Power Plays Chapter 69 (Patreon)

Days ago

The moment that the explosion began, time seemed to slow for Harry. He witnessed the way the wooden frame of the flat began to shatter, sending shards of broken planks everywhere. Next came the appliances, which conjured their own smaller explosions due to the magical charms and effects upon them that kept them working. The refrigerator ruptured like a balloon that was overfilled; it exploded everywhere, sending deadly fragments of metal careening into Harry’s direction.

He ducked in time to prevent any lasting damage, but his face was lacerated by cut after cut as he collapsed down onto the floor. However, his instinctual reaction had brought him closer to the runes underneath the floorboards, which were brimming with magical energy.

Before they could explode, Harry’s instinctual magic took control. He created something unreplicable. It was a shield of pure silver energy that encompassed his entire being, coating him in a warm comfort that promised his safety.

And yet, it didn’t work entirely as he imagined.

As the explosions continued to erupt all around him, Harry’s body was physically thrown from side to side like a pillow being tossed about. His head snapped back and forth as his limbs, protected by his magical shield, collided with collapsing wooden beams and half-destroyed bricks. Even with his protections, the sudden force of each blow was utterly painful.

Screaming, Harry tried to apparate away only for his magic to fail him. In his panic, he splinched himself, tearing open the flesh of his left arm and leg.

“Fuck!” Harry cried out, trying to clutch at his damaged limbs, but the blood kept slipping past his fingers anyway.

Thick smoke began to fill what remained of Nerys Orpington’s flat. Red and orange lights kept blinking away in his periphery as the world rumbled beneath him. He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t support him. The magic protecting him kept him frozen in place, and all he could think of was Daphne.

Death was no stranger to Harry Potter. Ever since he entered into the wizarding world, he’d understood that death was going to be a close part of his life, whether he liked it or not. By the end of his first year at Hogwarts, he’d begun to truly come to terms with the fact that many people sought his own demise and what that meant in terms of his own consciousness. By the time of the war dominating Britain, Harry felt as though he’d accepted the possibility of his death.

But he couldn’t do that now.

Daphne needed him as much as he needed her, and now they had Delphini to watch over. In many ways, she’d become more of a child of his than Teddy had since at least he had his grandmother to look after him. Draco, Astoria, Hermione, all of the Weasleys, and all of his other friends cared about him so much and relied on him to help fix Britain after the war.

He couldn’t die now.

Harry raged with his very soul, fighting against the forces around him that threatened to tear his mortal body asunder. He would not die here. He would go on living to fulfil the only mission he’d ever known: the defeat of the dark forces that would do him and his family harm.

His eyes snapped shut as countless colours flared across the sky above him. Countless men and women must’ve died on the floors below him all thanks to Nerys’ attack. He wanted to weep for their unknowing sacrifice, but he couldn’t let his emotions override his mind now.

By the time the rumbling came to an end, Harry felt as though he’d been hurled around in a pen of nasty dragons looking to taunt him before they devoured his flesh. Everything hurt, and he could barely move his limbs. Falling ash began to fill his mouth as a couple wooden beams settled over his midsection, pinning him to the ground.

The magic faded from around his body, and he suddenly felt the heat of the flames that were rapidly engulfing the exposed wood all around him. It wouldn’t be long before the flames reached him.

All Aurors kept potions on their person, but it was a struggle for Harry to reach within his robes to grab any of them. He tried and was rewarded with the sound of bone grinding on bone. He pulled harder, and then something sharp pierced through his skin, but he managed to grab the shrunken-down bandolier and pull it out. His fingers moved with a thankful familiarity as he retrieved several vials.

Wiggenweld Potion to heal up some of his mild internal injuries, Blood-Replenishing Potion to ensure he didn’t bleed out from the cuts all over his body, an Invigoration Draught to ensure that he maintained complete focus and didn’t tire even when his body wanted to, and finally a jar of Murtlap Essence that he dumped onto his splinched arm in the hopes of getting it healed up enough so that he could get out of here alive.

The effects were nearly instantaneous. His body felt like it got a significant boost of energy, and most of his aches and pains went away. His broken right arm was a problem with part of his radius bone sticking through his skin, but at the very least the pain was only in the periphery of his mind.

It felt a little uncomfortable wielding his wand in his left hand, but he’d spent time practising this before, so he wasn’t as awkward with it as most other people would be.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Harry said, waving his wand at the heavy beam of wood laying across his waist.

The beam shifted, kicking up ash and debris all around Harry, creating a heavy cloud that had him coughing and choking. Through watering eyes, he managed to direct the beam off to the side. Sitting up was a struggle, but it was worth it just so that he could smear the rest of the Murtlap Essence on his splinched leg.

As he watched the cuts steadily heal themselves, Harry slowly craned his neck around and saw that the entire structure that’d been around him was almost entirely gone now barring a few stray limbs of wood that were still standing. The night sky was dark and filled with twinkling stars and rising smoke, but the remains of the building itself were ablaze.

Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the night. Three dark robed figures appeared right in the remains of Nerys’ flat.

“Merlin,” one of them with a deep voice breathed out. “She really did it.”

One of them took a step, and the floor beneath their feet creaked, threatening to cave in.

“Careful,” another man said, but Harry recognised this one. It was Rhys Orpington.

As quietly as he could, Harry laid back down, hoping that his ash and soot-covered body would blend in with the destruction all around him. He kept his wand ready in case any of them came closer. He would’ve tried apparating away again, but he didn’t trust that he wouldn’t splinch himself. Even with the potions fuelling him, he was nowhere near his best. He felt magically exhausted, and while he didn’t feel much of his body’s aches and pains, they were still there. Without more significant potions or magic to heal himself, he was only on borrowed time.

“Do you think she got him?” The first voice asked.

“Look around, idiot,” a feminine voice chastised him. “She blew this place to hell. Haven’t you noticed that we’re down on the third floor? The whole top floor is gone. Do you seriously think that anyone could survive this?”

“Don’t discount Potter,” Rhys said. “Start searching around. We need to make sure that their bodies are here for the Aurors to find. We’ll only have a couple of minutes too, so be quick about it.”

Amid the sounds of the crackling flames and the building beneath him groaning in protest, Harry could feel the heat growing rapidly. The hungry flames were lapping at everything in sight and consuming them as quickly as possible.

He couldn’t make a sound. Even with all of his talents, Harry didn’t trust himself enough in his current state to battle away the three of them. While he didn’t know of the other two’s magical talents, Rhys had delved deep into the Dark Arts when he went muggle hunting. He’d tortured so many people in horrific ways. With two of his allies at his side, it would be easy for them to surround Harry. It would be all too easy for him to move too quickly and tear open his freshly-healed wounds. Even with magic, bodies needed time to heal.

But how was he going to get out of this without arousing their suspicion?

The answer came quickly. He almost laughed at it. It was a simple charm he’d learnt back in his third year at Hogwarts. He’d have to thank Professor Flitwick the next time he saw him.

Silently waving his wand, Harry cast the Flame-Freezing Charm on the fire that was creeping towards him. Immediately, the heat that it was generating faded into something much softer and more pleasant. It was like the hum of sunlight on a warm Autumn day.

Even as the fire began to wash over his body, Harry wasn’t bothered by them in the least. The orange, yellow, and red flames danced across his ash-covered body and provided him all of the deception he needed.

“I found Nerys… I think,” the woman called out. “Most of her, anyways.”

“Check inside of her robes for her planner,” Rhys replied.

“She doesn’t exactly have robes anymore,” the woman said. There were some crunching sounds as she crouched down to fiddle with the corpse. “It’s all in tatters.”

Rhys tsked loudly. “Fine then. Just keep looking for Potter. We need to make sure he’s dead. If he isn’t, then we’ll have yet another complication added to our plans.”

Their plans?

Harry perked his ears up, hoping for any of them to foolishly say anything more, but they remained silent as they continued to search through the wreckage. At one point, one of them got close to him. They were walking parallel with his body a few metres away. He could faintly see the hem of their dark cloak swooshing along the floor through the flames that were covering his body, but they were forced to back up as the flames grew closer to them.

“There’s too much fire here,” the man complained. “I can put it out, but then the Aurors will know that we were here.”

“Don’t,” Rhys told him instantly. He paused for a moment, grumbling under his breath. “He has to be dead,” he finally said. “I saw Nerys’ ward scheme myself, and she has as much reason as any of us to want to see Potter dead. He must be buried beneath us. And if he somehow got away… well, we’ll deal with that later. For now, we need to make sure that our alibis are secured and that we double check that we have no direct ties to ‘Aurora Calderon’.”

“We made sure that there was nothing actually tying us to her fake name back when—” the woman began to say.

“Make sure again,” Rhys ordered sharply. “We’re not going to be stopped by just some stupid mistake on our part. We’re so close to finally dealing with the fools within the Ministry once and for all, and then things will become the way they should be.”

How many times had he heard this before? Voldemort. His Death Eaters. Even his distant followers in France. They all believed that they knew the right of the world, and that meant that they would be on top while muggles, muggleborns, half-bloods, and blood traitors would be piled at the bottom beneath their heels.

Well, Harry wouldn’t stand for it. He and Daphne had failed to uncover what Rhys was planning all this time when they expected him to be campaigning in the election. Now was his chance to uncover all of this. But if they knew he was alive… they’d just become more secretive.

If there was one thing that Harry had learnt about the dark forces that’d continuously tried to take over Britain, it was that they were supremely arrogant. With each successful step they took, their belief in their mission reaffirmed itself. And with that came the sloppiness that a belief in an inevitable victory brought upon them.

If he revealed himself tomorrow, then they would cower and hide and work to minimise any potential leaks in their plans. If he hid and pretended to be dead, they might not exactly openly proclaim their goals, but they might let their guard slip just enough for him to uncover what was actually going on behind closed doors.

Daphne was going to be furious with him. And there was Delphini to consider, along with all of his other friends and family.

As much as he hated the idea of making them mourn his supposed death, his work as Britain’s Head Auror was being stunted. Amelia was suspicious of him and doing everything in her power to limit his investigative ability. She’d never trust his intentions if he tried to investigate one of Daphne’s political rivals.

If he wanted to keep Britain safe, Harry Potter had to die.

Harry held back a snort at the thought. Daphne was going to be so annoyed that he one-upped her at faking his death. Maybe she’d be less upset if he let her know that he was still alive.

It was a foolish thing, he knew, to tell anyone about his continued existence, but he couldn’t put Daphne through that. She was the love of his life and deserved to know everything that he was doing. Maybe they’d tell Delphini too—Harry hated the idea of her losing another parental figure in her life. Everyone else though… they may need to remain ignorant if only to maintain the fiction of his death.

Merlin, he was going to have to apologise so much to everyone after this.

Rhys and his two cronies gave the place one last look over before they reconvened back where they’d arrived. “Get back to Nott Manor and await my next letter,” Rhys ordered one or both of them—Harry couldn’t see from his angle. “I’ll be returning to the Ministry to deal with any potential questions that come my way.”

“Understood sir,” the two followers replied together.

Three distinct cracks sounded as they all apparated away, and that was all Harry needed to force himself to stand up within the chilled flames. He had to recast the spell multiple times as he forced his injured body to take step after step. Even with his potions, it truly hurt to move.

Once he was clear of the flames, Harry turned around once more to survey the devastation. It was brutal to see how much had been destroyed by just a single person’s actions. He hoped that no one else had been hurt, but given the fact that they were now one floor below Nerys’ flat, he knew that it wasn’t likely.

He’d avenge them and everyone else that Rhys, Nerys, and all of the others had hurt. But for now, he needed to get somewhere safe to recover. He couldn’t go to Greengrass Manor or Grimmauld Place right now—they were too obvious, and people would be looking there for him. He could try to hide out in a muggle part of London, but he needed access to magical potions and ingredients that could help him heal.

There was only one person he could think of who’d be willing to truly put their life on the line to help him in this moment without risking the chance of giving away his identity.

Reaching into his robes, Harry pulled out his shrunken-down Firebolt that he always carried with him. It’d helped him once before at Rowle Manor, and it was going to help him again today.

Harry unshrunk the broomstick and mounted it before taking to the skies at a gentle pace. He managed to place a decent invisibility charm on both himself and the broomstick before he climbed too high into the air. Just as he was angling his broom in the direction he wanted to go, he heard a flurry of apparations sound from the street below. There had to be half a dozen Aurors down there along with a couple of Obliviators to deal with any muggles who might have overseen anything.

Taking off at a slow, gentle pace so as to not strain his injuries anymore, Harry took off towards Diagon Alley.

The brief flight across London didn’t take very long, but Harry was forced to land just outside of the muggle entrance into the Leaky Cauldron. He waited around for nearly fifteen minutes before a witch finally exited the establishment, and he slipped in through the doorway before it closed on him again. The pub was lively as ever with dozens of patrons spread across the many tables and booths that filled it. He saw Hannah Abbott, one of his former schoolmates, working behind the counter, hurriedly filling drinks for her needy customers.

Harry navigated through the pub smoothly, constantly shifting around back and forth to dodge any oncoming traffic. It took a while, and a fair bit of backtracking, before he made it to the courtyard at the back of the pub. This time, it only took a minute before the entrance to Diagon Alley opened.

Roaming the alley at this time at night was easy. Most shops had closed for the day and those that remained opened tended to be restaurants.

Close to Gringotts, he found the building he was looking for. The front door was kept open to allow the gentle breeze to settle through the shop, so Harry slipped in quickly and manoeuvred himself between the various tables and chairs until he reached the kitchen in the back where one frazzled woman was cooking up a storm. Pots and pans were shifting between burners on the stove while various utensils churned, whisked, and prepared food for upcoming dishes.

“One octopus and one Coq au Vin for table six,” Eloise, the owner and head chef of Le Bistrognome, called out loudly.

Through the doorway Harry had just entered, a young waiter swept in and collected the two dishes before heading back out into the dining room.

The second they were alone again, Harry dropped his charms.

“Eloise,” he whispered.

The woman leapt in fright, hurling a saucing spoon up into the air. “Merde, ‘arry, I—”

“Shh,” Harry hushed her quickly. “No one can know I’m here. Things are complicated right now, but I need your help. Do you have a place I can stay?”

Instantly, Eloise’ fear vanished from her face and was replaced by resolve. “Of course,” she replied immediately. “You look a mess. Come upstairs. I ‘ave a spare bed you can rest on.”

Tonight, he would rest. He’d need to explain things to Eloise first, but he knew that he could trust her. After all, her brother had nearly been killed by Rhys simply for being a muggle. She wouldn’t betray him, and it wasn’t likely that she’d ever end up in front of anyone from the Ministry asking about him.

Tomorrow, he’d begin his investigation into Rhys and figure out a way to contact Daphne. It might take time, but as long as he eventually reassured her that he was alive, he knew that she’d be willing to forgive him… eventually.