Chapter 622: Absolute Dominance
The line of hooded wizards began to move, advancing toward the sector managed by
another Muggle family.
As they marched, more wizards joined the ranks of the "parade." The mob grew in
size, its sheer mass crushing several smaller tents in its path. With a careless
flick of their wands, the marchers ignited the canvas of the roadside dwellings.
Flames licked the night sky, and the screams grew shriller.
"Wait."
Sirius Black made to charge, but Remus Lupin caught his arm and offered a sharp
shake of his head.
"Oi!" Sirius hissed, his impatience boiling over.
"We catch them all, or we catch none," Remus whispered. A single sentence was
enough to steady Sirius's nerves.
The entire atmosphere of the Quidditch World Cup campsite had shifted. The
singing and laughter had vanished, replaced by a cacophony of terror and the
rhythmic thudding of thousands of boots against the earth as people fled in
panic.
Sean watched the exodus with a mask of calm. He saw the hooded mob corner four
more Muggles. According to his internal map, the lead victim was a man named
Roberts, the manager of this specific sector. Beside him were his wife and two
children.
They were hoisted into the air like human balloons. One of the marchers used his
wand to flip Mrs. Roberts upside down. As her nightgown fell, revealing her
undergarments, the mob below let out a roar of lewd, drunken laughter. She
struggled frantically in the air, trying to cover herself with her hands.
"Repulsive filth," Sirius growled. His fury peaked as he looked at the youngest
child—a boy suspended sixty feet in the air, spinning like a top, his head
lolling limply from side to side in a daze of terror. "Can we move now? Are they
all gathered?"
"Not yet. Stay down," Remus commanded.
He cast a subconscious glance at Sean. The young wizard remained expressionless,
showing no sign of intent to strike.
They followed the mob for another few yards.
Until—
"MORSMORDRE!"
A massive, emerald-green shape erupted from the darkness of the woods. It shot
above the treeline and soared into the sky. It was a colossal skull composed of
thousands of needle-like green stars, with a giant serpent emerging from its
mouth like a tongue.
The Dark Mark rose higher and higher, burning with a sickly luminescence against
the black velvet of the night sky like a new, cursed constellation.
Instantly, screams of genuine horror erupted from the surrounding forest. The
Muggles might not have understood, but every wizard in the camp knew exactly
what that sign meant.
At that moment, a jet of green light flared from the tip of one of the hooded
wizards' wands. He intended to end the Muggles' lives before the Aurors arrived.
"Gentlemen," Sean said, his voice resonant and cold. "The hour has struck."
Sean's silhouette twisted. He vanished in a blur of displaced air.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The killing curse streaked toward the Roberts family, but it struck a large rock
instead. The hooded wizard's wand had been knocked from his hand by a concussive
burst of force.
"WHO'S THERE?!" he shrieked.
His answer was not a voice, but an inferno that threatened to consume the world.
"FIENDFYRE."
The word echoed through the clearing.
"SCATTER!" the hooded leader yelled in panic.
They abandoned the Muggles instantly. The Roberts family began to plummet from
the sky, but before they could hit the ground, thick, emerald vines erupted from
the earth. They caught the four Muggles in mid-air and pulled them silently into
the safety of the dense thicket.
"Kill them!" a wizard on the left shouted, firing a curse at the vines. It
struck the foliage but did nothing.
While he was still shouting, he felt a cold piece of wood press against his
throat. Under the moonlight stood a figure that wasn't particularly tall, but
radiated a terrifying pressure.
The boy's green eyes were glowing with a fierce, emerald light.
"Stupefy."
It was the last thing the Death Eater heard.
"KILL HIM!" the mob roared.
A barrage of curses rained down on the spot, but the green-eyed wizard simply
blinked and vanished.
Then, the true horror began.
"FIENDFYRE."
A roar of sentient, white flames erupted from the shadows, charging toward the
remaining wizards with an unstoppable, predatory hunger. Sirius and Remus, who
had just reached the edge of the clearing, found themselves engulfed in the
flames before they could even Apparate.
To their absolute shock, they felt nothing. The fire washed over them like a
warm breeze, leaving their skin and clothes untouched.
"What kind of Fiendfyre is this?" Sirius breathed.
"Focus, Padfoot!" Remus warned. He saw a Death Eater lunging for a stray
Muggle—Mr. Payne.
"REDUCTO!" Remus barked, lashing out with his wand.
The Death Eater didn't dodge. He let out a cruel laugh and vanished in a crack
of Apparition. Remus realized the man had escaped, but he quickly ushered Mr.
Payne into the trees.
On the other side of the clearing, the battle was a slaughter.
Not a single Death Eater could withstand Sean for more than a second. Within
minutes, four of the hooded figures were bound in magical cords, unconscious on
the grass. Even as the others attempted to flee, Sean hunted them down with a
speed that defied logic.
The distance between the group grew as the pursuit continued. The ease of the
victory had left Sirius and Remus in a state of daze.
"Heh heh heh..."
A raspy, mocking laugh echoed from the smoke.
Remus spun around to see a hooded figure returning, accompanied by a companion.
They reached up and pulled back their hoods, revealing two faces that made
Remus's heart skip a beat.
Antonin Dolohov and Fenrir Greyback.
The fires of the camp were being swallowed by a new, more visceral fear. The
screams of the crowd mixed with the popping of burning canvas to create a
haunting, rhythmic drone.
Dolohov was cold and calculating; Greyback was a mask of manic bloodlust. Their
goal wasn't chaos or the humiliation of Muggles—it was murder. Following the
Dark Lord's orders, they were here to cull the opposition.
"Remus Lupin," Dolohov drawled, his wand raised. "And the little Black puppy."
Sirius stepped in front of Remus, his jaw set. "Antonin," he said, his voice
dropping an octave. "You broke out of Azkaban just to die on a moor? How
pathetic."
Dolohov didn't reply. His wand flared with a streak of purple light—his own
lethal, silent invention. It shot toward Sirius's chest like a striking cobra.
Sirius twisted, the purple flame grazing his shoulder and tearing a charred hole
in the tent behind him. The canvas ignited instantly, filling the air with the
stench of burnt chemicals.
The duel exploded.
Remus's wand blurred, firing a trio of Stunners in a triangular formation that
forced Dolohov back two steps. But before Remus could follow up, a stench of wet
fur and raw meat hit him from the side.
Greyback didn't use a wand. He lunged.
The werewolf's massive frame cast a distorted shadow in the firelight. He swung
his claws at Remus's throat with a primal, unadorned killing instinct. Remus
rolled backward, the claws shredding his robes and the skin of his chest. Three
red tracks began to seep blood through his shirt.
Remus gritted his teeth and fired a Stone-Bind at Greyback's shoulder. The
werewolf's arm went rigid for a second, but he simply snarled and shook it off.
He bared a row of yellowed, jagged teeth.
"Once I've ripped your throat out," Greyback panted, "I'm going to find your
little 'furry' friends and finish the job."
The duel between Sirius and Dolohov had reached a fever pitch. Spells collided
in the center of the clearing, erupting in blinding flashes of white light.
Dolohov was fast—lethally fast. He rained Killing Curses and Blasting Curses
down without pause.
Sirius dived and parried, a curse exploding against his shield with enough force
to slide his boots two feet into the dirt.
"You've grown slow, Black," Dolohov jeered. "Azkaban ate your magic."
Dolohov flicked his left hand, and an invisible Slicing Hex caught Sirius from
his blind spot. Sirius couldn't raise a shield in time; he twisted, taking the
hit on his arm. A deep, bone-deep gash opened from wrist to elbow.
He let out a grunt of pain but didn't stop. He fired a Reductor Curse that
shattered the ground at Dolohov's feet. Stone and sparks flew, forcing Dolohov
to stagger, his face twisting with rage.
But in that heartbeat, the other side of the clearing went wrong.
Remus was no match for Greyback in a melee. It wasn't a matter of skill;
Greyback didn't fight like a wizard. He didn't use incantations or patterns. He
used weight, teeth, and bone. Remus tried to maintain distance, but the burning
tents and collapsed structures had boxed him in.
He couldn't run. If he left, Sirius would be flanked.
Greyback saw his opening. He lunged, his claws catching Remus's right hand.
Remus's wand flew into the darkness.
Simultaneously, the werewolf slammed Remus to the ground. Greyback's weight was
a boulder on his chest, pinning him. The stench of the monster's breath washed
over him as the yellow teeth drew closer to his jugular.
Sirius saw it.
He didn't think. He abandoned his duel with Dolohov and charged, a black streak
of desperation. He slammed his shoulder into the werewolf, knocking him off
Remus. The two men rolled across the grass. Sirius hammered his fists into
Greyback's face again and again.
Greyback was dazed by the sudden physical assault, but he recovered quickly. He
lashed out, his claws tearing through Sirius's leather jacket and carving five
deep grooves into his ribs. Sirius roared, his veins bulging as he locked his
hands around Greyback's throat.
He was so focused on the monster beneath him that he didn't see Dolohov stand up
behind him.
Remus saw. He was flat on the ground, his right hand useless. He reached for his
wand with his left, but he was too far. He screamed with everything he had:
"SIRIUS! BEHIND YOU!"
The purple flame struck Sirius in the back, directly over his heart. It wasn't a
Killing Curse—Dolohov clearly wanted to savor the pain—but the concussive force
was enough to send a grown man flying.
Sirius was lifted off the ground and thrown ten feet. He hit the earth hard,
blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. His chest was barely moving.
Remus's mind went blank.
He fumbled for his wand, his fingers brushing the tip, but Greyback's boot
slammed down onto his hand. The sound of snapping bone was small but sickeningly
clear. Remus grit his teeth, refusing to scream.
The werewolf looked down at him. Dolohov approached from the other side. Their
shadows merged, shrouding Remus and the fallen Sirius in darkness.
"I told you, Black. You're slow," Dolohov said, his voice a calm summary of a
completed task. "Both of you."
Greyback licked his lips, his eyes glowing. "Do I get a bite?"
Dolohov raised his wand. The purple light flared again, aimed directly at
Remus's forehead.
"Next time," Dolohov sneered.
Remus looked past him. Two paces away, Sirius lay still. His eyes were
half-open, his breathing shallow. His lips were moving, trying to form a word,
but no sound came out.
Remus reached out with his broken hand, desperate to touch his friend.
Through the flickering firelight, he remembered the afternoon they had said
goodbye at Hogwarts. They had all been alive then. They had thought the future
was infinite.
"GET BACK!"
A voice that vibrated with a primal, god-like fury tore through the night sky.
A blur of silver-green air materialized. The werewolf was suddenly thrown fifty
feet by a wall of force. To his horror, Greyback saw three ancient oak trees at
the edge of the clearing suddenly stand up.
The Treants swatted him aside like a fly and prepared to stomp him into the
dirt.
Dolohov spun around, but the moment he locked eyes with the brilliant, slitted
green pupils of the newcomer, his body refused to obey him.
Who is he? What am I doing? I feel like I've forgotten something important...
The entire forest seemed to tremble. A torrent of roaring, blue-white Fiendfyre
swept across the camp. It was an all-consuming tide that swallowed everything in
its path—the dazed Dolohov and the cornered werewolf included.
The battle ended the moment it began.
It wasn't a duel. It was an execution.
Sean Green was angry. He had never truly felt the heat of rage before, but now,
he felt a fire that could only be extinguished by turning the world to ash.
A second later, the air was filled with a series of rapid-fire cracks. Rufus
Scrimgeour and a dozen Aurors had arrived. Medical personnel in St. Mungo's
robes appeared at the edge of the campsite.
Sean stood in the center of the inferno, his eyes burning with a light that made
the Aurors hesitate to approach.