A/N: This is a submission for the "Seven Devils Competition" on HPFC. The line I was given was from the song "Seven Devils" by Florence and the Machine, and it goes: I tear the walls and I slave your hearts. That is what this is based off of, though it is not given word-for-word within the story.

His voice sounds out into the night, a voice so chilling and frightening that I feel myself tremble where I stand. It fills my ears with a ringing that I can't drown out even if I want to. I can see everyone in the Hall reacting in similar ways; Harry looks frantic, his eyes darting from McGonagall to Ron to me, but he doesn't move a muscle.

I know that you are preparing to fight.

There are screams and gasps. The younger students are terrified, and I can't blame them. To my right is Ron, breathing heavily and surveying the students in the Great Hall as if challenging them to fight alongside us. I have no idea what he could be thinking. These are children, mere teenagers… but then again, so are we.

Your efforts are futile.

And that's what he wants us to think, isn't it? That nothing we do will ever amount to anything, that we're nothing but slaves to be used at his bidding? He can't possibly think we'll stand down so easily.

You cannot fight me.

The ringing in my ears is getting louder and louder as his voice flows through me, conjuring up images of blood and fear and pain, swirling blackness in the corners of my mind. I don't want to see anymore. I don't want to be anymore.

I do not want to kill you.

I see the haunting eyes of my mother, twisted and frozen, and it feels like they're reaching out to me from within a waking dream. I reach out to her, call out her name – then I realize that I'm still standing in the Great Hall, that Harry and Ron are still beside me and I am clutching my ears tighter and tighter as the minutes go by. What were the last words my mother said to me? I'm trying so hard to remember, but I can't recall a single word. The thought makes my bones ache with misery.

I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts.

What a lovely display of respect you have! Your own jealousy, your own hate was what caused you to be cast out in the first place, and now you have the audacity to come back and challenge the same teachers for which you have so much 'respect'?

I do not want to spill magical blood.

And yet you will, you have, at any cost imaginable. You went so far as to attempt spilling an infant's blood, Harry's blood, and the consequences of that night far outweighed the benefits. What is enticing you to try again?

Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed.

I glance back over at Harry, who is looking straight at me, and I know that we're thinking the same thing: this has been his plan all along.

Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched.

I look at Ron, whose eyes are ablaze with a furious hunger. I can almost feel the heat coming from him as the two of us instinctively move toward Harry, and we are close enough now to be touching shoulders.

Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded.

There is no reward that could sate me. There is only life: life, a thing so precious that I would sacrifice the rest of my own to be able to save another's. To what end would I deny someone of this? I would not deny it to Bellatrix Lestrange or Lucius Malfoy or even Fenrir Greyback, should any of them ask for it. But for one to steal it… one wouldn't deserve even a drop of it.

You have until midnight.

My wand is in my hand. My mind is set, as it always has been and always will be. The three of us don't need to exchange words to know what needs to be done. We know, have known for years, and we are ready to fight.

I am ready to fight.