Harry felt as if he were a grey man in a hole, huddled in a ball, hollowed and howling at the gloom. Alone. Terrified and freezing. With all the responsibilities of Atlas and only haggard shoulders; but he wouldn't shirk, and he would never shiver or even shrug. For there was nothing to do -- but do it. And so he would.

Harry thought back to the moment when he had reached Dumbledore's side. At the time he had been too overwhelmed with his own emotions to notice the crowd much. But there had been a lot of Hufflepuffs; Susan Bones had stood in the forefront with Ernie's arms around her and a look of horror, shock and overwhelming grief etched on her face that had closely matched his own.

On the night before Dumbledore’s funeral standing amidst the bodies at a large Muggle morgue in the heart of London, Draco and Snape were working on batches of potion for the Dark Lord. Snape was chopping and gathering and measuring and Draco was mixing and stiring under Snape's impatient glare.

“Are you willing Marietta? This is no little thing I ask. It may be your life you are pledging?”

“What about Harry?” asked Colin Creevey. “If the death eaters attack they will go directly after him.”

“I can protect myself,” said Harry. Ginny glared daggers at him. She had said that to him many times in reference to herself.

“Just, stay away Ginny... stay safe.”

“Are you an idiot Harry? The three of you can’t just go out there and confront Tom. You can’t win that fight without help. You'll need the Order of the Phoenix and the DA. You need at least me, Luna and Neville.”

Cho fought to pry away Marietta’s wand away and cried out desperately to Michael for help. She knew that if she did not get help soon Marietta would win and if Marietta won Luna would die.

Extensively reworked and edited 11/20/07, but no plot changes, just better writing and clarification. 

The horror placed the book on the nightstand and said: “I think I know you.”

Luna’s spirits sank. Cho was good at pouring water on heliopaths.

One of Ginny's recurring nightmares was about Luna. When she  wasn’t dreaming about Tom she often woke shaking at the memory of Luna' s incoherant, blistered and tear streaked face in the fireplace screaming that her mum was dead.  

“By the way Weasley, when you get to where you're going please say hello to Cedric Diggory for me, he always was a fine chap….AVADA KEDAVRA!” 

In the dimming light of near dusk Bellatrix Lestrange stood atop a hillock over-looking the tracks about one and three-quarter miles from Hogsmeade Station and focused a scarce beam through her omniculars. The column of stream on the edge of the horizon that was the Hogwarts Express had been in the same position for the last two hours and there was no sign or sound to indicate that it planned to move soon.

As she climbed the air chilled and thinned radically and a frightful and increasing pressure forced the blood from her extremities and flattened her face. Alicia struggled for oxygen and fought against the added weight, and as her vision blackened around the edges, her grip began to slacken and her rear slide towards the tail of her broom.

He pulled his hand away and jumped back as if he had seen the shadow of a basilisk; but that was impossible, muggles couldn’t see Basilisks, not unless they were killed or if lucky turned to stone by one. 

Chapter renamed 6/6/07

“REDUCTO!”  screamed Hermione aiming the curse at the part of the ceiling that was just ahead of the fleeing Marietta. But the mad girl projected a shield and blocked the falling debris and although forced to her knees, managed to use energy from the Staff of Barnabes to shove it away and send it sailing back at Hermione, who dove to her right in an awkward tuck  as a large slab of marble crashed with an echoing boom behind her head and sprang to her feet,  wand ready and breathing hard.

A rainbow of flashes lit-up the darkening sky over the Treasury, where a mere two hours ago the couple had visited the Cabinet War room and now the Texan became aware of nearby gunfire. More sirens went off as the dealer watched a squadron of blue-clad horsemen with red plumes like those at the Horse Guard gallop past and nearly flatten a seemingly disorientated girl in navy blue robes and a fleeing stroller-pushing mother with antlers

The combat was fierce, but quiet; for each was casting wordlessly, but a multitude of colors were leaping from their wands and Marietta’s staff like tie-dyed but dark-edged rainbows; a maelstrom of hues, a burlywood blow and silver strike; a plum parry and a coal counter; azure, moccasin and lace, lashing papaya whip, Marietta’s rose madder; random shade after random angry shade – the gallimaufrious glow illuminating creeping shadows in the nearby forbidden forest.