Author's Note: An epilogue will follow, but otherwise, this is the last chapter! I hope that you all enjoyed it, and I'm sure that you noticed that the preface of "Eye of the Beholder" was posted. I really couldn't stop myself. Inspiration was there, so I wrote it, then realized that had actually posted it, and didn't want to delete and repost it! I couldn't stop myself!!!

Thanks so much for all of your wonderful reviews of this story. I really appreciated them a lot, as I was rather wary of first posting it. I hope that you enjoy this last chapter, and Emily's story. Au revoir!

Going with our original train of thought that Professor Dumbledore might know what to do, we made our way to the hospital wing. Most of the fighting had ended up in the Great Hall, so we didn't need to edge our way around the outskirts of duels. Surprisingly, no Death Eaters had made their way into the hospital wing. Why that was, I am still clueless about to this day. We pushed open the doors. The taupe, cream and white of the room was accomplishing the soothing effect that it was, no doubt, intended to. We found a rather jumpy Madame Pomfrey shaking under the desk in her office. She told us that Professor Dumbledore refused leaving the school, even when Uncle Sirius came in to speak with him when the Ministry stormed the castle. She showed us to his bed, and he let us sit down and talk to him.

"Hello, Professor!" the three of us said, happily. Despite the turmoil around us, the Headmaster was always sanity, a constant. He was sitting up in his bed, reading The Daily Prophet. He set his paper down when we came in, and the twinkle in his eye returned as he quirked his eyebrow and grinned. I knew what he was thinking, and I didn't want to hear it, considering I'd heard it a billion times already this year from everyone. But no, he was going to say it anyway.

"Why, it seems like only yesterday that your parents were in here. My, it's uncanny…" He seemed stronger than before- his pale skin almost had its typical hue back, but not quite. His voice was more stable, and the purple circles under his eyes had nearly faded. I took all of this as a good sign, and my hope that the Headmaster may survive to reclaim his job was somewhat restored.

"What is, sir?" James asked.

He chuckled softly. Good sign.

"How much you're like them, of course. Always getting into trouble, letting your own cleverness get the better of you. I had always looked forward to you two boys coming here. Let me tell you a secret," he said, leaning closer, "Your parents were always my favourite."

"Of course they were!" said James. "And we take after them, don't we?"

He chuckled again, "Yes, James, you do."

Charlotte must have felt very awkward, as she often did during these exchanges with old family friends. They talked about 'Potter, Weasley, and Granger', never 'Potter, Weasley, Granger and Bronte'. I almost felt sorry for her as she sat there just staring at the ground, not wanting to jump into this conversation.

After all, Professor Dumbledore had known the two of us since we were born; he'd watched us grow up, and he'd always served as somewhat of a grandfather to us and a father figure to our parents. Not only had he taught our them, but also he had remained their role model as they continued to stay in contact with him well after they'd graduated, seeking guidance, encouragement and knowledge from their beloved Professor. Then he was their colleague, and now, their friend. He was almost like family to us Potters and Weasleys- spending holidays and special occasions with us. Although he saw our parents as peers, I knew that they had never even dared to consider themselves equal with a man this great. That, in and of itself, was an intimidating thought, but the Headmaster was anything but intimidating- unless he was mad, of course, which was so uncommon that all hell broke lose on those rare occasions.

"Professor?" I asked him. He looked at me with those insightful blue eyes that were comforting, and yet…scary.

"Yes, Landon?"

"Well, we were just wondering…erm…"

We were wondering if you'd let us save the school, nay the world, from destruction, even though we're only eleven, and couldn't hex our way out of paper bags. What do you say?

"Well…erm…" stammered James. I knew what he was thinking, for I was thinking the same thing. One of the things about Professor Dumbledore's greatness is that everyone, myself included, puts him on a pedestal. I didn't want to sound stupid in front of him anymore than I wanted to face a herd of gigantic spiders, and I knew that James felt the same way- best friend mental telepathy syndrome.

He looked at us quite bemusedly. James and I tongue-tied was not a common occurrence when you were around us often as he was.

"How are you, Professor?" Charlotte asked, jumping into the conversation.

"I'm fine, Miss Bronte, thank you."

Well that was the most random thing I'd ever heard. We were supposed to be asking about where our fellow student might be being held, but no, we're asking about the Headmaster's health.

I had to do something.

"Erm…Professor, this may seem a little odd, but-"

"Do you know if there's a place in the school big enough for all of the students to fit in that isn't the Great Hall?" James asked. I hadn't planned on going about it like that, but he did get the main point across.

He looked at us quizzically. "What do you three think that you can do?" he asked us. 

"We're not quite sure," Charlotte said, emerging from her silent state that a horrified look from me had banished her to after her little 'how are you?' question.

"But we can't do nothing," I said. "Feeling helpless is the worst. I'm sure that we could do something to help…maybe."

"More or less," James said, frustrated, "We don't know what to do, and we want you to help us by telling us what we can do."

*

March is a surprisingly cold month. You'd think, wouldn't you, that since Spring is just around the corner that March would be a little bit warmer. But, of course, with our luck, March is bloody freezing.

By the time we'd made it out to the Quidditch pitch, it was nearly pitch black. Nighttime had fallen while we were in the hospital wing with Professor Dumbledore, and it was not easy to navigate your way in the dark- especially when you're scared out of your mind. We hoped that the Quidditch pitch would prove to be a fruitful venture and that we didn't just waste an hour formulating this plan which all depended on the stadium.

The plan was rudimentary, as they tended to be when the executers were eleven years old. James and Charlotte would be at opposite sides of the stadium serving as decoys, while I would sneak into the team room. James and Charlotte would set off sparks with their wands, attracting the attention of the boulder-sized Death Eaters that were guarding our friends. That would give me a chance, then, to sneak a handful of students into the team room. Eventually, our goal was to crate a diversion long enough for students to get back to the castle, using a route and location that Professor Dumbledore had suggested: she would take the passage where the Whomping Willow used to stand into the Shrieking Shack. She would then bring with her some of the residents of Hogsmeade, leading them into the cellar of Honeydukes and into the hallway in the dungeons that was filled with doors leading to nowhere that Charlotte and I had been trapped in on the day that we became friends.

I didn't think that the three of us could do anything to stop Death Eaters, and my guess was that after our little confession to the Headmaster about not wanting to feel helpless, he was adding this little bit in for us to feel of some use. The Aurors would most likely be showing up any minute now, and I was completely fine with that. Just as long as we didn't have to sit in a broom closet.

The pitch took on an eerie glow in the moonlight as I snuck into the team room. I waited for the sign that would signal my chance to rescue some of my friends. Red sparks from James could be seen on the east side of the stand, in the Gryffindor seating section.

"Oy. What's this?" one particularly large Death Eater asked with a horrifying cockney accent.

"Dunno, mate," said another, accent worse than the first.

"Well, let's have a look, then," said the first, he and his 'mate' walking toward the Gryffindor stands. I knew that James would have left already and be on his way to the Hufflepuff section, but they didn't. I glanced around, trying to see if there were Death Eaters any closer. They were on the other side of the pitch, also looking in the direction of the sparks, utterly clueless.

I snuck out of the team room, and tapped a first year Hufflepuff boy on the shoulder, signalling, that six other first years should follow me: three boys and three girls. They eagerly followed, and heeded my instructions of, 'stay low, don't move, don't speak'.

Charlotte's green sparks were seen from the Ravenclaw section. Six more students crouched in the team room with us.

James's white sparks from the Hufflepuff section.

Six more students.

Charlotte's purple sparks from the Slytherin section.

Six more.

Things were going well, now. We had twenty-four first years, all of them present and accounted for. The second part of the plan was ready to be executed. Enter Charlotte Bronte. She came in the same way that I had; ready to lead six students at a time to the strange hallway. The first batch of students that I had led was to follow her as I was signalled by James's yellow sparks to grab six second years. We repeated the same thing, although, this time, the going was slower. James was now the only one setting off sparks, which meant a longer time in between runs for students. The room was more full than it ever had been, as Charlotte took much longer coming to and from the school. James sent off sparks again, and I snuck outside, grabbing six third years. As I quietly led them back to the room, I was stopped. A Death Eater had spotted me, and jumped from the stands above to land right in front of me, blocking the entrance to the team room.

"Just where do you think that you're going, Weasley?" I recognized the cold drawl, and kept up the charade.

"Nothing. What makes you think that I'm going anywhere?" I asked Malfoy, pretending to be frightened. Come on.

"You look awfully suspicious…" he said, circling our group. Please, this man couldn't act if his life depended on it.

"What's going on?" asked one particularly intelligent Death Eater who could figure out that something was amiss.

"Routine check," Malfoy said. "Delacour wants this brood up at the castle for more tests- just making sure that they're clear."

"Oh! Are they?" the man asked keenly. Honestly, you'd think that they'd get men who actually had brains.

"Yes, they appear to be fine. You can go about your business." As the other Death Eater walked away, Malfoy strode into the team room, taking not only the seven of us, but also another thirteen- after all; twenty was a good even number. We collected the group that had built up in the small locker room and they all strode to the castle, Draco Malfoy masquerading as a Death Eater and leading the bunch. Once inside the castle, Malfoy's mask served as proper identification, causing Death Eaters to salute him and not question his business. I suppose that they might have wondered why we weren't tied up, but considering that their brains were the size of Jack's, they didn't think twice about it. In fact, they probably completely forgot about us once we were out of their sight. Typical child psychology with grown men. Pitiful.

He led us to the same corridor that the rest of the students were in, telling Charlotte that she need not lead any more students inside.

"You two can stay here," he told us. "And…well done, Weasley." Ah, the smell of resentment in the early morning…

The two of us sat down and attempted to relax when we knew exactly what would be going on outside any minute. Once the last student was removed from the pitch 'under the orders of Delacour', Draco would give off a signal to the Aurors. Since all of the remaining Death Eaters had gone to the pitch to watch over their charges, the Ministry would have them cornered. They'd rush in and seal off the place, as well as sealing the fate of all of the men and women inside.

Minutes later, Draco returned, leading the last bunch of students with him. He tossed me something shiny.

"Here, Weasley," he snarled, "This is yours." It was the cloak! This thing had an uncanny knack for reappearing whenever it was needed, or not needed, at that. I didn't quite understand it, but I suppose that that was part of the glory that was the cloak. You're not supposed to understand it.

"Where'd you find this?" I asked in amazement.

He smiled at me. "You should be more careful with your things. Stay here; don't leave until your parents come and get you."

He left in the same way that he had come in, and we had nothing to do but wait. Charlotte and I attempted to play Exploding Snap without cards, but that didn't work too well. Then, we quizzed each other for the Potions test that we were supposed to have the period after lunch yesterday, but the attack had stopped it. Knowing Snape, the test would still be on for tomorrow.

"What's the main ingredient for a sleeping draught?" I asked her, half asleep myself.

"James…" she said.

"Sorry, it's-"

"No, I mean, James! Where is he?"

"He's still out at the pitch. Now leave me alone; I want to sleep."

"Landon!"

"Charlotte…"

"He'll be obliterated! If he's still out at the pitch during the battle, than he could be in huge danger! We've got to go get him!"

I was entirely alert now. James in danger? I'd rather trade the Cannons' winning season (I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…) than have James get hurt. What else was a best friend to do? I threw the newly acquired invisibility cloak over our heads, and we ran out of the corridor- now that we knew where the exit was- and out of the school. No, it would be too late. The staff and Aurors were no longer stationed in the Great Hall. Delacour wasn't there, either.

From our position of running insanely fast across the lawn to the stadium, we could clearly see that it was ablaze with light from curses, and the sounds of shouting voices reached us. The enormity of this battle struck me, then. This would be a major step in finally ridding the Magical world of Neo-Death Eaters, and my best friend was caught in the middle of it.

The locker room was now deserted as we walked through to the stadium, deciding that we would keep to the edges of the fighting and under the cloak until we could find James and help him get out here. That didn't exactly happen, though. Once we were outside, I couldn't help myself from stopping to stare at what was going on around me. I could see Mum, Dad and Uncle Harry in the centre of commotion, fighting side by side. I supposed it was some symbolic and poignant thing for them- fighting together. They'd started together, so they'd have to finish together.

"Charlotte! Go!" I had to yell in her ear to be heard.

"What? What about you?"

"I'll be OK; I want to watch! You go!"

She ran away and into the stands, leaving me perfectly visible. I stuck to the edge, ducking behind a barrier that separated the green from the seats. I could see both Death Eaters and Aurors falling, but it seemed as if the Aurors were constantly coming off better in the grand scheme of things.

Dad was visibly duelling, and I had to say that he was very good at it. The man that he was duelling was down in seconds, before another charged at him from a different direction. Dad turned with ease, sending the unforgivable curses (which they were licensed to do in this case) at his assailant. There was somewhat of a problem, though. Dad was now facing where my red hair was protruding from behind the blockade, and it was evident from the look of shock and horror on his face that he saw me. He barely had time for the thought to register, however, because yet another oversized Death Eater instantly assailed him. 

I was still crouching behind the cement block, completely enthralled with what was going on in front of my eyes to notice that someone was watching me, as well. Behind me was a very sullen Death Eater by the name of Blaise Zabini. I don't know how he knew me, or how I knew him. In fact, I'm still convinced to this day that I'd never seen him before in my life. Dad knew him, though, because they were in the same Hogwarts year. Anyway, Zabini was crouched behind the barricade as well. Not sure why, really, except perhaps he was even more of a coward than he was ugly.

Dad apparently saw him as some kind of threat, although I didn't. I mean, the man was scared of duelling, like he would kill me? But then, he was a Death Eater- I wouldn't put it past him. Dad looked at me, again, and this time, he came running towards me. Since Mum and Uncle Harry were a little tied up at the moment, they didn't join him. Under any other circumstances, however, they would have been at his side in a moment's notice.

He was approaching that blockade and I snuck a glance at Zabini. He was as pale as Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor Ghost, and was mouthing like a goldfish. Dad grabbed me by the arm, and without thinking, quickly Avada Kedarvra-ed the guy. Don't know why he did that, because I was under no threat at all. The guy was more scared than I was. Still, it's not every day that you see your father kill someone. It was a very harsh reality to face. My father, who had cared for me for all of my life, could end someone's without blinking an eye. I quickly had to push those thoughts of remorse from my mind. It was his job; that's what he was trained to do. He couldn't help doing his job, especially when it involved protecting me. We continued running somewhere. I had no clue at the time, and even now, my memory's a bit foggy on this whole lapse of time. It seemed to go as quickly as the speed of light.

I must tell you that much of this night had been a blur, and everything from here on may not be entirely accurate. Mum could probably tell it better.

I do, however, remember James and Charlotte meeting up with my dad and I. I'm sure that they told us how it was that they managed to get to our area, but my brain was running on overload at the time. The four of us were packed up in the top box, from whence Eric Jordan announced the Quidditch games. It was kind of small but offered a view of everything that was going on below. Dad sat back in a chair, putting his feet up and peering over steepled fingers at us. He looked, by no means, happy to see us. In fact, I knew this look. When Dad got upset, he either let out a burst of spastic energy and yelled until his jugular looked ready to explode, or, he would stay calm and wait for you to explain, speaking in a soft, yet deadly, whisper, which was worse than his temper.

"Explain," he said, calmly in that horrible whisper. "Why are you here? What was going on in your heads when you decided to put yourselves in danger and scare the hell out of me? Why was it that you didn't just stay where you where supposed to? Why on earth did you think that it was all right to come down here and interrupt a mission that, depending on the outcome, could insure your safety or danger for the majority of your teenage years? Please, tell me, because I'm sure that I'll find your answer quite interesting. Can't imagine that even you Landon could come up with one to account for your insanely stupid and irresponsible actions, but give is a try. It could be interesting."

We sat there with our heads bowed. I hated it when Dad got like this. See what I mean? Worse than the temper.

"Well?" he prodded, also questioning with his eyebrows.

Time to face the music, I suppose.

"Dad, I-"

"LOOK!" James had got up, and was pressing his face against the glass. We all turned around, surprised at his sudden outburst. But what we saw was well worth it.

Death Eaters had fallen, and the Ministry had triumphed. Mum and Uncle Harry were visible in an embrace, and then, they grudgingly shook hands with Draco Malfoy, who was equally, if not more so, resentful.

Charlotte was jumping up and down happily (her father, Elliott, was also an Auror); James and I were letting out whooping yells. Dad had stood up and pointed a finger at us.

"We'll talk about this later. Come on, let's go celebrate," he said, and the three of us ran out of the top box, Dad close at our heels. Charlotte found her father easily- he was taller than my Dad. It was actually a heart-warming sight when she jumped into her dad's arms and he spun her around a bit, apparently having heard what the three of us had done earlier, and no doubt, proud.

I ran into Mum's arms. Of course, it's kind of melodramatic in that sappy, feel good movie kind of way, but it's not every day that seventy five percent of your immediate family brushes elbows with death.

Everyone was dancing around, whopping happily, and making as big a fuss as a championship Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch game. It was actually quite fun, especially when they started setting off fireworks with their wands. It was like New Years Eve. That is until the crowd parted, and a tall, slender woman walked through, straight towards us.

Mum immediately tensed- her jaw set, fists clenched, and shoulders square. Uncle Harry and Dad drew their wands, ready at her side, but Mum waved them off.

"She's mine," she growled.

Now, you have to understand, I'd just seen my father kill someone not too long ago. Dad was one thing, but this was my mother. She'd been the one who'd stayed by my bed when I was sick; she'd given birth to me for cripes' sake. My mother, in my eyes, was a goddess who could do no wrong. How could she be capable of killing someone at this calibre? It was actually very traumatizing. No, really, all joking aside. She'd been on this pedestal in my mind, right up there next to Dumbledore. It was almost like…seeing this different side of her that was…malicious…it was like watching an angel fall from heaven. Of course, I still loved her- she was my mother, after all- but there was something different. I could never see her being tender with Jack while knowing that she could send someone to Azkaban for a life of torturous memories. It just didn't add up.

But still, even with the math still incomplete in my head, this was still happening.

"Second?" Delacour asked her.

"Harry."

That was their plan; I'd found out later. Not to duel against Delacour, but in duelling, Harry was always my parents second- in case anything happened to one, the other wouldn't have been able to carry on. Then, if things proceeded to get worse, we children could be facing the possibility of losing both of our parents. It was a smart move on their part.

"Ron, get him out of here," Mum said, unbuttoning her jacket, and throwing it on the ground. Clearly, it would get in her way- it was most definitely not one that was designed for one on one combat. Lucky she was wearing pants, though. 

"Aw," pouted Delacour as Mum took off her shoes, lessening her height by about six centimetres (the removing of her heels was not only insanely gutsy but insanely serious- it was demonstrating that she was ready to fight hard, and in order to do so, six centimetre spikes weren't going to be in her advantage), "Don't want to 'urt baby's eyes?"

"More than his eyes have been hurt, merely from being in your presence," she said. So maybe it was a little weak, but Delacour certainly was mad.

Dad and I didn't move.

She practically lunged at Mum, who easily avoided her and drew her wand, adrenaline pumping equally hard as Delacour swung back around, attempting to hit Mum with an unforgivable curse, but Mum used an equally strong counter-curse, and following it closely with a simple spell that I could have done myself.

"Expeliarmus!" she yelled, sending Delacour's wand sailing metres away and far from her reach.

"Crucio!" Mum continued. Shivers ran up my spine. That's the last time that anyone screws Mum over, that's for sure. No sooner had she said the curse than she released it. She was just letting Delacour have a touch of what she could do, I assumed.

Now, it was the Divination Professor's turn.

Wand abandoned, she let a roundhouse punch fly, clipping Mum's jaw and sending her, and her wand, reeling. Mum was splayed on the ground, and Delacour was standing over her, my mother's own wand being held at her throat. I winced, breathing harder as sweat was beading up on my forehead. Dad's grip tightened on my shoulder, his breath matching my accelerated pace. Uncle Harry stood at the ready. Delacour opened her mouth to perform the killing curse, but soon found herself flat on her back, wand back in the hands of its proper owner.

Mum- 2

Dealcour-1

Instead of killing her, Mum stepped back, levelling the duelling field, allowing Delacour to stand. Never hit a man while he's down, I suppose. Delacour stood. And the battle commenced with a heat that had rivalled anything that I had ever seen- that wasn't much, mind you, but it was pretty intense. Dad's hand on my shoulder was insanely tight, threatening to unconsciously break my collarbone. Not only was it ready to snap neck, but also it was shaking so violently that I had to wrench myself from his grip to keep my brain cells in tact.

I saw the two women sweating violently, which was kind of strange, considering it was March. Magic at a high calibre took a lot out of you. Add that with the physical exertion of duelling, and you were destined to have a sure-fire weight loss plan.

"Expeliarmus!" they shouted in unison, sending both wands flying high into the stands.

It seemed to last forever. They stood facing each other, barely a metre apart, panting, staring each other down, and daring the other to move first. There was a look in Delacour's eyes that I hadn't seen before: fear. Without warning, Delacour broke off from their eye-lock, sprinting in the opposite direction in retreat. It was a gutsy move, sure to fail, but it seemed as if she'd rather face Dementors and Azkaban than Mum's wrath that she'd incurred. Aurors easily caught the thin woman, and could have broken her in half like the twig that she was, had they especially wanted to. They looked at Mum, waiting her orders.

"Azkaban," she said, barely above a whisper.

"NO!!" Delacour screamed. She continued pleading even as Mum ignored her, slipping her heels back on, and picking up her jacket. She walked testily over to Dad and I, gingerly lifting her fingers to feel where Delacour's fist had connected with her lip. The wiped the blood off with her thumb, refusing to look at Delacour.

"Come on, son," she said, ruffling my flaming hair. "Let's go home."