Lightning and War

sunrise

Harry could feel the golden thread of the magic moving through him, and then transitioning into a river. He was gasping, and the blue jewel on his forehead was glowing with soft, persistent light. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have this much magic pouring through his veins.

But he mastered it quickly, and turned towards the courtroom at the far end of the corridor where Dumbledore was waiting. He held up his hands, and the pressure that was forcing Tom and the others to kneel retreated further towards Dumbledore.

And then stopped. It was clear that Harry wasn't going to have any success in getting his husband or their Knights back to their feet any time soon.

Fine. Harry had reasoned that he'd have to battle Dumbledore by himself anyway since they came here. He strode forwards, with the wind that the clash of power was causing rippling his cloak and making his robes fly.

He reached the door of the courtroom, and found it standing only halfway open. Harry didn't like not being able to see what his enemies were doing. He crossed his arms, and the door flew back from him, hitting the wall with a dead-sounding thud.

The room beyond was as dark as the rest of the Ministry, but Harry could see all he needed to with the diadem sending its soft beaming light forth. Dumbledore, clad in pale blue robes and holding his wand, stood in an iron circle in the center of the floor, surrounded by still bodies. Harry didn't know if they were dead or asleep, but he was sure they were Order of the Phoenix members whom Dumbledore had drained of magic.

"You should not have come," Dumbledore said, his voice half a sigh. "My quarrel is with Mr. Gaunt, not you."

"He doesn't have that name anymore," Harry said evenly. Truthfully, it wasn't that big of a deal, but he knew Tom would want Harry to stand up for him. "He married me. His name is Potter."

"Changing his name does not change who he is." Dumbledore shook his head. There was a wheel of white spoked light around his head, flickering into view and then disappearing. He spread his hands, and Harry felt the return of the pressure that had made Tom and the others kneel. "An inbred Dark wizard."

"And you never had ancestors who married cousins, sir? I had the impression that most pure-blood wizards did."

Dumbledore blinked at him, his manner almost abstracted. "You are mistaken, or perhaps misled by the differences between our worlds. I am a half-blood." He gestured. A heavy iron block began to form in the air in front of him. He appeared to have conjured it, or Transfigured the air. "My mother was Muggleborn."

"And your father was a pure-blood who got sent to Azkaban for torturing three Muggles," Harry said quietly.

Dumbledore straightened, staring at him. Harry raised an eyebrow. "The differences between our worlds don't blind me, sir. I'm giving you one more chance to back out of this, return the magic to the people you drained it from, and surrender yourself to the Wizengamot and our side."

"You are as misled as Mr. Gaunt is," Dumbledore breathed, and flung the heavy block at Harry.

Harry glided to the side, only to have the iron block turn and whip towards him. Harry raised one hand and called as hard as he could on his memory of the Fiendfyre that had devoured the Room of Requirement in his first world—the heat and the height of the flames, rather than the specifics of the spell.

The block was caught in the flames and melted, and Harry turned and aimed his hand straight back at Dumbledore. The man's expression did change a bit when he had to deal with a rain of melted lead.

In the meantime, Harry's gaze fixed on the wand that Dumbledore was waving in conductor-like patterns through the air. It seemed to be made of elder wood, and he nodded. That gave him an idea of what he could do, and if there were a few other casualties when he cast the spell, he doubted they would be many.