The body of the great black serpent-dragon slumped to the floor. Its last words were lost in its death-rattle, but Harry imagined they were to tell him to run for it. The horror and weight of watching his best friend die was like an iron fist slamming Harry in the gut. He crawled from the body of the dragon, looking back at its pale, empty eyes – blind for the last 20 years at least. But Synwenty had done one thing before it died: it had cleared a path for Harry to at least try to escape.

Harry's wounds inflicted since the siege began were mostly to his legs, but they didn't cripple him. Over the rubble, he went into a vault partially open, trying to find cover from his pursuers. His scruffy beard and tousled hair were scorched on the ends, so he smelled burning hair.

They had destroyed the main wall and dozens of vaults nearby; Harry was running from one to the next barefooted over a fortune of galleons littered on the floor. But he knew that his escape was over as soon as Voldemort and his Death Eaters killed his friend; all he was doing now was delaying the inevitable.

Voldemort called to him from the darkness, "Harry! Come to me! There is no escape anyway!"

Harry jumped over the loose wall and into the last open vault, looking for anything to use as a weapon. He found a long wooden staff with a jewel, and other such trinkets, but no wands. He heard Voldemort coming and took a deep breath. If there was one thing Dracotongue had taught him, it was how to breathe fire. He shot a burning stream out, and he was please when it caused someone to scream their final breath.

Harry hopped out of the vault and ran – ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He stumbled around corners and up stairs, and he was so grateful still for Synwenty's smoke filling up the whole area – keeping him safely hidden.

It was still almost no use, because from behind suddenly started a barrage of curses. He ducked and skidded from them as they blew up the walls ahead of him. At last he turned down the wrong corner – dead end.

"No no no. Not good!" Harry whispered, smoke coming from his mouth.

He still had the staff with the bright red jewel, and he held it before him like a weapon. Meanwhile, he faced behind him and waited for the perfect moment to breathe fire again. Three Death Eaters weren't expecting him to have run down a dead end, and it was their final mistake. Their charred bodies withered where they stood, and the rest behind them stopped around the corner.

Harry didn't have a moment to rest when their wands came around the corner and blindly cast spells. He dodged them all, and fortunately one punched a man-sized hole in the wall. Without a second thought Harry dove through the hole into the vault on the other side, taking the staff with him. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he looked all around for a weapon – an escape – anything!

Voldemort called from outside. "I plan to free you, Harry! Come out and you won't be harmed!"

"You plan on trading me for Ron and Hermione!" Harry yelled back, pulling open the door of a fallen old clock and looking within. All he saw was the heavy weight lying against the floor – nothing to help him.

Then the wall with the man-hole began to expand as they made to enter the vault. Harry cursed and lay on the floor next to the clock and scooted in behind the weight, closing the door.

"Really, Harry?" Voldemort chided him, and he was inside the vault and right outside the clock.

Harry closed his eyes and he held his breath, ready to spit fire whenever they opened the door. His cheeks glowed so bright he could see the tiny space he was in – the weight and the staff he brought in was the only things to see, really.

There was silence, and then at last there was movement. Harry held tightly to the heavy weight as the clock was shifted to stand straight. He felt the pressure from the weight shift to the left, and then with an almighty click the whole machine shuttered, and the weight moved back the other way with a softer tick.

Tick…tick…tick…tick…

Harry stood between the weight and the back wall with only three-feet of breadth and a few inches in front between him and moving weight. He waited and waited, but all there was left was the sound of the ticking clock as it worked again. His body tensed, sure that any second now Voldemort would open the door.

Tick…tick…tick…tick…