Chapter 14

As the whirling cloud of ash slowly settled on shattered floor tiles that were already strewn with broken splinters of furniture and other debris, Lord Voldemort stepped out of the smouldering ruins of a once grand fireplace; a proud, satisfied expression on his ghostly white face. In the murky, uncertain light of the few candles whose flame had survived the devastating burst of magical energy, his bare skin glistened like marble- though it was marred in hundreds of places by shallow cuts from which oozed the thin magenta rivulets that coursed down his body, making it appear as if his veins were trying to force their way out of him in terror.

As Voldemort waved his hand over the wounds, healing them all with a masochistic slowness, he glanced down at the tiny inert form lying at his feet. The man smiled emotionlessly: a small concession to the temerity of the elf, who had fought harder than many a wizard that he had duelled. Nevertheless, even though he had been weak during the regeneration process her hexes had barely had an effect on him, thanks to the arcane and excruciating spells that he had subjected himself to in preparation for his invasion of Hogwarts, the pain of which he had savoured as a test of his worth. With a magisterial flick of his right hand, he summoned the two packages that he knew had been waiting for him. Hidden well by the fawning sons of his original Death Eaters, their contents had been unharmed by his emergence from the egg. With unhurried movements he unwrapped his robe and put it on, relishing the sound of the silk rustling against his skin and utterly unconcerned that he could not feel the fabric at all. Unwrapping his wand, he looked up casually as he heard the portrait at the entrance to the kitchen creak open. Immediately a thin figure, his bearing proud in brand new Death Eater robes and mask, rushed forward and knelt at his feet eagerly.

'It is an honour to see you fully restored, my Lord', rasped his young voice as he fixed his eyes upon Voldemort's feet, knowing better than to look the man in the face. 'Everything is in place.'

'Give me your arm, young Malfoy', hissed the Dark Lord. Seizing the trembling limb that was immediately offered to him, he pushed up the loose sleeve of the boy's robes to reveal a Dark Mark that had so recently been cut into the flesh that it was still weeping.

'Does it hurt?' he intoned softly, running a fingernail over the reddened skin with a sadistic precision. The boy gasped involuntarily and nodded his head, still unwilling to make eye contact with his master.

'I am willing to suffer for your sake, my Lord.'

'A fine sentiment. Let us test it.' With this pronouncement Voldemort held his wand to the black skull that stood out so vividly on Draco's pallid flesh, and the young man had to suppress a scream as searing pain flowed into his arm, seeming to multiply in intensity as dark tentacles of pain stretched themselves out from his body and for one instant formed shadowy silhouettes of others in his mind. Almost immediately cloaked figures began to appear, creating shimmering disturbances in the air that rippled and shone. Peering at their surroundings as if they could not quite comprehend how they had managed to arrive there, the Death Eaters stood in reverent silence as their leader addressed them.

'My loyal followers. It is now time for me to take the place that has so long been denied me, and for you to reap your just rewards.' He paused, gesturing at their surroundings with a curiously detached smile upon his face. 'However, this is hardly the place in which to discuss such momentous matters, therefore let us reconvene upstairs.' With this exhortation Voldemort vanished into the ether, and his followers, too afraid of the consequences to delay obeying any order, quickly followed to him to the Great Hall and their destiny.

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Standing at the threshold of Dumbledore's office, uncomfortably aware of the presence of Snape at his side, Harry gazed into the room in horror. During his many misadventures in the castle he had come to regard the place as being like the eye of a tornado- an almost eerily calm sanctuary that looked out into the maelstrom of madness. The oak panelled walls, bearing a collocation of old headmasters and strange objects, seemed to radiate a wisdom that had always provided a blanket of safety from chaos. Now, however, the room was filled with groups of arguing, panicked professors, and the cacophony of voices seemed to drown out his own thoughts. He could not even make out Dumbledore in the crowd, and the lack of order made him wonder if the man was actually present.

As if hearing his thoughts, Dumbledore suddenly appeared on his desk with a crackle of magic that silenced the terrible din.

'If you cannot even control yourselves when I leave momentarily, how can I expect you to manage this crisis?' His normally benevolent face bore a terrible expression as he said this, and no one could bring themselves to meet his recriminating glare save Snape and Harry, who stared at him in shock. Echoing the thoughts of everyone present, the younger man spoke into the shamed silence.

'How did you do that?'

A flicker of pain momentarily overshadowed Dumbledore's blazing eyes, and his countenance appeared tired and frail. Recovering himself, he replied

'The wards have been obliterated, anyone may now apparate or disapparate as they please' in an ominous voice that promised much harm to the perpetrators. 'Dobby informed me that there was a mysterious disturbance in the kitchens, which was undoubtedly Voldemort sneaking in past the castle's defences. Regrettably, I arrived too late, and he and his followers have now entrenched themselves in the Great Hall. It is now vital that we act with expediency if we are to preserve everything that we hold dear.'

'How on earth did Voldemort get in?' warbled a shrill female voice from the crowd of teachers, though Harry could not make out who it was.

'Do you think he has time for explanations?' came another voice from the opposite side of the room, and before Dumbledore could say anything half of the Hogwarts faculty had simultaneously begun to voice their opinion, a commotion that was only muted by Snape contemptuously shoving his way through the crowd and placing the Marauders' map at the headmaster's feet. Given that they had been using the map to postulate possible battle plans, Harry was not angry that Snape had taken it out of his bag, merely impressed at the man's foresight.

'Sir', began the potions master in a smooth icy tone that was a welcome antidote to his colleagues' hysteria, as Dumbledore climbed nimbly down off his desk. 'I thought this might be of use. As you can see, the way in which Death Eaters are positioned suggests that the best location to attack from would probably be here.' He pointed a long slender finger at a place on the map that Harry could not see, and the young man wove his way through the throng of his professors to get a better view, feeling justified in shouldering aside Trelawney, who was distractedly muttering dark predictions concerning the end of the world, as he did so.

'That is a sound idea, Severus, and we shall proceed down there almost immediately.' concluded the headmaster, as Harry reached the desk. 'However, you and the other heads of houses must first take care of your students, and only join us once they are safe.'

'I must protest' cut in Snape hastily, 'surely I can be of significantly more use on the front line?' Seeing his other staff members on the point of adding their own protest to Snape's, Dumbledore quickly continued his speech, in a firmer voice that belied fire and iron.

'We have no time to waste on disunity or doubt. You are some of the strongest wizards I have ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with, and I need you all now to put the needs of the students first, as you have done so often in the past. Heads of Houses will proceed immediately to the dormitories and create portkeys to ensure the safe passage of their students to the Ministry of Magic, where Dobby and the Aurors are waiting to give them further instructions. Tell them', here he stopped and sighed, 'tell all of those older students willing and able to fight to remain in the castle, and once everyone else is safe proceed in one group to the Great Hall, remaining on your guard at all times. The rest of you will follow me. Voldemort is evidently unaware that there may still be some lingering magic left in the castle that could aid us, and we may be able to surprise him to our advantage.'

With this, the faculty seemed to regain its collective self possession, and the four heads of house disapparated without further delay, each one inwardly recoiling at their newfound ability to do so within the castle. Before he left, Snape shot an involuntary glance at Harry and was disconcerted, yet heartened, to find the young man's bright emerald eyes gazing back at him. With an almost imperceptible inclination of his head, the potions master acknowledged his pupil, and, resolutely ignoring the weight that seemed to thud into the pit of his stomach as he contemplated what the young man was about to face, turned his back and vanished without a sound.

With a keen sense of purpose Dumbledore turned back to the Marauders' map, and staring sadly at the name 'Tom Riddle' that stood firmly in the centre of the Great Hall, gave swift, precise orders to all the people that remained in his office. This done, he strode out of the room with them in tow, giving Harry a surreptitious pat of reassurance as he did so. As Harry hastened down the staircase with the others, glad that the plan did not involve apparition as it gave him time to compose himself, he prayed that his friends were safe and that he would be strong enough to protect them when the need arose. A cool sense of determination replaced his nerves as he vowed to end the conflict once and for all, so that he would never again find himself fearing for the lives of those he loved, or face the prospect of them being torn away from him. Despite the severity of his previous encounters Harry's courage never wavered; the only change to his attitude was that he no longer wondered at including Snape among those he was concerned for.

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Standing in the Great Hall for the first time since he had been a student at Hogwarts, Voldemort watched in satisfaction as his followers arranged themselves at strategic places; solemn wraith-like figures in black who violated the usually grand and festive atmosphere of the Hall with their mechanical movements, each one intent on perfecting his or her subservience. They had built two giant barricades near the entrances at either end of the spacious room: jagged pyres of aged tables and benches that extended mocking tongues of wood to the cloudy night sky obscuring the ceiling. Standing on the bare stone floor in the middle of the room, watching the organised chaos that he had ordered and feeling the momentousness of the occasion loosen his tongue, the Dark Lord addressed his followers in an imperious voice that was magnified by the hollows and arches of the grand hall.

'Almost eighteen years ago, a small insignificant family managed to defeat the great Lord Voldemort through their unwitting use of the oldest of magics. Now, despite everything that has happened, those blundering fools who modestly purport to be on the side of righteousness have failed to realise that the same magics may be used against them!' He paused to revel in his own brilliance, before continuing his explanation to his followers, only a few of whom had been trusted with the complete plan. 'Magic, though a magnificent thing, is innately weak due to the fact that it takes its power from the human spirit, and is therefore irrevocably tied to human nature and its most fundamental beliefs. Thus innate precepts, unshakeable ideas that man has clung to since before he even possessed a language with which to express them, such as the fundamental faith in the innocence of anything unborn, have been tied into magic from the very beginning. No defensive spell ever created could possibly recognise a threat in something so harmless, so insignificant, as an egg.' He smiled insanely, acknowledging the shocked looks of his subordinates, who knew what kinds of torture and black wizardry were required to bring someone close enough to death that they could be concealed and reborn in such a way. 'As you might have realised, the magical shell of the egg provided a shield which masked my true nature from the invasive scans of the castle's defences, enabling me to pass through them undetected. My sudden emergence within the very spells that were designed to repel me caused them to warp themselves, fragmenting as they attempted to bend backwards and extract the malicious presence within their very core, shattering all of the castle's united protective magics as they did so. It was so pathetically predictable that those pitiful fools would join together all of the wards in the belief that it would make them stronger.' His smile broadened, revealing fang-like teeth. 'And so united they fall...'

'If nothing else, Tom, you always were a good scholar.'

The calm voice of Dumbledore from behind him momentarily discomposed Voldemort, and wheeling around in surprise he forgot both his explanation and his aspirations to slowly humiliate his former professor, instead screaming 'Get him!' at his Death Eaters, with a shrill cry that focused all of their attention on the headmaster and ensured that they were completely surprised when the other half of Hogwarts' small force apparated in behind them. Hearing the thuds from the back of the room as the first of his forces were hit with stunning spells, Voldemort turned back around just in time to shield himself from an optimistic hex sent his way by professor Sprout, who now looked terrified to have captured his attention. She was spared his retribution, however, as a dozen spells from her colleagues quickly followed hers, and Voldemort was forced to retreat to a deserted spot on the barricade, conscious of the fact that though he was impervious to most minor curses he would be unable withstand such a large volume at once. Aware that they had to allow time for the heads of house to evacuate the students, every wizard there threw themselves into the fray, made desperate with the knowledge that this was the last chance they would have to turn the course of events their way.

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Arriving in the Slytherin common room, Snape already knew what he would find. The majority of the lower years gaped at him in astonishment from small frightened huddles that had formed around the soft green sofas and hard backed velvet-covered chairs, but there were few older students present. The ones who were had slightly sullen expressions on their faces, as if they were resigned to having done the right thing and were now merely awaiting a swift end at the hands of their former friends. Disappointed more in himself than in his missing students, in that he had not made more of an effort to inspire their loyalty after he had been discovered as a spy, Snape immediately began preparations to enable the escape of the remaining few, uncomfortably conscious of the need to get back to Harry.

'All those in year four and below will proceed directly to the Ministry of Magic via this portkey' began the potions master, indicating the book that he held in his left hand. 'As for the rest of you, I am giving you a choice. The choice that none of the Dark Lord's followers will ever have. You may flee to safety, or you may stay and fight. Do not be fooled into thinking that the battle will be glorious: you will be faced with the constant presence of blood and death, and the only thing preventing it from being your own will be your wits and magical skill. Nevertheless, you all know what is at stake, and there is much honour in taking the right course of action, even if it is not the easy one. Remember that you will have to live with the consequences of your choice.. something with which I am sure your absent peers are already familiar.' He intoned his words with deliberation, careful to look each student in the eyes as he exhorted them to follow him into battle, determined not to fail them by letting the weight of his past mistakes weaken his stance or distort his expression. One by one, the students who were eligible drew their wands and moved away from the portkey that their younger friends now crowded around, fear and determination contending for primacy in their youthful faces.

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The battle was more brutal than anything Harry had ever experienced, a world apart from the relatively innocent duelling club that he had once attended in the same room. As soon as the Death Eaters had realised that they were pinned down by the surprise pincer movement there had been a flurry of disapparitions, and the young man felt slightly drunk as the air became full of twirling black robes- wizards frantically appearing and disappearing in futile efforts to best their opponents. The already dim light from the cloudy ceiling was further distorted by a thick haze of smoke created by the seemingly constant barrage of spells from either side, and in the shadowy uncertainty of battle it became increasingly hard to distinguish friend from foe. The defending force had taken up positions near one of the barricades, giving them ample opportunities for cover should a Death Eater suddenly appear next to them, and were now repelling all advances with flair and fortitude.

Harry began working his way through the Slytherin students almost methodically, conscious of the fact that his teachers were trying to spare him encounters with those more experienced in killing. Standing with the unconscious Crabbe and Goyle in a plump heap at his feet, easily blocking almost half-hearted spells from Nott, he sensed that Dumbledore was close to his left, and sneaking a glance he saw the fearsome wizard easily best Lucius Malfoy, paralysing the snarling blonde-haired man and lashing him to the barricade with ropes of blue-green fire. Concentrating once more on his own duel, Harry finally managed to slip a hex in past Nott's shield, and, leaving him writhing on the floor, quickly surveyed the room to see where he could be of the most assistance. Several of his teachers were bleeding heavily but were being tended to by an efficient Madame Pomfrey under the cover of Lupin's protective spells, and seemed to have inflicted equal, if not greater damage upon their opponents, who were devoid of the care which the Hogwarts staff showed each other, forced instead to attempt to heal themselves. Accustomed to Snape's unfavourable assessment of any possible battle between the two sides, this degree of success made Harry uncomfortably suspicious, and, glancing around with an increasing sense of foreboding, he perceived the shadowy silhouette of Voldemort standing in the most remote corner of the room, surrounded by a protective ring of Death Eaters and not showing any inclination to participate in the fight. Knowing that his professors could spare him momentarily, he sprinted away from the protection of the barricade, hoping that he could reach the other side of the Hall before anyone managed to send a hex in his direction.

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It was only through a torturous exertion of willpower that Snape had prevented himself from leaving his students in the care of McGonagall and apparating down to Harry's side immediately. With every step of the arduously long walk down to the Great Hall in the company of the other teachers and their pupils, the potions master was tormented by visions of Voldemort obliterating possibly the only thing in life that he now cared for; the boy's lifeless body repeatedly thudding onto the floor of his imagination in a broken heap. He cursed himself for this weakness, no, this all-encompassing anxiety that made his body feel like frozen metal that burned to the touch, and made it impossible to formulate an impartial battle plan. Yet the moment of arrival came too soon, for as soon as his mind had made sense of the scene in front of him, it revealed what he feared the most.

Snape saw the Hogwarts defenders clustered around the leftmost barricade- now pitted with deep brown furrows where spells had seared the ancient wood-, determinedly repelling all attacks from Death Eaters apparating in flurries of black all around them. Through the perversely sweet-smelling haze created by the smoking barricade, the potions master could just discern Dumbledore standing beside a pile of bound, unconscious men in masks, quietly chanting a protective charm around professor Vector while the diminutive woman duelled an increasingly fatigued figure in torn robes. He dimly registered the other heads of house and their students fanning out in front of him, merging into the chaos and swiftly aiding their tired allies. Snape gazed around the entire room, noting the alarming extent to which the staid grey stone floor was scorched and bloodstained, desperately searching for Harry in amongst the blurry black figures and the colourful flashes of deadly curses that penetrated the ominous grey smog.

Seeing some of the wizards nearby turn as a purposeful black blur streamed past, the potions master suddenly caught sight of Harry sprinting down the Hall to his right, and for one bizarre second he almost smiled to himself- he had seen the boy running to a class he was late for so many times that he was momentarily transported to a far happier scenario. Panic soon followed, however, as he saw the object of Harry's intent, and ignoring all of his training he ran as fast as he could after him, praying that he could reach the boy in time to stop his nightmares becoming a reality. As he ran what seemed like a marathon's distance, the older man vented his fearful fury on the Death Eaters in his path, reserving his most unpleasant hexes for those aiming curses at Harry's back.

Despite attracting the attention of half the room's combatants, Harry managed to reach the other barricade unmolested, and arrived in clear view of the Dark Lord at the same time that a quivering Womtail apparated to the man's side, whispering something in Voldemort's skeletal ear that produced a look of calm contentment on the man's pallid face. Seeing Harry, the would-be conqueror graced him with a mocking wave before touching his wand to Wormtail's Dark Mark and disappearing, taking all of his followers with him. An eerily peaceful silence swiftly ensued, broken only by the soft insistent crackle of burning wood and the occasional groan of pain from a bound captive. Standing perplexed, Harry could not fathom why Voldemort had retreated, but knew enough about the man's crazed intellect to realise that it was anything but a cause for hope. Realising that he was staring vacantly at the oak panelled wall, he was just about to return to Dumbledore when he heard frenzied footsteps approaching behind him, and turned round just in time for the breathless Snape to seize him by the shoulders and shake him roughly.

'What did you think you were doing?' wheezed the potions master violently.

'Voldemort's gone' replied Harry, his voice fading as he slowly realised that this was the first time that they had been face to face since the incident in the dungeons. Snape was evidently thinking the same thing, as in place of a snide retort he merely squeezed his pupil's shoulders comfortingly, though with a force that belied his inner turmoil, and looked into his bright green eyes with a penetrating gaze that smouldered to the depths of Harry's soul and momentarily made him forget the battle. Noticing a smudge of dirt staining the boy's flushed complexion, he was just about to unthinkingly brush it away from his soft skin when he was interrupted by Dumbledore, who stood on top of the smoking barricade and signalled for everyone's attention.

'It appears that Voldemort has tired of battle and gone for a stroll in the castle's grounds', began Dumbledore, waving the Marauder's map at the assembled defenders, all of whom looked exhausted but were concentrating fiercely.

'He has clearly gone to let reinforcements into Hogwarts, and I suggest we try to stop them before we are overrun. Poppy, you and Remus will take the wounded to the infirmary and join the rest of us outside when you can. You have all done Hogwarts proud so far. I know it is a lot to ask, but for the sake of us all I need you to strive a little longer, and to once again acquit yourselves with the same courage and skill that you have shown already. We will proceed directly outside; stick together and use your superior knowledge of the terrain to your advantage. I need not remind you what is at stake, so let me just say, animae exardesco!'

Dumbledore clapped his hands and a fine white mist fell on the crowd, each one of whom suddenly felt reinvigorated and ready for battle. Harry grinned at the headmaster as he saw the older man wink at him, and looking around at the little battle force as they marched towards the castle's entrance he saw that everyone, no matter how bloodstained, bore determined expressions and had wands at the ready. He felt a warm wave of relief run through him as he saw Hermione, Ron and Neville among the slightly bedraggled figures, and exchanging glances with them allowed himself to feel a momentary surge of hope.

This was short-lived, however, as arriving at the once-forbidding doorway of the castle Harry came to an abrupt halt, gaping at the grounds in horror. In the distance, but too distinct to leave any room for doubt, an army of giants came lumbering unimpeded through the now open gates, carrying grotesquely large clubs and spears that ten wizards together could not have lifted. Their deep, primitive grunts carried through the chill night air, and Harry could not tell whether his companions' shivering was caused by the temperature or by fear. Suddenly realising that most of Voldemort's force had been unable to apparate into Hogwarts, he had an unpleasant sense of prescience that was soon justified by the additional sight of Dementors, Inferii and Vampires streaming onto the path that led to the castle, their leaders carrying burning torches that cast contorted shadows on their ugly faces and gave the defenders enough light to grasp the horrifying scale of the invading force. There was no doubt that they were vastly outnumbered, and the only viable option now left to them was to find Voldemort and attempt to stem the impending atrocity at its source.

As one force, the Hogwarts defenders streamed onto the dewy grass, each one gradually becoming a shadowy wraith as they progressed further and further away from the comforting lights of the castle. Under the cloudy, ominous night sky, through which the quarter moon occasionally shone her disapproving frown, they split into smaller bands of fighters, each one moving off under the direction of an older witch or wizard toward a distant foe. Advancing on the main cluster of invaders, Harry fell straight into the fray, quickly dispatching a horde of sinister Dementors with a radiant Patronus that shone defiance at the terrified stars and warmed the hearts of those running into battle behind him. Turning around, he heard rather than saw Professor McGonagall and Narcissa hurling spells and insults at each other in equal measure, and seeing that most of the duels in his vicinity were being won by the defenders he peered further into the darkness in an attempt to discern Voldemort's whereabouts. Staring down the grassy slope to the woods by the lake, he was momentarily puzzled to see several familiar figures clustered around a tree swaying violently in the breeze, seeming to move in disjointed spurts thanks to the coloured strobe effect of their spells. Horrified, Harry suddenly realised that Hermione and Ron had in fact cornered a large, angrily flailing giant by themselves, and though he saw Madam Hooch come to their aid he still raced in their direction, trying desperately not to be unbalanced by the vibrations from the giants' footsteps as he did so. Harry slowed as he approached them, and seeing that Hermione's competent spell-work would keep the lumbering giant at bay for a while, he entered the fringes of the forest and began cautiously circling around the group, hoping to attain a suitable position with which to take their foe by surprise.

In fact, so focused was he on his destination and tactical calculations that he failed to discern the telltale snap of a dead twig behind him, and before his mind could even register alarm a tripping hex had sent Harry sprawling on the ground, causing him to inhale some of the musky-tasting loam as he landed face first. Furious at himself for being caught off-guard, Harry twisted himself over onto his back and stared up at an all too familiar face, his internal organs liquefying in horror as he made out her unmistakeable features in the darkness. Black hatred quickly replaced this emotion, however, and spitting the dirt he was choking on into Bellatrix's face, he rolled over once more and scrambled to his feet as she clawed at her eyes, shrieking. Steadying himself against the coarse bark of a nearby tree, Harry let out an inadvertent feral snarl as he slashed the air with his wand, sending a binding hex that stopped his hated enemy in her mad whirling. This was momentary, however, as she dissolved the bonds with a wandless spell and sent jet after jet of fire in his direction, scorching the earth around the boy's feet as he leapt away. Harry saw her insane grin in the light of the flames, and felt a hardness within his soul that he had never before experienced. All of the pain at Sirius' death had suddenly coalesced into one hard coal-like lump of rage, and without even considering his actions he opened his mouth and the words 'Avadra Kevadra' streamed out, rolling in Bellatrix's direction with a jet of sinister green fire.

The spell missed by several metres, mainly due to the fact that his hand was shaking violently with rage, and Bellatrix's high pitched cackling rang through the woodland.

'Is that the best you can do, little boy?'

She flicked her wand at him, almost indolently, and Harry, drained by his earlier fury, could not react quick enough to prevent her attack, and he observed rather than felt the spell tear through his clothes and rip down the skin of his abdomen. Watching the boy stagger in delayed shock, the witch inclined her head to one side and regarded him with eyes that glinted malevolently in the light of the fires still burning among the ferns on the forest floor. 'It's a wonder you outlived your pathetic god-'

The dishevelled, manic woman was stopped mid-speech by a tortured tearing sound that was plainly audible above the din of battle, as if nature herself was venting her fury at the injustices she saw. Turning around, Bellatrix barely had time for a blood-curdling scream before the ancient oak tree, severed from its base by the force of Harry's badly aimed spell, came toppling down on top of her with a crash that sent shockwaves through the castle's grounds. The forest seemed to stagger momentarily, and leaves and branches of neighbouring trees that appeared a sombre grey in the dying firelight cascaded down around their fallen brother as if in a shower of sympathy. Forcing himself to look at the oak's body, which lay in a groove carved through the soft, ridged soil by the weight of its fall, Harry saw several impenetrable pools of darkness around its base, any one of which could have been the broken body of his enemy. He had no doubt that she was dead; the unmistakeable noises he had heard as the tree fell on her were not concurrent with her survival, and would always be indelibly etched on his consciousness. The boy felt curiously empty, bereft of both his rage and any sense of triumph, and though he was glad to have avenged his beloved godfather he was strangely saddened to have killed her. Standing at the edge of the forest, turning almost instinctively away from the scene and back towards a view of the castle, the young man forgot the urgency of battle as he contemplated what had just happened, the taste of the loam in his mouth a bitter insistence of the reality of all he had experienced.

Turning his mindless gaze towards the deep gash in his side, the blood from which shone maliciously in the muted wand-light he used to inspect it, Harry slowly became aware of a dull throb of pain insidiously penetrating his receding adrenalin rush, and of the sounds of battle increasing around him. He was about to heal the wound by magic when the raw screams of a familiar voice tore themselves through his consciousness, forcing him to snap his head upright and desperately scan the battlefield for the source of the cries, each one of which sent a dagger-sharp icicle into the regions of his heart. Injury forgotten, the only thing that the young man felt was an overwhelming sense of nausea as he caught sight of several robed figures by the side of the lake, illuminated by the continual hexes that their master sent at a figure on the ground who was struggling to rise.

Before Harry even realised what he was doing, his tired legs were pounding the churned up turf and the words of a protective charm were falling from his bloody lips. He looked around for Ron and Hermione as he ran, but seeing only the bound body of an unconscious giant in the place that they had been, he realised with a mixture of relief and regret that they had gone back towards the castle in search of new battles. It seemed as if it took an eternity to reach the small cluster of Death Eaters, who were standing in reverent silence as they watched Voldemort's sadistic demonstration. Without giving a thought to any of the things he had learned from the man currently writhing on the ground, Harry barrelled straight through the rigid figures with a blasting charm that sent the two closest spiralling through the air in shadowy whirls, and threw himself over Snape just as Voldemort once again sent the Cruciatus curse in the older man's direction. For one long moment the world turned white, and the tired boy was only able to maintain enough consciousness to register the cold, rigid contours of the potions master in his arms.

Groaning as he felt the effects of the receding curse over every inch of his fatigued body, Harry quickly checked the potion master's pulse and was relieved to find a weak, yet steady beat beneath the sallow skin at his arched neck. Had the boy more time for reflection, he might have observed that Snape's semi-conscious body looked almost peaceful, and his eyelids fluttered open as if he was leisurely awaking from a peaceful dream. Hope surged through the younger man, something which was immediately quelled by the sudden look of alarm in the potion master's glazed eyes. Harry turned over as fast as his aching limbs would allow, but was only in time to watch helplessly as Voldemort leaned down slowly, savouring the moment, and plucked Harry's wand from the ground with a bony white hand. The ring of Death Eaters had once again closed in, and looking up he could see a ring of deathly ivory masks obscuring the night sky and shining mercilessly in the light from their illuminated wands, each one of which was pointed directly at Harry's heart.

'I would not have you protect this worthless fool by dying for him, boy' hissed Voldemort, his face contorted by a twisted parody of a smile. 'I shall not make that mistake twice. Rise, and you may have the pleasure of watching him die before I send you to join him.' With these words one of his followers hauled Harry up by the scruff of the neck, and feeling utterly hopeless the boy desperately searched his pockets for any sort of weapon as he tried not to choke. Feeling something unexpectedly sharp in his jeans pocket, and knowing that he had only seconds with which to save Snape's life, Harry wrenched himself away from his captor with an almost superhuman force and lunged at Voldemort with the object he had clasped in his left hand, plunging it deep into the centre of the monster's chest. As he struck, Harry felt a surge of emotion rush through his veins, obliterating all other thoughts, memories or feelings. Perversely, it was not hate, desperation or fear- all the boy could feel was the incredible, and unexpected, depth of his love for Snape, and the sense that every fibre of his being was only worth sustaining if it could be used to save the man he cared for more than life itself.

Having felt the inadequate nature of his weapon as he struck, Harry's sole aim had been to buy the potions master enough time to escape, but on seeing the slightly perplexed, yet clearly untroubled expression on Voldemort's far-too-close face he realised with a terrible despair flooding his soul that he had completely failed.

Seizing the boy with an arm that had lost none of its preternatural strength, the creature that was Tom Riddle leered into Harry's face, his icy cold breath bruising the younger man's flushed skin. 'You were always stupid, boy, but this time you appear to have surpassed yourself. Did you really think,' he hissed, turning to examine his chest disdainfully, 'that you could vanquish the great Lord Voldemort with, let us see... oh, how pitiful, a needle?' Maintaining his painfully tight grip on Harry, and digging in his granite-like fingernails for good measure, Voldemort grasped the needle, protruding almost plaintively from a fold in his black robes, and made to extract it. As soon as his fingers touched the tiny sliver of metal, however, a sickened expression contorted his pallid face, and Harry watched in confusion as the needle began to glow an ethereal gold colour. Mystified, the younger man wrenched himself away from the Dark Lord's weakening grip but could not refrain from gazing on as the man's expression grew more and more panicked, his once proud bearing withering as he slowly crumpled onto the floor. Recovering his senses, Harry darted in and grabbed his wand from the prone man's pocket, half expecting the Death Eaters to attack him from behind as he did so. A swift glance behind him, however, revealed that every robed figure there was grasping its right arm and doubling over in apparent agony, small whimpers audible from the immobile porcelain lips of those figures closest to Harry.

The boy turned his astounded eyes back to Voldemort, who was now shrinking into himself at an increasingly accelerated rate, looking like the Muggle television footage Harry had once seen of a flower blooming in reverse. Soon, there was nothing left but a twitching pile of robes, barely moving in the wandlight, and Harry was just about to venture forth and investigate when an blinding flash of light erupted from the disordered heap of fabric, accompanied by a phenomenally strong blast of magical energy that rattled every bone in the young man's body and rippled outwards into the shadows. Where once there stood the most feared man in the entire Wizarding world, there was now nothing but a small patch of burned earth, emitting gentle wisps of smoke that smelled of camphor and were quickly blown away by the soft night breeze without any resistance. Baffled, but soon elated as the distant cheers of his fellow fighters from all over the castle's grounds confirmed that the Dark Lord was no more, Harry turned around with renewed confidence, expecting to confront the rest of the Death Eaters who were surely in no position to continue the fight.

His emotions quickly reverted to panic, however, as he found that he was utterly alone, standing on an empty patch of damp grass next to the uneven pebbles of the lake shore, with only the reflected light of his wand on the softly rippling water for company. Harry's panic quickly deepened as he caught sight of similar burn marks on the grass where the Death Eaters had been standing, and in a moment of awful clarity realised that they had all suffered the same fate as their master. Nausea overwhelmed him, and the boy had to fight to keep himself from doubling over as he faced the terrible possibility that Snape, a former Death Eater, had been similarly afflicted. Where once he had felt that he had the strength to keep fighting no matter what the opposition, Harry now felt his soul was slowly being wrenched apart, and every atom of his being dissolved into the frigid night air to be dispersed wherever the careless breeze should wish. For, having realised that he was utterly, irrevocably in love with Snape only in time to have been the agent of the man's destruction, there seemed no point to his existence, and a black ooze seemed to drip from his aching heart and saturate his body in bitter misery. He was too distraught to even be startled by the sudden apparition of Dumbledore by his side, or to do anything but gaze hollowly at the man when he placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and forced the boy to look into his luminous cerulean eyes.
'My boy', said Dumbledore softly, 'it is finally over'. Harry stared wordlessly at the headmaster's long white beard, noting uselessly that a patch on the right hand side was missing. He was unable to think of a single thing to say in reply, and, sensing this, the older man continued to speak, gently coaxing the younger back into awareness of the world around him.

'Words cannot possibly express how proud I am of you, although I believe that in the coming days many more articulate than I will voice their gratitude, and I can only offer you my humble apologies for not being able to extricate myself from battle in time to assist you. I cannot presume to understand what happened here between you and Tom, but the magical burst we all felt can only mean that he has met his end once and for all. Poor boy', mused Dumbledore, turning his attention to the scarred earth by Harry's side, and pausing as something caught his eye.

'Curious', he muttered, taking his hand from the younger man and bending down to extract something that glowed faintly between clumps of tortured earth. Standing upright once more, Dumbledore revolved the needle between two fingers and smiled softly, looking at Harry with a sincere warmth in his expression.

'Helga Hufflepuff was a remarkable woman, though many saw her reluctance to engage in any sort of conflict as a sign of weakness. She constantly emphasised the need for harmony between all of the castle's founders, stressing that that their survival depended on unity, and was deeply disappointed by Salazar's angry departure. What few people know, however, is that shortly before he left Helga devised a devious method of resolving the quarrel between Slytherin and Gryffindor, one that would have undoubtedly worked had she only had the time to put it into practice.' The headmaster paused briefly, examining the point of the needle in the light from Harry's wand with an expert eye. 'Knowing that love was more powerful than any other force in this or the Muggle world, Helga created something that would make whoever was touched by it conscious of the latent love they bore for others, believing that once Godric and Salazar realised the depth of the affection they felt for each other it would be impossible for them to sustain a quarrel. Unfortunately, Slytherin left before she had a chance to test her theory, and the needle was passed down, unused, to each of the castle's subsequent guardians, who for many years believed it to be merely a relic of Helga's passion for embroidery. In fact, I only stumbled across its true purpose by accident, and I believe that you have had the somewhat dubious honour of being the first to test it. Unfortunately for Tom Riddle, the life he chose required the eradication of any emotion save hatred from his heart, and as such the needle must have ripped apart his very soul in a vain search for love that had long since been purged. It appears that his most ardent followers, bound to him by the Dark Mark and similarly devoid of feeling, have shared his fate, though the more recent initiates have mercifully been spared.'

Harry's mind dimly registered this through the fog of his grief, and he was able to recognise a faint feeling of pity within him as he gazed at the needle's shining point. Seemingly unaware of any change, Dumbledore continued to talk, attempting to slowly steer the young man in the direction of the castle as he did so. 'We have yet to decide what to do with the captives, and I would much appreciate your assistance in that decision, as you have demonstrated a capability and maturity far beyond your years. As for our forces, I believe that they are tending to the wounded and preparing to return inside, though they are all stubbornly insistent that they wait for your arrival before they do so.' The headmaster chuckled softly as he added, 'I even had to tie professor Snape to a stretcher to prevent him attempting to return to your side, which were most inadvisable given his weak condition.'

Such was the extent of Harry's shock that at this pronouncement that the meaning of Dumbledore's words only filtered into his brain after several seconds, leaving him feeling as if the world had suddenly fallen from beneath his feet and he was left in frozen suspension in a vast empty universe, separated from everything that was rational and familiar.

'WHAT?' he croaked, physically unable to articulate anything further under the barrage of emotions that assaulted him: his tongue feeling thick and immovable in his painfully dry mouth and face contorting almost comically as a thousand different expressions contended for primacy.

'Professor Snape was able to apparate to my side in order to alert me to the danger you were in, but subsequently collapsed due to the severity of his experiences. Therefore it seemed only reasonable to forbid him to move before he had recovered' replied the headmaster in what a cynical person might have thought a disingenuous voice. Harry gaped at Dumbledore, a disbelieving grin upturning his open mouth as a blazing warmth fizzed upwards from his feet to overwhelm his brain with a blistering speed that made him feel dizzy, and forgetting everything else the young man vanished into the thin air, leaving a wryly amused headmaster gazing into the empty space that he had occupied.

Harry blinked as the assembled defenders cheered at his arrival in their midst, the sheer exuberance of their noise a startling contrast to his experiences over the past few hours. Looking around frantically, he saw a battered but grinning Ron to his left, contentedly sitting on what appeared to be the unconsious body of Draco Malfoy and stroking the hair of Hermione, who sat exhausted on the grass by his side.

'Where's Snape?' Harry squeaked as he careered up to them.

'Over there, mate', said Ron, perplexed but knowing better than to delay Harry in this mood.

Looking through the crowd of people, the boy who felt truly alive for the first time perceived Madam Pomfrey kneeling on the grass behind them, struggling to restrain an indignant figure seated on a stretcher who was repeatedly attempting to rise. Feeling as though a rough iron ball had lodged itself in his throat, Harry walked slowly over to the stretcher, not even sensing the people in front of him move almost reverently out of his way, too focused was he on his destination and the odd sensation that everything was moving in fuzzily slow motion.

Reaching the foot of the stretcher, Harry sank onto his knees and gazed soundlessly into the fathomless obsidian eyes of the man sat upon it, who had frozen rigid as soon as he saw the younger man approach. Harry studied every feature of Snape's emotionless face, from the bruise on his left temple to the startlingly red cut on his swollen bottom lip; the boy's heart so full of joy that it threatened to burst should he speak or move an inch. Harry knew, and marvelled that he had not known before, that he loved the man in front of him in a passionate, fascinatingly terrifying way that he had not even believed possible, and that furthermore he desired nothing more in life than to be able to spend every waking minute with him- how could he not, when he felt as if his soul had metamorphosed into a shower of shining sparks every time he was the subject of Snape's penetrating stare? Controlled by some force deep within himself, Harry began to speak without thinking, quickly losing his trepidation as he realised that his words were almost engraved upon his heart.

'I don't know how it took me so long to realise this, but I love you. I love you with more of my heart than I ever thought I even possessed, and, if it's not too much to ask, I think I could spend the rest of my life with you.'

Snape, who had been struck dumb by the strength of his sincere relief, and unwilling to break the silence lest it should lead to him somehow losing the young man again, reeled inwardly as a dizzying wave of joy coursed through his veins, making him feel as if butterbeer flowed there in place of blood. The potions master giddily realised that for the first time he could remember he was utterly free, and although the true scope of this was still beyond the bounds of his comprehension, he understood that he was now not only able to love Harry openly and without restraint, but to also dare to hope that he might be loved in return. Rather than attempting to articulate any of this, however, Snape replied

'Well, you won't get very far if I remain tied up, will you Potter?' , fighting to keep the levity out of his silky voice as he spoke, and contemplating the younger man with eyes that sparkled like polished granite.

Grinning, and feeling as if he were made of pure happiness, Harry dissolved the bonds tying Snape to the stretcher and enveloped him in a tight embrace, being careful not to worsen the older man's injuries as he did so. Drawing back to gaze at the potion master's face in closer proximity, Harry could not help but roll his eyes at the conflict between affection and propriety he saw reflected in the older man's expression. Not caring that most of the castle's defenders were staring at them with varying degrees of subtlety, Harry inclined his head and captured Snape's lips in a kiss of such searing intensity that the other man abandoned his scruples at being observed and responded passionately, deepening the embrace until both men forgot their surroundings completely, aware only of each other and their mutually requited affection. They were so oblivious, in fact, that they failed to hear the giggles and catcalls from the jubilant defensive force, as well as a distinctly audible, 'oh, bloody hell', from a startled voice that could only have been Ron's.

Eventually forced to withdraw by the overwhelming strength of his emotion rather than his embarrasment, Snape looked at the younger man and saw both the past and future versions reflected in the Harry that sat in front of him, and knew in his contentment that he loved them all equally.

'So?' said Harry softly, gazing at his former professor with a tender, if slightly mocking expression. 'Am I to receive a more articulate response to my proposal? Would you like to see more of me?'

Snape returned the young man's gaze with a familiar glint in his eye, and paused for a second before replying

'I think I could tolerate that.'

XIVXIVXIVXIV

Greetings, and Happy Easter to everyone. There is no possible way to apologise for the delay in updating this story, as even to say that it has been too long since I last posted anything would be a glaring understatement. Nevertheless, I am sorry, and I apologise for the parts in this chapter where I appear to have substituted quality for expediency- I decided that at this stage posting something was better than nothing at all. I hope you have enjoyed the story so far, and that you will perhaps do me the honour of commenting and staying tuned for the epilogue which shall follow shortly. (Is that skeptical laughter I hear..?) Best wishes, IL.