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The Final Battle by HPFF United
Chapter 93 : Shifting Perspective
 
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Shifting Perspective
By CornishPixie
(Hufflepuff)




He didn't like the scary, raspy voice that seemed to speak from somewhere as close as right beside him. And he didn't like all the rumbling, shaking, and flashing that was going on in the distance, either. Different coloured jets of light burst into the parts of the dark sky that he could see through the treetops, and the earth shook so constantly that it felt like he would never be still again.

But the worst part was the screaming.

He was pretty sure he'd be able to make out some strange words if he concentrated hard enough, but he didn't want to hear any more than he had to. The loudest sounds were the worst; screams so piercing you knew it was made of their last breath.

He'd been out of the loop ever since he'd gone into hiding, but he didn't need anyone telling him that something horrible was going on now. Something drastic and deadly was happening, and that school building just outside the forest was the middle of it.

He wished he knew why it was the middle of it.

In any case, he was frightened into inaction by the noise. All curiosity dimmed, and he was so intent on not taking part that he was busy wishing that the noises wouldn't come any closer to his bit of the woods. So he nestled into place and waited...and waited. This was no small matter, whatever it was.

It lasted for hours, and he could feel the change of things.

Creatures from the forest were venturing out to join. It was becoming desperate. Some force in the forest was demanding help. Well, one thing was for sure. He would not be made to help. He would not be made to do anything. Not anymore.

A horrible idea came to him, and worry piggy-backed the fear. This must be the work of the one with no name. Darkness whispered rumours and tales about him, and a spirit rumoured to be his had once hunted amongst these very trees for Unicorns. The unnamed creature was no more a man than a bowtruckle was, his life had been cursed into something unrecognizable. If all this was his work he didn't even want to think about it.

That's when it happened.

Silent breathing and steady, crunching footsteps: someone uninvited was in his part of the forest.

Hidden still among the dark green leaves and cloaked in meagre moonlight rendered him mostly invisible.

Waiting, he watched and realized that he needn't have worried. The approaching male was distracted. Tall, with dark, messy hair, the man was alone and talking to himself.

Wait a second...something wasn't right.

He squinted and leaned forward with a groan and a creak. To the man it would just sound as if the wind was whipping eerily through the branches of trees, but—wait, he knew this man. It had been a few years since he'd last seen him, but the glasses and naturally unkempt hair were unmistakable. If only he could light up the forest for a moment, he was sure he'd note a lightning-shaped scar on the boy's head.

And here he was now, in the Forbidden Forest for some unknown reason, and seemed to be walking towards the place he thought the dark force was hiding.

“You'll stay with me?” He heard the boy speak, and tried to figure out who he was talking to. The boy was looking towards something specific, but there was nothing there. His next couple of lines went unheard as an overwhelming urge to follow the boy overtook him. It wasn't as if there was much else to do that night other than hide anyways.

Even if there was some sort of fight going on, no one would be concerned about him.

Movement was slow and careful. Branches snapped and scrapes were heard as he barely squeezed between two trees at some points in order to make sure he could still see the boy. The noises would go unnoticed, even the dark ones were preoccupied with something else.

A few minutes later the boy stopped to throw something over his shoulders—the poor lad must have been cold—and when he disappeared completely from view there was no one to follow. It was probably for the better, though, because he could sense the presence of spells close by. It seemed like someone had set out some sort of perimeter.

Heavy breathing and loud crunching of the underbrush sounded behind him, and he stayed still as he could as the figure with the hood of their dark cloak over their head stalked by. Two more followed not long after that, one being half-carried along by the other. Metal. There was something metallic about them.

They'd been injured.

This was definitely not some sort of celebration.

An unusual wave of worry overtook him. That boy had just gone to a place where he shouldn't have. He had been talking to nothing and he'd just put his own life in danger and—the fighting must have made him crazy. That was the only way any of it made sense.

If he were a more active and heroic thing, he would have gone in there to save the poor chap.

What had his name been?

They had flown together, there had been that red haired mate of his who had called him...Harry! That was it!

Harry needed saving.

Ford only thought these things as he waited in his place. Wishing he were different wasn't enough. Especially when a morbidly excited procession appeared out of the thick trees and marched towards the castle at the edge of the forest.

Sobs unexpectedly sounded over the silence. A troll or giant-like creature was yowling and seemed to be carrying something in his arms. It was small, comparatively, and had dark, messy hair and--

No.

Not crazy Harry!

Many weird things had happened to him that had never happened to those like him, but this was by far the most tragic. He'd known little Harry way back and now...now...

A horrible voice filled the air once more, and Ford only got angrier at what it had to say. No. That couldn't be true. This boy hadn't been trying to run away, not when the evil in the forest surrounding them had been so palpable. It was something else and he could hardly stand it.

But everyone besides the creature carrying Harry's limp body looked as if they were all jumping around.

He wasn't sure what it was that finally spilled over in him. It must have been that he'd know the boy. That he'd helped the boy another time even after the first time they'd met and he knew that there wasn't one evil bone in this boy's body. It was unfair that he was dead, it was undeserved, and all these people had the gall to celebrate it?

He felt like running them over.

Ready to attack, he forced himself to wait until the group of them had stopped moving before he did his worst. He crept along behind them instead, growling lowly to himself and fuming. A straggler jogged from the clearing behind and was trying to catch up to the others. Unfortunately, the jogger's path took him almost right alongside the undercover creature.

Ford was unable to resist, and at just the right moment he swung out his passenger's side door and revved at the satisfying crunch of the person's body. The door swung close as he manoeuvred just enough so that he crushed the man's wand when he went by.

On he went, slow in the underbrush and passionate about his mission. They had gone to meet the good guys at the castle, he knew that. And that was where he was heading. He wanted to run over as many of them as he could.

And all for that little friend of the red haired kid who had wanted to play with his daddy's toy.

He came to a halt when the edge of the forest finally came into view, and watch from where he was. The man, the unnamed man with nothing more than evil about him was talking. But Ford could see that the others weren't having any of it. Sad, yes. But defeated, never. Perfect, it looked like the time for tire-marks was soon on his way. So he waited patiently, gas pedal primed.

Ford Anglia was a toy no more, and he would have his justice.


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