Chapter Twenty-Two
They fought their way through the fire. The flames boiled around them, and they felt themselves becoming severed, disconnected, from the known reality, for just the briefest instant. They'd done it so often that it was not a strange sensation anymore—but locked together, struggling to break free even though you couldn't really move, as you traveled vast distances in a rush of green flame: surreal. Then they arrived, and tumbled out of the fireplace, and even then he didn't let go.
Draco fought him with everything he had, but the other boy was an immovable rock. With a wand, the outcome of a fight would have been unknown, but Evan Rivers had trained his body as much as his mind, and he wasn't letting Draco anywhere near his wand. So Draco went limp, pinned to the cold floor, staring up at the other boy and allowing hatred to burn in his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"I hate people who try to play both sides," Evan answered. "I've let you do it all year, but you're going to have to make a very public decision in a moment."
Draco was still very unclear as to what was taking place here. He knew they were at the Ministry (Evan yelling "The Ministry" in his ear had made that good and obvious) but he didn't know why. Evan had said the Dark Lord would be here. That could only mean that he'd come here with a contingent of some of the worst criminals in society, the people who'd escaped in the big Azkaban breakout, and that they'd all come here to fight. Why? And how would Evan even know that? Draco knew that Professor Rivers was one of Dumbledore's people, and everyone knew what that meant, but Evan . . .
His father's suspicions that John and Evan Rivers had come to England for a specific purpose, the reason he'd wanted Draco to watch Evan, to gain his trust, to get as close to him as possible . . . and now this boy seemed to know what the Dark Lord was doing, like he could actually know that when he'd been at school all night . . .
"What are you?" Draco whispered, as the others began popping out of the fireplace and regrouping. He'd been asking himself what it was about Evan all year, and the only thing he could think of was so ludicrous that it was laughable, so he'd kept his thoughts to himself. His father would have . . .
Oh, Merlin, his father. He threw himself toward the fireplace. "Goodbye," he gasped.
Hands grabbed him and held him back.
"I know you're a coward, but that's just pathetic," Evan growled.
Then came his saving grace. He could have kissed those pathetic weasel twins.
"Hey, Evan—"
"We were thinking—"
"About how he's supposed to be good in a fight—"
"And how we'd rather not fight him—"
"So how about we let him run along?"
Draco held his breath, still hoping he could escape without a fight. So he didn't want to be here, so what? They could call him a coward, and this coward would go to sleep without injuries and without declaring loyalty in a war whose outcome he could not yet see.
Evan was ignoring them all. He was looking only at Draco. And his eyes were so hard, so disassociated from all emotion, that Draco shivered. What kid their age looked like that? What had this boy done and been in his life? The only thing he could see in those eyes was resolve. He was planning to win this fight.
"I know how your father works, what he's always done. Never saying one way or the other, waiting to see who wins. I know what you're trying to do. You want to say you're my friend so that if our side wins, you can claim you were with us all along. And if they win, you were just spying, like your father wanted. But you're not him. You have no idea how much pressure I've felt to be just like my father, but I am my own person. I have my own ideals. It's time you figured out yours."
"Don't you get it, you fool?" Draco said disdainfully, still unable to break the other boy's grip. "I'm a Slytherin. That's what we do. Your kind can make their high and noble moral decisions, but it's us who come out on top." He tried to pull away. "My father is here, Evan. If he sees me with you, it's over, and I can't have that. Let me go now and you don't have to worry about what I'll do to you to escape. Just let me go." He wondered if he sounded reasonable, or just like a beggar. He wasn't sure, after being pinned to the floor by the Gryffindorish foreign transplant who'd been showing him up all year, if his shattered dignity could take looking like a beggar.
"Evan, are we here to fight or what?" one of the red-haired weasels said.
"We're wasting time," Longbottom added. He threw in a glare at Draco that Draco couldn't help but sneer at. He was so very glad he didn't have to pretend friendship with that boring, slow, old man anymore. Pretending friendship with Evan had been so much more enjoyable—
Oh, Merlin. He was not thinking that, he was so not thinking that he liked hanging out with the freak that was keeping him from any chance of survival this night. He was a big-headed bastard with high-flown ideals and he was always trying to force them onto Draco. He was a big, dumb jock who never thought about anything but working out— well, okay, that wasn't true, he was one of the best students in their year. Pretending to be friends with him had improved Draco's grades, his dueling skills, his reputation, sometimes actually made him feel guilty for the way he looked at life . . . damn, they might have actually been friends if it weren't for all this divided-loyalty stuff. That was sort of depressing to think about.
"I know your father is here," Evan said. "Along with all those people who he probably helped escape from Azkaban. So there's your choice. If you're going to be on his side, then go, find him, be on his side. I won't stop you from going there. But know this." His fingers squeezed into Draco's arms so hard they were leaving bruises. "If you choose this side, if you stay with us tonight—"
"Right," Draco scoffed, then got squeezed harder. "Ow."
"Stay with us, and I have your back. You don't have to be afraid of your father. You decide this friendship is worth something to you, and I won't let him anywhere near you. Got it?"
Draco shook his head, and took a step back. This time, Evan actually let him go. "And what would you do?" Draco asked, knowing that however skilled Evan might be, he wasn't going to beat Lucius Malfoy.
"Whatever I have to," Evan answered, and those eyes, empty of everything but determination, were a promise that he meant it. Then he broke that eye contact and swept the rest of them. "Okay, let's go. Let's do this."
"Where are we going, Evan? Do you know?"
That was Granger. She of the bushy hair and feminine wiles that had gotten an international Quidditch star banned from England. Ugh. He didn't want to be on her side, even if she was an intelligent and powerful witch.
"This way."
"Evan, are you sure you want to do this?"
"This has been coming my whole life. It doesn't really matter whether I want it or not, not now. I'm here, so I'm doing it."
And once again, Draco was left wondering. What did that mean? He knew what he thought it meant, and all those little hints and clues added up. Why else would Evan be here, doing this, if he wasn't what Draco thought he was? Could he really be so unattached that he could say something like that and mean it?
They all started off, jogging, toward something. Something unplanned, but somehow inevitable. Destiny, maybe. Draco threw a longing look at the fireplace. He had no Floo powder. To get out of here, he had to go with them. Or maybe he could just wait here, hiding, until the Ministry opened for business in the morning and he could slip out. But the answers to his questions . . . they were running off, deeper into the building. Where his father waited, and the side he was supposed to be on.
As he broke into a run, keeping them in sight but staying a careful distance back, he wondered if it would be possible to hate his father. He'd never been quite sure whether he worshiped him or wanted to kill him. Just at this moment, he was sure he hated him. He would never have been here, facing this, if it weren't for him. And now he was going off to join him in battle, irrevocably declaring himself for the Dark Lord, tying himself to his father inescapably.
Wasn't he?
Harry didn't know what was going to happen as he led his friends and one unknown entity deep into the Ministry building. He knew where he was going because he'd asked Sirius for a map directly from the entrance of the building to the shelf where his prophecy was kept, as soon as he'd heard that the thing was kept here. But that was all he knew. He didn't know whether he would be able to distract Voldemort, he didn't know if he or his friends would make it out. He didn't know what Draco would do. He'd done everything he could, and now it was in the hands of chance.
He gripped his wand, the handle warm and comfortable after a year of constant use, and felt better. Not just chance. He'd spent five years getting ready for this. He was still a child, but he was not unprepared, and he was not unskilled. He'd gotten away before, and he had allies on their way. He could do this. He didn't even have to win. All he had to do was keep the prophecy away from Voldemort until they could find Dumbledore and bring him here. Voldemort wouldn't fight him. Harry was sure of it. Once the headmaster got here, Voldemort would retreat. He just had to last that long.
But how long would that be? And how many of his own people would fall tonight? He couldn't afford to dwell on that. He could only try to think of what he could do. But he could think of nothing. He was going to stall, but he wouldn't really know how to do that until he was standing in front of the other wizard. No use making plans. Just run.
He was the only one not gasping for breath and wiping sweat from his eyes when they skidded to a halt in the hall of prophecies. All that running was good for something. He was still fresh for the fight.
But where was the fight? The darkened hall was empty.
"Lumos," Hermione whispered, and a small light erupted from her wand. All it showed was that Draco was skulking a few rows back. Harry was the only one who saw him hiding there, and he let it go. The moment had not yet come when the boy had to decide. Harry wasn't holding out much hope that he'd pick the right side, but he was kind of hoping that Draco's father would be distracted by his son and Voldemort's side would lose a fighter instead of gaining one.
"Lumos!" Harry said firmly, and allowed bright light to spill from his wand and illuminate the whole area. And there they were. Just a couple of people standing there in black robes, hardly moving, but suddenly he couldn't breathe. Was Voldemort under one of those robes?
"Evan," Fred hissed, stepping closer to his twin brother. "What's going on?"
"Well, well, well," said a smooth, cold voice. "The Dark Lord was right about you all along." The taller of the two black-robed figures stepped closer to Harry. "Dumbledore didn't hide you very well, did he?"
Harry decided that he was going to play dumb. Obviously they knew who he was, but he was counting on the Order having the element of surprise, so he had to act like they weren't coming. Like he'd just run off to do this. That meant he had to look small and scared and young. Hah, not that hard, was it? All he really had to do was let loose that frightened, screaming voice he'd buried somewhere in his chest.
"Where's Sirius?" he said, letting his voice tremble. He wanted to be whimpering, and act like he'd do whatever they wanted. At least until Voldemort showed up. "What did you do to him?"
"If you cared about him, you'd have gotten here a little more quickly," the man under the robe said impatiently.
"I came as quick as I could," Harry whined. "The High Inquisitor wouldn't let me go, she—"
"Ah, yes, that woman Umbridge." He sounded cheerful about that. "She's practically working on our side without meaning to, isn't she?"
"I'll tell her you said that," Harry said with a moment of dark humour. "Tell me, please, where is Sirius? I saw him being tortured, he—"
"You poor fool," the man chuckled. "My master is a powerful wizard. He doesn't need to risk himself just to get to you. You saw exactly what he wanted you to see."
"But I came to save him," Harry said, trying to sound confused even though he had finally figured out the real plan. Voldemort wasn't even here, that bastard, he'd sent his lackeys to get the prophecy once Harry had shown up to get it for them. No risk to himself, indeed. Harry spitefully wished he had a camera, so he could rip the mask off the man in front of him and put him on the front page of the Daily Prophet. "I brought my friends to help me."
"Poor baby," tittered the person under the other robe. A woman? Harry only knew of one woman who would be there. The recent Azkaban escapee. Bellatrix Lestrange. One of the scarier people Harry had ever heard of, probably scarier than Voldemort himself just because she was such a complete nutcase.
"You thought you could stand up to the Dark Lord with such as these?" the man hissed.
The others, who'd been looking more and more scared as Harry pretended to flounder, drew themselves up straighter at that.
"That's right," George said bravely. "In case you didn't know, we've already done it once."
The woman threw her masked head back and let out a mad peal of laughter. "You must be the bitty little ones who were almost killed by Quirrel."
"We won, didn't we?" Fred hissed, but movement had caught the woman's eye and she spun around with her wand out.
"Looks like one of the babies doesn't want to play with us," she hissed, then flicked her wand and pulled Draco out of the shadows. She wasn't gentle about it, and he ended pitching forward on his knees, barely keeping himself from falling on his face in front of the two Death Eaters. He scrambled to push his hair back, but he stayed on his knees, his face pleading as he looked up at the masked man.
"I'm so glad it's you," he gasped.
Harry stiffened. He ought to have known who was behind that mask, with that smooth voice.
"He was keeping me hostage, thinking he could make you stand down by threatening me. I told him it wouldn't work, but he wouldn't let me go—"
"Get up."
"Yes, sir," he gasped, and jumped to his feet. He turned and faced Harry. Standing next to his father.
Harry looked him in the eyes and nodded. If that was the way it was going to be, better that it was decided now, before they were actually forced to fight. But when Lucius Malfoy saw that, saw the understanding pass between them, he grabbed his son painfully tight and shook him by the arm.
"What is this? Is this a plan between you?"
"No, Father, of course not, I—"
"I ask you to watch him for me, and instead you choose his side?" Lucius spat out. "I have heard reports that you are close to him, that you are with him often, but I never hear anything from you. I hear that you are seen in company with the Gryffindor students. I can only make one conclusion, Draco, and I am disgusted. Are you so weak that you couldn't resist? Is he that convincing?"
"I was doing as you said," Draco whispered, his eyes horrified. "I was never on his side, I was watching him for you. I'm not—"
"Then where do you go?" Lucius spat out. "I hear that you often are absent from the Slytherin rooms. Did you think I would not have eyes at the school? Did you? Where do you go? What have you been doing?" He shook him harder. "Tell me!"
Draco closed his eyes, his face looking ashen. "I can't."
Lucius pulled off his mask, and blond hair slid over his shoulder, just the shade of his sons. Without the mask, he actually looked more frightening. His face was twisted with anger. "What did you say to me?"
"I can't tell you," Draco repeated, eyes still closed. "I want to, but I can't. I had to make a vow, if I didn't make it I wouldn't have been able to keep watch, so—"
"You lie," Lucius hissed. "You lie to me. Had you any respect for me as your father, you would not dare. Is it that you no longer wish to be my son? You may have your wish, if it's come to that."
Harry felt sick. His stomach churned to see this. Draco had made his decision, and now it had backfired on him. Their Unbreakable Vow had made it impossible for him to convince his father that he was telling the truth. Lucius wouldn't kill him, not his own son, but Lucius served Voldemort and Voldemort might. Harry had put Draco in this position, and he had to take responsibility for it. This wasn't what Draco wanted, but he didn't have much choice now.
People could not be Summoned, but that wasn't the only way.
"Levicorpus," Harry said. "Mobilicorpus." He pulled Draco away from his father, the boy too shaken to fight the spell, and then stepped in front of Draco.
"What do you think you're doing?" Draco muttered.
"This isn't what you wanted, but you're stuck with me for now," Harry said. "I told you, if this happened, that I'd protect you. So stay put, would you?"
"The Dark Lord will be most interested to hear about this, Lucius," the woman said with vicious humour. "Can't you even control your own family?"
"How dare you?" Lucius snarled in fury.
"Little Malfoy Junior, going over to the side of the Light—"
"If I hear another word out of you, Bellatrix, so help me, I will kill you."
"Fine. Then let's get what we came for," she snapped.
"Anybody mind telling me what we did come for?" Fred spoke up in annoyance. Everyone on their side had stepped right up behind Harry, forming up as though for battle, and now they wanted to know what the fight was about. It was only fair.
"That," Harry said, pointing up to the proper shelf. He could see the label with the initials that marked it as his.
"What is it?
Bellatrix laughed again. "You came without knowing why? How adorable!" She eyed Harry like a piece of meat. "And I thought Lucius was the one with the silver tongue. You must be very persuasive."
"We came to fight Voldemort," Hermione said bravely. "He came for the same thing. It doesn't matter what he said, we just happen to be on the same side."
"And what did you come for?" Neville asked, looking at Bellatrix with loathing and a touch of fear. "Come to finish off my family?"
It was inevitable that everyone would know what had happened to Neville's parents, with him having been such a public figure, but they had probably forgotten. They all looked surprised by his comment. But Bellatrix was cackling again.
"I'd love to, but my master waits. Now, then," she said, turning back to Harry. "The prophecy. Get it."
Harry chuckled. "Voldemort sent you to retrieve the prophecy, thinking I'd just get it down and hand it over? He must be pretty stupid."
Bellatrix gasped, and Lucius stepped forward with menace.
"You will learn not to speak that way," he ground out. "But first, we have lessons to teach you about defiance. It will do you no good to resist this, boy. It is only a question of how much pain we deal out before you do as we wish."
Harry shook his head. "Go ahead. Any amount of pain is worth it, to keep Voldemort from getting his hands on that prophecy. You didn't actually think I'd just do what you wanted because you asked?"
He'd given up all semblance of looking scared and confused, but they were past that, now. A spell came shooting his way, but he blocked it.
"Do not dare to speak his name," Bellatrix spat at him.
"What name, Voldemort?" Harry asked with affected innocence. "Whyever not?"
"You are not good enough to kiss the ground he walks on, you half-blooded brat!" she shrieked, trying to curse him again. Harry blocked it again.
"I can see that torturing you will not get us what we want," Lucius said, cutting into their little spat. "Imperio."
Harry felt a woozy sensation. His arms and legs felt strange. He wanted to go get the prophecy now, just take it down off the shelf and—
He broke it. "Wow, that was a brilliant idea," he sneered at Lucius. "I never thought anyone might use that spell on me, so I never practiced defending myself. Sheer genius, that."
Lucius shrugged. "So be it. Crucio."
Harry threw up his shield yet again, but nothing happened to him. Hermione fell the floor, screaming. Lucius smiled at Harry, and Harry watched helplessly while she clawed uselessly at the tiled floor, her pretty face twisted in torment, unable to help her wailing cries of pain. She was beyond coherency. What was going through her mind, if anything? Was she picturing Viktor Krum, standing over her, beating on her?
"Stupefy!" Harry shouted in rage.
Lucius blocked it, still maintaining the spell on Hermione, who still screamed. The spell caromed into a shelf and knocked down two prophecies, which hit the floor and let out a puff of smoke. Eerie voices spoke, echoing with Hermione's screams in the huge hall. Harry couldn't hear what they said, but it gave him an idea.
He swept his arm in front of the shelf and sent a barrage of glass balls at Lucius. He had to give up the spell to defend himself from the attacking globes, some of them breaking against his head and shoulders, which were still protected from cuts by the robes. More smoke, more voices. Bellatrix began sending her spells again, but Fred helped him block them while George helped a trembling Hermione back to her feet.
Lucius put his arm out and stopped Bellatrix. He swept broken glass calmly from his robes and gave Harry a look of cold hatred.
"We wanted this to be easy," he said. "But if you prefer it to be difficult, we can oblige."
"What do you—"
There were cries of surprise, and Harry felt somebody touching him. He snapped his head back and smashed his skull into someone's face. They stumbled back, howling, and Harry drew a tight shield up, darting a few paces away. More Death Eaters. Several of them. Grabbing hold of his friends. They'd been sneaking up behind while they'd all been occupied watching Hermione being tortured.
The Death Eater who'd grabbed Draco gave Lucius a confused look. "Should I—"
"Hold him," Lucius commanded brusquely.
The Death Eaters had their wands out and all Harry's friends in their hands.
"As I said, we tried to do this the easy way. Now we will do it the hard way. Are you listening to me? We will kill your friends if you do not retrieve that prophecy and hand it over. We. Will. Kill. Them." He was just way too angry about getting hit with the prophecies, Harry thought. Or maybe it was that Draco was being held as one of them right now. Yeah, that would do it.
"Kill them? Even your son?"
Lucius was nearly trembling with rage. "Do you care so much about his fate?"
Harry looked at Draco. Draco looked back at him. He was burning up with passionate anger, either at Harry or Lucius, or perhaps even both of them. He was staring at Harry, daring him to answer that. He had his jaw clenched and he was straining against the Death Eater holding him.
"These are my allies in this fight. We came here with the understanding that we'd protect each other," Harry answered. "And now you've made it up to me to protect all of them. Even Draco. So yes, I will protect him from you if I have to. I don't think you'll kill him. Will you kill the others? We're not even of age, Lucius. You're going to kill children?"
"No one was forced to come here tonight," Lucius answered. "Were they?"
Harry saw it in his eyes. He would not fail his master. He was going to bring the prophecy back to Voldemort, however he had to do it. Harry could not continue to resist this if he expected to bring his friends back with him. So he'd do it. He'd get the prophecy down, and they'd let his friends go. Then Harry would take the prophecy back. He had the advantage in this fight. He didn't care if the prophecy made it out of the building, only his friends. So he'd wait until his friends were free to defend themselves, then he'd go after Lucius. If he could take the prophecy whole, he would, out of respect for what Dumbledore and the Order wanted. But if he had to destroy it, he would. He didn't care.
"Okay," Harry said, letting his shoulders droop in defeat. Temporary defeat. "Okay, I'll get it." He walked to the shelf, feeling a pit in his stomach like he was walking to his own execution, and got the prophecy down off the shelf.
"What is this?" Fred gasped out against the arm across his throat. "Just what in hell is going on here?"
Harry turned to Fred with a sad smile. "You haven't figured out who I am yet?"
There was doubt in Fred's eyes, like he knew what Harry meant but wasn't ready for it yet.
"I did," Draco said. "Quite a while ago, to be honest."
"Good for you," Fred snarled. "But what is that?" He was looking at the prophecy.
"Shut up," the Death Eater holding him growled, tightening the arm over his throat and choking him.
"I'd rather like an explanation, myself," the one holding Hermione spoke up.
"I see," Harry said with a faint smile. "You're Voldemort's loyal followers, and he doesn't tell you a thing. How nice."
"Doesn't look like you explained much to your side, either," the one holding Fred said.
Harry shook his head. "It's not my side. I'm not in charge of this. Never wanted to be." He held up the prophecy, holding it out toward Lucius. "When he listens to this, tell him that, would you? He chose this. Not me. I didn't want it. Why do you think I tried so hard to hide? I wanted nothing to do with this fight, and it's him who forced us to this. You tell him I was never a threat until he made me one."
"I'll be sure to deliver your message," Lucius said stiffly. Then his hands closed over the prophecy.
Harry stepped back, letting out a deep breath. Would he let them go?
"We have our orders," Lucius said in his commanding voice. "They don't change because he brought children instead of real allies."
Harry frowned, gripping his wand.
"Kill them."
The bottom of his stomach dropped out.
"Guys, this is ridiculous, we have work to do," Harry said. He'd been practicing on Hermione, and she followed him over to check on the three boys, who certainly did not look like they were doing what the rest of the DL was doing.
"Come on, this is work," Lee Jordan said cheerfully.
"Are you kidding? You're supposed to be practising non-verbal Disarming Charms, and you're trying to come up with code words."
Neville and Draco, who had been paired up because most people in the room refused to work with Draco, sauntered over.
"Code words?" Draco repeated, voice dripping with disdain.
"You don't think they might be useful?" Fred challenged.
"Think about it, Evan. If we're in a fight, communication might be vital."
In all honesty, Harry was impressed by the idea. Being able to communicate with allies without giving away what you were saying to the enemy, that was great. However, until they could non-verbally Disarm each other, it was a waste of time. What good would it be to communicate in a fight if you couldn't even survive long enough to need it?
"We're just coming up with scenarios where we might need it. For instance, if everyone is fighting but we've got a sniper tucked away, they could warn the others that they're about to do something. Or, if we're all captured and we need to get away, someone might be able to get to their wand, and they'd need a way to tell everyone that they'd done it and to get ready. We just need a word to say that without letting on what we're up to."
Harry thought that through for a moment. "If everyone's under attack or captured, the only way to tip the balance would be to get everyone to duck or something and cast the biggest Blasting Curse possible."
"I hate to tell you this, mate, but you're probably the only one in the room who could pull that off," George said.
"Yeah, we were thinking more of just letting everyone know not to give up yet, really, that someone was going to get free and they should get ready for it."
"Or in the case of the sniper, that they were going to take out an enemy that someone was losing to, and that someone should probably get out of the way."
"I can't be the only one in the room who can cast a Blasting Curse," Harry interrupted.
"The only one who could cast one big enough that everyone would need to duck."
"Oh, please," Draco mumbled.
"Draco, we've seen your Blasting Curse, remember?" Hermione said.
"Well, if we come up with a good code phrase, we'll let you know," Lee said, hastily interrupting the beginning of an argument. They'd all gotten good at that since they'd had to be in the same room as Draco every week. "Everything we've come up with so far is kind of obvious."
"Like what?" Harry asked, enjoying this now, even if it was silly.
"Um, so far, 'everybody duck.' We were thinking maybe 'Hungarian Horntails' or something."
Harry just made a disgusted face.
"Merlin, such amateurs," Draco murmured, wandering away.
"Right so, back to work," Lee said briskly. Fred's wand jumped out of his wand. "Your turn, George."
"Wait," Harry said, his pulse pounding.
Lucius sneered at him.
Harry looked at Fred. "You still think I'm the only one?" he said, his voice trembling with the need for everyone to understand him.
"The only one what?" Fred said.
Harry sucked in a deep breath. "Hungarian Horntails," he said clearly.
There were puzzled frowns all around, but first George, then all the others, gasped. Simultaneously, they all threw themselves down, a few dragging their captors with them.
"Confringo!" Harry screamed.
There was a visible, silent pulse of power. The wave of the spell washed over everyone, causing hair and robes to blow back. Then sound. A lot of sound. Wood cracked, and a thousand glass bulbs shattered. Someone screamed. It was a defeaning wave of sound and violent concussion, the boom making the whole hall echo with it, and Harry stood at the center with the backwash of all the noise and propelled air sending his shaggy blond mop of hair every which way and making him wince and cover his ears.
Some of the Death Eaters had gotten up Shield Charms. Lucius was one of them. He was once again covered in shattered glass, but he was on his feet and the prophecy was cradled, undamaged, in his careful hands. But the chaos was erupting around him as Harry's friends jumped back up in the wake of the Death Eaters' surprise and began to fight.
"Stupefy!"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Impedimentia!"
"Langlock!"
"Relashio!"
They were all facing off, throwing Leg-Locker curses, tongue-tying curses, Stunning spells, all kinds of things. Harry saw fire being thrown around, saw jets of red light, and heard harsh men screaming out Cruciatus Curses. Draco had tried the easy way out, going to his knees and holding up his wand in both hands, but they didn't accept his surrender and forced him to fight. Harry noticed all this, but his eyes were on Lucius, who was backing up slowly, surveying it all. Then he turned and fled. Bellatrix was on his heels.
"Neville!" Harry shouted. Neville was the only one who would understand how important the prophecy they carried was. "Neville, come on!"
Neville nodded, but he was battling a man with a scruffy goatee that he couldn't get the better of.
"Reducto!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand beneath the Death Eater's feet. The tiles on the ground practically dissolved, and the man tripped and fell.
Neville didn't waste time thanking him, just followed him. They ran, hunting down Lucius and Bellatrix. They had to stop them before they could get out of the building, or they'd never be able to keep the prophecy from Voldemort. Harry couldn't let him hear it. He couldn't let him hear that death was the only option. He was still counting on finding some other way out of this war. It didn't have to end that way, but it would if Voldemort heard that prophecy. He'd do anything to keep Voldemort from hearing it, believing it, forcing him to live according to it.
"Lucius!" Harry bellowed when he got close enough. "You're running? Running from a bunch of kids? Are you afraid that your own son will curse you?"
Bellatrix turned around and tried to Stun him, but she was way too off-balance, and the jet of light went harmlessly two feet wide of him. Neville used her distraction to try to trip her and knock her down, but she defended herself. She was Lucius' bodyguard, obviously. She'd been briefed on how important the prophecy was, even if the rest of the Death Eater's hadn't.
"The war is far from over, but I've beaten you!" Harry shouted at Lucius. "I've got your son! You're in this to make sure your family comes out on top, right? Well, now you'd better make sure I win, if you want your kid to survive this!"
Harry had his doubts that Draco was ever going to forgive him for dragging him to this fight, much less would he actually join Harry's side. Assuming they all made it out of here alive and assuming they went back to school at all, Harry would have to watch his back every moment to be sure Draco wasn't there ready to assassinate him. But taunting Lucius to make him slow down so Harry could catch up was the only plan he had.
"He's mine now!" Harry said, sounding almost joyful. "You've lost to me, Lucius!"
And then Lucius turned around. "Damn you, Potter," he said, and his voice actually frightened Harry. The taunting might have worked too well. He'd wanted to slow Lucius down, not make him murderous. "Avada Kedavra."
Harry threw himself down and the green light passed over him, but his heart pounded. Bellatrix was grabbing at Lucius, imploring him to stop, reminding him that he was not to touch the Potter boy because he belonged to their master. Lucius was not being reasonable, unfortunately. He cast it again. Harry rolled to the side. Now that the curse had been introduced, it was apparently a free-for-all. They were going to kill him. This fight had just been a fight, but now it was a fight to the death. Harry threw himself to the side, tucking his shoulder to roll forward as another Killing Curse came his way. He had no time to wrap his head around the idea that he might die, he was too busy figuring out a way to get out of here.
"Neville, forget it, let's go!" he shouted.
But Neville was furiously casting spells, and so Harry got up and stood with him. They threw out every curse they knew, desperately fast, both of them gasping for breath. They were doing something. Lucius and Bellatrix were dancing around, shielding, throwing out curses of their own. Harry and Neville weren't winning by any means, but they were fighting, not dying. They were holding their own. It was a heady thing. So heady that Bellatrix wasn't the only one laughing wildly. Harry and Neville stood shoulder-to-shoulder, and Neville was laughing.
"This is it!" Neville was saying. "Stupefy! This is what everything was for! Confringo! So I could do this! Expelliarmus, Expelliarmus, oh forget it, Stupefy! The last six years weren't a waste of time! Impedimentia!"
Harry was dripping with sweat and he was desperate. He ran forward, ducking, dodging, shielding, until he was right in front of Lucius. Then while Lucius was trying to figure out what in hell Harry thought he was doing, Harry drew in his arm and punched, smashing the glass ball Lucius cradled in one hand and driving the shattered fragments into Lucius' chest. Lucius wasn't injured, but still, he gasped in shock, and for a moment the fight ceased.
Ghostly smoke rose up around them. The alien voice, released from its ball, spoke the prophecy that Harry had been told about but that he couldn't deny he'd wanted to hear.
". . . born as the seventh month dies . . ."
That was both of them, Harry thought, taking a step back to rejoin Neville.
". . . mark him as his equal . . ."
Okay, that was probably just him.
". . . neither can live while the other survives."
Now that was the bit Harry had really not wanted anyone to hear. Not good. So not good. They had to capture Bellatrix and Lucius and make sure they couldn't speak to Voldemort, couldn't communicate what they'd heard.
"Lucius," Bellatrix whispered, staring at the glass in Lucius' bleeding hands.
Harry carefully pried a shard of glass from his knuckle, wincing as blood flowed out from the wound. "Well, that's that, I suppose," he said cheerfully. "Now you can't give it to him."
"You sound strangely happy for a boy who has just received a death sentence," Lucius said.
"Who, me? I'm not planning to die."
"When the Dark Lord hears of this, he will stop at nothing, Potter."
"He's not going to hear of this," Harry shrugged. "At least, you won't tell him."
"And how do you plan to stop me, Potter? I have held back because the Dark Lord has requested it, but I am certain that he will understand any action I am require to take to deliver this information to him safely."
"I do appreciate your restraint," Harry grinned.
The smile incensed Lucius. "I will make you wish for death," he vowed, and he raised his wand to curse Harry. It was plucked neatly from his grip.
"Don't ever threaten my godson, not in front of me," Sirius said, placing Lucius' wand in his jacket pocket. "Sorry I'm late," he said to Harry, winking. "You seem to be holding up well."
Bellatrix shrieked in panic when she saw all the new arrivals, and she did something to her arm. Harry knew that she had the Dark Mark, and he realised what she'd done. She'd called him. Voldemort was on his way. Harry's heart began to pound. They'd tell him that the prophecy said Harry must die, and Voldemort would kill him right here. Sirius wouldn't be able to stop him.
"Oh, thank Merlin, they're here," Harry heard someone say behind him, and turned around to see his friends coming.
Hermione and George were hobbling as quickly as they could, carrying the weight of Draco and Fred, who were both looking decidedly unwell and not particularly conscious. George didn't look so good himself, with blood streaking his temple and cheek and the hand holding his wand trembling with pain. Hot on their heels were three of the five Death Eaters who'd come to back up Lucius and Bellatrix. They stopped, and looked carefully around at the scene before them.
Tonks came rushing out of the group of new arrivals, took one look at the students, and said to Hermione, "Get them out of here. All four of you, go to the hospital wing at Hogwarts." She turned to Harry and Neville. "Both of you as well."
They both looked at her and didn't speak. They didn't move, either.
"Neville, go," Harry said quietly. "Help Hermione get them out."
"I can fight."
"You may have to," Harry said. "Please."
Neville nodded, and took Draco from Hermione. All the adults stood frozen for a moment.
"Well, I ain't lettin' that one escape, he knocked out two of my teeth!" one of the Death Eaters cried out, and went for either Fred or George.
That did it. Everyone fell to fighting, Tonks and Shacklebolt rushing in like the Aurors they were while Remus and Sirius moved to stand back to back waited for the enemy to come to them. That Doge bloke was here, too, and that was enough fighters, so Harry got out of the way. Neville was guarding the injured students while they retreated, and he seemed happy enough with his job, so Harry simply stood aside. He wasn't leaving. Dumbledore wasn't here yet, so they needed him to distract Voldemort when the dark wizard showed up. By the smug look on Bellatrix's face while she dueled, he was on his way.
And then suddenly he was there. Harry didn't see how he arrived, but the one person besides himself who was not fighting caught his eye, and he had to stand very still to keep himself from stepping back until he could find the fireplace and get the hell out. He did not want to face this man.
But he did. Voldemort saw him, and walked toward him. He looked happy.
"My dear Harry, I did so hope to meet you here," Voldemort said.
"I'm sure you did. But the thing you came for has been destroyed, so I wouldn't get too happy yet." Harry sounded breathless and his bravado too obviously false, but it was the best he had.
"Harry, you are young. You have not learned yet that such abrasive comments will not get you what you want as quickly as simple politeness."
Harry shrugged, seeing that Voldemort was too in the moment to be worried about the loss of the prophecy. It was a problem to deal with after he'd dealt with the situation before him. "I'm not very good at polite. Sorry."
"You are not very good at hiding, either," Voldemort observed. "Or did you think I did not know where you were, this past year?"
"You'd have to be a fantastic idiot not to," Harry retorted, and Voldemort's face twisted with anger at being spoken to that way. And suddenly, it came to him. The perfect thing to keep Voldemort occupied for a couple of minutes: pretending to underestimate him. It would get him so upset, he wouldn't be able to rest until he'd made sure Harry understood just how much of a bad-ass he was.
"Clever of you, to hide there," Voldemort said. "You were not out of my reach, but I was not yet ready to make my return to publicly known as to attack Hogwarts. Dumbledore's idea, was it not?"
"Not even close," Harry scoffed. "It was mine. But it wasn't so I could hide from you. I just didn't want the publicity. I hate being a celebrity, it's such a headache. Do you want to know why I was really at Hogwarts? To study. Imagine that, going to school to study. I just thought my Ordinary Wizarding Levels were more important than you were, was all."
Voldemort was smiling, but it was a cold and furious smile, an expression that was supposed to chill Harry but just made him happy. Harry had gotten to him. Perfect.
"You think you can speak to me in this arrogant way, but let me assure you that you will regret it. You do not believe what you are saying, because you know what I am capable of—"
"I know you're capable of getting other people to do your dirty work," Harry said. "I know that your followers are pretty good at sneaking up on innocent people and killing them. Hell, you might even be good at that, yourself. But I haven't seen anything yet that convinces me you're a threat worth worrying about. A wizard doesn't have to be powerful or important to creep into someone's house in the middle of the night and murder them. They just have to be horrible. There's a lot of horrible people in the world, and I try not to lose sleep over them. You're no different."
Oh, that was too much. That last comment right there. He'd pushed past stalling Voldemort and gone into getting killed territory. Voldemort was not going to let that one lie.
Then Dumbledore arrived. With a whoosh of flame, he stepped out of the fireplace, with Cornelius Fudge and a few members of his retinue on his heels.
"Dumbledore," Harry sighed with relief. The headmaster strode over to him. The Death Eaters paused to watch him come, and saw their master and the head of the Order of the Phoenix eyeing each other with caution. "You came." Just in time, too. The Order was starting to look pretty ragged.
"I knew almost immediately that I had been lured away, but I went back to the school, thinking it was there that I was meant to be kept away from. It took me some time to discover what had happened. But yes, I am here." He faced Voldemort, and he did not look friendly. "Tom."
"Dumbledore," Voldemort rasped. "So you come to play the hero and rescue your underlings yet again."
"I will always come to help a friend in need," Dumbledore replied calmly. "But there is no reason for this to escalate, Tom. No need for anyone else to get hurt tonight. I see that it is already too late for you to get what you came for."
"No," Voldemort said with a chuckle. "Since I really came for him." He looked at Harry again. Harry wanted to shiver, but instead he straightened his shoulders, raised the best shields his mind could produce, and tried to look unafraid.
"Really?" Harry drawled. "I thought you were only good at sneaking."
"I will show you what I can do," Voldemort promised, raising his wand and making Dumbledore whip out his own.
"No!" Harry said, heart pounding wildly. "Hurting people isn't power. I already know you can do that, and I'm not going to fight with you just so you can do that some more. I'll just leave if that's all you've got. I could just go away where you can't find me again, I suppose. Happy hunting." Harry made a show of thinking about it. "Or . . . or you could prove you're worth taking seriously. Do something that actually impresses me."
"Such as?" Voldemort asked. It was obvious that he was only humouring Harry because he was so confident that he thought he had all the time in the world.
"I've heard you cursed the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts," Harry said, a wild thought occurring to him. "But I don't believe it. That kind of magic? You're just a thug, you don't have it in you."
Voldemort began to look very wrathful. Would he admit to having done it, here, in front of Dumbledore?
"But I suppose there's a way of finding out. It seems pretty apparent that the position is cursed. But for it to have been you, well, there's only one way to prove that. You take the curse off."
Voldemort laughed. "Oh, Harry, you truly are a foolish boy," he chuckled.
Harry stared him down. He did not tremble, although it took everything he had not to do it. "Prove it, Voldemort. If Sirius still holds the job come fall, then I'll believe you're worth the time it takes to think about you. If not, I'm getting out of here. You see, I've decided I don't really much like England, so I think I'll just leave again and go into hiding again, and someday, someday that you could never see coming, I'll be back to take out your sorry, murdering ass. When I'm good and ready to. Not now, not like this, not when you want it."
Voldemort was done listening, and he started cursing. Dumbledore, who had remained silent and listened to Harry's strange taunting, came alive. Maybe he'd hoped that they could all walk away from this, but he wasn't about to let Voldemort hurt anyone, either.
It promised to be a magnificent fight, but Harry wasn't going to see it. He was getting out of there before Voldemort could do something to cheapen what he'd just said. If he left now, Voldemort might actually remove the curse on Sirius' job. Harry didn't really think so, but maybe . . . just maybe. He wasn't going to be able to face Voldemort, but Dumbledore could, so he needed to get out of the way. Besides, he wanted to make sure his friends were okay. So he made a run for it and dove into the nearest fire to get out. He'd done his part. The others could take it from here.