Chapter 29: The Battle of Hogwarts
Harry stared at the body – if it could still be called a body – in the fading twilight. He could not believe that Dumbledore was gone; it just wasn't possible. Sirius's death had been agonising, but it had come to make sense, in a twisted fashion. He had been the closest thing Harry had to a father, but he was just a normal wizard. That had been the appeal, in a way. Dumbledore though…Dumbledore was a legend, the greatest sorcerer of the age. He couldn't just be dead.
He didn't even react when Cohen placed his gnarled hand gently on his shoulder.
"Come on, lad," the barbarian said gently. "Time to go."
Harry just knelt there, only dimly aware that Cohen had spoken at all. It wasn't until Cohen bent down to gather Dumbledore into his arms that he moved.
"No. I'll carry him."
"You sure?" Cohen took a step back in surprise as Harry's eyes flashed, and he nodded. "Sure, go for it."
Harry made sure that his wand and Gryffindor's sword were tucked into his robes, and stood up, Dumbledore's charred body hideously light in his arms. He could still feel the searing heat that had killed him, radiating from his body, and he shuddered briefly. When he looked up, his eyes were hard. He checked to make sure that the ring was still on Dumbledore's finger, then turned to face the others. Ridcully looked like he was in shock; the new arrivals more confused than anything else, but staying quiet.
"Follow me," he said. And they did.
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The Portkey deposited them back at Hagrid's hut. Harry could see the flicker of firelight through the window, and for one moment felt a desperate urge to knock on the door and talk to his friend – but he couldn't. He couldn't face dealing with Hagrid's grief, not yet. He knew he would have to face someone soon, probably McGonagall, but he needed more time.
"Where are we?" one of the new arrivals asked, a youngish man whose red hair made him look like a Weasley after a solid decade of intense physical training and healthy living. Through his mental fog, Harry vaguely remembered him being introduced as Captain Carrot.
"Hogwarts – it's the local equivalent of the University," Ridcully explained in hushed tones. "Although the students are younger. And there're more of them. And they don't eat enough. And – "
"Yes, you said," the stone faced man cut in. "Mustrum, what the bloody hell is going on? What happened to that other wizard?"
"He's dead," Harry said shortly. He closed his eyes for a long moment. "He's dead."
"And he gave you a job," Cohen reminded him. Harry opened his eyes, and looked at him. Cohen was right, he realised. This wasn't the time to indulge his grief. He nodded his acknowledgement.
"Yeah. I need to get up to the castle. To Dumbledore's office."
"Lead the way!" Ridcully declared. They all followed him, Dumbledore's body still in his arms. He could hear Ridcully explaining all about Hogwarts, and pointing out the key areas of the castle and grounds to the people in armour. Harry suddenly realised that they had lost one of their own men; he felt he ought to say something, but had no idea what. He was too busy trying to work out what to say to the people they would inevitably bump into on their way.
As they walked into the atrium, he heard footsteps clattering on the stone floor, and he braced himself. Professor McGonagall came flying round the corner, her wand in her hand and a frantic expression on her face. When she saw Harry, she visibly relaxed.
"Potter, thank Merlin. I was in the office, and the Portkey registered. I was worried…where is Professor Dumbledore?"
Harry just looked at her, unable to speak. She looked back at him, confused and clearly beginning to worry. Then she looked down, at Harry's arms.
"Potter, what on earth…what…" She raised her hand to her mouth, shocked beyond words as the penny dropped.
"Professor, I…I'm so sorry. There was nothing I could do."
"How?" she whispered. Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure how much Dumbledore had revealed to the other members of staff, and the Order – but he couldn't lie to her. Not completely. Not now.
"He gave his life to help destroy Voldemort," he whispered. McGonagall nodded distractedly, her eyes still fixed on the horrific sight. "Professor, I need to go to his office immediately."
"Yes, of course." McGonagall spoke, but did not move. Harry waited for a moment, hoping she would move, but it soon became apparent that she was too deep in shock. He looked over his shoulder at Ridcully, who nodded.
"Come on, my dear woman. Let's take him to his rest."
Once more, Harry led the way. Miraculously, they saw no-one else on their way to the office. As they approached, the gargoyle swung away from the stairs, as if it was somehow aware of what had happened. The door swung open, and Fawkes trilled a lament as they entered. Harry placed Dumbledore's body on the desk, and the phoenix flapped over, bending his head to weep over his master's body. Harry reached out to stroke his feathers sadly.
"I don't think that's going to do much good, Fawkes. I'm sorry."
As McGonagall sank into the chair, Harry turned to Dumbledore's cabinet. He opened it, riffling through the papers and trinkets, looking for the Penseive. In frustration, he jabbed his wand inside, summoning it. It flew towards him in a cloud of paper, and he snatched it from the air. He repeated the spell with the memories, and they jumped to his hand.
"Potter, what are you doing?" McGonagall demanded. He looked at her apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Professor. Dumbledore's orders. Practically his last words…"
She looked at him blankly. "Oh. Oh, I see…"
There was an explosion deep within the castle, shaking them where they stood. Everyone in the room instantly drew their respective weapons, fire flickering over Ridcully's fingertips, and light gleaming from the veritable forest of swords that had suddenly appeared.
"Oh for gods' sake," the stone faced man Ridcully had called Vimes swore. "What now? Mustrum, this is really taking the piss, you know that?"
"Sorry, Sam," Ridcully apologised. "It's not usually this frantic."
Harry checked the sword of Gryffindor at his waist, drawing only his wand. Chances were he wouldn't be using the blade that much. He strode to the window, looking out with a grim expression. Flames flickered on a fourth floor window, and he turned to McGonagall.
"Fourth floor. There's a fire."
Before she could say anything, a wizard ran into one of the portraits above the desk, panting heavily. "Albus! Albus, it's Death Eaters" He looked down at them in confusion. "Where's Albus?"
"Not now, Severian," McGonagall said impatiently. "How many Death Eaters?"
"Right…twenty, at least," the wizard informed them. "They're on the fourth floor, they're just blowing things up!"
"I see. Potter, we must – Potter?"
But Harry was nowhere to be seen.
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Harry prowled through the twisting corridors of the castle, his wand ready for anything. He made no attempt to conceal his presence; he wanted to attack, to hurt the people who had dared to attack the place he called home, more than anywhere else in the world, who had dared to endanger his friends. As he arrived on the fifth floor, he heard the sounds of spell-fire, and he tensed up, ready to duel. He looked around the corner of the corridor.
Marlinspike was duelling an anonymous figure in black robes and white skull mask. The deadly green light of the Killing Curse flashed past the former Auror, impacting against the wall with a bang and a shower of stone chips. Marlinspike barely reacted, casting his own spell; a bolt of lightning zapped from his wand, and struck the Death Eater in the chest. He yelled in pain, disappearing over the stair rail as the force threw him backwards. Harry stepped round the corner, and Marlinspike whirled, aiming his wand at his student. His eyes narrowed.
"Potter? Prove yourself!" he barked, suspiciously. Harry sighed.
"The first time we met, I hit you with a Sonic Curse. Good enough?"
Marlinspike nodded grudgingly. "It'll do. I – "
"You probably killed that Death Eater you threw over the stairs; that puts you on my side, I'd say," Harry remarked. Marlinspike smiled grimly, nodding in acknowledgement.
"Death Eaters, no idea how many. Where's Dumbledore?"
"There's twenty of them at least, so I'm told." Harry looked at the stairs, and amended his statement. "Nineteen, maybe…" He looked back at Marlinspike. "Dumbledore's dead."
The former Auror swore, foully. "How? I didn't think they'd got that far!"
Harry shook his head. "Earlier, not here. Long story, and now doesn't really seem the time. Later."
"Agreed. Any sign of them further up?"
"No. The explosion was on the fourth floor though," Harry told him.
"Then let's go."
They both walked further downwards. The Death Eater Marlinspike had dispatched was not on the floor below; Harry wondered whether he had fallen further down, or if he had survived and scurried off somewhere. There was a scream from a few corridors away, and they broke into a run.
Three students and Flitwick were fending off a group of Death Eaters. Flitwick's wand was a blur of motion, little balls of light flying around him. He thrust the students behind him as the torches hung on the wall exploded, flames arcing towards them. Flitwick twirled his wand, and the balls of light soared to the ceiling; the flames were caught in a gust of wind, spiralling back at the Death Eaters in a vortex of fire. Another swipe, and the balls of light cascaded after the column of fire. Although the Death Eaters were smart enough to dodge the fire, they couldn't avoid the orbs. They were sent floating into the air, paralyzed and spinning gently.
Marlinspike applauded softly, and Flitwick whirled round, wand raised. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of them.
"Thank Merlin, I thought there were more of them. How did they get in?"
"Let's just make sure they don't get any further," Harry said. Flitwick stared at him, clearly surprised by the authoritative manner in which he had spoken, but he didn't disagree.
"Filius, get them back to their common room, then get back down here. Harry and I will make a start on the rest of them, ok?"
Flitwick nodded, and hurried off with the students, still clutching his wand. Marlinspike watched them go, a hint of nervousness on his face. When he realised Harry was watching him, he quickly removed all trace of expression, putting the emotionless mask back on. He hurried off down the corridor, beckoning Harry after him. They jogged along in silence for several tense moments, expecting Death Eaters to appear with every step.
They just didn't expect them to come through a wall.
The explosion tore them from their feet, and Harry slammed painfully into the opposite wall. His wand went flying, and he scrabbled for it.
"Clumsy, Potter!"
He looked up as a vaguely familiar figure leapt at him, snarling like some sort of wild animal, his arms outstretched. Harry's fingertips touched his wand, and he whirled it up as fast as he could, forcing his will through it. It bucked in his hand, and a bolt of pale red light erupted from the tip, striking his attacker in the chest. It barely slowed him. He landed in a crouch over Harry, drool dripping from his jaws, and his head darted down as if to bite Harry. Repulsed, Harry pressed his wand between the man's ribs: this time, his spell blew him straight up into the ceiling. He hit the stone hard enough that Harry could hear the crack of bones, before falling to the floor.
Thinking that was the end of it, Harry turned away to see Marlinspike duelling three Death Eaters simultaneously. Looking at them made Harry realise something; the man who attacked him hadn't been wearing a mask. He looked over his shoulder, just as the burly man grappled him once more. He recognised him now: Fenrir Greyback. The realisation spurred him onto greater efforts, panic beginning to set in. As Greyback opened his mouth once more – could a werewolf infect you in human form? – Harry head-butted him. He felt something crack under the force of his blow, and Greyback howled, jumping back with a swipe at Harry's face. He rattled Harry's glasses, but little else. Once more though, Harry found himself wandless. Standing, he drew the Sword of Gryffindor, and lunged at Greyback. The goblin-forged blade went straight through the meat of the man's thigh, eliciting another furious roar of pain: Harry answered it by closing in to introduce his knee to Greyback's 'tonker'. As the werewolf sank to the floor, Harry clubbed him round the head with the hilt of the Sword, knocking him unconscious.
Grabbing his wand from where it had fallen, Harry surveyed the scene. Behind him, Marlinspike was still duelling the three Death Eaters, in a dizzying display of defensive and offensive magic. One of them moved to flank him from the rear, and Harry muttered quietly, working a Transfiguration on the floor. Stone moved like water, and the slab split, rising on either side of the unfortunate Death Eater, before enveloping him in molten stone, pulling him down into the floor to his waist, his wand arm encased. He started to move to help Marlinspike with the other two, but a whimper distracted him. He turned to face the hole in the wall.
Draco Malfoy stood there, shock plastered all over his pale face.
The blond boy looked tired, Harry realised. Not just sleepy; this was a soul deep weariness. But when his eyes met Harry's, he paled even further, and dragged up the energy to run, as if his life depended on it.
Harry sprinted after him, snapping off hexes as he ran, but never quite managing to hit the other boy. Somewhere along the line, Draco had learnt to duck and dive with the best of them. Cohen would have been proud. The Slytherin practically threw himself around a corner, and Harry slowed, not lost enough to anger to miss an obvious opportunity for a trap. As he approached the corner, he threw himself into a sidelong slide, drawing his wand in one swift motion.
Sure enough, a bolt of light shot through the air where his head would have been; Draco gaped as he realised he had missed. As he turned to run again, Harry clipped his feet with a Sticking Charm, and he fell to the floor with a thud. Teeth bared, Harry prowled towards him.
"What did you do, Malfoy?"
"I didn't – I had to!" Draco stammered, turning to face Harry. "They didn't give me any choice!"
"There's always a choice, you pathetic little boy!" Harry shouted, and he lashed his wand down viciously. A curse exploded against the stone by Draco's face, scattering him with little fragments. He flinched, and shuffled backwards. "How did you let them in? How many are there? What do they want?" Harry barked.
"I…" Draco let out a frightened sob. "The Room of Requirement. There's a cabinet there, you can travel through it if you know where the companion to it is. I found out, mended it. Dawlish…the Auror…he was my contact, told me that Vol – the Dark Lord had moved his plans forward. I don't know why, I swear. There's about twenty of them."
Harry considered this in silence, his mind working furiously. Twenty Death Eaters: well, maybe fifteen or so now, depending on how Marlinspike was coping. It could be worse, and if they needed to get to the Room of Requirement to get back…there was still time to settle this.
"What are they doing here? Are they after someone? Trying to take the castle?"
Draco shook his head. "The original plan was that…that they'd distract people while I killed Dumbledore."
Harry laughed bitterly. "You're a little too late there, Malfoy. Not that you could have done it anyway. You're not that good."
Draco's eyes narrowed in confusion, and a touch of resentment, but he didn't question Harry's words. "They came tonight specifically because Dumbledore wasn't going to be here. They're looking for something, I think. Something valuable to the Dark Lord."
"What could he possibly have in Hogwarts that was val…" Harry trailed off. They had destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul not too long ago, and suddenly there was an attack on Hogwarts? That was far too convenient to be a co-incidence. Could Voldemort be aware of what happened to his Horcruxes? Perhaps he thought Dumbledore might have located more, and retrieved them.
Or maybe…maybe he had left one here?
"What is it, Malfoy?" Harry said, in menacing tones. Draco shook his head once more.
"I don't know, I swear. I was just helping them! Bellatrix, she knows. She's looking for it!"
Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry's blood ran cold with hatred. He wouldn't get another chance to take her down anytime soon. "And where is she?"
"Still in the Room of Requirement," Draco said nervously.
There was another explosion from behind them. Harry whirled round, and instantly swore to himself. It was too late; Draco cursed him in the back, and he was thrown across the corridor. He fell to the floor, stars spinning in front of his face. By the time he could see properly again, Draco was gone. Swearing loudly and foully, Harry heaved himself to his feet, and looked over the bannister he was leaning against. On the floor below them, the troll that had killed the shack-snake was reloading his vast crossbow, illuminated by dancing flames along the wall. A Death Eater was firing curses at it, and finding out just how difficult it was to hurt something made of stone. Most of the spells seemed not to affect the troll – Detritus? – at all, judging by the patience he was demonstrating. He raised the crossbow to his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. There was a screech of exploding wood and metal, and the arrows exploded into burning shards. By all rights, the Death Eater should have been reduced to a bloody smear on the ground, but magic prevailed; the Death Eater swirled his wand, and the shards stopped in mid-air, dancing around him like fireflies. Another flick of his wand, and they shot out in every direction. A few nearly clipped Harry, even so far above. Before the troll could do anything though, a large wolf tackled the Death Eater to the floor, jaws snapping at him.
Shaking his head, Harry turned around. Draco hadn't gone past him, and was in all likelihood heading to the Room of Requirement to warn Bellatrix. Harry set off, his wand in one hand and the Sword in the other. Voldemort had certainly made one Horcrux while he was still a student – the diary that had ended up possessing Ginny – so it wasn't impossible that he had made another, and hidden it in the castle. The Room of Requirement would have seemed the perfect hiding place. A room you couldn't find unless you knew it existed, and knew the specific trick of opening it. Even then, you would have to know precisely how to locate the exact form of the room that Voldemort had chosen, even if such a thing were possible.
He caught up with Draco on the sixth floor, seeing him sprinting down a corridor. He hurled a hex at the fleeing Slytherin's back, but Draco must have heard him; it bounced off a hastily raised Shield. This time, Draco didn't bother cursing him back. He whirled his wand through a complex motion, and the flames on the torches hanging down the corridor billowed in a sudden wind. Unsettled, Harry slowed, raising his wand uncertainly. All of a sudden, the flames expanded, swooping towards each other and merging into one sea of flame. Draco was just barely visible through the swirling fire, and he moved his wand again; the burning wall moved towards Harry.
His eyes widening, he tapped his head with his wand. A rush of coolness flowed down his body, and as it reached his toes he extended his wand arm, casting the strongest Shield Charm he could manage. The flames cascaded over the shield, licking at his body but not burning him. His charm had worked, and he grinned to himself. It wouldn't last forever though, and he set off again, charging through the flames after Draco. The spell gave out just as he burst out the other side, and the end of his cloak caught fire. Stamping the flames out, he set off up another flight of stairs.
Draco was disappearing through the door of the Room of Requirement. Knowing that he would be protected inside, Harry conjured a block of stone, sending it flying towards the door. It wedged in between the doorframe and the door, and he leapt through the gap, brandishing both wand and Sword.
Inside, Draco was panting from his efforts, and was flanked by both Crabbe and Goyle. Behind them stood Bellatrix Lestrange, wand raised and her expression manic.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't ickle baby Potter!" she said in sing-song tones. She looked him up and down, and a predatory smile flashed across her lips. "Not so lickle now though, are you? Look like you've learnt to play…"
