Regulus swung his wand and a Confringo roared out of the tip, the orange-red ball flying straight at Crow's face.
Crow chopped his wand down and a thick slab of stone tore up out of the ground in front of him. The ball hit and burst, the slab crumbling to powder, his robes flipping back in the blast.
He came through the dust, wand tip lighting dark red, and sent a Reducto at Regulus's chest.
Regulus turned aside. The spell grazed past his shoulder and blew a crater in the ground behind him.
He fired back, the crimson light tearing a sharp shriek out of the air. Crow swept his wand across and a Protego snapped up, and he pushed forward through the impact, wand flicking again and again. Two blackish-purple blades cut out in a fan.
Regulus leaned back, stomach tight, and the first passed above his nose. The second came in at throat height. Still leaning back, he twisted, and it skimmed past his Adam's apple.
The third was already out, a dark green light stabbing at his stomach. Crow gave him no room to breathe.
Regulus kicked off and threw himself sideways. The spell hit where he'd been standing, and a hiss of acrid green smoke went up from the ground.
His boots slid half a foot in the mud when he landed. Before he could steady himself another spell was on him, black-red light skimming low. He pressed his wand down and knocked it off course with a Reducto, and it scraped past his calf and left a burn on his trouser leg.
Crow closed in, wand swinging without pause. Blood Blade Curse, Festering Curse, Bone-Rotting Curse, all of it Dark Magic and all of it vicious, the lights tangling together, the sound of tearing air packed tight.
The ground kept shifting under his feet. Rubble burst up as cover, mud rose into low walls to cut off his angles, dead grass stretched into barbed vines and reached for his legs.
The gold in Regulus's amber slit pupils blazed. He let his magic out completely.
The dead grass baked to ash under his boots. The air warped hard enough to bend the light passing through it, and thin cracks ran outward from his feet.
He charged straight in, clods of mud blasting off his heels, his whole body pulled into a silver-white line.
Confringo opened the way, orange-red balls firing in sequence and blowing the earth wall Crow had just raised into fragments. A blasting impact came right behind it, punching through the dust and shattering the rubble cover. A Reducto cut in from the side, sealing off the angle he needed to move.
The explosions ran into one continuous roar. The ground was pocked with craters, smoke and the smell of burning rising together.
Crow held on through gritted teeth, moving through the barrage, his counterattacks getting nastier by the moment. Sweat at his temples, the blood on his face dried to dark red streaks, his robes in tatters.
Regulus pushed forward, faster than before, his silver-white afterimage still fading as he arrived at the next position.
He blasted one last Blasting Curse into the earth wall in front of Crow, and in the same moment he let go of his wand.
The wand hung at his side, held there by his magic, as he crashed into close range.
His left hand grabbed for Crow's wand grip. His right was already a fist, red light from Betelgeuse bursting out between his fingers, swinging up from below into Crow's stomach.
Crow's Protego snapped open at the last instant.
The fist hit the barrier and blew out a ring of orange-red force. Cracks spread from the center, and then the whole thing shattered, fragments flying to either side.
Crow's eyes went wide. A wizard breaking a Protego with his fist. In forty-odd years, he'd never seen it.
His body reacted before his mind did. He didn't fight to pull his wand free, he pressed the tip down and put a Bone-Rotting Curse along Regulus's waist.
Too close to dodge. The Constant Protego took it head on, a flash of silver light, another burn added to his clothes.
Regulus grinned, let go of the wand grip, and slid back half a step, calling his own wand back to his hand.
His leg came around in a whip kick, wrapped in burning red magic, and slammed into the forearm Crow had just raised to block. Earthy yellow light lit along that forearm, magic pouring in to harden the skin. The force still pushed him sideways two steps, boots plowing furrows in the ground.
Crow caught his balance and snapped his wand back, a Blood Blade Curse cutting at Regulus's throat.
Regulus tilted his head. The blade shaved past his neck. He stepped in and swung his left fist at Crow's right ribs.
Crow flicked his wand tip up and a dark green light burst at his side, knocking the fist away. His knee came up right after, driving at the back of Regulus's leg.
Close range now, spells and fists trading off. The Reductos fired at that distance burst in blinding sparks against Crow's shields, shaking the ground hard enough to numb the soles of their feet. A fist wrapped in red light hit the shield like a muffled thunderclap. The kicks tore Crow's robes open in strips.
Crow's Protego broke and reformed, broke and reformed. Each time it came back slower.
The two of them tangled together, silver-white afterimages and black-red light winding around each other, the shockwaves spreading out across the moor. The ground was torn to pieces, the dead grass burned to ash, the air thick with the smell of burning.
Crow fought with his teeth clenched. He caught every attack, blocked, hit back. New wounds kept opening. The blood on his face had reached his chin, and his breathing had turned heavy.
Regulus only got more excited as it went on. The heat haze around him had blurred his outline, and the cracks in the ground ran further with every exchange.
On the high slope in the distance, Dumbledore stood at the edge of the rock, the wind snapping his travelling cloak, blue eyes following the two tangled figures through his half-moon spectacles.
The boy's fighting style wasn't British.
Pure-blood families taught rules, the grip, the angle of the wrist, the rhythm of the casting, elegance and precision above all. Hogwarts didn't teach this either. Pouring magic into your fists and using them as weapons was almost never seen here.
But he had seen it before. Decades ago, in Germany, in the company Gellert used to keep. An older way of fighting, magic bound directly to the body, skipping the wand entirely. Primitive, direct, savage.
Abyssal Whispers.
The name rose out of the depths of his memory carrying the smell of sea wind and salt air. He couldn't remember the faces anymore. But the image of a fist shattering a barrier, that he remembered.
Something faint passed through his blue eyes and was gone in a blink. He kept watching.
Crow's retreat was cut off.
Behind him was a collapsed slope, mud and rubble piled into a sloping wall. To his left was scorched wasteland, to his right a crater too broken to stand on.
He put his back against the rubble and held his wand up in front of him. The light at the tip was shaking, his magical output visibly failing. Sweat and blood ran from his forehead to his chin and dripped off his stubble. His coat was slashed and burned in a dozen places, and the right leg of his trousers had been torn away entirely.
Regulus's breathing was light. There were burns and dirt on his clothes, and the fibers were slowly repairing themselves, the scorched edges shrinking, the tears closing up.
Close enough. Crow was at his limit. Keep going and one of them was going to die, and it wasn't going to be him.
His attention slipped for a second, and he glanced up toward the high ground.
Crow seized it. His wand snapped sideways and countless branches burst up and wrapped around Regulus's legs, and in the same motion the tip swung back and fired a Reducto at his wand hand. The wand flew out of his grip.
Regulus's focus snapped back. He ignored the wand and charged forward.
The branches tore apart against his legs without slowing him at all. He crashed into Crow bare-handed, left arm hooking over his shoulder, right hand clamping onto his left forearm, both grips like iron.
Crow struggled hard, face twisted, and couldn't break free. He forced the wand around to point at Regulus's face.
Regulus grinned, and there was something savage in it.
He dropped low, fingers of his right hand together in a blade wrapped in blazing red light, and chopped down at Crow's wand wrist.
The strike hit the shield with a heavy, muffled crack. The Protego rippled violently, cracks spreading out in layers, and then it shattered.
The wand didn't come loose. In the instant he was struck Crow switched hands, his other hand catching the grip.
Regulus's fist stopped less than two inches from Crow's face.
The red light was still burning on his knuckles. The heat washed over Crow's face and blew the sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. The air warped around the fist. It didn't go any further.
Crow's wand tip was pressed against Regulus's side, magic filling the shaft, white light glowing at the end.
The wind came through, carrying scorched earth and ash, and passed between them.
Within fifty metres there wasn't an intact patch of ground, just craters, burnt soil, and rubble.
Regulus pulled his fist back and stepped away, the red light in his palm hissing faintly in the cold wind. He raised his right hand and the wand flew back into it.
Crow lowered his. The light at the tip went out and his arm dropped to his side.
He stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, magic spent and body near its limit, still standing. His knees hadn't bent, and his grey-brown eyes were still fixed on Regulus. His lips were pressed tight, the muscle in his jaw clenching and releasing.
Regulus got his breathing even. "How many years have you been out here holding this moor?"
Crow stared at him and said nothing.
"Ten? Twenty?" Regulus pointed his wand at the ruined ground under their feet, then at the hills in the distance. "Has the poaching gotten better, or worse?"
Something shifted in Crow's eyes.
"You said it yourself. Nest raiders, dung collectors, getting bolder all the time. Hold this place another ten years and will it be better, or worse?"
"The problem isn't out here on the moor." Regulus took a step forward, his boot crunching on the burnt ground. "It's the Ministry. It's policy. It's that nobody's doing anything."
He tilted his head, amber slit pupils narrowing slightly.
"That one down south has turned everything rotten. You think the moors are far enough away that the fire won't reach here?"
Crow's brow furrowed.
Regulus jerked his thumb back toward Dumbledore. "The war he's fighting, whether you join it or not, it's going to burn its way to your feet."
He dropped his hand and looked Crow in the eyes.
"If he loses, this place only gets worse. If he wins, the Ministry gets reshuffled, the wizarding world gets reshuffled, and you go back with people, positions, and funding. Running a team beats lying out here on your own, doesn't it?"
Crow kept his eyes on him, lips still pressed tight, his chest settling into a slower rhythm.
Regulus grinned. "Go with him. Win the big one, and the small ones sort themselves out."
He turned and walked off toward Dumbledore.
Behind him, Crow stayed where he was, the wind pulling at his ruined coat, grey-brown eyes following that silver-white figure as it got further away.
His voice was hoarse, carried on the wind. "...I'll think about it."
Regulus raised a hand and waved without turning around. A few steps later the air twisted as his foot came down, and he was gone.
He reappeared on the high ground beside Dumbledore. Out on the moor, Crow crossed a ridge line and disappeared into the folds of the hills.
Dumbledore watched the spot where he'd vanished, then turned back and looked at Regulus's face. His blue eyes crinkled. "It seems your recruitment method is more effective than mine."
Regulus grinned. "Your way is too slow."
Dumbledore laughed and didn't argue. He held out his arm, and Regulus reached up and took it.
Crack.
The moor was empty. Wind dragged sand across the ruined ground, and broken heather stems lay scattered in the craters. Some of them were still smoking.
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