Gwendolyn Tuft had wept as she prepared the site where she would finally break the young girl's mind. She had wept as she swept the floors of dust. She'd wept as she arranged the magical instruments and set them to whirring, puffing, wheezing and whining, all in preparation for the vital roles they'd play in the ritual to come. She'd lingered in the haze of smoke they emanated and wept as it stung her eyes – at least now she had an excuse.

She'd nearly broken down entirely when forced to wheel the girl out, strapped and shackled to a makeshift cot like some kind of wild monster. It had taken Gwendolyn three attempts to levitate her safely across the giant amphitheatre in the Veil Room. She'd dropped the poor girl while twice trying to mount the dais. Falling down beside her prostrate body, Gwendolyn had shed tears and blubbered sniffling apologies. But the girl's features remained unresponsive, her expression almost placid.

She hadn't stirred since a few hours back, not long after Gwendolyn had finally brought her to the dais. She'd screamed at the ceiling for a frantic minute, and then fallen deathly still. Gwendolyn had been checking her breathing every few minutes since, just to make sure that she still lived.

It will all be over soon, my love. Oh, how I wish things could be different.

Gwendolyn knew that it had been her fault, that it had all come to this. First, her own eagerness to prove herself to Raven. And then her inability to stand up to him. If she'd been any less of a coward she'd have taken the girl and fled. But with no home to go to and nobody else that she could trust, she couldn't have promised that it would lead to a better life for the girl than the one she currently had.

At least, that's how Gwendolyn had justified it to herself. Since she left Hogwarts, she'd had nobody else in her life except Raven. He knew that she wouldn't flee. She'd seen his calm, collected arrogance as she railed against the injustices he asked of her. She'd hated him for it. The first time she'd ever allowed herself to think ill of him. But it still hadn't been enough.

She'd still been a coward. And now the girl was going to die.

Let it be quick, Gwendolyn begged. Let it be painless.

She'd struggled to slip into the relaxed, dispassionate state required of the ritual magics that made up the core of what she sought to do. Not quite breaching the truly Dark Arts, ritual magic nonetheless left Gwendolyn feeling dirty. As if to summon the power she had to descend pond covered in murky scum. The very essence of it filled her up – every pore, every part of her soul – until she felt the very air around her was tainted. She'd feel this way for weeks afterwards, she well knew.

She focused as much as she could, despite the uncomfortable sensation pulsing through her veins. This much, she could give the girl, at least. A clean break. A swift end. A ritual cleanly executed.

She would shatter the mind of the young girl in one fell swoop. Like a delicate sphere spun form the finest crystal, Gwendolyn would crush it beneath the iron fist of her magical blows. And from among the shards would spill forth the prize: the power that Raven sought. For something lived within this girl. Some demon or shattered fragment of her own soul, something that was growing in power each and every day. It threatened to overwhelm her. That it hadn't already was a staggering testament to the girl's voracity. To her tenacious strength.

Unless, of course, the girl was working with this spirit. Unless she had found a way to control the power. In which case, Gwendolyn was probably doing the entire world a favour.

The power of her ritual magics was reaching a fell crescendo. It crackled within her. The appalling, destructive might threatening to burst forth from her breast and swallow the entire room – the entire Ministry.

She rose her hand to strike the blow. She afforded herself one look up. One last glimpse of the world, before she changed it forever.

And saw him. A young boy, with wand levelled directly at her. The one from the girl's visions? The one she had been imploring to rescue her? The one that she had Marked, had Claimed as her own. Though she'd never seen his face, it was nonetheless familiar. It must have been him.

She couldn't stop the shock that nearly overwhelmed her. Nor the sorrow. For her own inaction, her own stalling and grovelling before Raven had given this young boy the time he needed to find them. And now, he was going to die as well. Another soul to lay at the feet of the wicked, evil, Gwendolyn Tuft.

She saw the spell shoot forth from his wand, saw it tear through the air towards her, as she stood upright and poised, fist held above her head. She watched as one of her magical instruments gave a sudden flare of light, and the spell fizzled against a conjured, invisible barrier.

She shared the look of dismay and sadness that was evident on the boy's features as she swung her hand viciously down and into the poor girl's breast.

A cry tore forth from James' lips as he saw his spell fizzle and die against the invisible shield generated by one of the magical instruments.

'No!' he cried, as he watched the dark-haired witch plunge her hand down into Rain's chest.

Rain arched her back instantly, straining against her bonds. She thrashed violently back and forth upon the table and let out a soul-rending, keening cry that split the air and drove James to his knees. It was so animal, so unnatural, that he found himself clawing at his ears to be rid of it.

He couldn't get any closer. He couldn't even move at all. He'd been shoved up against one of the giant steps that ringed the amphitheatre, fighting to keep his eyes open in the face of the onslaught of power rolling off of Rain and her captor in waves.

It battered every muscle on James' body. Like a giant fist, it held him down. He could feel it tearing at him, seeking to rend the flesh from his bones. It seared his eyes and stung his nose and throat, the sharp, acrid taste of raw magic burned the senses and held him frozen, rooted to the spot.

So James could only watch as the lightning flowed restlessly down the dark-haired witch's arm and into Rain's chest. It snapped and popped with sharp, staccato rhythm, lashing out petulantly at anything nearby. Chips of stone flew from the floor and from the patterned masonry of the great archway. They collided against the fluttering veil with dull, heavy thuds. More than once, a spray of red and a pained cry punctuated Rain's howls as the magic tore strips of flesh free from the arms, face, and body of her captor.

Rain's screaming reached a fever pitch. James could see muscles and tendons knotting and bulging on her neck. Her hands clawed at nothing, clasped tight in iron bonds, they scrabbled uselessly with bloodied nails at the stalwart buckles. A soft, ethereal shimmer began to coalesce above her head, leaking from her mouth, nose, ears and even her eyes. Something was being spun out of Rain – a sort of glittering, magical essence that radiated power in visible waves. It gave off the heat of an entire sun, next to the mere furnace of power wielded by the dark-haired witch. One of the larger magical instruments began whirring even faster, and the essence slowly began to siphon from the stagnant cloud into another, funnel-shaped metal object.

The funnel took on a warm, molten glow. James watched as it warped, sagged, and finally began to melt into a pile of so much slag, running down in a thick, searing, gelatinous mass over the edges of the shelves.

Was that supposed to have happened?

Judging by the look of concern on the witch's face, James thought not. An arc of her black lightning hit the glowing cloud of essence, and exploded in a shower of golden sparks. She was forced to withdraw her hand from Rain's chest. The screaming stopped. The connection between Rain and the softly shimmering essence faded away, and her body fell still, spent.

James cried out, but his voice was lost even to his own ears as the roar of a gale force wind rushed through the room. The witch had withdrawn from attacking Rain to focus wholly on the glowing essence, that shimmering crux of power. She wielded her wand in wide, complex arcs. James could see her lips moving ceaselessly, but couldn't make out any words over the wind howling in his ears. The lightning had faded, and she now wielded a large, glowing purple barrier that was forcing the essence backwards, towards the arch, and the fluttering veil that hung beneath it. That veil hadn't so much as stuttered in its gentle fluttering even despite the roaring wind that punched air from James' lungs and drove him from his feet.

Though it was costing her dearly, the dark-haired witch was winning the battle. The shimmering substance was being slowly, gradually forced backwards, closer and closer to the veil beneath the archway. The witch's face was contorted into a gruesome snarl, but she slashed her wand in a downwards arc and a look of triumph stole over her features. The glow was being pushed back. It flared for a moment, flickered briefly, and then made contact with the veil.

It was then that James' world exploded in a burst of light.

The melting of the Soul Chamber had been the first warning to Gwendolyn Tuft that something was amiss. That ancient, powerful vessel, dragged up from the gloomy bowels of history by Raven from Merlin-only-knew where, ought to have been able to hold anything she forced into it. She'd done the reading; some of the most powerful witches and wizards through history had been Bound in such a way.

So why, now, had it faltered?

Was her current subject too powerful? Unlikely. Merlin himself would not be able to escape one. Had she performed the ritual incorrectly? Possible, but again, unlikely. She'd researched nothing else for months now. The only other reason for failure was something she couldn't quite bring herself to consider: that it wasn't a human soul she was manipulating.

And now, that soul – of whatever ungodly provenance it might have been – was trying to manipulate her. She fought with all her might, drawing on the powers of the ritual magic to hold it at bay as it began advancing. Great arcs of lightning tore through the air. The bellowing of torrential wind rushed endlessly through her ears. It sounded like bitter, wheezing laughter.

She drew on all of her magical reserves as she slowly began to force the thing back. And then, she drew deeper. She took back from the ritual she had invoked. Drew from the tiny magical wellsprings bound into the items around her. They shattered and popped. Her wards faltered for a moment, and then failed, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered was keeping that pale, shimmering light away.

It was hungry, wild and relentless. She could feel it through their shared proximity. It tried, again and again to lash out.

Freedom. Need. Control.

The realisation of what Gwendolyn had done hit her with the force of a charging Erumpent. She'd torn down every single barrier and defence the young girl had manage to throw up to cage this monster. She'd whittled them down, bit by merciless bit, over months. What she had left behind was a mind scoured raw. Weak, quivering, defenceless. And she'd just set free this monstrosity.

It would claim the girl wholly, like it had never been able to, before. The appalling, endless power that it contained would be provided a willing vessel. It would scour any last remnant of the little girl free, and have complete, utter control…

Not while I still draw breath.

She'd do anything she could to protect that girl, she suddenly realised. Gwendolyn could still sense her gentle pulse. Knew that there was yet hope for her. And so her own screams of agony morphed into roars of triumph as she forced the shimmering essence back into the veil-

A sudden explosion of light blinded Gwendolyn entirely. She felt power, such rich, unbridled power, washing over her, searing her clothes from her back, her very skin from her body. Through it all, she could feel that malevolent presence – not fading, as it should have been – but growing, suddenly, terrifyingly stronger.

No, it cannot be! Beyond that veil lies… well, nothing. The Abyss. Another place, another… realm. It is a gateway, a portal. There is no coming back. It's not possible!

And yet, it was happening. Gwendolyn could feel that dark sentience growing. Growing in power. Growing in self-awareness.

'No!'

The scream was torn from Gwendolyn's lips and the sound didn't even reach her own hears. She still couldn't see through the blinding light, but threw herself forward as that writhing, shimmering, malignant mass rushed in. She threw herself between it and the frail, broken body of the young girl. Protecting, shielding. Placing herself between the girl and this monstrosity.

If there was one last thing she could do, one tiny gift she could give to this girl she had left so thoroughly broken and ruined, then it was this. This salvation.

'Forgive me.'

Gwendolyn lay face down, and wept into the girl's chest as the light burned even brighter, the heat bloomed well past unbearable, and her world was torn away in a haze of light.

James picked himself up from where he'd fallen to the floor. He'd been unable to withstand the blinding barrage that had stolen his sight for what felt like hours, though had really been only a handful of seconds. He'd been screaming out for Rain the entire time.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the dancing purple lights from his vision. He staggered forwards on uneven legs, scrambling down the last of the broad, stone steps, and then upwards, clambering up to mount the dais where Rain was held. He had neither seen nor heard any sense of movement since the light had faded.

His heart was hammering a desperate rhythm against his ribcage, and his mouth was dry as he came level with where Rain had been held. Any wards that may have once stood were now long since gone. The myriad magical instruments lay scattered and broken. Twisted heaps of melted glass and metal, puffing and whirring no more. He saw, where the veil had once hung, was now the twisting whorl of a purple-and-silver vortex. It spun slowly, bleeding a malignant, dark substance out onto the pavestones around it, which were slowly crumbling to ash. James tore his eyes away from it with great difficulty.

He rushed over to the travois to which Rain was bound.

He had to pull the body of the other witch off of Rain. She seemed to have fallen and, quite possibly, died laying crossways over Rain's unmoving form. James frowned as he watched the older witch's naked form crumble to the ground in a pile of ash that had once been her singed robes. Had her hair always been that pale? Had her robes managed to conceal that many scars?

But his curiosity was immaterial. It was all immaterial. Nothing mattered now, other than the soft rise and fall of Rain's chest that he could make out through the hole in her tattered shirt. The pale skin of her chest remained unbroken. The faintest sighing of her feeble breath was a musical susurration to James' ears. The erratic stirring of her eyes behind closed lids was the most beautiful of dances. She was alive!

'Relashio!'

Chains sprung free from her wrists and ankles, revealing angry red burns, broken skin and weeping sores.

'Rain, wake up,' James urged, shaking her shoulder gently. Her head lolled to the side, and a shower of her red-gold locks cascaded over the edge of the travois, but she didn't so much as stir.

Frowning, James looped an arm beneath her waist and lifted her over his shoulder. He staggered a step, righting his balance by laying a hand on one of the nearby shelves. It was hot to touch. Smouldering slag and twisted ruin of melted magical devices dripped sluggishly through the grated shelves.

His footfalls were stilted and awkward as he made his way down the steps to the central basin of the amphitheatre. It was the deepest point of the room, ringing the dais on which Rain had been bound. It would be an exhausting climb back up the wide, stone steps to the exit well above him. His progress was slow, and it was only now dawning on him just how much work he'd still have to do to find his friends and leave, especially before-

Boom!

High above him, a door that had been concealed into the wall crashed open, splinters and fragments of shattered wood flung inwards under a massive force. A sprawling body followed soon after, with a flash of red hair giving it away as Fred.

James cried out in alarm, but Fred pushed himself to shaky feet, raising a hasty shield to block a nasty jet of purplish light that zipped through the ruined remains where the door had once been.

'C'mon, you heartless bastards!' he called. 'Let me jam one of these down your throat and kick you till it breaks, we'll see who's laughing then!'

James watched him lob a 'Sploder back in through the door, the concussive blast rushed outwards, hot on the tail of the harried forms of Clip and Cat, both breathing heavily and bleeding from numerous cuts and gashes.

'Fred, down here!' James called, a touch of desperation entering his tone.

'You bloody legend,' Fred gasped, as smoke furled out from the doorway. 'How the hell did you-'

He was cut off by a jet of red light rushing forth from the smoke. It smashed into his chest with the sound of shattering glass, and his body was thrown backwards, blasted off the top step, and bouncing two, then three more steps down towards James. His wand clattered away from unmoving fingers. He groaned feebly, and then was still.

Clip and Cat broke into a sprint away from the door as a wave of spellfire roared forth. Jets of blue, silver, and yellow light roared forth. They crackled and fizzed as they cut through the air. Chips of stone were sent flying in all directions. James rushed towards where Fred lay, buckling beneath Rain's weight on his shoulders.

Two, then three, then six Steelhearts emerged from the ruins of the doorway. Their cold, emotionless eyes found the group of children, now huddled together, wands raised defiantly. Their leader smiled, revealing a row of filed teeth.

'Not today, children,' he sneered. 'Avada-'

A thunderous blow and a flash of lightning filled the room. James was knocked to the floor. He heard Cat and Clip both cry out. Guttural snarls and growls came from the direction of the Steelhearts. There was the distinct whiz and zing of spellfire being exchanged, and that burning, sulphurous smell that came from the collision of magic.

And then Professor Longbottom was standing over them, once cheek smoke-stained, his hair blackened with soot and ash. His face was calm, but a fire burned fiercely behind the brittle surface of his gaze, barely held in check.

He offered James a hand.

'Professor! How did you-?'

'Later.'

'I thought you-'

'Then you didn't give me near enough credit. Remember the advice I gave you, when the Ministry arrived? And again, when they tried to expel you? Pick your battles. Well, I'll be damned thrice over if this isn't our battle. All of us. It's time to fight.'

As James regained his feet, he saw his mother engaging three Steelhearts at once. Behind her, Uncle Ron was duelling another three. Teddy was locked in a fierce battle against a particularly big and nasty looking one. Which only left-

'Professor, you need to help Tristan and Cassie! They were back up on the balcony, holding the corridor.'

Without another word, Professor Longbottom took off, leaping impossibly high to alight on the balcony as comfortably as if he'd simply jumped up a single stair. James watched his back disappear from view before turning to help Clip and Cat back to their feet. All three of them grabbed each other in a fierce embrace for a brief moment. Both of his friends' rushing, ragged breathing filled James' ears.

'I'm sorry I brought you here-' he began.

'Quit your whining,' came Fred's strained voice from where he was struggling into a sitting position. 'I haven't been allowed to blow this much stuff up since… well, ever. Mum would have a heart attack. This is the best day of my life.'

Relief washed over James, and he sagged to his knees, but only before a moment before his friends pulled him back to his feet. They helped him take Rain's weight once more. James insisted he carry her alone. They eventually relented.

Professor Longbottom returned, leaping from the balcony with a battered Tristan and Cassie in tow.

'Should have seen this one,' Tristan said wearily, nodding towards Cassie. 'She was incredible.'

Cassie was trying to look bashful, but James could see her pride glowing even through the layer of sweat and ash and grime that coated her face. She had dozens of small cuts and scratches running up both of her exposed forearms. Her wand was splintered and chipped, but still intact. Tristan was bleeding profusely from the nose, and had a nasty black eye to match.

'What happened to you?' James asked him.

This time, Cassie definitely looked a little sheepish.

'Well we were falling back-' she started.

'And we sort of mistimed the manoeuvre,' Tristan added.

'And I slightly ran head-first into Tristan's face.' She pulled back her fringe to show a small lump growing high on her forehead.

Despite everything – the uncertainty of their getting out alive, despite the spellfire snapping and popping over their heads, and despite their weary, bloodied state, all six of them burst out laughing together.

'No time for jokes,' came Professor Longbottom's grim voice. 'We need to get out of here. Fast.'

James could see Ginny, Uncle Ron and Teddy all contracting backwards, ceding ground step by painful step as they withdrew back to where the children were gathered. They were using non-lethal spells only, their entire energy was spent on deflecting wild spellfire, with only the occasional opportunistic counter-strike, using stunners, ropes and chains, the Impediment Jinx. Their caution was costing them, though. The giant Steelheart Teddy was duelling managed to close the distance between them, and backhanded Teddy across the face. Blood sprayed in an arc, and James watched as his half-brother struggled to regain his wits in time to block a vicious-looking grey-black spell.

'Grab hold!' Professor Longbottom shouted. 'We're going to Apparate out. Everyone, grab each other!'

But even as the group surged together, a strange sensation overcame them. The air became soupy and thick for a second. Sounds became muffled. James felt his ears pop in response to the change in pressure. Professor Longbottom swore violently.

'Anti-apparition wards,' he growled. 'Looks like we're doing this the old-fashioned way. Stay behind me, kids. Keep your wands ready and your shields up. This could still get messy.'

'It hasn't already?!' Cassie wailed, aghast, but the Professor wasn't listening. He'd leapt in to relieve a flagging Teddy, shouting for them all to push towards the exit which Fred had left in tatters.

James and Tristan took the flanks, herding Cassie and Clip in towards the centre. Fred was forced to follow, because – despite his fervent protests otherwise – he was clearly in massive pain, and was regularly coughing up bloody phlegm. Cat fell in step beside James – still with Rain's unconscious body over his shoulder, and added her strength to his own as they conjured a glassy shield around themselves and their friends, tentatively following in the Professor's footsteps, making their way up towards the top of the broad, stone steps and the highest ground that ringed the outer fringes of the room.

All of them were shaken by what they had seen. What they had done. By the way they had stood, shoulder to shoulder, and faced Death's skeletal grin. Together. As if they provided one another with some critical, unassailable strength. Something they could never hope to replicate alone. James could tell, by the flat, dull light behind his friends' eyes, that this would forge a bond between them. It would draw them closer, like nothing before had. When the flames of their fear receded, the heat in the smouldering coals that were left behind would forge a bond stronger than steel.

But to get there, they still had to make it out of the Ministry alive.

Ginny cried out as a spell slipped under her guard, and crimson blood blossomed from a gash across her stomach. That seemed to flick some kind of a switch in their rescuers, and the next spell from Ron's wand severed the arm clean off the nearest of the Steelhearts.

Things got nasty from there. James' group mounted the crest of the steps and rushed to find shelter up against the wall, as far from the fighting as possible. A great curtain of fire blazed forth from the remaining Steelhearts, and it was all that Professor Longbottom could do to keep them all shielded. Ron raised his hands up to the heavens, and a great slab of the stone floor dislodged, flowing like liquid to entomb two Steelhearts from head to toe. James could hear the sneer in his Uncle's voice as he slashed both arms downward and the makeshift sarcophagi contracted suddenly with a whip-like crack. Blood and other fluids leaked through several cracks in the stone and pooled on the shattered floor.

When Ginny shot a golden-hued javelin that shattered the shield of another Steelheart and skewered him through the stomach, their path to the doorway was clear. James ushered the group through ahead of him, holding his wand in a fierce grip as he struggled to maintain the shield. A stray spell slipped past Ron and crashed against it, drawing it frightfully close to dissolving. Cat's grip on his upper arm grew fierce as they both strained to hold the spell together.

Professor Longbottom's face appeared at the door. 'Move!' he barked. 'Let's get going before more show up!'

The group didn't need telling twice, and had already turned and taken a handful of steps up the corridor when a cry of dismay came from the room they'd just left, and all six turned as one.

A new figure had appeared in the room. That he was no Steelheart was immediately obvious. He didn't wear their customary robes, but it was more than that. His imposing, powerful presence stuck fear in a way that the snarling, spitting Steelhearts never could. Dark, cold eyes surveyed their small group and their defenders dispassionately. He was taller even than Uncle Ron, and broad across the chest, lending every step he took a sense of unstoppable momentum. A long, black wand was held loosely in his left hand, and across his massively broad shoulders hung a midnight-black cape, spotted here and there with the feathers of a raven.

Ron tried his trick with the rock again. This time, a massive, rippling wave swept up from the floor beneath the newcomer's feet. It crested high above him, but paused, frozen on the cusp of breaking. There was a moment where a high-pitched wail filled the room, and then the rock shattered like glass. Thousands of razor-sharp shards of rock hung in the air for a heartbeat, and then flew towards their defenders as if every single one had been launched from Hagrid's massive crossbow.

The group brought up hasty shields to quell the blow. All, that was, except for Teddy, who was a half-second too slow, and fell to the ground screaming in agony, clutching at his face as blood flowed through his fingers.

'Run!' Professor Longbottom yelled, blocking the group's view of the horrifying scene. 'We'll hold him and fall back, but you need to get out of here, now! We'll meet you in the Atrium back near the statue.'

He turned to re-join the fight. Uncle Ron's enraged bellow drowned out even Teddy's cries of pain. The professor hesitated a moment, turned back over his shoulder. 'If we're not there in ten minutes, get in a fireplace and get out of here. James, find your father. He… he'll know what to do.'

And before any of them could protest, the professor was gone.

James ushered the group up the corridor. He stayed at the rear. He alone bore the weight of Rain's unconscious body. He had brought them all here, to a hell beyond anything he could have imagined. He had asked enough of them already. This burden was one he would shoulder alone.

He kept a Shield Charm on the tip of the tongue as the group made their way through the winding, twisting passage. Deep scores and gouges in the stone had marked where Fred and the others had fought their way through the halls. The skirted around a crater that was no fewer than ten paces across. James raised his eyebrows appreciatively.

'Got mixed up between my Cussers and my 'Sploders,' Fred shrugged in response.

The dark, stone passage ended in a small, squat room ringed by four doors, including the one they had just exited. The ceiling was so low that Cat had to stoop to avoid the blue-tinged chandelier that provided them light.

'Don't take that door,' Fred warned, pointing towards the one straight ahead. 'We made that mistake earlier. There was about a dozen Steelhearts in there, all crowded 'round a table covered in blood…'

Tristan didn't need telling twice, and threw the door to the left open, leading the group through with wand raised. They found themselves in a sort of tunnel carved into a wall of water. The entire room around them – if they even were in a room – was filled with dark, seething liquid. Their eyes couldn't penetrate more than a few metres in any direction. A murky green-stained smear of light hung an unfathomable height above them, providing an eerie transcendent glow illuminating their path ahead.

As James passed through the door, it sealed shut behind him, and the water flowed down to block it off.

'Forwards it is, then,' he muttered.

He shifted Rain's weight as they walked. The ache in his shoulder was resonating with all of the other pains in his body – those force-healed and those still red and raw and marked upon his skin. His legs grew more and more weary with every step, as the group marched onwards under the watchful, luminous gaze of the ocean of water around them.

'Hmm, salty,' Cat mused, smacking her lips. Her hand was dripping wet where she'd stuck it into the wall of their makeshift tunnel.

'Cat, I don't-'

A long, deep rumble came from all around them. Subtle vibrations shivered through the floor and up through James' trainers.

'-think that was a good idea,' he finished.

Back behind him, the unmistakeable sound of a breaking wave signalled the collapse of their passage, and Tristan spun to lead the group in a mad sprint forward.

James quickly fell behind, as the others – unburdened – pushed on ahead. He could feel the water lapping at his heels, the cold, frigid wall spitting spume across his back as Tristan reached the door up ahead.

He made it through just as the wall of water cascaded down. Frothy foam exploded out the doorway in the half-second before it slammed shut on James' heels, cutting off the sound instantly. Only a small, bubbling puddle on the floor remained to speak of their harrowing escape.

'Oi, what the hell are you lot doing here?'

They spun together, as a bemused Unspeakable rounded the corner of the long, sweeping corridor that they all now inhabited. He was a short, round man whose robe dragged almost comically along the floor behind him as he walked.

'Don't tell me they let another batch escape,' growled the figure. 'I'm gonna stake those bloody leeches for this.'

They didn't hang around to find out just what they were supposed to be another batch of, instead turning and fleeing – yet again – up the corridor, away from the exasperated Unspeakable. At least he didn't want to murder them on sight. Yet. There was a chance the Unspeakables didn't even know what was going on below with the Steelhearts. Secrets within secrets. James wouldn't be surprised.

'Bloody hell!' Tristan cried up ahead, as their path was blocked by another Unspeakable. This one held a crystal goblet filled with something dark and gelatinous to his lips, and looked rather shocked at the intrusion.

Tristan threw open the nearest door, and led the group through into a flat, featureless room with a dust-covered, rocky floor. James kept his gaze fixed on the exit at the far end, a few hundred paces off. His legs burned and his lungs strained for air as Rain's weight continued to wear him down. Spells flew over his shoulders, giving the air a sharp, bitter taste. His friends stretched out the gap between them. Tristan was already at the door now, still dozens of yards away. James could hear the thump, thump of their pursuers' footfalls. He could hear their yells – anger now, rather than surprise. The spellfire flew even heavier.

An unseen undulation in the rocky, rugged ground turned James' ankle. He fell, giving a helpless cry as the floor rushed up and punched him beneath the chin. He bit down through his tongue for the second time that day and spat out the mouthful of hot, metallic liquid that rushed forth.

A spell smacked into the dirt right next to James' hand, and he spun hastily away. He'd dropped Rain. There was no way he'd have the time to pick her back up and make it across the room.

But when he looked up he saw the door only a few feet in front of him. He had misjudged the distance, somehow. It must have slammed shut behind his friends as they bolted through to safety. He grabbed Rain by the collar of her worn, ragged shirt and dragged her backwards towards the door, step by aching step, as the features on the faces of the Unspeakables became clearer and clearer. Oddly, their anger turned to confusion, and then to fear. They stopped casting spells and began gesticulating wildly.

But James had no time to think on that. His hand found the handle behind him. He turned it, took a step backwards, and collapsed across the threshold in a heap.

He'd had no time at all to pay attention to the chipped, pitted sign edged with verdigris that was stamped into the faded, warped wood.

And that was how James Potter, dragging Rain along behind him, walked willingly and of his own volition, across the barrier and through Death's Door.