A/N: Big thanks to Surrarin and Vash for being a patient confidants, as well to Shezza88, for telling me bluntly that anything written was better than nothing, and that plowing ahead is sometimes the only thing you can do.
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Chapter Six: In Darkness Kind
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"Hatred is the madness of the heart." Lord Byron
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Harry walked up the dark, wet stairwell with unease, fingers drifting across the damp stone walls.
This world felt different than his own. His physical senses told him otherwise - the air still smelled of dust, the inky blackness still present. But when he closed his eyes, he could feel the difference, the deafening sense of being a foreigner, an alien in this strange new existence. Perhaps it was her presence.
As he reached the last few steps, he pressed his dirty, cut palms on the icy granite of the doorway, lightly pushing out to swing it open. He stepped out into the hallway, minding his cloak as the door swept shut with a heavy thump. He flicked his wand, producing a soft glow from its tip, shattering the somber black shroud that surrounded him.
Stepping into the hallway, he looked around with rampant curiosity, shining his wand into the very corridor he had escaped mere moments before. Everything stood in its place, untouched. The statues reigned majestically from their elevated pedestals, the suits of armor clattering periodically on their own. Relief flooded Harry, wiping away the fears of returning to the unwelcoming, hostile world he had just escaped. He began walking once more, eager to explore and take part of this universe. Here he was unopposed, innocent, and most importantly, unknown.
A dream, his most precious, was close to coming true. He shivered in anticipation, a series of images running through his head as he contemplated the various ways he could confront his other. Months of thought had still not produced a definite plan, despite the drive Harry had to succeed; Jamie, for all her malice and subtle power was still a student of Hogwarts, a seventh year among many others. It was quite impossible to produce a solid course of action with so little knowledge of her world.
Harry had poured his heart out to her. She knew every last detail of his life, his thoughts, his memories, his very being. She had seen the barest threads of Harry Potter, had crooned her sympathy and understanding while clutching at his darkest memories. She had been exactly what he had wanted - someone to listen and to relate with in his weakest moments.
He, however, knew very little of her life beyond a few events she considered highlights, such as ending Bellatrix's life. Harry only had a vague understanding that many of the major events in his world was mirrored here as well, only with slight differences due to the differences between Harry and his other. He was woefully unprepared.
He would, of course, have to observe the world and study Jamie closer. If he was to triumph, he would have to devise a way to get to her, to strip her of her pride, her freedom, her self-respect. Harry's mind buzzed with the tantalizing possibilities.
Not yet.
With a bated breath, he walked through the long winding corridors until he emerged through a brick wall on the second floor. Shooting a quick glance at his surroundings, he dashed up the various stairs, sending an apprehensive look at the depths below. The dim light of a wand was moving in the stairwell far below, lighting up the higher levels as the unknown person ascended.
Harry ran up as quietly as he could, attempting to avoid being spotted by the quick moving person. Desperate, he cast a disillusionment spell on himself, and pressed himself against the wall once he reached the last set of stairs on the stairwell, near the fifth floor. If the magic hadn't been drained from his Invisibility Cloak, he wouldn't have had to rely on the vastly inferior spell.
To his surprise, Pansy Parkinson appeared at the top of the steps, looking around warily. Harry sank lower, extinguishing his wandlight and immersing himself into the unlit corner of the hallway. Apparently satisfied, the Slytherin made her way to a nearby cupboard with an eager look. Looking around her once more, she disappeared inside.
Curiosity blossomed, and Harry moved closer to the closed door, casting a silencing charm on the entire corridor around him. Pressing his ear against the aged wood, Harry heard a brief groan, followed by the obvious sounds of a midnight tryst.
Pansy Parkinson was a Slytherin, and probably knew much about Jamie's habits and day to day activities. Although he was reasonably sure the two disliked each other, Harry knew from experience that loathing hardly served to make people ignorant of each other. At the very least, the girl knew the password to the Slytherin common room.
Making his decision, he made quick work of the locking charm and barged in, shining his bright wandlight into the couple's eyes. A stout Ravenclaw Harry wasn't familiar jumped backwards with his eyes shielded, one hand still beneath Pansy's robes. As she shrieked in surprise, Harry stunned the boy with a careless flick of his wand, throwing him further into the closet and binding him with several strands of rope.
Strolling into the now unconscious boy's place, Harry shamelessly picked up where his predecessor left off as Pansy watched helplessly, still frozen in shock. Whistling slightly, Harry examined her up and down with a critical eye before looking straight at her with a wide smile.
"A shame, you know," he said lightly, "What would your father think of such tartish behavior with these unsavory characters, Miss Parkinson?"
Harry looked at himself in the mirror, smoothing his robes and checking himself all over for anything that would stand out. His new Hogwarts robes, filched from the elves, were pristine and in excellent condition. His book bag, likewise, had been stolen from the library, left behind by a forgetful Hufflepuff. Harry made sure to change the design a bit and keep some of the textbooks for show. Among the hundreds of students at Hogwarts, it was highly unlikely for anyone to give him more than a second look.
Casting a cooling charm on himself for the heat, Harry left the Room of Requirement, taking the most crowded route he could remember to the Quidditch Field.
After hours of ceaseless interrogation, he had extracted a rather vague history of the world and its inhabitants, including Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix, and his counterpart.
Many things were the same, but so many others were different. Jamie had never instituted the DA in their fifth year, as Harry had expected, but was also the Captain of the Quidditch team. He faintly recalled her comments about Quidditch in their first meeting.
Jamie hadn't lived with the Dursleys for all her life before Hogwarts either; Pansy had confided that she had been sent to the care of Augusta Longbottom, Neville's grandmother, after Petunia had died in a freak accident. She had stayed with the family since the age of eleven, later becoming the old woman's sole focus of attention after Neville had died along with Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets. Jamie had came out unharmed in both deaths.
Cedric Diggory had also survived the Tri-Wizard tournament, apparently never having reached the cup due to extensive injuries he had sustained in a duel with Victor Krum. Pansy had muttered darkly that everyone knew Jamie was behind it all, but nobody could prove it, not with the favoritism and outright trust she received from Dumbledore.
A pang of envy curled inside of him at the fact that Jamie had been able to remain in Dumbledore's graces for so long despite her twisted nature. Harry had been the subject of a manhunt into the bowels of Hogwarts, at the whim of the Dursleys in his childhood, starved and mistreated throughout his summers.
The envy withered back into customary hatred.
Pansy's information included a detailed list of practice dates, one of which Harry planned to attend himself. Pushing past a couple of first years, he exited the castle, ducking his face as McGonagall walked by.
The path to the fields was a well-worn one, and Harry briefly remembered the times he and Ron had crept back and forth the days before before Quidditch games for extra practice. He realized he had little here, no friends, no support from the Order, no protection against Lord Voldemort. He had only his wand, his magic to serve him.
Approaching the tall, white washed stands, Harry leaned against a post, observing quietly. Harry could see in the faint sunlight several players from the Slytherin team, their dark green robes a stark contrast to the heavy, grey clouds above them.
The Slytherin team was holding its last practice, the blurs of their three chasers, most of who Harry recognized, scoring on the green clad Keeper while Crabbe and Goyle served as beaters like in his own realm. The seeker was no where to be found. He looked downward.
Harry hand gripped his wand tightly in his pocket, his jaw clenching suddenly.
A female figure stood on the ground, Firebolt in hand. Her head was cocked, face plastered with a cruel smile as she ridiculed the efforts of the Keeper in front of the entire team.
Harry could feel his heart pounding in chest, and he vaguely understood he was becoming nervous.
Why?
He wasn't afraid of her. He didn't find her opinions important at all. He didn't care what she thought. Of him, of anything. He wasn't her plaything anymore. She didn't hold power over him. He corrected his slouch and set his shoulders subconsciously, smoothing his robes once more.
No power at all.
Harry waited until the other players had left before letting himself into the locker room.
He paused near the door, watching his counterpart expertly prune the bristles of the Firebolt laid across her lap, a gleaming replica of his own. She was clad in her Hogwarts robes now, skin still wet from a recent shower as she sat with her back facing him. She stopped as he entered, straightening slightly and looking up. She turned around slowly, a knowing grin curling her lips.
She had changed little, he saw. Her black hair fell down past her shoulders, as dark and shining as he remembered. As she stood, Harry could see she had gained some height, coinciding with his own slight growth. But her image was identical to the one that had plagued his dreams, eyes flashing and leaving him panting for more.
"Harry," she said quietly.
He tore the distance between them in a few moments, pushing her back against the wall, fingers surrounding her throat. He pressed into her delicate skin as he had thousands of time before, fantasy after fantasy. It felt too good to be true.
She didn't struggle at all, relaxing into his touch, eyes looking above him lazily. Anger flooded his mind at the lack of response. He ached to make her fear. He moved closer, almost nose to nose.
"Hello Jamie." He growled. She merely smiled, not bothering to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he said gruffly, shaking her. She ignored him, smiling even wider.
"I said look at me!" he shouted, bringing her to his chest for a moment before throwing her at the wall again, pinning her in place with his body. This time she responded, turning her head straight to his, foreheads touching. Her cheery look hadn't faded at all. She brought her hands up Harry's back, slowly bringing them up his sides.
"You followed." She said happily. Harry threw off her hands viciously with a snarl.
"You followed?" he mocked, pushing her again. "Of course I followed. After what you did, you didn't think I wouldn't come and return the favor?" He pulled down her damp hair, hard, bringing his mouth to her ear. "You thought I'd let you leave, just like that?"
Harry saw her licking her lips in the corner of his eye. After a brief moment, she replied proudly, whispering. "No, I planned on it. I wanted you to suffer. And look what I've made you into."
"You didn't do a thing!" He roared, knocking her into a nearby locker with the back of his hand. She fell to the ground, on her hands and knees. Harry ignored the flash of pain that tore through his face.
He grabbed the back of her robe and stood her up roughly. A long cut grazed her cheek, dark red blood seeping slowly from it. Harry's rage morphed to slight horror as he watched the cut heal itself, skin stitching itself back together as the blood disappeared, leaving no trace of any injury.
Jamie watched his sudden pause with amusement, languishing in his grip.
"What have you done to yourself?" He asked with revulsion. There weren't many rituals that could grant this sort of power, and of them, the price was high. Too high. Harry's rage subsided for a moment as he stared at her in with a new feeling. He felt almost cheated of something.
She shook her head slightly before bowing her head forward, resting her chin on his shoulder. "The question is," she sighed into his ear, "Do you care?"
The words sunk in painfully. An animalistic savagery took hold of him suddenly, flooding him with denial and bringing back the outrage and anger that had surged through him before. He went for his wand, aching to burn that notion out of her mind, to instill some sort of respect, fear, anything to silence her wretched tongue.
Harry found himself knocked backwards to the cold, tiled floor, the sensation of a burn tearing through his abdomen, wand clattering away to the side. He looked up to see Jamie with her own wand, a faint curl of smoke from its tip. The slender length of wood was held between her two hands almost flush to her body. Her face was pinched slightly, as if in pain herself.
The look subsided as quickly as it came, replaced by the maddening, teasing smile she always held for him. He suddenly recalled her various endearments, her platitudes, the scores of faux concern. He leapt to his feet, aching to wipe the deceit of her face, the never ending joke that she always seemed to have for him.
A quick wave of her wand forced Harry back down, freezing him in a kneeling position, head facing upwards. She walked forward, lowering herself to him.
"Now now, my beloved counterpart," she laughed warmly, "There's no need bow to me. I don't expect any gratitude for my assistance." Her features showed no fear, a perfect image of radiant happiness that Harry knew was tainted with the blackest of hearts. Moving closer, she idly ran her hands into his hair, grazing his face softly with her fingers. Wild sensations flew through Harry's body, and he closed his eyes, locking his jaw together; He would rather die than give her the pleasure of seeing the feelings she was eliciting.
The seconds seemed to melt into hours before she released the binds with another wave of her wand, lifting his chin slowly, almost as if challenging him.
Harry wasted no time shoving her forcefully at the lockers and getting back to his feet. His eyes watered in fury as he approached her form. Jamie looked pleased with herself, wand held limply by her side, simply daring Harry to come forward.
He snatched her wand and threw it to the side. Pulling his fist back, Harry made to batter her down with brute force, to somehow beat her into submission, give her a taste of his humiliation. He was surprised when it stopped inches across from her face, held in an iron grip. His other arm was soon held in the same fashion.
She dug her nails into his wrists and brought him closer. Harry struggled, but couldn't overcome the augmented strength she had somehow imbued herself with. Soon he was flush against her, Jamie's body fitting perfectly against his. Her eyes were alight with excitement, with the same predatory, carnal gleam it had possessed the first time they had met.
"Why are you resisting?" She asked alluringly, voice like honey as she tried to capture his eyes. Harry finally relented and met her look with one of pure loathing. He spied a Holly wand under a nearby bench at the edge of his vision. Jamie ignored him and closed her eyes, placing her head under his chin, lips moving softly against his skin. His muscles clenched as he suppressed a shudder, tingles of pleasure rolling down his throat and into his body. "Don't you find me enjoyable?"
Harry could feel the strange, fuzzy warmth of their connection drifting across his senses, dulling his anger and caressing his mind. His other gave a soft, rolling sigh, melting into him. Her hands crept into his robes, digging under his robes and meeting skin, fingertips circling with agonizing slowness. A flourishing sense of excitement blossomed within him against his will.
Her ravenous mouth moved upwards, placing gentle kisses on his jawline as she ground herself against him. Harry tried to shut himself from her sensuous touch, but couldn't resist for long. He found himself responding. Shame and self-hatred mingled with the consuming arousal that gripped him. She was doing it again...taking his will away from him, controlling...
No!
Eyes screwed shut, he concentrated on his wand, images of Jamie's slick, warm body so close to his interrupting his thought. A brief surge of power flew through him, and he could hear the magical instrument clattering faintly.
He found his arms released, creeping around at their own volition. His right hand was pressed into the small of her back, tracing the indent of her spine upwards. She arched her back immediately, pressing her breasts against his chest as she exposed her neck.
His wand flew into his hand at that moment, allowing Harry to lean forward and press his wand against her throat. He looked down on her face in victory.
Jamie's pretty face was relaxed, skin flushed red, eyes half-closed. Her breath was heavy with arousal, and her pupils were dilated. She didn't respond at all to his threatening gesture, and didn't bat an eyelid when he pressed her against the wall harder, trapping her. She continued toying with his body.
"What are you going to do now, Harry?" She murmured. "Are you going to kill me? Are you going to end your little nightmare and be free of me?"
He wanted to. He longed to simply end her life with a torturous curse and finish it. His quest would be complete. But he knew it would never be enough. Death was too lenient. He wanted more from her.
She pounced on his silence, finally opening her eyes and bringing her head forward. Malice filled the green orbs. "You want me Harry. You need me. You can't kill me." Bringing her face forward, she spoke again, brushing her lips against his before Harry pulled away, sticking his wand further into her neck. "You were planning to use the Dark Arts, weren't you?"
Lust filled her eyes as she continued. "How did it feel?" She asked throatily. "How did you like being corrupted? Did it burn in your veins at night, drive you mad from desire? Did you stare at your mudblood friend, aching to tear her apart and bathe in power?"
Harry's wand seemed to grow warm in his hand, and he could feel the raging darkness inside him begging to be set loose. He hated how it was all true, how he had somehow played into her hands again, let her best him even when she was at his mercy. Jamie's hands had moved to the side of his head, cupping his chin, gently stroking him.
A lecherous smile spread through her face as she whispered, eyes wild. "Did you embrace it, Harry? Did you murder? Murder because of me?" Jamie laughed at his enraged face as she brought her legs up and straddled his waist, using it as leverage to bring herself higher against the locker. She brought her arms around his head, tilting it backwards.
"Look what I've turned you into," she said softly, "I've made your more powerful than you could have ever been alone." She kissed him eagerly, drinking in deeper as she clasped his hair. Harry's mind was spinning again, overwhelmed with the curious sense of pleasurable duality that echoed every touch, every kiss. Jamie's black hair hung around his face like a impenetrable curtain.
His hands grasped her body, exploring mindlessly, caressing without end. She mewled into his lips as he did so, stoking his arousal. He felt her reaching for his robes, taking control of the situation like she always did. Harry's eyes screwed shut as he realized his defeat. He didn't need her at all. She was wrong. His mind broke through the haze of warmth and pleasure as he broke the kiss, pushing her back away from him roughly. He raised his wand again, retreating backwards towards the door.
Jamie fell to the ground without his support, and she glared at him with true frustration. Harry's body screamed at him to go back, his arms all but shaking in withdrawal, but he held his place. He kept his wand leveled at her as he stepped away from his other. Something like pride filled him, spoiled only by the horrible sense of longing that seemed pervade his every limb.
Her frustration was gone as quickly as it came, however, and was replaced with the smooth, calm face she always reserved for him. She smirked at him as she sat up properly, buttoning parts of her robe up again. "You'll be back, Harry, like you always have. You're mine, my dear counterpart, mine forever. You'll come to see that one day."
He didn't answer.
Harry woke with a start in the empty classroom he had found, cold sweat clinging to his skin, lewd images of her from the day before fading from his mind.
He hadn't trusted the Room of Requirement, not after she knew of his presence. He didn't want to confront her again, not until he could formulate some kind of plan, gather some sort of information. He laughed at the thought, before his expression darkened and he slammed his fist on the conjured bed, bitterness and anger growing within him.
You don't even know what you want.
He'd been so close to just giving himself up to her, enjoying her like he always did, falling for her tempting charms. A part of him still regretted denying her, leaving himself unsatisfied, unfulfilled. He couldn't deny that he wanted her, wanted her to be his, wanted to make her scream in ecstasy as he enjoyed her mesmerizing body. But he wouldn't give himself up to her. He knew what she desired most was her freedom, her independence, her autonomy.
Jamie Potter planned for her future, one of great ambitions and even greater personal power; She could never be a follower for long. Harry could break her simply by denying her the right and forcing her to be second. All he had to do was establish some sort of control, magical or political. Constraint would mean devastation.
He needed more power, or something with leverage to even their positions; Harry was nothing in her world, and had very little to gamble but his own self - the very item Jamie wished as her own. He needed to know what she wanted with him. Harry sensed there was a reason she had lured him over.
More questions.
He left the room, engaging in the nightly walks he had come to enjoy. He almost wished he would see her again, quietly exploring the castle like himself as he had imagined her before. He couldn't risk it. Instead of going down to the third floor, Harry went upward, climbing the steps to the seventh floor. Harry hadn't explored the highest floor of the castle aside from the areas around the Room of Requirement. While not as expansive as the mysterious third floor, it still was relatively unused, most of it virtually unknown to students.
As he walked toward the Room of Requirement, however, Harry saw a figure with blonde hair in the distance looking around quickly, baring his wand nervously before disappearing into the large, wooden door. Harry could recognize the figure from anywhere. He cast a silencing charm on his feet as he moved to the opposite wall, aching to follow the Slytherin inside. All the secrecy and paranoia was alarming; what could the boy be possibly be doing?
The minutes stretched to what seemed like hours as Harry sat patiently, wand twirling between his fingers as he crouched in preparation. He briefly considered another attempt at blackmail, using the boy to do his bidding and tell Harry of his other self's whereabouts. If Malfoy wasn't sleeping with the greasy Potions Master, he could always erase the boy's memories and send him on his way. A smile lit Harry's lips as he recalled the sweet vengeance he had enacted on the boy, sending him to prison for a quarter of a century.
A loud crash made Harry jump slightly, disrupting his thoughts. He watched in amazement and slight fear as several Death Eaters threw open the door and ran out of the Room of Requirement. Their white masks seemed to shine with light, maddened grins barely hidden. Their cloaks seemed to be made of shadow in the darkness, absorbing all the light around them. Harry could sense their dark power, feeling a grudging sense of respect for the wizards.
Malfoy came out last, closing the door to the room behind him. He looked nervous now, undoubtedly intimidated at Lord Voldemort's servants despite allegiance to his side. Running slightly to join the group, he fumbled with his wand before composing himself, smoothing his robes self-consciously. Pointing downward, he led the wizards to the stairs. Their own wands bared, the Death Eaters looked almost amused at the blonde, ignoring him completely as they chattered with each other in low tones. Seeming to come to a conclusion, the figures descending quickly, leaving Harry in their wake.
He was no longer the focus of any danger from the Dark Lord. These Death Eaters were of no consequence to him, and only presented a danger to the inhabitants of this world. Yet Harry felt compelled to follow them, to at least learn their purpose.
In his own world, they would undoubtedly be attacking him. In this one, however...Harry's thoughts drifted to his counterpart. Icy dread crept into the pit of his stomach before being wiped away in a flash of centering hate. It could not happen, but he didn't care about her, he wouldn't - he simply wanted her for himself, and that was all there was to it. With a silent growl, he jumped to his feet and followed the Death Eaters, making sure to keep out of sight.
Harry stood idly behind in the shadows, watching an exhausted looking Albus Dumbledore lose his wand.
He had followed them to foot of the Astronomy Tower, where Draco Malfoy stood on his own, swearing to kill the Headmaster. The Death Eaters had been confronted by the Order and where occupied downstairs. A freak thunderstorm had apparently gain force as well, sending long streaks of lightning around them.
Harry carefully applied an impervious charm to his person, not wanting his clothes to drip and give away his presence in the torrent of rain; He knew he could kill both of the figures in front of his with ease at this point, but he also realized they wouldn't be alone for long - the Order had been all but slaughtered in front of his eyes, many of them sustaining injuries or falling victim to deadly spells. It was such a clever plan, one that Harry was sure would succeed favorably to Voldemort's forces.
A giddy feeling swelled within him as he began to feel like a spectator to some grand sport, making him relax somewhat, a trace of a grin curling his lips. He couldn't tell who he wanted to see defeated more - Dumbledore, for his doubtless interference in his activities, or Malfoy, for simply being the scum he was. Harry still didn't understand how the blonde had managed to outduel the old wizard, or why the latter had wasted his only chance with a seemingly failed spell. His only real pleasure had come in the fact that Dumbledore seemed to be the sole target of the raid.
A triumphant yell followed by an "Avada Kedavra!" came from the doorway, cluing Harry in to the approach of the other Death Eaters - Malfoy seemed to notice this as well and toughened his stance, bellowing against the calm, logical words of the figure sprawled before him.
The Death Eaters spilled past the doorway soon after, shouting and laughing with each other, pleased with their success. Some had their masks ripped off, but of them Harry could only identify Rodolphus Lestrange. A vicious, hairy looking man that could only be a werewolf was also present, his chin running with blood.
"Go on, Draco," they said in various tones and accents, some supportive, others ridiculing him and questioning his manhood. Harry could see the sweat dribbling down his temple, his eyes closed. Dumbledore had also fell silent, but was looking elsewhere, apparently into an empty corner opposite of himself.
The werewolf sniffed something in the air and looked in Harry's general direction, eliciting a slight twang of fear in his stomach. Before long, however, the creature's eyebrows came to together in confusion, and he joined Dumbledore's look in the corner with raw curiosity.
"He can't do it, the bloody ponce. Let me!" Rodolphus pushed Malfoy to the side impatiently, sending him crashing to the floor. Just as he leveled his wand to perform the Killing Curse, a dark blur of light knocked his wand down, blocking the attack.
"The Dark Lord left us with specific instructions."
Everyone turned to see Severus Snape stroll in, his sleeves peeled back to reveal the Dark Mark on his arm. His hair fell lankly to the sides of his face as it always did, skin with a sickly pallor. It was reassuring to see Snape was just as repulsive in this world as his own. Harry watched in amusement as the disgusting wizard's eyes flickered to Malfoy with concern, confirming his suspicions about their relationship.
"And those are?" A massive Death Eater asked eagerly, damp light hair spilling from the side of his mask. He was gripping his wand tightly, caught up in the bloodlust. Magic crackled wildly from the top of his wand, conjuring an odd glow to light his crazed face.
Snape made his way to the front of the crowd, crouching down near the nearly unconscious headmaster. Harry ached to know what had reduced the legendary man to such a state. "Our forces have had a long and painful history with Albus Dumbledore," he said in an oily, subdued voice. A pleased, sadistic look then gripped his face. "As such, our Lord has graced us with the opportunity to make him suffer."
Dumbledore groaned weakly in response, mumbling something that sounded like pleading. Harry's heart tumbled with excitement at the sound, elation and anticipation filling his mind. A curious sense of duplicity struck him at the moment, leaving him reeling. He looked around suspiciously.
Snape stood suddenly, scanning his surroundings with practiced ease. Dropping his wand into his hand from his sleeve, he flicked it toward the direction Dumbledore and the werewolf had looked.
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
Jamie appeared suddenly, standing completely still, a devious smile on her lips that suggested she had been there all along. A black cloak hugged her body, concealing the traditional Hogwarts uniform beneath. The familiar looking invisibility cloak fell down around her and onto the floor, where it gathered around her feet.
Dumbledore gasped weakly, face frozen in horror and sadness. He attempted to get up, but was thrown back to the ground by Snape, who held him in place with a freezing spell.
"Do it." Snape spat, looking at her with dislike.
Jamie stepped forward, grinning cruelly at Dumbledore, waving her wand over her face. A white mask coalesced into existence. Behind him, the Death Eaters stirred in uproar, and Draco Malfoy looked at her with disbelief.
Raising her wand with practicing ease, she gave a small laugh, looking directly at Harry for a moment before aiming it directly toward the Headmaster.
"Avada Kedavra!"
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