Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

A Pirate's Tail	By : SamHill Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3182 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Not in any lifetime does Harry Potter (and his universe) belong to me. They are the sole property of J.K. Rowling, et al. I make no money and I mean not copyright infringement.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
A/N: See Chapter One for all disclaimers and warnings

Chapter Eighteen:

The plan had been to storm the castle in the dead of night, poisoning the food and wine of the guards who were posted closest to the throne room. The army of nearly five hundred had been slipping into the city in groups of twenty, hiding out in old inns and vacated homes while awaiting their orders; only a small group forged ahead, their mission to save Harry and take down the king as quickly as possible.

They crept through the shadows, guns in hand and eyes sharp for other movements. Cedric led one half to the palace doors while Ron led the other half towards the window that led to Harry’s cell. His heart sank when he realized Harry was no longer there, but they had too much at stake to stop and worry about that. Instead, they forged on, never noticing the little girl hidden beneath the bush.

They swept through seemingly abandoned hallways only to discover hidden nooks and crannies concealing King Voldemort’s footmen. Giving up on a stealthy entrance, Ron signaled for the first wave to go on the defense. It had always been Harry’s belief that Voldemort’s soldiers were no different from them, so great care should be taken never to kill unless forced; Ron upheld this idea as his group began their attack.

The moment they revealed themselves, the shouts of the soldiers surrounded them. Little care was given to marble and oak as bullets rang through the air and struck wood, stone and human alike. Cedric’s group moved in next, the men falling into a circle to protect their future king as they forced their way through the crowded hallways. The wounded were moved to the side while the dead were left for later attention, mourned in passing by their comrades.

It took them what felt to be hours but was truly only minutes to reach the throne room. Ron nearly missed a step when he took in the sight before him, and from the back of the group, Seamus let out his famous war cry. Those of the newly crowned King’s inner circle who were fighting spared only the smallest of glances to the new arrivals.

Harry stood at the bottom of the dais, sword flashing as he fought off two attackers at once. Before him stood Walden McNair, his own blade glinting ominously in the light of the torches that lined the room. To his right was the ever-dangerous Yaxley, one of the few in Voldemort’s ranks of soldiers who had studied the hand-to-hand combat of several Asian regions. The man moved with deadly accuracy and almost too quickly to follow.

The twins were the first to move forward – their entrance timed with Seamus’ cry – dragging the attention of the Carrow siblings – Alecto and Amycus – away from the fight. With identical grins, they executed mock bows and leapt into action. George hefted his old Samurai sword in his left hand, his blue eyes dancing with mirth.

“I’ll take the lass on the right, Gred, and ye can take the lad on the left.”

“Here now, Forge, it’s the lad who be on the right and the lass on the left. Being the ladies man that I am, I’ll make my acquaintance.”

“Now you’ve got it all wrong. There’s no way that flat-faced warthog is the girl!” George turned to face his brother, his attention seemingly diverted. Alecto, enraged at having her person so insulted, lunged for the opening. Her mouth remained open in a cry of outrage as she toppled backwards, Fred’s sword having met its target in her heart. Her brother went into a fury, slashing away with two blades and succeeding in slicing into the older twin’s thigh. As Fred fell to the ground, George took up a protective stance over him, bringing the deadly weapon down in a sweeping arc that sliced clean through Amycus Carrow’s face.

“Bloody hell,” Fred muttered with a grimace. Far from being the fallen war hero, he had already tied off the wound and was struggling to his feet. “Well done, mate,” he added, nodding to his brother.

George smirked. “I could have done that wearing a bustle and corset, so no more of your smart arsed comments!”

Fred shook his head as they waded into the thick of things once more. “Only you would still be hung up about that!” He growled as some unknown footman in Voldemort’s colors tried to slip a dagger into the side of one of their own. Bearing in mind Ron’s request, he used the pummel of his blade to knock the man unconscious.

Seamus found himself cornered by Mulciber, Avery and the elder Nott. His right arm had been severed at the elbow and the pain of the wound was distracting. The time it had taken him to tie a makeshift tourniquet had cost him dearly and he had given up hope of ever seeing the beautiful Patil twins again. Hefting his sword up – his shield lay forgotten on the ground with the lower half of his arm still attached – he dodged a blow from Avery and parried twice against Mulciber’s bulk before losing his weapon as well. He sent up a soft Irish prayer and gritted his teeth, ready to meet his death.

Dean saw his long-time companion’s imminent demise and vaulted over an overturned table. Slashing his blade down, he brought it up in a hard curve, the blade sliding between ribs to pierce lungs and heart. Mulciber collapsed to his side, knocking down Avery with his fall. Using the diversion to pull Seamus free, Dean shoved the Irish man into a dark alcove with a hard glare.

“Ah see you step out of this hidey-hole and Ah’ll run ya through mahself,” he threatened, before dashing back off.

Seamus snorted, tightened his tourniquet and snagged a weapon from a fallen enemy. “I’ll be seeing ye in hell then, mate,” he whispered before diving back into the throng of fighters.

Ron fought his way to Harry’s side, hesitating a moment when he caught sight of a flash of red hair caught up in a man’s cap. Ginny. But Charlie was beside her and Bill wasn’t too far off with Fleur right next to him. His sister was a fighter and even he would not dare to stop her now. Hermione was safe with the children and Mrs. McGonagall; he needed to focus on Harry now.

He slid into place just as Yaxley did an odd spinning kick and only just managed to keep his feet beneath him. The addition of Voldemort’s pitbull of a follower, Fenrir Greyback, worried him. The man was cruel and ruthless, a formidable combination in anyone; in Fenrir it could mean your very slow and painful death. Ron moved so that he was back to back with Harry and tried to keep an eye on the fiercely dangerous looking man.

Lucius stood at King Voldemort’s right, his pistol at the ready in his right hand and his sword in his left. On the man’s left was the cowardly Pettigrew, his own gun clutched in a badly shaking hand. Lucius wondered briefly if the risk would be worth it to kill the rat-faced man during the heat of the battle. He dismissed the thought and cursed his idiotic heir when he saw the familiar blond head appear in the crowd.

‘Damn you, Draco. I told you to remain at the house until this was over!’ Lucius made to step forward only to feel his Majesty’s hand on his arm.

“Come now, Lucius,” Voldemort hissed. “Let the boy show his worth.”

“Please, your Majesty, my son is not trained for battle.”

“Do you really dare defy me in this?” Voldemort turned to glare at his right-hand man and Lucius squashed his immediate reaction to recoil at the sight of the man’s deteriorating face. Leprosy – only recently diagnosed – on top of Ichthyosis was not pretty, even when hidden by the shadows. Instead, he let his face smooth out into a cold mask.

“You know best, Your Highness.” He desperately wished he could shoot the man in the skull, but the cocked and ready gun at his back was warning enough. Voldemort trusted no one, not even his right-hand man.

Draco searched the sea of battling faces until he found Harry’s. That the youngest Weasley boy was at his back gave him a sense of relief, but that was quickly lost when Draco watched in horror as Yaxley spun into a group of fighters, reappearing behind Weasley. That the redhead knew to turn meant little when he was being forced to give up his place at Harry’s back. Heedless for his own safety, Draco shouted out a warning that was lost in the din of fighting.

Ron slammed into the ground, every bone in his body jarring painfully. His sword skittered just out of reach and Yaxley’s foot came down on top of it, kicking it further to the side. Thin lips twisted up in a nasty smile, as he leveled a borrowed gun to Ron’s chest.

“Your friends will all die soon and your leader’s pathetic attempt to usurp His Highness’ throne will all come to naught. And you, wretched peasant, will die a painful death at my hands.” Chuckling, he cocked the gun, but the blast that resounded came not from him. Eyes wide with shock, he pitched forward, barely missing Ron and landed face down on the blood-slickened stone floor. In his back was a hole the size of Ron’s fist and the instrument of the man’s death was gripped coldly in the hand of the only Weasley girl.

“Bloody hell, Gin,” Ron swore as he struggled back up to his feet.

“Bloody bastard.” Ginny’s face was a mask of pure hatred. “He’s the one who killed Lisa Turpin – my favorite seamstress – a year ago. He deserved worse.” She spat on the corpse before spinning away. “Go and save our captain, Ronald, or you’ll have hell to pay.”

The fight had moved, taking with it Harry, Fenrir and Walden McNair. Though Harry was holding his own, it was obvious that his wounds were taking their toll. His back to the dais, Harry attempted to force the other two men further from the King, his face a mask of determination as he parried and thrust with a vigor he wasn’t quite feeling. McNair let out a roar of pain, stumbling backwards and straight into Fenrir’s blade. With a wet plop, he slid free and slumped to the ground, exposing the reason for his misstep.

Mette stood in the midst of the raging battle, a dinner fork clasped in her hands. The front of her dress was splattered with the dead man’s blood and look of absolute terror twisted her young features. Harry saw the feral grin that spread across Fenrir’s face and lunged forward, trying desperately to stop the beast of a man. A step too far away, he could only look on in horror as the man picked the child up and hurled her down onto the steps of the dais.

Fenrir was on her again in a second, a dagger appearing in his hand with the intent to kill. A loud cry caused the monster to look back and he gaped at the sight of the Malfoy heir flying towards him. With a thud they rolled to the side, leaving the little girl free to scurry away. With a solid kick to the larger man’s groin, Draco scrambled to his feet and chased after her.

Harry moved in swiftly, bringing his sword down into Fenrir’s back. The man roared and pulled free, slowed but not stopped by the wound. Moving in a circle, each waited for the other to make the next attack. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Pettigrew step out of Voldemort’s shadow, gun drawn, but the man made no further move than that. Ignoring Peter, Harry feinted to the right then drove his sword deep into the muscle of Fenrir’s thigh. The man ripped his leg free, staggered, but continued forward.

A long howl cut through the air and only seconds before Fenrir would have surely taken down Harry, a coyote, darker than a starless night, slammed into the man, its jaws snapping closed on his throat. With a mighty shake of its head, it tore out the man’s throat and leaped away, neatly missing being blown open. It turned to stare at Harry with oddly yellow eyes before disappearing into the thick of the fighting.

“Remus. Sirius?” Harry hated to think that his godfathers were there risking their lives when neither was in fighting shape, but he knew better than to argue with the last of the Black family. Smiling grimly, he turned to face the men on the dais.

“Lord Malfoy, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being formally introduced. I’m the man who rescued your son from him.” He waved his hand carelessly in Pettigrew’s direction, listening to him protest weakly. “Peter, I’d say it’s wonderful seeing you again, but then I’d be lying. Only the sight of your False King’s decaying face disgusts me more.” He turned to face Voldemort, defiance radiating out of his brilliant green eyes. “Tom... I may call you that, right?”

“Filth. I will see you hung in the gallows for this, Potter,” Voldemort snapped, spittle flying from his cracked lips. “Lucius, kill the boy.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Lucius raised his gun.

“Father!” Draco would have rushed forward but spotted Mette once again in the midst of things. Harry saw her at the same time as Voldemort and even as the King called for Peter to kill her, he threw himself over her small form. When no bullet struck, he opened his eyes and glanced up. Draco stood facing him, pain and fear in his quicksilver eyes as red blossomed on his shirt. Without a sound, he slid to the ground; Harry just barely managing to catch him.

Viridian eyes blazed as Harry looked up into the eyes of the stunned Pettigrew. Sparing no thought to anything else, he snatched up a sword and leapt up the stairs, burying it to the hilt in the chest of his father’s one-time friend. Withdrawing it, he brought it down again, this time severing the head and setting it rolling across the floor.

Lucius stood frozen in horror, staring at his son’s too-still form, watching as the little girl tried desperately to wake him. He turned and raised his own gun, his mind incapable of thinking of anything but the loss of his son. Even in his deathly state, Voldemort was faster and the bullet from his gun tore through Lucius’ gut, severing his spine. He made no sound as he fell, slipping down the stairs to land only inches from his heir.

Metal clattered against stone as Harry knocked Voldemort’s weapon free. “I have been waiting for this day for a long time, Tom,” Harry bit out.

“You think you will win?” The mad red eyes widened and a hysterical laugh burst forth. “Your friends lie dying in my castle. Even now, more of my men are on their way-”

“You mean the men we recruited with the promise of having their homes and freedom returned to them? No, you are alone.” He raised his sword, forcing Voldemort backwards until the man’s back struck the stone wall. Pressing the tip to his throat, Harry smiled cruelly. “Good bye, Tom.”

It was a coup de main of the most anticlimactic kind, but the death of the King seemed to signal an end to the fighting. Turning, Harry watched as the enemy – now lacking their motivation to fight – began to surrender. Those who remained steadfast in their fighting were brought down mercifully, and the men and women who wore the colors of the Diggory House let out a cheer that filled the great hall.

There was a sudden flurry of movement as the rest of their allies rushed in, these bearing the badges of medics. Among them were Snape, Neville and Madame Pomfrey. Harry’s eyes flew to where he had last seen Draco’s still form, but before he could move in that direction, Cedric and Ron were rushing forward and the darkness Harry had been holding at bay since his escape from the dungeons came rushing forward. The last sound he heard was that of his new king calling his name.

~ * ~

tbc
- 17
- 18
- 19
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Pirate's Tail