There was only a moment's hesitation before the scroll vanished from Jack's hand, and was suddenly glowing brilliantly from where Voldemort now held it in the hand opposite the one that was holding his wand.

No one had actually seen it move, only disappear, but there was no denying the bright light that it was emitting, or the wonder in Voldemort's normally impassive expression as he looked at it.

"Don't give him a chance to read it!" Daniel yelled – pretty much to anyone who might be able to stop what was coming.

The Order wizards reacted immediately, all pointing their wands at Voldemort, while the Deatheaters replied just as quickly, wands turning towards those who posed the greatest threat to their master.

"Kill him!" Bane bellowed to the other centaurs – those who were still on their feet. The dark centaur was obviously in pain, unable to get to his feet, and his foreleg was clearly broken, but he was hardly out of the fight.

Where the field had only moments before been chaos, now it was a melee the likes of which Sam had never seen before. Arrows flew from every direction towards Voldemort, who proved clearly that there was a reason he was probably the most powerful wizard around without Dumbledore to compete with.

"Avifors!"

Every arrow in the space between him and the centaurs suddenly turned into small birds and fluttered off – even as Voldemort turned his attention back to the scroll in his hand while still watching for threats that his Deatheaters couldn't handle. More arrows flew, but these turned into birds as well – and several centaurs found themselves on suddenly unstable ground that pulled them down or vanished under them completely. Startled shouts of pain or fury permeated the air, and the sound of several bows snapping as their wielders landed heavily on them.

The centaurs weren't the only danger, certainly. Several Order wizards were down – Sirius among them – but the rest were still up and actively attacking.

Of course, the Deatheaters weren't sitting by idly. Those spells that Voldemort himself wasn't blocking, the Deatheaters were. Curses and counter curses were flying, Wizards from both sides were dropping to the ground, writhing in agony, or staying completely still, and it wasn't looking good for the Order.

Their master saw all of this and more – even as he read the piece of paper in his hand and started to smile. His hand was practically shaking in barely suppressed glee as he started to re-read it, this time aloud.

OOOOOOOO

Jack lay stunned. He felt as if his insides had somehow tried to find their way out by going through every pore in his body – and had failed, so had simply hammered up against his skin for what had seemed to be hours, but was only moments. He was pretty sure that if he hadn't been protected by the spell that had been on the scroll, he'd probably be dead. The Blood spell had been painful, and he didn't know if it was because it was always supposed to be like that – a good reason not to use it on a relative – or if it had simply been that bad because Voldemort had been trying to fight it.

He had tried to fight it, too. Jack knew that, since he'd felt his own blood practically boil within as it had called to Voldemort's – no denying that relationship, anymore, that was for certain – and had felt the struggle within as Voldemort's own blood had tried to refuse the summons. But come he had, and now the Dark Lord was in the middle of a battle that was probably as nasty as anything Jack had ever seen. Of course, he hadn't seen any wizard battles, so he wasn't sure if this was as bad as they came or worse, but it looked bad enough.

It was a burning sensation against his leg that pulled him out of the worst of the stupor he was in. His eyes dropped to his pants, certain that someone's spell had ricocheted off the rock or something else and had hit him. Instead, there was nothing, only an increasingly painful burning against his leg. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the scroll, realizing belatedly that that was the source of his discomfort, and wasn't really surprised to see it giving off a brilliant light.

It vanished only an instant later, and he heard Daniel shout – but was distracted by the pain in his leg and the discomfort he was in. Suddenly, though, it was all gone as a soft voice sifted through his mind. A voice he'd heard twice in a single day, on another crazy day – much like this one was turning into. As if it had been sitting there in the back of his mind all this time, waiting to be remembered, the woman's voice came unbidden to his thoughts.

'…But be warned, lord of the darkness, for you are not as powerful as you believe you are. A boy will come and challenge you, and only your own flesh and blood may prove to be your salvation…'

'…Lo! The brother of the Dark One is the key to his downfall. Yet, he can also be his salvation as well. The choice is his to make, for no man can force another to his destiny…'

Salvation was the key, Jack knew, his mind working furiously to clear the cobwebs and think things through at the same time. If the scroll from the Centaur Sanctuary was truly intended for Voldemort – and it was pretty obvious that it had to be – then the scroll could possibly be a spell that would prove to be the final kicker in what was looking to be a fairly even battle. And Jack had brought it to him. Proving himself to be his salvation.

Daniel was right. They couldn't let him read it.

The only problem with that was that above the sounds of a magical battle was the clear and somewhat thunderous voice of the Dark Lord.

"No magic can harm, no magic will slay. The immunity within can win thou the day. The Brother hast brought it, and now wilt thou find, the spell-"

"Accio!"

Harry Potter had been knocked backwards by a bolt of energy that had ricocheted off a protection spell and had been stunned, briefly. Because he'd been so still and lifeless – and because the battle had been raging so violently on both sides – no one had actually had a chance to make a move to check on him one way or the other. Now he sprang to his feet, wand out and his eyes wild.

And the scroll in Voldemort's hand flew from his hand and straight to Harry, the brilliant light fading as it moved.

"No!"

Furious, the Dark Lord leveled his wand at the boy, ready to finish the upstart who had given him so much trouble for so long, and then get his scroll back. For it was clearly his.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Fenrir Grayback stalked through the manor with purpose, but was growing increasingly frustrated. All the Deatheaters were gone! All of them! He'd figured that someone would remain. That somehow Voldemort would realize that he couldn't leave his safe house unguarded and would send one back from wherever he'd summoned them – no matter what was going on.

But he hadn't. The walls echoed back only the sound of his own footsteps, and the sounds of his soft growls.

"Where are they!?" He shouted in fury. "Where-"

He cut himself off. A soft noise that would have escaped the ears of any human but had no chance of being missed by a werewolf drew his attention to a small door that led – as far as he could remember – to a closet. He frowned, and opened the door, well aware that there wasn't anything in there that could injure him.

All he saw was a small collection of supplies that hadn't been needed and had been stored in there. Stacked on shelves that went almost completely to the ceiling and left only the smallest of spaces at the floor.

Grayback sniffed. Then smiled a truly hideous smile.

"Come out, Wormtail…"