Chapter Twenty-Five — The Way (Part II)

Pansy

I pushed through the chaotic crowd, my eyes fixed on the circle of gypsies and never once straying from their target.

"Crucio!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Avada--,"

"YOU SHALL NOT BESTOW DEATH ON THIS NIGHT OF BLOOD!" The bard gripped her staff tighter and threw her head back, almost to the brink of snapping off. I wished with a fiery vengeance that it would.

I shoved an old lady out of my way and ran all the way to the gypsies, dodging their green beams as I went. By some miracle I reached their circle unharmed, my wand still gripped tightly in my hand.

"You bastard sons of whores!" I swung my wand at them, screaming out a spell that I can't remember, but it did nothing. I was practically face to face with them and they weren't even flinching. They just kept chanting, over and over again, without breath and without stop.

But I was loath to admit defeat. I pelted them with hex after curse after jinx, hardly pausing for breath or thought to what I was casting. I could have been turning them into tree frogs for all I knew. Either way, nothing could touch them. My spells, launched at close range, dissipated along with everyone else's, leaving behind only a wisp of their light.

Nothing could touch them.

"What do you want!" I screamed, running directly in front of the bard and projecting my voice up at her. My cries actually caught the attention of the other gypsy minstrels and they directed their dark gazes towards me, their stares blank yet still penetrating. "Why are you doing this? Killing innocent people on Christmas night!"

The bard actually looked down at me then, lifting her head from its upturned wail and titled it towards me. I took a step back, surprised by the look in her eyes. Unlike her fellow minstrels the bard had eyes of lightest grey, their bright hue glowing in the firelight and the aura of her staff. I stared up at the thing resting on her palms. Thousands of strands splayed from it, each one hooked firmly into the chest of a helpless witch or wizard.

"The heiress in white."

I started, staring at the harper, the man who had spoken. He was tall and lean, his harp strapped onto his back and a black band tattooed around his neck. At first I didn't believe he had said anything; his voice sounded so normal, not fitting the epic scenario that he was a part of. But then he spoke again, and I watched as his blank eyes suddenly filled with a keen sense of understanding and absorption.

"You are Morgaine, the healer in white, the savior who pretends that she is a villain. Your blood is untainted yet you will die because it is soiled."

I scowled at him. "Jabbering idiot. I'm Pansy Parkinson, daughter of Zhyerra Parkinson, the mistress of this castle and the innocent women you have killed within her own walls!"

"We do not bring death," he said. "We bring deliverance."

"You find strange meanings to your murders."

"And you will find nothing at all even though your stone pulses with the need to seek."

I looked down, my eyes resting on the gem about my neck, it's opaque beauty glowing as steadily as the moon. "Why is it--,"

"Madame Tsion would be disappointed."

My head snapped up. Another of the minstrels, the young piper girl, was watching me, but her face was filled with interest. She reached out and pointed at my throat.

"That will return to her without having found it's mate."

I felt my breath catch in my throat. "Madame Tsion…you know Madame Tsion?"

"Look." The girl pointed past me, to something over my shoulder. I turned, following her finger to where the moon hung in the sky. "It has stopped. It isn't moving, just a minute before midnight. Our people have spared you and we have come to save you. The man you call Master is the man you shall call Murderer. Tonight your people are forfeit because the blood that runs through your veins is pure and ancient; the blood of your great ancestors. Your people will die and your kind will be erased from this world." There was a pause. "This is your genocide."

I stared at the moon, seeing it burn like a pearl in the sky as the girl's words swirled in my head. I was terribly confused, torn between wanting to contemplate what the hell she had just said and turning around to curse the life out of them. But things she had touched on: the pureblood lines, You-Know-Who, murder…genocide. And even my stone necklace. Things I had been warned about, things I had been told about. I was suddenly afraid of everything around me, of the fortress and the people and the wand in my hand. It was an odd and strange feeling that came over me from practically no where. I was so confused, feeling things that didn't make sense, changing my moods with a bipolar ease.

Something wasn't right. Something was terribly not right.

"The Dark Lord!" I spun around to face the gypsies again. "He's going to kill us!"

A white hot sensation stabbed through my chest and I gasped, my eyes growing wide as pain spread through my body like wildfire. My vision was soon filled with the grey gaze of the bard, her features emotionless and blank. She was standing right in front of me, having descended from her height, and in one hand she held the staff, green beams still shooting from it's length, while in the other she held a dagger, its sharpened end buried six inches deep into my chest.

They just stared at me, all of them. The eyes of the gypsies watched me as I gasped silently for breath, the pain becoming slowly unbearable. I tried to cry out, to scream bloody murder and relieve myself of the pain, but my voice had died and the most I could do was open my mouth in a silent cry for help.

"He will not kill you," the bard told me. I stared at her, insane with death, and then I closed my eyes and fell into the waiting arms of the shadows surrounding me.

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Draco

I'm blind.

My vision is horrible. I remember when we were younger Pansy used to say that maybe I should get glasses, since I would never let a wand near my eyes. My eyes aren't terribly bad, but things tend to get fuzzy around the edges when they're not close enough. It wasn't until she was given her own pair after Beula Dormiens that she silenced herself on the subject of glasses.

But that still didn't change the fact that I haven't the best eyesight in the world.

So to place me in a scenario where I had to find a thin blade amongst sea and rock in the middle of the night was probably one of the cruelest things to do. Darkness helps nothing, and the moon wasn't exactly helping my situation either. It still glowed high in the sky but since the gypsies had begun their tirade it had dulled its beams somewhat. Not to mention the crashing sea breaks and the jagged shoreline.

I pressed my back against the tough refuge of a boulder, sheltering myself from the onslaught of yet another huge wave. I was spared the worst of it but the sea spray still splashed my face, the bitter salt of the water filling my mouth. For probably the millionth time I cursed Pansy and her stubborn arrogance and pride…throwing my sword out like that…. And the Summoning Charm could help my situation; for some reason my sword wasn't responding to it.

"Damnit." I grasped the end of my cloak, holding it over my head as I ran out from behind the boulder, pushing from stepping stone to stepping stone, water raining down on my head. I scanned the shallow waters below me, desperate, yet I saw no glint of moonlight on steel.

Above me I could still faintly hear the screams of the men and women falling to the minstrels. I ignored them and continued my fruitless search, desperately squinting through the darkness for my weapon. At my side the scabbard of Madame Tsion banged rhythmically against my leg, the jewels sewn into its making winking merrily.

I scoured the tide pools for what felt like hours when, really, it couldn't have been more the a few minutes. I had begun to dread that it had been swept away to sea when a flash of metal caught my eye to my right. There, securely wedged in the fissures of the scattered rocks, was my sword. I threw up my arm against another vengeful wave and ran over to it, carefully settling my feet on the slippery stones. With a great effort I reached my sword, wrapped my fingers around its hilt, and pulled.

It did not budge.

No wonder the Summoning Charm failed.

"No fucking way."

I pulled again and still it didn't move. I gritted my teeth, another wave crashed and showered me with water and I threw my entire weight into the tug, yanking my sword free with the ring of metal sliding from stone. I staggered back and tripped on the scattered rocks. I landed hard against the side of another boulder, my shoulder stinging at the contact. I hissed in frustration and pain, my hand still gripping my blade possessively.

"Help! Someone please, help!"

The cry broke solidly through the roar of the ocean and the chaos up above, ringing clearly across the shoreline. I looked up, trying to find the owner. It couldn't possibly be someone from the castle; the call was too clear.

"Who's there?"

"Anyone…oh, God. Please! Help!"

I quickly sheathed my sword and threw my cloak behind me. I dug my toes into the jagged boulder and climbed to its top, looking deep into the moonlit darkness. The sea went on with its rage as I scanned the seemingly empty shoreline. There wasn't anything odd…save for the solitary green figure running fiercely towards me, their bright red hair set afire with a heavenly glow.

"Blaise?"

She stumbled on the folds of her skirt and fought against the fall. I slid down from my rock and made my way back to the safety of solid grass. Blaise finally caught sight of me, gasped, and then broke into a run fueled by desperation.

"Blaise, what are you doing here?"

"Draco! Oh my—thank goodness. I thought no one would come!"

She staggered towards me and collapsed against my chest, gasping for breath. Tears stained her face and she was shivering, though I doubted it was from being cold.

"What's wrong?"

She reached up and tugged on my lapel, looking up at me with such a look of defeat and sadness that I almost didn't believe that it was the same Zabini. "Draco, please…I don't know what to do! He just…crushed it…I didn't have time…and he isn't moving…"

"What are you talking about? Have you been out here this whole time?" I took her by the elbows and held her up; she could barely stand on her own two feet. She just kept babbling and crying, gasping for air as if she couldn't seem to breathe right at all. "Come on, come with me. We have to get back to the ball. The gypsies, they're killing--,"

"No!" I tried to pull her along but she dug her heels into the ground and would not budge. "Draco, you have to help Christian!"

I stopped, looked back at her. "What?"

"Please! He's this way. I don't know what to do!" She grabbed me by the wrist and started pulling me deeper into the darkness. Considering how small and petite Blaise was I was surprised by how strongly she was able to pull me. "We have to save him. We have to."

"Wait." I stopped walking and the look she shot me was one of deathly poison. "What is going on?"

"Christian is hurt and I need your help!" she bellowed. "We're wasting time! He could be dying!"

Now, I never liked Machiavelli, and I really couldn't care less if the guy found himself in the midst of all three Unforgivable Curses, but seeing the distress in Blaise Zabini's face made me nod and follow her running figure.

If someone could transform that cold, dark, calculating stare into one of confused emotion and anguish, then they were definitely someone I could find it in myself to respect.

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It was something he had not intended.

Death, yes; for all reasons he had expected to expire in that moment. It wasn't a though he was comfortable with, but it did not seem foolish to him either. To crush the ring would be to destroy the core of his torment. If he died…well then, all right. He would die. It did not seem like such a loss.

But he wasn't dead. Far from it.

But he wasn't alive. Far from it.

He was hovering somewhere in between, close to neither, far from both. He wasn't asleep yet he wasn't aware either. He wasn't awake yet his eyes were open. He could still see things but not register them. He was still there.

But he didn't know.

He didn't know who he was, he didn't know where he was. He had heard a girl's voice, seen her face, seen her fiery red hair, but he did not know who she was.

All he knew was that there had been a ring, it had controlled him, and now it's fragments lay in his hand, sticking to his flesh and welling the wounds with blood that he wasn't even sure were his.

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Blaise crashed to her knees, her entire weight almost crushing Christian as she dropped to his side. She quickly groped for his face, cradling his head in her hands as she leaned over him, tears falling freely from her green eyes.

"Please, please," she whispered, pushing the hair from his forehead. "Please, don't be dead. I'm sorry, I am. Just be alive, Christian, please. Be alive. Just please be alive…"

There was a rustle in the grass as Draco Malfoy ran up to her, stopping short of the two dark figures and dropping to one knee beside her. There was a moment when he did not say anything, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword as his eyes took in the scene before him. Blaise bending over the seemingly lifeless body of Christian Machiavelli, one of his hands lying, palm up, with minute shards stabbing his flesh and his creepily blue eyes staring wide at the sky.

"He's still awake," Draco said. Blaise swallowed a mouthful of air and shook her head.

"No, he's not. But he lies with his eyes open, staring at nothing."

Draco glanced at Blaise and found her beautiful face filled with nothing but the deepest concern for the man lying on the ground. She was barely even aware of Draco being there at all. In this alone he found it very disturbing. Such deep feelings for this boy. She must have known him for years.

He quickly unclasped his cloak and threw if over Blaise's shoulders. She was shaking terribly. He gently pushed her aside and laid his ear against Christian's chest. Blaise stared at him, puzzled.

"What are you doing?"

"There's a heartbeat." Blaise quickly silenced. "I can barely hear it, but it's definitely in there." Draco sat up, frowning. "It's like he's not even breathing. His inhale is shallow, not at all visible. He's practically dead." He looked up at Blaise. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! Please, can we talk about this later? We need to help him!"

"Well, I can't exactly help him if I don't know what happened to him. Mind you, I'm no Madame Pomfrey." He furrowed his brow. "Quite honestly, I'm no Longbottom when it comes to healing."

Blaise dropped her face into her hand, sighing as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulder. "Oh God…"

"Blaise." She looked up reluctantly. "What happened?"

She stared at him a while, looked back down at Christian, and then hugged his cloak closer around her shoulders. But it wasn't cold, the magical barrier still held strong against the winter.

"See his hand?" She pointed to the upturned palm and Draco glanced at the thinly bloodied fingers. "Those shards were from—from a ring." She coughed. "That ring that…I…the one I always used to wear."

Draco looked back up. "Your family ring?"

"It wasn't a family ring."

He didn't respond because he had always known.

"Christian had it in his hand and…he…crushed it. That's how it stabbed him."

Draco frowned. A man lay half-dead and she was rambling about a ring. The two didn't make sense, which meant that whatever it was that connected them couldn't be anything other than dark intentions and dangerous magic. And Draco didn't want to know about the darkness or magic just yet.

"We need to take him up to the castle. Someone there should be able to help us." She looked back at the fortress as Draco stared at her, stricken.

"Blaise," he said very slowly, "we can't go back to the castle."

"Well why on earth not?"

"Because it's under attack!"

She stared at him, genuinely surprised. "Attack? Wh—by who? How? When did this happen?"

Draco could hardly contain himself. "Have you heard nothing out here, Blaise? Or haven't you noticed that there is now a giant hole in the side of the castle where their used to be a wall!" He threw his hand out to point her way and she looked in its direction, unable to ignore the great blast in the balcony, completely visible even from the coast.

"Oh my God. Who did that?"

"The minstrels," Draco growled, anger welling inside of him once more. "Those foreign gypsies just started blasting everything in sight, stabbing people with this strange, green light coming from a staff." He pulled in a deep breath. "Half those people are dead now." Then Draco thought of Pansy and a rush of new adrenaline sped through his body. "Okay, come on. We've got to go."

He straightened up and started folding the sleeves of his tunic so that they rested above his elbows.

Blaise, who had been staring at the castle, alight with spells, turned back to him. "Go? Go where? The fortress is under attack! I can't—we can't bring Christian there, he'll--,"

"We're not bringing him to the fortress." Draco, bent down and, slipping his arms under Machiavelli's lifeless body, hoisted him up with a grunt. He stood, staggering a bit under the weight. "Not very light though, is he?"

Blaise scrambled to her feet as well. "Where are we taking him?"

"We're going back to the castle and I'm putting you and this corpse in the first carriage I see."

"Don't call him a corpse."

"Then I want you to get as far away from here as fast as possible. Go home, go to St. Mungo's, go back to Hogwarts for all I care. Just make sure you don't come back, under any circumstances." He gritted his teeth and adjusted Christian's weight in his arms. The boy lay limp in his hold, his bleeding hand swinging back and forth.

Blaise looked partly confused. "But, what about you? You're not coming with us?"

"No. Come on Blaise, we have to hurry." Draco turned back up the coast and began a brisk, but burdened, walk towards the castle, the chaotic sounds growing in volume once again. Blaise hurried at his side, the black cloak swirling around behind her as she fought to keep up with his wide stride. They were silent for a while, Draco concentrating on not dropping the boy in his arms and Blaise willing herself to not listen to the screams and shouts emanating from above.

And then Draco felt a small hand on his arm and looked over at Blaise, who had stopped walking.

"What are you doing?" he asked her. She was staring at the fortress, eyes wide and pupils dilated.

"The noise," she said. "It stopped."

Draco looked back up as well and noticed that the spitfire glow of spells had vanished, leaving behind a castle bathed in nothing but dull moonlight. "What's going on up there?"

"Draco, the water!"

He turned towards the sea and almost gasped as a huge wave rose up before him, high enough to reach them even though they were so far from the shoreline. But it didn't crash. It was frozen; stilled in the moment when it would have soaked all three of them, maybe even pulling Christian's helpless body to sea. "It's not moving." He looked around. Grass caught in the wind, cattails bent against the sea spray, dandelion seeds floating through the air…all were frozen, caught in time and held by a net.

"Draco, what's going on?" Blaise demanded, swirling about herself, panicking.

"I don't know," was all he could say.

"What's happening? Why has everything stopped? Draco, why haven't we stopped? Why are we still able to move when everything else isn't?" Her voice was becoming shrill, but he couldn't blame her. It was all too strange; all too much to deal with. "Even the stars!" She threw her head back and gazed up at the heavens. "They're not even blinking anymore! What is happening!"

Draco didn't know, hadn't even the smallest inkling, but he wanted to get out. Get out of the open, out where no one would find them if something happened. "We have to move, now!"

Draco set off at a run, growling through the pain of carrying Christian. Blaise ran beside him, still staring about them as if searching for anything that could move. "Do you think everyone else is all right? That they're not frozen, like us?"

"I hope so," he panted. "I hope so." But he didn't sound hopeful.

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Hermione gasped as a rather large snowball exploded against her head, splashing her face and neck with cold. She stared across the field at the culprit, a smile stretching across her snow-covered face. "Ginny Weasley, you shall pay for that," she cried out, laughing. About thirty yards away, crouching behind a snow mound, Ginny's red head bobbed back and forth as she stuck her tongue out mockingly.

"But Hermione," she called back, beaming, "I haven't the money!"

Hermione scowled at her good-naturedly and threw her snowball with renewed force. But Ginny, with her blasted Quidditch reflexes, ducked down just as Neville stood for his throw. He received Hermione's snowball with the full satisfaction of pure surprise.

"Gaah!"

Hermione burst out laughing. "Sorry Neville! That was meant for Ginny!" And then she quickly ducked down behind her mound before she could receive a hefty retaliation. "Wow, I can't remember the last time I had so much fun. It's been so long and it feels wonderful! Don't you think so, Ron?" Hermione had been fashioning herself more ammunition when she looked to her right at Ron. He was sitting with his back against the mound, his cloaked wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He was staring down at his wrist, brow furrowed and a frown on his lips. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, fine." But he still stared down with his troubled look. Hermione sighed and nudged him in the shoulder.

"Ron, we can't afford to be lazy now! Harry and Ginny are formidable opponents and Neville's starting to throw closer to his targets! Luna and I need as much help as possible!" She was laughing; laughing so hard that her cheeks hurt from smiling. Gosh, it felt so good to get out of the castle, away from their responsibilities so they could act like kids again.

Ron only rolled his eyes, unfazed by their dire situation in their snow-infested war. "What are you worried about? Luna is a weapon of mass destruction when it comes to snowball fights."

And it was true. Next to him Luna was on her knees, back straight up and a pile of snowballs waiting at her side. Her face was serene and almost unfocused, but her shoulders were pressed down, her chin was held high, and her arm continually pulled back and sprang forward like a catapult, hitting either Harry, Ginny or Neville every time. Mostly Neville.

"She is rather good at this, isn't she," Hermione complimented as Luna, with no expression of concentration whatsoever, let fly two balls at once, gaining a satisfied yelp from Neville on the other side. "It's almost like she doesn't even try."

"It must be her weirdness," Ron commented absently. "It's her super power." He squinted down at his wrist and then used his teeth to pull the glove off his other hand. Hermione stopped fiddling with snow and scooted closer to him, looking down just as he was.

"You're awfully distracted," she said, matter-of-factly. "What's wrong?"

"My watch," Ron grumbled, bending his head down further and turning the knob on his wristwatch. Hermione leaned against his shoulder, staring at it.

"What happened to it?"

"It's not working."

"Not working?"

"It's not ticking, and it's barely moving. It's not working."

"Maybe it's dying," she suggested. Ron stopped what he was doing and looked over to her, eyebrows raised.

"Dying?" he asked, skeptical. Hermione did not like the condescending look he was giving her and nodded.

"Yes, dying. Haven't you heard that expression before? Maybe the batteries are out."

Ron's eyebrows went higher. "Batteries? As in the things my dad collects in his tool shed?" Hermione shrugged.

"Ginny's watch has batteries."

"But that's Ginny," Ron said, waving the fact aside. "She's as bonkers as our dad. My watch runs on magic." He twiddled the knob again and then tapped on its face. "But it isn't working."

They both peered down at the watch's face. The big hand and little hand seemed to have stopped at the same place but the little hand looked to be having a hard time continuing to tick. It kept trying to moving past eleven fifty-nine but to no avail.

"What time it is now?" Hermione asked, pushing up her sleeve to check her own watch. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, I wouldn't know, Hermione, would I?"

She scowled at him. "That was rhetorical, Ron." She glanced down her own wrist, frowned noticeably, and squinted at it. Ron sighed and picked up a snowball, throwing it lazily over his shoulder, holding up the pretense that he was still playing. When he noticed Hermione's concern he prodded her.

"What?" She didn't answer. "Is your watch 'dying' too?" he teased, but was surprised when she nodded.

"Yes! And I don't understand it. This was my Christmas present from my mother; I just got it this morning." She tapped it's face. "It hardly makes any sense."

"Is it a Muggle watch?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there you go. You always say yourself that there's so much magic here that Muggle objects go haywire," Ron injected, but she shook her head.

"No, I know. But I put a charm on this so that the battery had an inducement of magic in its chemicals to balance out its surroundings. It can't demagnetize in one day." She looked up at Ron. "And what's even more odd is that it's stuck just like yours: at eleven fifty-nine." Her friend stared at her, blank-faced.

"Do you even know what you're talking about?" he asked. She ignored him and pushed him back, leaning across his lap to Luna on his other side. The Ravenclaw, who had been keeping up a steady tumult of snowballs to compensate for her teammates' lack of fight, started and looked at Hermione as if she'd forgotten she was there.

"Yes, Hermione?" she asked dreamily. Hermione pulled her down just in time to save her from three soaring spheres of ice.

"Our watches aren't working, Luna. Do you know what time it is?"

The other girl cocked her head. "They're not working? Why not?"

"We don't know," Ron defended. "We didn't break them ourselves."

"Do you have the time?" Hermione asked again. Luna only shook her head and shrugged.

"I haven't any time on me at all. I don't own a watch. Never had a use for one." She looked at her two friends. "Can you see the moon?"

Hermione and Ron stared at Luna, exchanged confused looks, and then stared at her again.

"Pardon me?" Ron asked with sarcastic emphasis. Luna seemed unfazed.

"Can you see the moon?" she repeated.

Ron pretended to think extremely hard, looked up at the sky, looked at the ground, and then said in mock tentativeness, "I'm pretty sure I can. Yup, it's right there."

"Then you can tell the time," Luna replied matter-of-factly. She picked up a snowball and straightened over the mound, pulling back her arm and sending it out with tremendous force before ducking back down again. "So, can you see the moon?"

"Hermione! Ron! Luna!"

Ginny's cry sent the three friends darting out behind their mound, almost tripping over themselves in their hurry.

"What? What is it?" Ron panicked, looking around. He honed in on the tiny red head walking towards him front across the battlefield.

"'You' are what's it," she exclaimed. "We agreed there would be no magic! Immobilizing is not allowed."

Hermione frowned. "We didn't immobilize anything, Ginny."

Harry and Neville caught up to them alongside Ginny. "Then how do you explain this?" Neville asked. He pointed to a space between them were two snowballs sat motionless in the air, caught during the act of exploding into each other. Hermione's eyes widened.

"That wasn't any of us."

"Well, it wasn't us."

"Then who was it?"

"The moon." Everyone turned to look at Luna whose gaze was trained lazily towards the sky. "It was the moon."

"The moon?" Neville repeated. Ron rolled his eyes.

"She just keeps mentioning it. 'Can you see the moon'? 'Then you can tell time'!"

Hermione, however, was looking at Luna with an intensity that told of deep calculation and concentration. It was a look that Harry was familiar with seeing and one that he had learned to take great notice.

"Hermione? What are you thinking?"

She shook her head and held a hand up, a signal he often deciphered to be Hermione's way of saying that she was almost done figuring out the problem.

"Luna, please, what are you talking about?"

Luna Lovegood turned to meet the gaze of her five friends. "You wanted to know the time, and so I told you look at time itself. When she stops, everything stops. We aren't moving anymore; can't you feel it? The world has stopped." She spread her arms wide and her voice no longer sounded wistful and airy but determined.

Ginny looked scared. "What do you mean by 'time itself'?"

Luna pointed past them, into the sky. They obediently followed her finger and fixed their eyes onto the glowing orb poised above the Forbidden Forest.

"It's--,"

"—not--,"

"Moving."

It was true. The moon that so often graces the night, that travels on her journey through the sky from dusk to dawn, had halted in her quest and hung lifeless above the world. Her glow had dulled, her face had paled, and her magical glow, her light, had diminished, made her smaller and weaker. She was trapped, stuck at the moment right before she claimed her highest point in the heavens; a second before midnight.

"Get in the castle," Harry said, still staring at the moon, awestruck, like everyone else. "Everyone, get inside the castle now!" He turned away and pushed Ginny and Neville to get them going. The two staggered slightly, still hypnotized by the fearful moon, but then they regained their composure and started to jog and then run towards the castle. At the first sound of Harry's voice Hermione and Ron had left at a gallop, tearing across the school's tundra ahead of the rest of them. Harry grabbed Luna's arm and yanked her along. "Luna, let's go!"

It looked like they were running from nothing. Only the empty school grounds encased them, covered in a blanket of snow as they sped across it, leaving behind a vast stillness with the phantom moon. There were no alarm bells, no spells to be had, no monsters to escape from. There was only nothing and the six friends fleeing from it.

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The night, the night

The everlasting night

Black night, Dead light

The shadow that veils our sight

Stillness, unmoving

Silence protruding

Quiet the Queen with a song of soothing

Stay the day

Forbid it to come

Let the night and time become one

The night, the night

The everlasting night.

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He could hear their voices. They were emerging from the depths of his memory, resurrecting themselves in blurred recollection.

"Do you understand what I need of you, Machiavelli?" That voice was cold and horrible. Sinister. Evil. Laden with ice and hate for the world and its inhabitants.

"Yes, my lord." The response was different, more human. It held the warmth of a mortal soul wedged deep into its baritone. "I understand completely."

There was a shaking of hands, a spell, a binding of spirits. Wizard's Oath.

The scene changed but the voices remained. Christian was being lost in his memory, confusing instances with moments, mixing past and more past together. He could still hear Voldemort's voice, but now he could see a library with a pedestal in the center and a leather bound book laid out on its felt face.

"You are the descendant of Niccolo Machiavelli, a man of great importance in his time. A man who allied himself with one of the most terrifying reigns in Italy. A man who was befriended by Cesare Borgia. I want the Borgia Fever. Bring me the Borgia Fever."

The title of the book was The Prince, but the symbols inside did not speak of modern day politics. They were strange symbols, like ancient runes, and they were arranged in such a way that it was clear what they intended to make.

Miasma.

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

Love and honor for your country.

The oldest saying in the book.

Yet how can a man show love and honor for his country if the man was not even alive?

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Draco

I remember the muscles in my legs pumping furiously as I ran up the stone stairwell, Blaise tailing behind me. Machiavelli weighed like a hippogriff on my shoulder, but I fought against the weight and climbed up as fast as I could. If I lost even a second…

The top landing drew up to meet me and I found myself on level ground once again. The first thing I noticed was that all was seemingly still and quiet. The spells had ceased. I was afraid that the others had not been so lucky with time and that they were frozen as well. I moved over towards a bush close to the parapet and slid Machiavelli from my shoulder onto the stone. Blaise appeared from the stairs behind me, gasping for breath.

"Come on." I grabbed her arm and pulled her down next to me. "Stay here and don't make a sound. When you find a chance, run into the ballroom and on into the great hall. Get yourself out of this castle and into a carriage." I drew my sword and pulled out my wand. "Don't wait for anyone."

"What about Christian?" she asked, panting. "I can't just leave him behind."

I looked at her. "Yes, you can." And then I left her, not wanting to see the look of surprise on her face. It was a cold comment but a necessary one.

As I walked closer to the castle I noticed why everything had silenced. The wizards and witches were not frozen but had simply stopped in their attack. There were still many of them scattered inside the ballroom and on the balcony, but I could tell that a considerable amount were missing. About a third were gone, leaving an odd hundred or so people behind. Many of them were harboring severe wounds or aiding in healing. Some lay completely motionless on the floor. Others were silently crying into their hands or the shoulders of others. I glanced around and I understood their tears.

The ones who were missing were those killed by the gypsies and hooked by the staff.

There was a gasp to my right and I flinched. Sitting against the parapet was the old wizard who had been dressed as Merlin. His robes were singed terribly and his right leg was a bloodied mess. He was coughing violently, and I was surprised that he was still alive, being so old and so hurt.

"Goddamn foreigners," he grumbled. He clenched his teeth and tried to pull himself closer to the wall so he could lean on it. I let my blade slacken and knelt down next to him.

"Are you all right?" I asked. He laughed sardonically.

"Yes, lad, I'm perfectly fine. Of course not! I've half my leg blasted about his fucking tower and I couldn't even get a good Cruciatus Curse in on those minstrels. Far from all right, you fool." He dragged a sleeve across his brown to wipe the blood and sweat from his eyes. "I dropped my wand over there; get it for me."

I quickly retrieved the old man's wand and brought it back to him. "What happened? Where did they all go?"

"They left," he groaned. "Everyone's spells suddenly stopped, that brood with the stick said something to the others and they all vanished, taking the ones they'd hooked with them." He grimaced as he bound up his leg with his wand. "They took my grandson." He coughed and turned to spit out blood. "Didn't you see them?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Lucky fool. You better check up on your family."

"Do you need help?"

"I may be old, boy, but I'm not helpless." And that was as much as I got. He turned his entire attention onto his injuries and I was left to enter the ballroom on my own.

The old man had said that their spells had stopped, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw inside.

If I were a poetic hero, (which I'm not), and if I cared to immortalize it, (which I don't), I would probably say that the scene suspended within the castle was something of extraordinary art. Spells of multiple colors were sparkling in different forms all over the places. Sparks, stars, beams of light, fluorescent smoke, they were thrown together in an abstract tapestry, each one flying towards a point at the center of the room.

I would have said that…if I cared to.

But I didn't care to because there was still something in the space at the middle of the room where all the spells were headed towards. It was three people, two of them standing, one of them lying on the floor. I squinted and tried to find a decent view between the spells. The man, the one who had played the harp, stood behind the bard, one hand resting on her shoulder. She, with her slitted eyes looking downward, stood with her feet apart and her arms straight down at her sides, one hand holding a silver dagger. And at their feet was someone lying with their white dress and dark hair splayed across the mosaic tile.

"Pansy!"

Darting into a room where jinxes, hexes, and Unforgivable Curses were interwoven with each other in the air isn't an intelligent thing to do. But, then again, I wasn't Hermione Granger.

"Pansy!"

I pointed my wand in front of me as I ran. "Reducto!" My spell jetted from my wand and before it could freeze it swept a few curses out of my way, creating a makeshift path in then glittering forest.

The bard and the harper looked up as I shouted and the man looked surprised, but the girl hardly looked fazed at all. Neither of them moved; they waited for me.

"Fucking bastards!" I brought my sword arm up and, as I drew within a good distance, leapt at the bard and whipped my arm around in one decapitating motion. The impact it made was phenomenal, sending a haunting shiver up my arm. "Agh!" I threw my wand aside and grabbed my other arm, trying to steady it. My sword hand did not collide with the bard but had been stopped a moment before. The harper had moved quickly and put himself between my blade and the girl, the golden harp strapped to his back; the shield that spared him from my blade.

"Insolent boy." He let go of the bard and lashed out in one fluid motion, grabbing for my sword arm and twisting it. I cried out and dropped my sword. He twisted harder and I dropped to my knees. "Just like you foolish mortals. When you are in pain you ask for deliverance, and when you receive deliverance you desire pain. An endless circle." He brought his other hand around and his fist smashed into my jaw, sending me face first into the floor next to Pansy's motionless body.

Blood and pain flooded my mouth and my vision flipped sickeningly between light and dark. Above me the bard and the harper spoke.

"He was confused. It was not his fault."

"He should not have attacked you, even if he doesn't know who you are. They're coming soon. I can feel Him approaching."

"He comes with an army of shadows at his back."

"We need to go. Are we going to take him?" Someone bent down and slipped their arms under Pansy, lifting her off the floor and out of my sight. I couldn't find the strength or the collectedness to stop them.

"No. We do not harbor Malfoys."

There was a pause and then powerful blast of air and sound that pressed into my back. I forced myself to look up to see the bard, the harper and Pansy gone.

"Draco!"

I flipped onto my back and pushed myself up. Running to me from the balcony was Blaise and Darius Nott. Blaise had left my cloak somewhere and Darius had a bandage wrapped around his head, the part covering his left side was soaking through with blood.

"Draco, are you okay?"

"Yes," I lied. Blaise came right to my side and grabbed my arm, pulling me up.

"We have to go, now!"

"Why?"

"Because…" Darius ducked under a hovering purple hex and stopped in front of me. "He's here." The paleness of his face and the shudder in his tone had nothing to do with the wound in his head.

"What's the matter? Who's here?"

"He is," Blaise whispered beside me. She turned to Darius and cowered closer to my arm. The sound of respect in their voice coupled with the fear expressed by their faces told me exactly who had finally arrived. The last guest of the ball. The most important one of all.

"You-Know-Who."

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It was as if he were surrounded by shadows; as if the moon itself hung directly over his head, casting black figures all around his feet.

He was no god; no more immortal than the wizards and witches he intended to kill. And yet he was not human; had no heart or soul. He was a monster through and through, created from blackest night and harvested to bring about destruction in his quest for power.

A power so great he was willing to sacrifice his own faithful followers to achieve it.

He looked up at the fortress. Strong and formidable. Remote and protected. Ancient. Magical.

The dementors flocked behind him, circling the fortress, hovering out past the cliff face and posting themselves along the top parapet. The goblins were nearby. The giants were coming. The army was assembling.

"Are you prepared for this, Malfoy?" He turned his head to look at the man standing a little ways behind him.

"I saw a Man on the stair. When last I saw He was not there. He was not there the other day. I wish, I wish He'd go away."

"Good boy."

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