Inevitable

2 | St. Mungos Meeting

A now-twenty-five-year-old Harry Potter shivered against the cold, wrapping his cloak tightly around him as he trudged through the snow.

Bloody Neo-Death Eaters. Had to hide in the Alps in February, didn't they, the sodding—

Harry raised a finger, signaling his elite team of Aurors, who were fanned out behind him, to stop. He felt a familiar clenching sensation in his stomach. It was too quiet. Something was wrong.

They'd avoided doing magic on their trip into the mountains to keep from tripping any sensors, but Harry decided it was time for that to end.

He raised a second finger, "Shields up."

Wands moved and twelve shields shimmered into place around each individual Auror, and not a moment too soon.

With a several loud shouts, several spells shot towards them at once, coming at them from behind.

Harry spun around, wand in hand, viridian eyes blazing. He shouted instructions to his team as he parried spells from five Neo-Death Eaters at once. He distracted them by shooting a spell with his wand, then shot an Incarcerous spell wandlessly using his left hand. Magical ropes bound them all tightly, arms pinned against their bodies. A nonverbal Expelliarmus sent their wands careening into his outstretched hand.

A wave of exhaustion hit him from the exertion, and his shield flickered for only a moment, but it was long enough for a sixth NDE to hit him with a banishing spell from behind, sending him careening wildly through the air.

Harry felt the right side of his body collide with an enormous tree trunk with a thud and a sickening crunch, at least twenty feet off the ground. He groaned as the fingers of his free hand scratched at the bark, trying to find a handhold where there was none. He fell, willing his wand hand to move, or his wandless magic to catch him, but it was no use. The pain was making his mind hazy. He heard another horrific crunching sound as he hit the snowy ground, and pain coursed through his left leg. He let out a low cry of pain, then lifted his head and forced himself to focus.

Most of the NDE's were already subdued, his team was very good after all, but a few were still fighting. The Aurors were getting tired, and their shields were failing. Harry raised a hand and the shields all solidified, effectively bouncing spells away from the Aurors once more. Only when the last few NDE attackers were bound, did Harry stop the flow of magic protecting his friends and colleagues. Then, collapsing into the snow, exhaustion took him.

•••••

Harry's first sensation was pain, and he groaned as he slowly regained consciousness.

"Hello Harry!"

Harry opened his eyes and saw the blurry outline of a familiar face: Dorothy Hewitt, Assistant Healer.

"D'you have my glasses?"

A warm, slender hand pressed them into his palm.

"Thanks, Dottie."

Her pretty face and brown ponytail came into focus. She was waving her wand, casting various diagnostic spells, but at the sound of her nickname she flushed, smiling shyly at him.

Harry looked around. He was in a St. Mungo's robe, his clothes were draped over an empty chair at the end of the bed, and his wand was resting on a table beside the bed.

"Of course. The healer should be in soon. I can't believe you're conscious already, you must be exhausted! And we haven't even given you a pain potion yet, I'm so sorry Harry!"

"Did anyone else get hurt?" He spoke through gritted teeth, keenly aware of the pain from his injuries.

"No, the rest of your team is fine. You took quite the beating this time though, didn't you? From the diagnostics I can see... Several broken ribs, a broken leg— oh, broken in more than one place, ouch—"