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Neither Light Nor Dark: Steelclaws & Graycoats ~Harry Potter One-Shot~

Neither Light Nor Dark One-Shot

Summary: Gene Potter is the boy who lived, destined to defeat Voldemort. Harry Potter is a former Ravenclaw, who realized that would not be enough. After the Quidditch attack by Death Eaters, Harry realized what he must do and sets out to do it with the help of his comrades.

Outside the Ministry of Magic

“We shall not stand for these terrorists!” The Minister of Magic under Voldemort’s thumb told the gathered press. “These…Gray Coats will be brought to justice and be given the Dementor’s kiss for their transgressions.”

“Minister,” Rita Skeeter addressed him from the crowd. “So far, these Gray Coats have only targeted certain individuals believed to be Death Eaters and known Snatchers. Is it possible that they are out to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Nonsense!” The puppet claimed. “Those allegations have no grounds and none of those who you claim to be Death Eaters have been convicted.”

While the puppet of Voldemort pulled the reigns of Magical Britain through the ministry, his Death Eaters held them in check by fear. Between them and the Snatchers, along with the forced registration of muggle-born wizards, many had gone on the run to escape the inevitable fate that awaited them, until Voldemort could be defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived.

Wales Countryside

Ted Tonks, Dirk Creswell, Dean Thomas, were scrambling through the forest. One of them had said the dark lord’s name and summoned the Snatchers by breaking the Taboo. Among them were Scabior and Fenrir Greyback. Despite valiantly resisting, the three laid bound and wrapped in magically conjured ropes and were being questioned. Scabior took the lead in questioning.

It wasn’t going well.

“Teddy-boy,” the Snatcher backhanded the man across the face, splitting his lip and drawing blood. “We know your daughter’s one of them Order of the Phoenix blood traitors…make this easy, for yourself.”

He slowly circled them, his wand trained on the man. “Just tell me where she is, and it’ll be over. We’ll even get you a nice cell in Azkaban. I heard it wasn’t too bad now that the Dementors were loose.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your generous offer,” he responded. “Do your worst to me.”

“Fine then,” the Snatcher turned his wand towards Dean Thomas. Trying to break the man through force wasn’t working, but he could make him suffer indirectly. “Crucio!

The former student of Hogwarts valiantly resisted the urge to scream, but pain rippled through his body. Tearing at the pain receptors, it fired them all at the same time and washed him in indescribable pain until the man stopped the spell, leaving him at the border of anguish. And that was only ten seconds.

“Talk Tonks,” Scabior ordered. “Or I’ll double the length every refusal. We can do this all day, and given what happened to the Longbottoms, I imagine it would be a shame for one so young to be given a permanent residence at St. Mugino’s.”

“Piss off!” Dean spat out between staggered breaths. “Don’t tell him a damn thing Tonks!”

“You heard the lad,” Ted voiced coldly, as to not show emotion. He had to admit he liked the lad—he was good traveling company. “You’re out of luck.”

“Technically, we only need to bring one of them back alive right?” Fenrir Greyback prepared to lunge at Dean. “I think I’ll have a taste of—”

The sun was blotted out as the werewolf spoke, and a veil of darkness washed over them. The Snatchers cast silent Lumos and trained their wands on the captives, who were still there, just as confused as they were.

Mortem mortem, venit venit,” echoed around them in silent whispers, a chorus of voices that spoke in an ominous tone. They heralded an unseen danger, hidden through the trees that lined the small clearing of Wales.

Scabior licked his lip and his eyes darted around. His wand shaking as he trained them on the three. “This is your doing, isn’t it! Stop it!”

“We don’t even—HAAAH!” Dean Thomas gave a scream that was silenced, and was pulled by an invisible creature. The other two bound men looked at each other for a moment in sheer terror, before they were suddenly taken in different directions by the darkness as well.

Accio Ted Tonks!” Scabior said, pointing towards the direction that the muggle-born was taken…but nothing came. Staggered breathing grew as his eyes looked around, and he turned, sweat dripping from his brow. Looking to the others, he told them to find those three and clear out the darkness, while he and Greyback stayed put.

The Snatchers scattered.

Kiler was a man who joined the Snatchers solely for profit and was in it for the galleons. He threw in his lot with the others because for every poor bastard he caught, his pouch grew heavier. It was nothing personal, just business.

Stepping through the grove of trees in the woods, he slowly made his way towards where Dean Thomas was taken from. The veil of darkness over the sky was disturbing, and clearly magical in nature. He couldn’t guess what spell was being used, but it was somewhat terrifying to behold.


Kiler spun around—his wand at the front—upon hearing the sound of crunching leaves and twigs on the ground, just ahead and louder than the subtle chants that put him on edge. He saw nothing, but kept his senses on alert. Suddenly, the light on his wand was snuffed out.

Shaking the thing, he recast the Lumos spell silently but got no response. He recognized it had to be the Nox spell. There was another wizard here, the one responsible for this. They must’ve been shielded by a disillusion spell or something, so he casted, “Homenum Revelio.”

And the enemy’s presence was marked as being in front of him, before his wand was stripped from his grasp by a spell. “Who’s there!?”

The figure dropped their Bedazzling Hex and appeared in front of him, with a Snubnosed revolver aimed at his head. Without a second thought, the figure pulled the trigger. The sound of the bullet leaving the chamber was muffled by an enchantment, so no one heard when Kiler was no longer amongst the living.

Reaching for a vial within the gray coat, the figure tossed it onto the corpse after liberating the deceased of his prized pouch, and watched as the potion reduced the body to nothing. Every galleon they took was one less in the hands of the Snatchers and Death Eaters.

Aster MacDougal was the bastard child of a pureblood bigot and a muggle-born witch affair. Because he was stained with the blood outside the line of what was considered pure, he never had a chance to inherit his house. That would go to his younger siblings, who attended the ‘prestigious‘ Hogwarts.

He spat upon the brats inheriting what should have been rightfully his. Since he couldn’t take it out on them, and since for every poor bloke he rounded up and got paid…it was a twofer really.

Now if only that damn chanting would stop.

Aster’s trek through the area halted when he noticed a huge pile of leaves were writhing, something lurking underneath them. He inched closer, wand at the ready to blast it if it was something out of the norm or Creswell. Standing beneath the tree, he banished the pile of leaves…to find a snake about two-feet long.

It looked at him and flicked its tongue. Harmlessly tilting its gaze, it began to back off at the larger being, not willing to pick a fight it couldn’t win. Snakes were cunning after all.

Aster snorted, the tension in his body retreating. “Just a bloody snake. To think I thought it was—”

He was cut off when several large masses fell from the branches above. They curled around him with thick muscles and lashed at his throat and flesh, driving venom in with each strike until the man’s screams stopped and he fell dead.

The smaller snake slithered over his corpse and made its way towards his pouch, snatching it and scurrying away with the excess coin. The body was already being dissolved by the corrosive venom flowing through it, and would be a puddle at best in a matter of minutes. As the snake went up the tree, it coiled around the arm of its waiting conjurer and placed the pouch in her hand.

She patted it on the head, her mask and gray coat hiding her identity. She really did love snakes after all. They were so cunning after all.

Manchester White was once an aspiring Death Eater. One flash of the Dark Mark and you took what you want, being backed by the most powerful dark wizard in ages. People with power made the rules, and the weak trembled before the strong.

However, right now he just wanted to get the Hell out of Wales.

He knew there was a wizard or witch in these woods, lurking about. If he had a say in it, he would simply use FiendFyre to burn the forest down after apparating away before it went out of control. Then again, he found it hard to cast a spell with all the bones in his arms and hands suddenly removed by an Ossio Dispersimus spell.

Aster’s screams weren’t far from here, and he heard them become silent. There was no sign of the other one either. They were dead he was sure, and he would follow if he didn’t escape somehow.

Stumbling back, his nerves were beyond the breaking point. Frantically turning his head and darting his eyes towards the numerous sounds of the leaves being stepped on in all directions, running rampant until he could take it no more. “WHERE ARE YOU!?”

A small voice came from behind him and stated, “Here.”

He turned to come face-to-face with the white mask holding only eye slits that were shaded, and a wand right over his heart. The next second, a Defodio spell was cast, and the portion of his chest where said major organ was had been hollowed out. His corpse fell to the earth, blood from the severed arteries seeping into the ground.

Incinerating the body, the gray coat vanished with the pop of a port key to deal with the runners they rescued. They should be finishing their potions about now.

Scabior was getting impatient, pacing around when his men didn’t report in. He tried apparating around, but someone had placed a jinx around the area and prevented it from working. At least he knew he was dealing with a magical rather than some beast.

But it didn’t make things easier within the veil of false night. Only the werewolf was unshaken, having long since seen himself as one who hunted within the dark. Waiting for the opportune moment.

Fenrir Greyback…” A hoarse voice arose from the darkness. “We’ve been looking for you since the last full moon. Seven children and twenty adults…wasn’t it?”

The werewolf snarled in the direction of the voice within the faux darkness. “Who wants to know?”

From the shadows came two people wearing faceless masks with only eye holes with shaded lenses, along with pure black clothes and gray coats. The apparent speaker and leader appeared at the front, wearing a utility belt—housing several potions and a pill dispenser—unlike the other. His body was already bolstered through a strengthening capsule he utilized before he made himself known.

“Supporters and aspirers to the Death Eaters…” He pulled a wand that looked like a mundane magician’s, but pure gray with a black tip. The other followed suit. “We’ve come to bestow you with the gift of…death.”

And the battle began.

Avada Kedavra, you gray coat wearing bastard!” Scabior casted the worst of the Unforgivable towards the main speaker, right off the bat. The emerald-green ray crackled as it tore through the air towards the man.

“Lieutenant,” the leader calmly called, while using a Silver Shield spell to conjure a physical shield and blocked the Killing curse. The spell broke the shield, but allowed him to fire a retaliation Expluso spell. Scabior moved, but the tree behind him ruptured and sent the man tumbling down the slope to the left. “Handle Scabior, I’ll take the werewolf.”

“As you command Captain,” he answered with a distorted voice and followed while the werewolf took aim at the leader and used a silent Incarcerous.

Magical ropes sprang from his wand and attempted to coil around the masked vigilante, but a sweep of his wand cast a chill and froze the bindings. Putting a bit more power and intention behind his spell, he cast, “Sagitta Glacias!

Arrows of crystalline ice flew from the tip to impale the werewolf, who threw up and shield spell. The vigilante took aim at the ground and cast another Expluso, using the force to stagger him and then Fumos Aestus for a smoke screen to hide his movements and scent, further beneath the darkened sky.

The werewolf’s ears perked up, listening for the slightest sound to give away his position. The ominous chanting added to the difficulty, but was a mere hindrance in truth. “You’ve got a lot of nerve picking a fight with me wizard, I’m going to enjoy ripping your throat out.”

Distorted chuckles through a Sonorus spell bounced around the trees. “For a werewolf that preaches of loathing wizards, you fight like one. Where’s some of that superior strength and speed I’ve heard of?”

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed as he walked through the smoke and neared the sound. “Show yourself and I’ll give you a little taste of it…”

His ear perked at hearing a spell flying towards him and he raised his shield. Light broke through the smoke veil and detonated just before the shield charm. The Lumos Maxima exploded into a nova of white light, causing him to howl in pain at the brief blinding. It was followed by a deafening Sonorous charm from his wand to unleash a majestic roar.

Graaah!” He clenched his ears in pain and was slowly placed into a fury as his wand was lost with a Revulsion Jinx as the smoke cleared. The masked man was just standing to his right, wand trained on him. Fenrir charged, ducking under the light of a Confringo spell that would’ve killed him.

“Tsk!” The leader of the Gray Coats launched another barrage of frozen arrows but the werewolf ignored the pain where they grazed him as he dodged and was within striking range in two seconds. So he pocketed his wand and wandlessly casted the Steelclaw spell.

His hands and fingers became armored with glistening steel and elongated claws. The strengthening potion that flowed through his body put force into his blow, and with a pendulum swing he struck from below to send the werewolf’s corpse into the air—the attack had caught him beneath the jaw and the impact left the head barely dangling similar to Nearly-Headless Nick…only not as clean of a cut.

To be safe, he nailed the corpse with the Confringo spell and left the remains scattered about.

It was then that the Lieutenant returned, having finished Scabior with a Glacius Tria. The water in his body froze, and the cells were pierced by the jagged fragments, rupturing them until the scale increased and did the same to his interior organs, killing him. One silent Reducto later, there were only crumbling shavings of ice.

“It’s done,” he said.

The Captain nodded before raising his wand to the air and releasing a silver bolt that ascended to the heavens. It ruptured and cleared the sky of false darkness, ceasing the chanting. In its place was the Silver Mark—an emblem of a ferocious hawk bearing its talons.

The pair then port-keyed away, leaving the woods of Wales behind.

Inside Safehouse 05

The Captain and Lieutenant appeared before the three gentlemen, being treated by two of their allies. With a quick nod, the Lieutenant and healing pair left through another portkey to their base of operations.

“I can’t thank you enough for the help,” Tonks extended his hand.

The Captain shook it. “The pleasure was all mine. But I wish to talk to your three about a matter we give to all the runners we encounter.”

“What might that be?”

“First off, never say Snake Face’s name. There’s a Taboo on it right now, and it’ll get you caught like before. Second, we offer those who wish to join us an opportunity to do so, provided you pass a few qualifications.”

Tonks and Creswell shook their heads. “We’re grateful, but after all that’s happen, we just want to squirrel away until the matters have settled.”

Dean, on the other hand, disagreed. “I’m throwing my lot in with you guys. Death Eaters attacked the place my best mate was at and we couldn’t find the body. I want revenge.”

He nodded and presented the pair with a one-off portkey. “I wish you two well. Hide yourselves in the mundane world and leave England if you must, but don’t get caught again.”

The pair nodded, and gave Dean strong farewell before they touched the portkey leading them to an alley near a public train station. It them shattered away, preventing a trace.

Turning to the remaining one, he presented Dean a pocket-watch. “Are you ready to join the cause?”

Dean nodded and touched it. They were both ported to a training facility within French borders and out of the reach of Voldemort’s grasp for the moment. Walking alongside the enigma dressed in a gray coat, he eyed the facility and asked him a question.”How’d you do the chant thing?”

The man presented…a wind-up music box.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Take one wind-key music box, custom made by a mundane, add a Sonorus charm, then a few more like an unbreakable charm and anti-summoning charm, and you have fear in a box.”

“Doesn’t that violate a couple of laws?” Dean asked. “I mean…one of my roommates had a dad that worked in a department. Ron Weasley’s father…what was his name?”

“Tossing the rules of stagnant Magical Britain aside is required,” he told him. “The Death Eaters are the real threat, them and the Snatchers. Countless deaths, brutal tortures…they are a plague and we are the cure.”

Dean stopped. “You’re starting to sound like Snake Face.”

The man spun on the sole of his feet and turned to face him. “To fight people like him, you must think like the enemy. Snake Face doesn’t care about mundane prejudices—he rarely kills mundanes himself. He only wants power, blood doesn’t matter to him. But he knows it does to his Death Eaters, and waves the banner around to gather them under and form an army.”

“How are you different?”

A smile formed under the mask. “Besides not using the Unforgivables, not branding you like cattle, and treating Squibs with the respect they deserve as they join the cause?” He turned to the arriving leader of A12 camp and nodded. “I’m doing this to save everyone I can.”

A12 captain took off his mask…revealing the face of Seamus Finnigan.

“Good to see you mate.” Seamus told his long time friend. Dean stood there in shock, much to his delight. “What? Hippogriff got your tongue?”

He braced him in a solid hug, absolutely sure it was him. “I thought you were dead mate.”

“I would have been,” Seamus told him, before replacing his mask. “Come on, I’ll get you settled in and spin you a tale. We’ve a long fight ahead of us.”

The Captain merely watched as the two caught up. He may not have been in Gryffindor, but he always did like the pair when they weren’t riding the coattails of the media and laying assumptions. Then ported away to meet with the others at their true headquarters.

Gathering into a room, the Captain was greeted to the sight of his Lieutenant and a few other individuals waiting for him at a round table. He sat down in his respective chair, and all of them silently presented a wand. Unlike the ones used during their duel, these were unique, and in unison they all cast a spell and the wands reacted perfectly, conjuring the symbol of the Silver Mark at the tips.

Content, they all removed their masks and began their meeting.

“Our endeavor was successful.” Terry Boot, Lieutenant and co-founder, began. “Fenrir is dead and we took out a few Snatchers. That should cause a bit of a stir.”

He looked to Sue Li, a former Ravenclaw and one of the original members, for her input. She nodded and followed up. “Finances are solid, we’ve managed to reach equilibrium, and have no problems money-wise so far or in the foreseeable future.”

Padma Patil, also a former Ravenclaw and one of the original members spoke next. “The revolvers are being charmed to conjure more bullets upon being emptied; the equipment is having anti-banishment and summoning spells placed on it along with voice modifications and other defenses.”

Next was Mafalda, a Slytherin relative of the Weasley’s. “Tracy and Millicent are doing what they can as well in terms of information gathering. Goyle gave us the name of a few new members of the Death Eaters, so we’ll make examples out of them next.”

Sally-Anne and Lily Moon went over their own thoughts before they added, “Medicines and healers are getting along a bit slow. We may need more time.”

Terry and their Captain nodded, understanding their request. They motioned for the next speaker, a former Hufflepuff known as Luna Lovegood. Luna smiled as she contributed. “Relationships with the other creatures are a bit tense, but improving. The Merpeople like us and the giants are…neutral, I want to say.”

Finally, Harry Potter spoke as their Captain. “Some of the Liquid Luck capsules are ready. For five minutes at a time, they’ll be effective. But there are only about 75 available. Hopefully we’ll have enough for the final battles.”

Terry nodded and gave him a smile. “We’ll leave it to you. You’re the only one of us who can make it without the risk of screwing up. You were one of Snape’s favorites after all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short; you were next to me in terms of skill on potions.” Harry said before smiling back. “We owe Snape a lot in the end. His advice was what helped us get this far after helping Gene with the others in the Ministry fight—even if his training still gives us nightmares.”

They all let out a shiver at that. The man was damn good and damn cold. Harry could have sworn the only reason he even let them rest between sessions was because Harry had notified him through a bat and got the Order of the Phoenix involved before he or Gene were seriously hurt.

Say what you want about the man, but when he made a promise to Lily, he kept it.

The ministry battle had occurred at night. Gene had received visions of his father being tortured when he was actually working on assignment with the Unspeakables. Like a Gryffindor, he took the Thestrals with a few others and went to go check and retrieve the Prophecy. They probably would have died, using stunners against Death Eaters that tried to kill them. The folly of it was simply unbearable. Gene’s morals and high ground would eventually get him killed.

Dawning their earlier masks and coats, they followed them and engaged in battle with the Death Eaters. Unlike Gene, they didn’t hold back and played for keeps. That was their first appearance and they made sure it stuck.

Snape had informed them that Dumbledore had bought their interference to the attention of the uninvolved members of the Order. Ironically, he was the one that dubbed them the Grey Coats first, not that the original members used the line. The potions professor was the only one who knew it was them and he did it by deduction at that.

Snape took them under his wing, knowing that the Order wouldn’t cross the lines needed to get the job done and since they acted once they would do it again. He showed them that they must strike fear into the hearts of their enemy, and that there is nothing more fearsome than a faceless enemy.

Hence the reason they wore masks, aside from the obvious reasons. The lessons on how the underworld worked and getting the unregistered wands they used were also a necessity. As well as being merciless.

The Death Eaters reveled in causing terror, but feared death. Grant them it, and it would strike them to their core.

Padma snorted lightly recalling the end of the battle. “To think Moody thought he had the right to call us vigilantes when they appeared. Cauldron calling the Kettle black if I ever heard it.”

“Damn shame we didn’t get Malfoy’s father in the process then,” Terry sighed before getting back on topic. “What are we going to do about your brother and those Horocruxes?”

Harry’s lips curled. “Let him pick off Snake Face’s soul, we’ll wheedle his army until it is nothing. The Death Eaters are falling apart—several have attempted to flee and have been killed as traitors, leaving them in panic at being killed by their master or us. We’ll mop them all up soon enough.”

And so, the group continued their plans for their cleaning up the rest of Magical Britain and forcing it to advance.

One had to ask how all this began.

How Harry Potter, Brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, became the leader of the largest resistance and vigilantes that the Runners praised and the Death Eaters loathed, was a long tale.

It all started when he was eight…where he began to walk a path of neither light nor dark, but one of indifference to both.


Okay, I got this idea from The Legend of Korra and the Dark Knight saga. There was some sleep deprivation involved, but they are pragmatically fighting the Death Eaters and raising essentially a terrorist cell, using mundane and magic together as vigilantes. I’m not even going to cover that up.

I have a full story in the workings from Harry at age 8, but realistically, I don’t think I could finish with my plate full, so this can serve as an idea to the popularity of the subject.

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