Spitfire!

SPITFIRE

This is only a short cookie I just can't get out of my head so I have to get it down on paper. This is a small look at a story that is to come in the future. I hope you like it.

A small bit of the background story: Too many lives were lost during the final days of the war with Voldemort. People Harry truly loved and couldn't live without in his life. For two years he's searched for a way to find them—to bring them back across the veil to the land of the living again, or he will die trying.

~*~

Gripping the handle of his broom tightly, Harry drifted slowly through the tunnel down farther into the depths of hell. The air was tense and hot, almost claustrophobic. As the air rushed upward past him, the tunnel widened and he cruised out into an enormous underground cavern that extended as far as his eyes could see. The landscape was as alien as the regions he'd previously journeyed through to get to this point. The ground was a mixture of jagged rocks with knife-sharp edges and bubbling pools of oozing red liquid. Large columns of smoke rose from the pools and formed an unnatural cloud bank through out the cavern, obscuring his vision of the ground far below.

Dobby stirred from his hiding place within the hood of Harry's cloak and climbed onto his master's shoulder. The house elf's hands trembled nervously as he took in the scene around them. “This is not a good place, Mr. Harry Potter Sir. We should leave.”

“There aren't any good places down here, Dobby, and stop calling me Sir,” Harry said as he maneuvered the broom lower into the cloud bank. The foul air was filled with a lingering smell of burning flesh. Harry pulled the collar of his turtleneck up over his mouth and nose hoping it would block out the smell, but it was no use. The smell of death was everywhere here. His mind wandered to Hermione. She had to be here somewhere, but where?

The feeling of Dobby's long fingers digging into Harry's shoulder snapped him from his day dreaming. “What's wrong? . . . Dobby?”

“Down there,” Dobby cast a shaky finger towards the ground far below. “Dark things . . . many of them.” His eyes clamped shut as he cowered against Harry's shoulder.

Harry pulled his goggles down over his eyes and adjusted his position on his Spitfire to maneuver better in case of emergency. “We're going down Dobby, hang on.” He felt Dobby scramble back into the safety of his hood as they descended through the clouds.

The closer they got to the ground, the clearer things became, until Harry jerked the handle up, abruptly stopping them. Harry floated in place for a second observing the sight before him. It was hard to tell where the ground ended and the masses of demons began. The `Dark Things' as Dobby called them were the spawn of this place. They were the lingering dead of wars past, trapped here for all time. Stuck in limbo never to reach Heaven or Hell. This was the result of their magic. Those who died of the killing curse were thrown into this world, forever doomed. Only a spell born in such hatred and malice could bind a person's soul to walk an eternity in Purgatory. It was plain to see now that he was closer to the mayhem the mixture of warriors from every age and time locked in eternal battle for which there was no victor.

Spells fell in every direction from wizards good and bad as the chaos of the wars they fought carried on long after their deaths. Dark had the winning hand here today. Their numbers strengthened now from the recent war with Voldemort, the dark forces overpowered the small band of wizards of light. They had been pushed through the harsh landscape to a small out cropping of rock hanging over a burning lake of fire that feed into the river sticks.

Harry watched briefly as wave after wave of dark wizards assaulted the dwindling group of defenders. He was just about to heed Dobby's warning and simple fly over the battle to the next cave, but something caught his eye.

One of the wizards high atop the rock showered the advancing enemy with burning oil from the tip of his wand sending a few, but not all, reeling in pain. A few dark warriors broke through the lines and started hacking away at them the small group of defending wizards of light. When one dark wizard leveled his wand on a woman wrapped in an Auror's cloak, the wizard on the high rock sprang. He didn't just leap to stop the attack; he changed form completely into a brilliant brown stag. Harry yanked his goggles up and looked, for the first time in his life, upon his father in the flesh.

“It can't be . . . why? Why are they here?” Harry said to no one, then remembered the cause of their deaths. The flash of green light and the sound of his mother's screams replayed in his head. The sounds of battle broke him from his dream and back to the losing battle below that threatened to consume his parents.

He pulled his goggles down roughly. “Not this time . . . I will not lose them again!” He pulled his wand from his belt holster and examined the handle of his Spitfire broom, which was a gift from Dumbledore before his passing. The headmaster had told Harry that the broom was made during the Second World War that the muggles fought. He had served as an officer with a secret group that helped fight the dark wizards helping Hitler and Grindelwald, and this had been his broom.

The handle was a few inches longer than the handle of a normal broom, and a bit heavier too. Along the center of the handle lay a long groove shaped like a wand, and the head of the staff was curved in the fashion of a dragon's head with eyes of cut rubies. Harry twirled his wand and slipped it into the slot. The broom gave off a low growl and Harry could feel the whole broom course with the power of his wand. Gripping the handle of the broom now felt as if he was still holding the wand in his own hand.

Drawing the sword of Gryffindor in his hand Harry started his descent towards the attacking enemies. “HANG ON, DOBBY, WE'RE GOING IN!”

As he peaked out under the hood Dobby's voice trembled, “Yeh . . . Yes Sir. Mr. Harry Potter Sir.”

Harry's angle of attack was deep and fast as he swooped down from the clouds towards the advancing foes. The leather of his gloves creaked against the wooden handle of the broom. Summoning the spell from within, Harry spoke it aloud through the wool of his jumper over his mouth, “INFLAMARE!”

The mouth of the dragon's head groaned loudly as it opened wide, baring its teeth. Fire burst forth from its mouth, laying down a path of fire behind Harry as he streaked above the chaos below. Witch and wizard, beast and man alike shrieked in horrific pain, running for their lives as they burned. Magical fire burned and licked at their flesh reducing those in Harry's path to ashes within seconds.

Pulling into a steep climb again Harry whipped up and into a split S-turn, flipping himself around and facing the way he came again. His mind tripped over the death that lay in his wake. A large path of fire split the enemy wizards in two now, but it wouldn't last for long. More dark wizards were coming now over the rocks and through the tunnels towards him and Dobby, so Harry dove again and again, cutting into their ranks with fire, spells and sword. The harder he fought the faster they came. It was never ending . . . this was hell after all. What did he expect — to win?

A tugging on his collar pulled him from his battle frenzy to the small friend on his back. “Dobby?”

“Look sir!” Dobby pointed off to the out-cropping of rock where his parents stood. “They are being overrun!”

“Not if I can help it!” Harry said spinning the broom around again. Angling the broom towards the narrow pathway leading up to the top of the rock he screamed, “BOMBATTA!”

~*~

Well I really hope you like the idea. I've been trying to work on it when I have time. That is whenever Luna lets me have a free moment. I will not promise you a quick update because I really don't know when it'll be ready, but I will write it. Well that's for reading and I hope its ok.

Muddgutts

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