of parchment, and handed it to Daphne. “Read this quickly.”

Daphne’s baby blues skimmed the message, before handing the parchment to Harry.

“Transportation to the Hesperides Sanitorium can be found at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters,” the piece of parchment read.

Harry committed the words to memory, then set fire to it with his wand-tip.

“Think about what you’ve just memorized,” McGonagall said.

Harry thought, and no sooner had he reached the part about Platform Nine and Three Quarter, than a sign above the brick wall appeared.

McGonagall gestured for them to follow her, and she walked through the brick wall. Daphne followed without blinking, a half-step behind, and Harry brought up the rear. The wall flowed around their skin like water, and on the other side was a platform identical in every way to those behind them, only this one was devoid of people.

“You have just been subject to a Fidelius Charm,” McGonagall said. “It’s a very advanced piece of magic, and not one you’re likely to encounter again until you’ve been hunters for a few decades.”

“What does it do?” Daphne asked.

“It hides our secrets,” McGonagall said. “We could never hide a building on the moon from everyone. It wouldn’t be our secret to keep, but where to go to get there? That we can control.”

A train’s horn blared and a steam locomotive four carriages long came hurtling into the platform. “How’s a train going to get us to the moon?” Harry wondered.

McGonagall smiled. “What comes down must go up. Go on now. Healer Black hates lateness.”

Harry pulled open the carriage door, waiting for Daphne to enter first, before following after her. The door slammed shut behind them. Inside was a mirror bolted down, and only two seats. He was forced to seat himself besides the blonde.

“So, er, Daphne right?” Harry started. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“We’ve been classmates for five years, Potter. We know each other,” Daphne said. There was a hiss as a strip of cushioned metal descended over their shoulders, locking them in place.

“It’s not as if we’ve spoken before. Thought I’d be civil and introduce myself properly,” Harry said.

“Charmed,” Daphne said dryly.

Before Harry could retort, that instantly recognizable three-note jingle flooded the room. A pleasant looking witch showed up in the mirror. “Good morning, witches and wizards,” the woman said. “You are on your way to the Hesperides Sanitorium for Sicknesses and Sorcerous Setbacks. For your safety, please keep your body parts inside the vehicle at all times.”

As the train began to move down the tunnel at a slight decline.

“While on this train,” the woman said, “please stow away your hunter weapons. Explosions may derail this vehicle. The Hesperides Sanitorium is not liable for any damages suffered during transit.”

The downward slope was getting steeper by the second as they picked up speed, and there was barely any light coming in from the windows. Harry grunted as his body pressed against the metal railing keeping him from hurtling straight down. The train was pointed straight down now.

“We will be descending approximately fifteen hundred miles down. For your viewing pleasure, this mirror will simulate what is happening outside,” the woman continued, and she actually smiled this time. “Try not to scream.”

And then they hurtled forward, falling down, down, down through the goblin-carved tunnels. The mirror turned from pitch black to blinding white as the train dove headfirst into a pool of magma.

Daphne’s scream was a high-pitched shrill, and her eyes were shut tight. They continued to accelerate faster than his Firebolt ever could.

Suddenly, they were no longer falling, though the train kept moving onwards and beyond. The windows outside remained dark as ever, but in the distance, there was a bright ball of light suspended in the air. Self-rowing wooden ships sailed besides them, though far, far slower than they were going.

“Open your eyes, Daphne,” Harry said. “We’re in space.”

—WhyWeFight—​

In an effort not to make its existence too obvious, the Hesperides Sanitorium was a collection of space stations built not on the moon, per se, but in synchronous orbit so that it was never visible from earth. Despite being on the dark side of the moon, there was enough sunlight for a sprawling forest, judging from the number of annexes used as greenhouses.

Harry could hear the delicate strumming of a harp if he listened for it, faint but omnipresent.

“Quirrell always taught us to mind our footwork,” Harry said, kicking out with his feet as they touched a wall. “I’m not so sure how to do that here.”

“Try a sticking charm on your shoes, Potter,” Daphne said, tilting her head towards an upside down mediwizard walking down the hall as she floated aimlessly.

“I have a first name you know.”

“I’m aware, Potter.”

With a flick of his wrist, Harry called on his spear—Prongs—from the void. Courtesy of the Weasley twins, the steel tip was tempered with dragonfire and the wooden shaft was spelled to be impervious to keep his wand, inserted into the core, safe. He used Prongs to push himself closer towards a surface, then cast a sticking charm like Daphne suggested.

“Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass?” a woman called out as she stepped into the room. For a moment, Harry thought he was looking at Bellatrix Lestrange, the Chief Warlock’s top lieutenant. But as she moved forward, her resemblance to her sister became less pronounced: her hair was a light chestnut, and her eyes were wider and kinder.

“Present, Healer Black,” Harry said, hanging from the ceiling.

“Present,” Daphne said.

“Good, you’re early.” She frowned. “Put that weapon away. We’re here to save lives, not take them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry banished Prongs, leaving only his wand in hand.

She nodded. “I’m Healer Andromeda Black. I’ll be your mentor for the month. Any experience with healing before?”

Harry shook his head. “Standard first aid for fieldwork is about as much as I know.”

“I’m good at countercurses,” Daphne said.

“That’s good,” Black said to Daphne, before turning to Harry. “As for you, I hope you’re a quick study, because we’re expecting a surge in numbers soon. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

“Just the one,” Harry said. “What’s with the music?”

As it turned out, someone had thought to trap a spirit of music in the hospital to help with the healing process, but instead they got one that liked to play “context appropriate background music”. Dumbledore did always say music was a magic beyond all he’d ever done.

—WhyWeFight—​

The strumming of the harp was replaced by the mournful song of a violin.

It didn’t matter how many times he saw it—seeing a mangled mess of blood, bone, and gore always left Harry feeling a little queasy. Some, the lucky ones, could be healed quick if they’d been injured by regular Grimm. Those that had faced a wizard-killer breed had it worse, for there were quite a few types whose injuries were highly resistant to magical healing.

They didn’t get any of the first coming to the Hesperides. Things had to be serious before they sent someone to the moon, and there were concerns around safety too. If the Grimm ever found a way in…

Harry shuddered at the thought.

There was a reason Hesperides was on the moon, and not in some bastion city, a floating castle or even a migrating island. Any place on earth could be cracked if the Grimm were persistent enough, and moving the injured wasn’t something that could be rushed even with magic.

“Look alive, Potter!” Daphne said as she brushed past him. “We’ve got another train incoming.”

Harry wiped his bloodied hands against his medigown. “How many this time?” he asked, snatching a brightly glowing jar as he followed after her.

“At least a dozen, maybe more!”

Harry swore. “There must be some kind of battle going on. A big one.” That was the one explanation for the influx of casualties. Had a bastion city been breached perhaps? No, Healer Black had been expecting a surge, and a city breach wasn’t just something that could be so easily divined, not even by the Three-Eyed Tower.

“Astute,” Daphne said, shooting forward through zero gravity like an arrow, headfirst.

Black was in her lime green uniform, standing besides a ghost with a cross dangling from his neck. She spared them a glance. “You’re here, and you brought the bottle, good! We have a patient in critical condition. Standby to resuscitate, if needed.”

“Yes, Healer Black!” they said.

The train docked, and a chain of bodies were floated out by the mediwizards. They met them halfway, and the patient—gaping hole and all—was lowered onto the self-wheeling hospital bed.

Harry froze when he saw her face—pretty, dark-skinned, and her long black was still in a braid. “Angelina Johnson?”

“You know this girl?” Black asked, as she pressed two fingers against Angelina’s neck. “No pulse.”

“We used to play Quidditch together,” Harry said, as the ghost stuck its head inside her. Five more months and she would have graduated from Hogwarts...

“Airways look clear. Healthy set of lungs on her,” the ghost said, as he popped his head back out. “Her heart’s a wicked thing though. Completely healthy, mind you, but black as coal.”

Black rolled her eyes. “Please keep your observations professional, Cleric. Potter, the bottle.”

Harry angled the jar’s opening towards Angelina’s prone form. “Clear!” he shouted, and let loose the lightning in a bottle. It was open for a fraction of a second, long enough to restart her heart.

Black made a figure of eight motion with her wand, and Angelina’s chest began to contract by itself, as if a pair of invisible hands were pushing down on them.

“The sinner’s wicked heart is beating again,” Cleric said, taking another peek.

Daphne murmured something beneath her breath, then looked to Black sharply. “Thigh puncture is resisting the knitting charm.”

“Looks like a hunter’s weapon did this,” Harry said, brows furrowing. Had someone tried to murder her, or had a wizard-killer Grimm simply used her own weapon against her?

“That explains it,” Black said. “We’ll have to do it the old fashioned way.”

“The proper way,” Cleric said unhelpfully.

A cloth was conjured, enchanted to throw itself over the hole and spelled to be blood shy. The bleeding turned from a flowing stream into a manageable trickle. Black tapped her forehead, and a yellow ribbon wrapped itself around Angelina’s forearm. “That’ll hold for a while.”

“Will she live?” Harry asked.

“I can’t make any promises, but her odds are much improved from five minutes ago,” Black said. “Let’s start triaging. Harry, take that one.” She pointed to a man in his mid-thirties, with a giant, angry rattlesnake for an arm.

Harry spared two long seconds to wish Angelina luck, then got to work.

The snake hissed in warning when Harry approached, then lunged to sink its fangs into him, but a flick of Harry’s hand was all it took for a vibrant lily-red shield to appear strapped to his arm. He let the snake smash into the Weasley-forged steel, before maneuvering to pin it to the cart.

Harry took the man’s pulse with his freehand. It was steady and healthy. No other visible injuries on the man. That didn’t discount trauma or internal bleeding, but it seemed like a malicious transfiguration was the worst of his symptoms. He dug his wand-tip against the snake’s scales, and a petrification charm kept it from biting anyone passing by.

He tagged the man green. A petrified transfiguration wouldn’t kill—

Harry winced, covering his ears on instinct. It was not harp or violin, but the discordant swell of the guitar and drum and the screech of metal on metal, rising together in a bloody chorus. “What is that?!” he asked, tapping each ear to muffle the sound some.

“It’s never made that sound before,” Healer Black said, bringing her wand-tip to her mouth—

The Sonorus System blared to life. “Breach! Initiate lockdown—” the voice was cut off by a blood-curdling scream.

“This facility is compromised. Back down to Hogwarts or Nurmengard is safest,” Black snapped, wand and freehand raised like an orchestral conductor. The beds reversed course, flowing back into the train. “Greengrass, Potter, let’s go!”

“I can fight,” Harry insisted, pulling Prongs out of the ground and gripping his shield—Lily—tighter.

Black grimaced as inhuman shrieks joined the chorus of heavy metal. “This facility doesn’t have the manpower to fight off a breach. We need help.” The walls of the room twisted like a contraband painting. Black called on a simple staff. “Go! That’s an order!”

“Harry, c’mon!” Daphne hissed by the train door. “Don’t die like some bloody Gryffindor!”

A floppy-eared Grimm the size of Flitwick stepped inside the room. A coat of abyssal black clung to it’s skin like a leech, while bone white protrusions jutted out of its back and head.

“I is sorry,” it said.

And then it was carnage, as spells bounced off its skin, while its own brand of magic ripped out entrails, made a bloody mess of limbs, and cracked bones—all without touching a single soul.

“And when you come across a myrkálfar, will you vow to obey your captain in all things? Even if he tells you to run?”

Fight or flee? Perhaps Riddle was right about him after all.

Harry took a half step forward, then noticed a dozen dog-like beowulfs streaming into the room, heading for the train. If they got inside, those patients, even Angelina would all die in the fighting. If they even managed to latch onto the train as it was leaving… could Daphne hold them off by herself?

“We’re here to save lives, not take them.”

It was too much to risk.

Growling, Harry thrust Prongs forward as the first of the beowulf was still outside the spear’s conventional striking distance. The shaft elongated, doubling in length instantly, and the steel tip pierced through the dog’s head. Harry pulled back and ran for the train, even as Prongs returned to its normal size.

The door slid shut behind him as a familiar three-note jingle flooded the carriage. “Good morning, witches and wizards,” the mirror said without a care in the world. “You are on your way to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For your safety, please keep your body parts inside the vehicle at all times.”

The train shuddered as something large and heavy landed on the roof, beginning to pull away from the moon.

“While on this train, please stash away your hunter weapons. Explosion may derail this vehicle. Hogwarts is not liable for any damages suffered during transit.”

Daphne clicked her heels together, causing them to glow dangerously blue.

“For your viewing pleasure, this mirror will simulate what is happening outside.” The mirror rippled, showing dozens of dog-like Grimm tearing into the train.

“Try not to scream.”

 

Spoiler

Oh man. I'm a sucker for massive AU fics and good fusions. Unfortunately, if I had to describe this story succinctly, it's overly ambitious.

Simply put, there are a lot of ideas here to digest that, for the amount of words you had, simply wasn't enough to do it all justice. Pasting this into a word document shows the word count is 3,974 words, which probably helps explain the rush nature of the ending (transitioning quickly from treating the injured to an attack with barely any time to breathe).

I feel the author spent too long meandering about with Riddle and the Sorting at the beginning. This might have been better served starting more in media res, closer to when Harry shows up at the moon, rather than devoting most of its word count (2.5k) to the first two scenes. Second, I'm not overly sure this is a good use of the prompt. Yes, there's a hospital on the moon, but it's all of two scenes, and it's never explained why 1) The Hospital is on the moon rather than anywhere else, 2) Why the wizards haven't all gone to the moon, 3) What are the grimm and how did they get to the moon.

The ending was... alright, I suppose. There's some change in character, but the buildup to it was insufficient, being all of Harry's "reaction" to his former quidditch teammate.

This story feels less like a standalone piece then the start (or perhaps the middle) of a longer existing piece of work.

 

3974 words

 

Spoiler

I liked this one a lot. Part of it is personal preference - I'm a fan of stories that create some larger foe in a massive AU whereby Riddle takes a different route. I suspect this Riddle is the same as in canon only this world had room for someone like him. I suspect this is also a merger with another fandom.

Characterization of Harry is one that I like. More mature than canon, certainly, but still himself. Other canon characters are nicely touched on, from Healer Black all the way to Weasley Forged Steel.

Lots of fun magic. The ghost putting his head into Angelina's chest, the amazing train ride, etc.

The only issue I have is how the ending is written. Not what the ending actually is, mind you, but how it's written.

I needed to read this part twice to sort out whether Harry actually stayed or left as ordered.

Is it stated clearly? Yeah, somewhat, I guess. But I was getting so many mixed signals. The story was set up so that we'd think he might stay. He looks like he's staying. Then he reconsiders. Then he sees enemies going for the train and worries about them getting on top of the train, so he runs over there... except, did he run there to board the train, or to prevent creatures jumping onto it as it left (thereby staying)?

Again, after re-reading it and looking closely I can see that he made the decision to leave. Not because he was ordered to do so (he was happy to ignore that) but because he reasoned that it would be the best choice.

I'm fine with that ending and I would love to read an entire story about this world wherein Harry still struggles with following orders vs not, even if he made the right call here.

But the ending could have clarified his choice for the reader I think, because having to go back and re-read it slowly pulled me out a bit.