Disclaimer: I don't own the Potterverse, it belongs to JKR. I'm not making any money from this.
A case of butterbeer to my beta, Larilee, who always comes through in record time.
Shades
by Orm Irian
Chapter 10: Halloween
"Are you ready?" Kingsley rumbled in his deep voice.
"Give me a minute," Tonks replied. She focused on the photo in her hand for a few moments then closed her eyes. Her features scrunched up into a pained expression as she concentrated on the alterations to her appearance. A minute later she had taken on the likeness of her colleague, Auror Dawlish. "I really don't like morphing into men," she mumbled, frowning in unknowing imitation of the man she was impersonating.
Dawlish was a competent, ambitious Auror—quite good at his job. Unfortunately, he also possessed an arrogant streak a mile wide that did little to endear him to his colleagues (or anyone else for that matter). His attitude was the reason he often received missions abroad. He was currently on a two-week assignment in North Africa, following a lead on the whereabouts of Fenrir Greyback, werewolf and Death Eater. Kingsley had assured Tonks that there was no chance she would get caught 'borrowing' her colleague's identity.
"Amazing—it's nearly a flawless disguise," Remus approved. His grin turned wicked. "Gives a new meaning to the Muggle concept of 'identity theft', don't you think, my dear?"
Tonks chuckled in appreciation. Remus, unlike many people raised in the wizarding world, made an effort to know and understand current Muggle culture. Because her father was Muggle-born, Tonks herself had been brought up with the best of both worlds; she was glad Remus didn't reject everything non-magical out of hand.
"Okay, I've got the paperwork," Kingsley declared. "Let's go." Together, they wrapped their cloaks around themselves and Disapparated with three soft pops.
They materialized in front of a pair of ornate wrought-iron gates baring their path toward a manor house visible on the crest of a small hill. Kingsley stepped forward, tapping the lock with his wand and speaking in a commanding voice. "Open, in the name of the Ministry of Magic!"
A loud crack announced the arrival of a house-elf on the far side of the gates. The creature stepped forward, bowing. "You is needing to give me the papers before I is letting you enter, sirs," it squeaked, extending its hands through the bars. Taking the sheaf, the elf continued almost fearfully. "My mistress is saying she wishes to see these papers first. I is returning in a minute." The creature disappeared with another crack, leaving them waiting at the gate.
Remus glanced nervously at Kingsley, but the big man looked perfectly at ease, patiently waiting for the elf to return. Remus hoped this subterfuge would be worth the potential danger he was leading his friends into. If something went wrong they could both lose their jobs!
Kingsley's deep voice startled him. "This is just procedure; they always make us wait. Relax, Anderson," he suggested, using the alias they had chosen for Remus.
After another minute, the elf rematerialized. Opening the gate, it bowed low and extended the papers for Kingsley to take back. They followed the diminutive individual (Remus was almost sure it was male) up to the manor. Once inside the door, the elf literally disappeared, leaving them face-to-face with the mistress of Malfoy Manor. Tonks and Remus let Kingsley do the talking.
"I don't know where you Aurors get your information from," Narcissa Malfoy scoffed, "but I assure you, my son is not on the premises. As I have repeatedly told your people, I have not seen him since the Easter holiday, last spring!"
"We're only doing our jobs, Madam," Kingsley soothed. "I'm sure you understand, we have to follow through on the tips we receive, no matter how unlikely. Now, if you please, I have a few questions for you, Mrs. Malfoy. Is there somewhere we can talk while my associates carry out the search of your property?"
Narcissa's eyes narrowed as she glared at 'Dawlish' and 'Anderson' for a moment. She turned to Kingsley. "Your 'associates' had better not break anything, Shacklebolt!" she snapped. "The last time Ministry officials were here to conduct a search, several valuable pieces of furniture were damaged!"
"Yes, I recall hearing about that," he admitted. "However, that was a completely different department, Madam; those Unspeakables can be quite careless. My people are trained to follow correct procedures. I assure you, there will be no damage to your home."
"There had better not be," she glowered, giving Tonks and Remus one last suspicious look. "Follow me," she said to Kingsley as she led him from the room. "We can talk in the parlor."
As soon as they were out of sight Remus and Tonks split up—Tonks to conduct the bogus search for Draco Malfoy and Remus to scour the Malfoy's extensive library. When he entered he was taken aback at the shear number of books crammed into the floor-to-ceiling bookcases built into the walls. Fortunately for Remus, his recent investigations into Dark Magic had uncovered a charm designed to identify books containing the motifs used in Dark spell-casting. About the only useful thing I got out of the Black's library, he thought wryly. Concentrating on what he needed, he held his wand upright in his fist and spoke the incantation clearly: "Ostendo Pravus Magia." He scanned the room, surprised that several dozen books were glowing a deep, menacing red. Damn, so many! he groaned mentally, knowing his time was limited. Hastily, he warded the door to ensure privacy, and began rapidly pulling books from the shelves for perusal.
Fifty minutes later, an urgent tapping on the door alerted him that time was running out. "Be downstairs in five minutes!" he heard Tonks advise urgently from the other side of the door. He had managed to winnow the original stacks down to a half dozen books—voluminous tomes all. He shrank them as small as possible with a quick, Reducio and stuffed them into his pockets to examine in detail later. Now, to make good our escape.
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Snape stretched his long legs out in front of him as he sank back into the comfortably padded chair. Opening his book, he settled in for a relaxing evening in front of the fire. Considering his current social status (an outlaw) and his personality (a general propensity to see the negative aspects of life), he felt remarkably content. He was making steady progress with the Impenetrable potion, the Granger project was coming along nicely, he was hidden safely away from the retribution of both the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix, and Draco was still keeping clear of him. Truly, he had many reasons to be happy—not that he was tempted to smile, of course. But the lack of a need to scowl was quite satisfying.
He was just becoming interested in the text before him when an unexpected rapping sounded on the front door of the little cottage. With the first thump, he jerked upright; by the third, his wand was drawn as he moved stealthily toward the door. His peripheral vision took note of Granger, wide-eyed and rigid; she hadn't moved from her seat on the couch. "Get down!" he whispered fiercely, as he glided noiselessly to the side of the door. Granger slithered down to the floor where she lay flat, abandoning any semblance of dignity in favor of safety. Good, he thought, one less target for an enemy to aim at. Slowly, carefully, he placed his wand tip at the point where the door met its frame. Wishing this spell could be performed nonverbally, he breathed out the incantation in a voice softer than a whisper. A golden light surrounded the wand, bathing the door in a warm glow; he let out the breath he'd been holding, dropping his defensive posture. "It's not an enemy," he declared, looking over his shoulder towards Hermione. "You can get up." He pocketed his wand as he opened the door, revealing a heavily cloaked and hooded figure whose shoulders were hunched against the cold. Snape's eyes widened. "Rabastan!" he exclaimed in evident surprise. "How did you know where to find me?"
The other man smiled. "Are you going to let me in, Severus?" he asked wryly. "It's colder than a Hag's tits out here, you know!"
"No, I wouldn't know about that," Snape replied with a touch of humor, stepping aside to allow his friend to enter. As Lestrange removed his cloak and tossed it to the elf that appeared at his elbow, Snape glanced at the girl, gauging her reaction to the visitor. She looks wary, he decided. As well she might, considering her past experiences with pure-blood wizards. "Perhaps," he suggested, raising an eyebrow at the girl, "you would be more comfortable reading upstairs."
She began to rise, but surprisingly, Lestrange objected. "There's no need for that, Severus. I'm here for a social visit, not business. Besides, if you banish her to her room," he continued, switching his gaze to Hermione, "you'll deprive us of the opportunity to get acquainted with one another." He smiled disarmingly at Hermione.
To say that Hermione was taken aback was putting it quite mildly. Her eyes widened as she took in the tall, balding man standing in a relaxed posture by the door. A rather awkward pause ensued, until she finally managed to get out a faint, "Good evening, sir," to Lestrange.
He seemed to take this as encouragement—or perhaps simply acceptance—and strode across the room toward her. "I don't believe that we've ever been properly introduced," he said, taking her hand and making a short, courtly bow over it. "Although," he elaborated, "I have heard quite a lot about you. Rabastan Lestrange, as you have undoubtedly surmised."
"Hermione Granger," she replied automatically. His manners reminded Hermione how antiquated the wizarding world was at times, which led to the recollection that the man before her was certainly a pureblood. Abruptly realizing just who was likely to have talked about her and what the content of those comments had probably been, she colored with vexation.
He noticed her discomfort immediately. "It was all good, I assure you, miss!" he interjected quickly. "In fact," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial pitch, "my informant praised your intelligence and magical prowess quite highly." He obviously hoped this would pique her interest, and if the thoughtful frown she wore was any indication, he had succeeded.
"Your informant…could it—was it Viktor Krum?" she probed. He assented with a nod of his head and a smile. That was all it took to open the floodgates. "Oh! How is he? When did you last see him? Will he be coming here to visit, too?" she asked in quick succession. She was focused on Lestrange, and so did not notice the brief scowl that crossed Snape's face.
Lestrange chuckled gently at her obvious excitement. "Why don't we have a seat and I'll tell you about it?" he suggested.
"Yes, why don't you do that, Rabastan," Snape advised dryly.
Hearing his tone, Hermione glanced at Snape. He wore his usual inscrutable mask, but was directing a piercing look at Lestrange. He plainly expected an explanation from the man. Hermione decided that caution was warranted. This is one of those times, she thought, when listening would be wiser than talking. She subsided (both physically and verbally) back onto the couch.
A house-elf appeared next to Snape's chair squeaking, "Is you needing anything, sirs and miss?"
"Bring us a bottle of wine," Snape ordered. The creature reappeared a minute later with a bottle and three filled wine goblets. Snape quirked an eyebrow as Lestrange offered one to the girl, but made no comment. He took a glass and raising it slightly, pronounced, "To the Dark Lord." The men drained their glasses, but Hermione simply stared down at hers, biting her lower lip. Snape refilled the emptied goblets then sat back, a calculating look directed toward the other man. "Tell me, friend," he prompted, "how did you obtain my location? I was under the impression that the Dark Lord wished the knowledge to be restricted."
"Oh, it is," Lestrange assured him. "Two days ago my scouting team met with the Dark Lord; three other squads were present, including Krum's. After the reports, Krum requested permission from our master to visit your charge here," he said, nodding toward Hermione. "The Dark Lord said he would consider the request." He tasted his wine then turned toward Hermione. "I was curious," he continued, addressing her, "as to why Krum was so interested in you, so I asked him how long he'd known you and when you had met—that sort of thing. He was quite willing to talk about you." He gave her another easygoing smile.
She tentatively returned it, wondering why he was making such an obvious effort to be congenial toward her. He was pleasant enough—at least in the present circumstances. Perhaps it's because of Snape; maybe he's just happy to visit with his friend, she thought, glancing back and forth between the two men.
Her attention snapped back to Lestrange as he continued his story. "The next day, the Dark Lord refused his request, so I asked for permission to visit Severus here. It's well known to our master that our friendship extends all the way back to our schooldays. And, as both of us are senior members of the circle, he trusted me with the location of your hideout."
Hermione was disappointed to hear that Viktor wouldn't be coming, but tried to cover it with a question. "So," she asked hesitantly, "how—how is Viktor? Is he well?"
"Perfectly well, the last time I saw him," Lestrange answered easily.
"If you wouldn't mind, sir, would you give him my greetings when you see him again?" Hermione requested.
"Certainly," he agreed.
Hermione thanked him softly and leaned back in her seat to think. Voldemort obviously didn't trust the newer Death Eaters as he did his long-time minions. She hoped Viktor wouldn't come to any harm because of his concern for her. It was bad enough that he was forced into a facade of support for Voldemort and the purebloods' ludicrous ideals of racial purity and supremacy. Maybe, she mused, I will get to see him again sometime. With a jolt, she realized that would mean another Death Eater meeting at the Riddle House—definitely something to be avoided as far as she was concerned.
When she refocused on the present, she found that the two men were discussing the probable means for liberating the Death Eaters currently incarcerated in Azkaban. Gradually, they moved on to other topics. She was content to sit quietly, sipping her wine and listening to their meandering conversation. Looking at Snape she noticed his relaxed posture, and a definite absence of tightness in his expression. Funny, she observed, I don't think I've ever seen Snape look so at ease. He must actually trust this man. After a while, she finished the last sip in her glass and set it down. Lestrange moved to refill it, but she shook her head saying, "No, thank you," in a muted voice. Standing, she bid the men goodnight and disappeared up the stairs.
Both men were quiet for a minute after Hermione had gone. Snape appeared deep in thought, but was actually considering the best method to discover what Rabastan was up to with regards to the girl. While he didn't suspect any nefarious purpose, he had seldom seen him put forth such an effort towards courtly politeness. His own mother had taught him well-bred manners as, no doubt, Rabastan's mother had taught him, but they hardly ever had any use for them. This was a war, and social occasions were a rarity. After consideration, Snape decided on a relatively obvious approach to the subject—Rabastan was, after all, a friend and not likely to rebuff him. "It appears, old friend, that you are already looking forward to the end of the war. Has your mother already picked out a young witch with an acceptable pedigree?"
Lestrange laughed outright at that, but played along nevertheless. "No, not at all," he denied. "Whatever makes you say such a thing, Severus?"
"It's not often you trot out your party manners," Snape retorted. "In fact, I haven't seen them since the time you managed to charm Anna Rosier into a dinner date in Hogsmeade."
Lestrange grinned wolfishly. "Yes, that was an event to remember. I thought Evan was going to explode when he found out!" he laughed.
"Yes, well, perhaps things would have gone smoother if you had taken her there on an actual Hogsmeade weekend," Snape said dryly.
"Undoubtedly," Lestrange concurred, a gleam still lingering in his eyes. "In any case, I'm not practicing for the benefit of a future fiancé—although young Miss Parkinson has just joined up, did you know?"
"Deficient," Snape answered flatly. "You can do much better."
Lestrange took a deep breath and let it out, his expression becoming serious. "Severus, my friend, I don't intend to trespass on your territory. You needn't worry," he stressed.
Although he knew full well what the other man was implying, Snape was still taken by surprise at his casual mention of it—as if it were a well-known fact! "My territory?" he queried softly, eyes narrowed with predatory anger.
"Yes, of course," Lestrange confirmed, eyeing Snape as if puzzled by his anger. "According to Draco, academics are not the only topics you're teaching her. I've heard him say that she sleeps in your bedroom."
"The girl sleeps in my room so I can keep a close watch on her, Rabastan. If she were to escape, the Dark Lord would be most displeased with me! Not something I care to experience," he said with a sardonic twist of his lips. "And as for Draco, his schoolboy associations have given him an inflated sense of his own perceptive abilities, as well as the finesse of a giant," Snape scoffed. "If he doesn't start displaying the Malfoy cunning, even his parents will be hard pressed to excuse his inadequacies."
Lestrange nodded his agreement. "Young Malfoy has a great deal to learn," he assented, while carefully avoiding the earlier topic. Severus seemed quite touchy about Hermione Granger, and he had no desire to start a disagreement with him.
The silence stretched between them, until Snape abruptly broke it. "Come, Rabastan," he snapped, "let's stop dancing around the topic. What do you intend to accomplish by befriending the girl?"
"Why, to aid you in your endeavor, of course!" he answered with prompt sincerity. "The Dark Lord may not have complete confidence in Krum, but he acknowledged the merit of his idea."
"Which is?" Snape prompted.
"Krum reasoned that Granger would be more likely to switch allegiance if she feels accepted by at least some of the purebloods," he explained. "Being stuck up here with constant exposure to young Malfoy and his rather vocal dislike certainly won't help you turn her! When Krum was denied permission, I thought it the perfect opportunity for me to step in. If you're willing to accept my help, that is…"
"Certainly," Snape acceded, nodding thoughtfully. "The right kind of help would be most welcome." Inside, he was fiercely glad that Krum had been denied access to the girl. He attributed the feeling to pride in his own status with the Dark Lord, and let it go at that. He was never one to analyze feelings.
Now that they understood one another, Lestrange was unable to resist a last dig at his friend. "Well, at least Granger is an attractive woman. If she is even half as agreeable as Krum described, then this should be a pleasant undertaking," he grinned.
"Woman?" Snape sneered. "She's a mere girl."
"You, Severus, have clearly spent too many years as a teacher!" Lestrange gloated.
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"Harry, we need to talk privately later," Remus whispered as he passed the black-haired young man on his way to the Weasley's kitchen.
Sunday dinner seemed interminable as Harry, who was seated between Fred and Ron, shifted impatiently in his chair. The rest of the family, plus Remus and Tonks, were spread around the long kitchen table, eating, drinking and chatting in a seemingly endless cycle. Finally, when dessert had been eaten and cleared away, the Weasleys and sundry wandered off in several directions. Entering the parlor, Harry approached Remus, casually placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Remus, I'd like to show you a new spell I've been working on. Let's go up to my room," he invited.
"Sure," Remus replied. He turned to Tonks, who was earnestly entreating Molly to help her master a few cleaning and cooking charms (at which she'd always been abysmal). "We'll be back in a few minutes," he told her, following Harry up the steps.
"Well?" Harry prompted after he had locked the door and cast an anti-eavesdropping charm.
"As Tonks' father is fond of saying: Bingo!" Remus proclaimed with a grin.
Harry's eyes widened with excitement. "You found it? You're sure it will work?" he asked.
"As sure as I can be," Remus said with confidence. "I found the same spell in two of the books from Malfoy's library, and they're completely consistent with one another. Both texts give the same incantation and wand movements; that's a good indication that the spell is authentic."
"Excellent." Harry smiled. "Now we just have to work out how to get our hands on Riddle's special award. It won't be easy getting at that thing while it's stashed away at Hogwarts."
"Whoa! Hold on, Harry," Remus cautioned. "Not only do I have to practice that spell, but you, Ron and I need to be able to combine our magical power. All three of us have to work on that power merging spell." His gaze dropped to the floor. "I'll never be able to destroy a Horcrux alone," he conceded softly.
Harry gave Remus a sympathetic look, knowing that the older man had set aside his pride by admitting he needed help, especially from two wizards who were barely of age. He grasped the other man's arm in a brief gesture of support. "Luckily for us, the process of power merging is pretty simple. Ron and I have been practicing since I found the spell. We even got Ginny to link with us—just so we could practice adding a third person to the meld," he added hastily, upon seeing Remus' warning look. "Remus, she knows about the Horcruxes—she knew before you did! But she agreed to stick to planning. I don't want her involved in any of the action." He glanced at his bureau where a replica of the Golden Snitch from the 1997 Quidditch World Cup match was displayed; Ginny had given it to him for his birthday. "At least one person that I care about is going to stay safe if I have anything to say about it," he uttered in a soft, intense voice.
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Harry was right, Remus mused tiredly. Power melding was an absolute doodle compared to the Eradication Hex he himself was trying to master. In just a single two-hour session, Harry, Ron and Remus had managed to perfect their link-up sequence. While linked, they had seamlessly performed several difficult feats including a live-subject Transfiguration, a Charm-string and an advanced, offensive Shield-Shattering Spell. They could even pass control of the merge between them with relative ease.
But the spell that would allow them to destroy the Horcruxes, a sophisticated adaptation of the typical Eradication Hex, was another matter entirely. In fact, it was exceedingly complex. Most Dark artifacts, such as the items they had cleared out of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, only needed to be physically destroyed to dispel their magic. However, Remus knew that a Horcrux was created with a complex spell, under very specific conditions, as well as a piece of the caster's soul. In order to completely deactivate a Horcrux, he needed to sequentially deconstruct the enchantment that had created it, overcome the spiritual element placed inside it and physically break the object. Theoretically, the bit of soul would be expelled into the ether, dissipating harmlessly like the contents of a helium balloon dispersing in the air.
Theoretical was all that it was, at least for now. Remus practiced on Dark artifacts that Tonks and Kingsley provided to him—courtesy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's collection. The items, according to Tonks, had been confiscated from the homes (and persons) of suspected Death Eaters during Voldemort's first ascendancy. The cases were long-closed or inactive, usually due to insufficient evidence or the subsequent demise of the accused. After several exhausting days, he felt he had reached an adequate level of proficiency with the spell sequence. "I'm no Dumbledore, true, but I will be able to perform the spell," he assured Ron and Harry. "With your power behind me, I believe we can destroy the Horcruxes."
Now all they had to do was devise a strategy for sneaking into Hogwarts, the most well-warded location in Wizarding Britain, aside from the Department of Mysteries.
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Three days later providence smiled upon them. All their proposed schemes were immediately discarded when Minerva McGonagall invited the members of the Order of the Phoenix to a private Halloween feast at Hogwarts. As the interim Headmistress of Hogwarts, she had continued to live at the school in spite of its closure. Filch and Hagrid were also in residence to see to the maintenance of the castle and its grounds, respectively.
"Have you ever heard the saying 'you can beat skill, but you can't beat luck'?" Ron asked his companions with a wide smile.
"Appropriate," Remus agreed. "Fate is indeed favoring the foolish, in this case!"
Harry, Ron and Remus all laughed. Privately, all three hoped they would not be declared fools after the fact.
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The feast on All Hallows Eve was a long, enjoyable affair. As was usual at Hogwarts, the food was both abundant and delicious, in spite of the fact that more than half of the castle's house-elves had been sent to other locations. According to Minerva, many of the Hogwarts elves were second-born in their families. Only first-born elves had the strict obligation to stay with their original families. Subsequent siblings were usually married into other households or sent to large establishments such as Hogwarts. Minerva had temporarily sent many elves back to their initial households until the school could reopen. Harry was pleased to see, however, that Dobby had remained at Hogwarts (since he really had no place else to go). Dobby had informed him solemnly that his friend, Winky, had been sent to St. Mungo's long-term ward for comatose patients, to help take care of Barty Crouch, Jr. Dobby, who had visited her there, reported that she had given up butterbeer and was entirely devoted to her Mr. Barty—vegetable though he was.
Once dinner was over, the Order members began to drift away from the table, retiring to the numerous couches and chairs scattered in front of the hearth. They were in one of the side rooms opening off of the Great Hall, similar to the one Harry had been sent to three years ago, the night his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. Harry began to feel uneasy and his stomach gave a nauseating twist. Must be nerves, he thought. Hell, we need to do this thing soon or I'm going to throw up. "Ron," he called, "what say we go and have a look at our old dormitory."
"Good idea, mate," Ron responded, catching on at once. "You don't mind, do you, Professor McGonagall?"
"No, go on," she replied, turning back to her conversation with Moody. The young men made their way toward the door.
As Harry passed Remus, who was seated on one of the sofas next to Tonks, he tapped the older man lightly on the back. Remus looked up and nodded slightly. "Ten minutes," he mouthed silently. A very few minutes later, Remus claimed the call of nature and disappeared as well. He found his co-conspirators in the hall outside the Trophy Room door. "Any trouble?" he whispered.
"No," Ron answered. "We saw Filch back by the large Portrait Gallery but he was busy clanging about with a suit of armor. He never even flinched when we went past."
The three men exchanged glances, then with a nod of his head, Remus reached out to open the door. They slipped into the Trophy Room, eyes darting from side-to-side to ensure they were alone. "Demonstro Pravus Quendam," intoned Remus, his wand held upright in his fisted hand. Rays of silver extended outward, bathing the room in an astral glow. When rays struck a shiny object, of which there were many, the eerie light was reflected back. Remus' eyes began carefully scanning the room.
"There!" Harry said, his voice sounding unusually deep and calm. Remus shot a look at the young man, slightly alarmed by his odd tone of voice. But Harry appeared fine; his outstretched finger was pointing at an angry red rectangle against the opposite wall. Dropping his arm, he advanced toward the plaque, just close enough read the inscription. "That's it," he confirmed. "It's Riddle's award."
"I think we should back off," Remus advised. They all retreated as far as the room would permit. "Ready?" Remus asked, a slight rasp in his voice betraying his apprehension.
"Ready," Harry answered once again in that deep, unruffled voice.
Remus recognized what it was at last: focus. The young man was an arrow, poised to release at their target. Ron merely nodded, indicating his readiness. Remus felt a hand rest on each shoulder, and heard a murmured incantation. A surge of power entered his chest, blazing hot, nearly painful. Both Ron and Harry were giving him all that they had to offer. Taking a deep breath, he rotated his wand three times, widdershins, initiating the first sequence of the Eradication Spell. "Inverso molior," he commanded, unraveling the original casting with the pure power at his disposal. Suddenly, he felt a surge of resistance—but he was ready. "Phasma phasmatis suprimir!" he shouted, forcing that straining bit of soul, the essence of Voldemort's very being, slowly down. He squeezed it with their combined power, imagining it flat and inert. He became aware of a fresh surge of determination traveling through the meld. It was Harry, and the young man's will felt like iron. Remus held fast, unyielding. The struggling grew feeble, then stopped. Now to break it, he thought. "Rumpo!" he roared. A blinding flash leaped from his wand and filled his vision. With a deafening blast, he was thrown backward into the wall, too stunned to move for a few seconds.
When Remus opened his eyes, he saw Ron next to him, shaking his head groggily as he rose from the floor. Harry was up already and offered him a hand. He stood, feeling a bit weak but remarkably steady now that it was over. Surveying the room, he noted it was a shambles. Twisted metal and splintered wood were strewn in every direction.
Ron too, was appraising the damage, eyes wide as he took in the level of devastation. "Blood and bloody ashes," he breathed. "The whole room is a wreck."
"I think," Remus said in a muted voice, "we used a bit too much power for the third phase."
Harry began to laugh, a desperate, wheezing sound. "Remus," he gasped a minute later when he could speak, "you have a talent for understatement."
"What in Merlin's name is going on in here?" A commanding voice rang out from the doorway. Three heads snapped in the direction of the speaker: one very angry Minerva McGonagall.
"Oh shit!" Harry swore softly. "We forgot about an exit strategy…"
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Author Notes:
1. Ostendo Pravus Magia: show evil magic/spells
2. Anna Rosier: I created her—younger sister of Evan Rosier. In canon (GoF), Evan Rosier was mentioned as a deceased Death Eater and a known school friend of Severus Snape.
3. Charm-string: I borrowed this idea from Deeble's excellent fic "What E'er Therein Is Promised".
4. Demonstro Pravus Quendam: reveal evil items/things
5. Inverso molior: reverse construct
6. Phasma phasmatis suprimir: suppress spirit/soul
7. Ron's oath, "Blood and bloody ashes" is borrowed from Robert Jordan's "The Wheel of Time" series.