13
One Last Stand
"Can't run, can't hide
There's no way out
The sun will rise and it's about time
For the reckoning."
--Boomkat
The pain is fading now, the cold laughter dissipating with it. I struggle to my feet; through my veins pumps a delirious mixture of chilled blood and adrenaline. Everyone surrounds me, asking questions, begging to know what happened, why I had collapsed. Hermione's hand is on my shoulder. She says nothing, but looks at me with great concern. I have no time for their pointless inquiries—our lives are all on the line.
Voldemort is coming. He's almost here. I know this as clearly as if I'd been told, and yet it makes no sense as to why I should be so certain. How could I, from laughter? But logical or not, I trust it, and my instinct is all I have to go on.
"Get out!" I cry hoarsely, silencing them all.
"Harry," Sirius begins worriedly, moving toward me. I step back, shaking my head, and he stops. He's frowning and looks as though he fears for my sanity.
"Do as I say!" I yell, well aware of the wild, unreasonable tone to my voice. "He's coming, don't you understand? Voldemort is coming! Forget our plans, forget everything! They're worthless, because he's here, now!"
Another silence. My frustration is enough to make me scream. What is wrong with them? Why can't they understand? Why don't they just listen to me instead of standing here like deer in the headlights? Fear is written on every face now, but no one seems to believe me enough to do anything.
Sirius looks as though he is going to try to quiet me again—and if he had, I can't say what I'd have done—but Dumbledore holds up a hand. His expression is grim as he locks his eyes with mine. I can see he believes and understands me. I see the wisdom of a century in his tired, bleak, blue eyes, and it's with that wisdom that he can know that what I speak is the truth. He gives a slight nod. "Listen to him," he orders in his mild manner.
"Go, now!" I repeat, almost panicking. "We have no time to talk! We voted to run and if we want to live long enough to see the dawn, we have to do it now. Run and hide in the woods. Separate, but stay with at least one or two of the others. If you hear three owl hoots, it's me, or another group. Respond with two hoots to help the other group find you. Do not fight any enemy unless you have no choice. Now get out!"
My word combined with Dumbledore's seems to have done the trick. I watch, my heart pounding and my throat tight, as my friends snap from their stupor and practically trample each other attempting to get out the door. The most unnerving thing of it all is the utter silence with which they do it. In Muggle movies and books, such scenes always take place with everyone screaming their heads off, or at least talking hysterically. But here, not a word is spoken. They're all terrified, but it is a silent and eerie terror with which they flee.
I stand back and catch Fred's arm as he's trying to make is way through the mob. "Where's Ron?" I demand.
"Uh . . . in the back room . . ." Fred says, realizing it as though for the first time, his eyes widening. He turns and looks as though he is about to run back down the hall, but I stop him.
I give a sharp shake of the head. "No, I'll do it," I say firmly. "Get out now."
Fred, after a moment's hesitation, complies with a nod and runs out the door and into the blackness of the snowstorm beyond. I see Dumbledore and Sirius have hung back with me.
I turn to face them and take a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "Professor," I say to Dumbledore with as much respect as I can muster through my fear, "go with them, if you will. Try to keep them organized. They'll listen to you, and things are going to get messy out there. They'll need order if they've got any chance. I've got to get Ron."
Dumbledore nods slowly. "Do as you must, Harry. I trust you as I trust no other. But be careful," he intones, placing a hand on my shoulder briefly, a sign of his trust. He looks to Sirius and says firmly, "He will be fine. Come."
Sirius looks at me. Nothing is spoken, but no words are needed. I can see everything he'd say to me if time allowed—everything a person would say to their loved one when they fear the end has come at last. The moment lasts for an eternity and a for fraction of an instant at the same time, and then our eye contact is broken as Dumbledore pulls him out the door.
I begin to run toward the hall when a hand on my arm halts me. I spin, half expecting a Death Eater to be waiting, but instead I see only Hermione, standing there awkwardly.
"What are you doing?" I demand. "Get out while you can!"
"No," she says, her voice calm to contrast her pale face and frightened eyes. "Harry, I'm not leaving you."
"Hermione, don't be foolish," I snap. "I'm not letting you die here. Please, get out!"
She shakes her head. "You've never left me," she argues firmly. "Not once. You've stuck beside me no matter what, and I'm not about to run away from you because things are getting rough. I'm staying by your side to the end, be that end good or bad. And there's nothing you can do to keep me away."
I feel a moment of deep affection for her, and for an instant all I want to do is kiss her again. But my panic, and the distant, fading footsteps of my fleeing comrades keeps me from showing it. I nod bluntly. "All right," I sigh. "Just stay behind me."
We make it down the hall to where the rooms are. The door to the room Ron and I share is locked, much to my irritation. I let out a growl of frustration. My situation is moving at far too fast a pace, while I am moving at far too slow of one. I understand that we have precious little time left, and too much of our time has been spent talking. It seems as though we have so much less than we actually do, and my urgency grows with each passing instant. With each minute, I feel more and more likely to explode from panic.
I pound on the door. "Ron, open up!" I yell.
"Harry, go away," comes a bleary, muffled voice. "I don't want to discuss tactics tonight, okay?"
"He's here!" I yell back, not even bothering to stop pounding, just grateful to be moving somehow. "Voldemort is here, and we have to get out! Open up!"
Two seconds later I can hear him fumbling with the lock. The door is opened and he stands staring at me, his eyes wide, his face pale and disbelieving. "What is this?" he demands, not with hostility, but with fright.
I push him out of the doorway and Hermione and I rush in. I turn and slam the door quickly behind me, locking it with my wand in case the Death Eaters arrive while we're still in here. The darkness is so deep that I can barely see, and I light my wand. I nod toward the window. "Get out!" I command. "Wait for me just below the sill! Grab your wand if you don't have it and be ready for Death Eaters!"
Ron nods, looking dazed. I doubt that his mind has even fully comprehended what I'm saying. He goes to the window and slides out of it. I use up precious seconds to run to the table next to my bed and grab a pair of my pants. I throw them to Hermione and she catches them, looking at me with confusion.
"I have a feeling we're going to be outside for a while," I say bluntly. "You'll never make it in a skirt. Change and come out. We'll be waiting."
"No, Harry, don't wait!" she argues. "Just run. I'll catch up."
"Hermione, you promised you wouldn't leave my side," I say, standing next to the window. "Well the same goes for me. We're in this together. So just do it!"
With that, I catapult myself over the windowsill, landing about three feet to the side of where Ron is kneeling. I extinguish my wand, well aware that letting the light penetrate the darkness would be as good as sending out a beacon to summon death. The storm of earlier is still howling and whooping all around me. Even with warm clothes and a jacket, the wind is tearing through me. I don't regret having Hermione change—had she not, she'd have made it little more than a quarter of a mile before collapsing of hypothermia. Been there, done that, really don't need a re-enactment.
"Harry, what's happening?" Ron demands, his voice full of terror and disbelief.
"Voldemort is here. He's here, and it's over," I reply hoarsely, well aware that I must sound optimistic enough to make anyone want to keep fighting. "It's all over."
"So that's it?" he whispers, his voice so low I can hardly hear him over the wind. "We're going to die here tonight?"
Guilt twists my stomach. What kind of leader am I, making my friends feel as though all hope has gone? "No, of course not," I lie in a half-hearted attempt to reassure him of something I don't even believe myself. "Don't listen to me, I'm just being pessimistic. We'll make it out, don't worry."
My voice is not even convincing to me, and I certainly don't expect Ron to believe it.
Hermione's soft voice drifts down from directly above where I'm crouching. "I'm coming down now," she warns.
Ron and I stand and move out of the way. I can hear a thud as Hermione hits the snow a moment later.
"Harry, where are you?" she asks worriedly, clearly as blinded by the darkness as I am.
I cover the tip of my wand with my shirt and whisper, "Lumos!" A light surrounds us, dimmed somewhat by the cloth over it. I'm tense, having even this little illumination. I want nothing more than to put it out immediately, but can't bring myself to do it, seeing the slightly relieved looks on my friends' faces.
"Now what?" Hermione asks, her voice taut.
A good question. "I guess we should do what I told everyone else to do—hide in the woods," I say. I try to make it sound firm, like an order should, but it comes out sounding more like a question.
"Yeah . . . yeah, okay," Ron mutters. His face is still very pale and I can see that he is really starting to feel the sense of doom that has been upon me for hours. He isn't handling it much better than I did, either, and he's being forced to come to terms with it much faster.
"Hermione, you have any better ideas?" I ask quietly.
She holds up a hand, her face turned in the other direction. Her eyes are narrowed and if she were a dog on the hunt, I feel sure that her ears would have been pointed slightly forward in intense focus. "Shh," she whispers.
Ron and I obediently fall silent. While I must focus with all my might to hear over the roaring of the wind, after a few seconds, I hear the dull murmur of voices and the crunching of feet upon crusty snow. I know in my heart, just as I'd known earlier that Voldemort was coming, that those sounds are not being made by my friends.
"Damn," I whisper. "It's the Death Eaters!" I hurriedly extinguish my wand and pray it's not too late. My heart is racing again. "Grab hands," I instruct, no question in my voice now. "I don't want us to lose each other in this storm, and we can't risk the light. We head for the trees, now! Just keep running, doesn't matter where we're going as long as it's away from here."
I feel Hermione tentatively grasp my right hand, and after an instant, I ask, "Ready?"
They both respond quietly that they are, and I begin to pull them forward. The insanity of this entire situation is weighing on me. We're running through a forest in a blizzard, completely blinded by darkness, with Death Eaters roaming around us. If we survive to see the sun top the trees one more time, it will be a miracle.
Though when I'd imagined our escape, I'd pictured us running desperately, our retreat now is staggering and slow. We don't want to go too fast and run into a tree—or worse, a Death Eater.
Distantly, out of my peripheral vision, I can see the bobbing of wand lights: the Death Eaters, searching for us. My urge to hasten our retreat is magnified by a hundred and I begin to pull Hermione and Ron forward faster. I can hear their whispered pleas to slow down, but I don't heed them.
I soon find myself paying the price for my haste. I hear Ron cry out and suddenly I am being pulled to the snow alongside he and Hermione. I hit hard and feel the air explode out of my lungs.
"What happened?" I gasp after a moment.
"I tripped," Ron replies. "I told you to slow down! I can't see where I'm—"
"Be quiet!" Hermione hisses. "Don't move."
Once again, her hearing is keener than mine, and after a few instants, I can pick out a high-pitched voice that's colder than all the frigid wind around us: Voldemort's voice. I can hear only parts of what he's saying, depending on whether the wind is howling or at a lull.
". . . Escaped . . . hiding, probably . . . burn . . . can't come back . . . teach them . . ."
Though my mind is panicked, I try to put together the missing pieces of that bit of conversation; but the fear, the chill, and the screaming wind won't let me think at all. I start to slowly get to my knees. We have to get out of here before they come close enough to see us. They're already too close for comfort—with the light from their wands, I can see some of the mens' silhouettes. But just as I am trying, Hermione pulls me back down.
"Don't," she repeats.
"We can't stay here," I hiss. "They're going to see us!"
I don't hear her response, because in that instant, all sound—even the wind—is drowned out by an explosion of horrific proportions. The chill of the night is suddenly gone and all around me is a wave of nearly unbearable heat. Crimson light fills the black world that surrounded me moments ago. In an odd sort of stupor, I feel myself being picked up from the ground and thrown several feet. I land hard on my back. My head strikes the ground upon impact—just my luck I had to get a section of the ground that wasn't buried by six feet of snow—and my vision swims.
Slowly, as my eyes clear, I use my arms to push myself up into an almost-sitting position. The sight I'm confronted with is shocking. Our house, our hideout of many months, is up in flames. Yellow, orange, and red tongues of flame lick at the darkness as they devour our home, our belongings, all of our few remaining possessions. All gone in that greedy inferno.
I can't take my eyes away from it. It's almost hypnotic. I notice dimly that the lenses of my glasses are wet with snow, but don't make a motion to wipe them off. He's taken everything, I realize. Our families, our friends, our lives, and now the few things we've managed to accumulate—Voldemort has taken them. There's nothing left. We're the only things he has yet to destroy. And I know with a horrible, sinking sickness that if I hadn't heard his laughter, we'd all have been inside there right now, burning to ashes along with our things.
I finally manage to pull my eyes away from it, and look around for Ron and Hermione. The light of the fire has illuminated much of the surroundings—enough to see at least. While that's a relief in one sense, it's terrifying in another. Right now the Death Eaters are too busy watching the destruction they've caused to notice their surroundings, but sooner or later, someone's going to spot us.
Ron is laying some distance off to the side of me. He's half buried in a deep snowbank and his eyes are fixed on the flames. I push myself to my feet, feeling my headache increase sharply as I stand. I sway on my feet, an array of black dots swarming up before my eyes and blocking my vision. After a moment they recede, and I run quickly to where Ron is trying to climb out of the snowdrift.
I help him pull himself out wordlessly. His eyes never leave the flames.
"He's taken everything, Harry," he whispers in shock mingled with anger. "Every last bloody thing."
"Not yet, he hasn't," I reply. "He doesn't have us." What I don't say aloud is my uncertainty about how long that will remain true. "Where's Hermione?"
He shakes his head a little, as though trying to clear it, and looks around. "I . . . I dunno," he murmurs.
I look around myself wildly. She can't have been seen, I think desperately. As most wild, panicked thoughts turn out, I'm wrong. She's lying about ten feet away, at the base of a tree. She's motionless, still laying on the ground. She must have hit the tree when the explosion threw her. She's likely unconscious.
I pull Ron over to where she lays. I'm grateful to see that it's further back into the woods, for the Death Eaters are beginning to move around now, and we haven't much time left before Voldemort sends them to scour the woods for us, as he inevitably will.
I kneel by her side and feel for a pulse at her neck. It's there, beating strong. I pull out my wand and whisper, "Ennervate!"
Hermione's eyes begin to flutter open and she groans quietly. She shifts over so that she's on her back and looks up at Ron and I. Her eyes widen. "What . . . ?" she asks in confusion.
"Sit up," I say gently, helping her do just that. Her eyes widen as she sees the flames overtaking the house beyond. The roof has collapsed and the fire's greedy teeth are now chewing along the walls like millions of starved termites. "Are you okay?"
She nods slowly, still staring. "Oh, Merlin," she whispers. "Harry, this all my fault."
"Stop saying that," I growl. "This would have happened eventually anyway. He was always coming for us, and we always knew he'd find us one day—sooner, later, what does it matter in the long run? Now stand up and let's get going before they start coming after us."
She pushes herself to her feet, ignoring the hand I hold out to help her. I steady her when she looks as though she's about to topple over. I hope she didn't hit her head too hard.
"You ready?" I ask, and she nods. I look to Ron and he does the same. I am struck by how unexpected it is, the three of us together again in a life or death situation, like so many times before. But looking back on it now, in those previous situations I was never so dead sure that we didn't stand a chance.
We begin to tear away through the woods, moving at a much faster pace and using the light of the flames to see. After a while, though, the light fades away into blackness, and we are forced to slow down. I decide to risk lighting my wand and pray that if any Death Eater spots it, they'll assume it's another of their own. It's just too slow of progress, inching along in the dark.
Once we've run until we cannot take another step, I agree to let us stop for a minute. My throat is raw and parched from the chill of the air, and I am trembling from the cold. I put my hand over the tip of my wand in an effort to keep us hidden during our momentary break.
"What are we doing?" Hermione asks. "Where are we going?"
"Anywhere, just away from there," I reply.
"Shouldn't we call for the others, though?" she persists. "The owl call, remember? It won't do us any good to be separated from everyone."
I realize she's right. I had forgotten that signal entirely. I nod, though I know she can't see me, and try to muster up enough air to make an owl hoot that sounds half decent. I do it three times, and wait. Of course, there is no answer. Who knows where everyone is? They're all in groups, hiding—probably more to the east, more toward the direction of where the Death Eaters are looking.
"Let's keep going," I command. "We're heading east."
"That's toward them, though," Ron argues.
"I know," I respond. "But that's where the others are likely hiding. We need to get everyone together before we can make a move."
I know I'm taking a risk, leading my friends back to the Death Eaters, but for the life of me, I cannot see what other options I have to choose from. Abandon the others and run off on our own, or risk our lives to find them. Yeah, great options.
So we begin our treacherous trek eastward, plunging through the many feet of snow, Ron and Hermione following in my wake. As I walk, keeping my wand's light dimmed by my jacket's fabric, I wonder about Ron and Hermione's take on all this. Not just my decision to move us east, but everything that's happened in . . . how many days has it been? Or is it years? It sure feels like the latter. I know Ron is beginning to come to terms with just how unlikely our survival is, and I can sense that his silence now is similar to mine during the hours back in Diagon Alley. It makes me edgy, having him in such a state and knowing that our lives depend on us working as a team. I've been through what he's going through now, and I know that during those hours of silence, I would not have wanted someone putting their life on my shoulders. It's still a shock to me. But at least I had a few hours to just sit and think and come to terms with it. Ron is being forced to accept it on the run.
I have no idea of how Hermione feels, and that worries me in a way. We've shared so much recently, taken so many risks and still made it out alive, that maybe I'm getting used to having that unity. Amazing how two years of solitude and of needing no one can change so entirely in just a few days of having a friend by your side.
I'm tense, prepared for an ambush or sudden encounter with the Death Eaters, but never does the silence or stillness of our surroundings break. A nagging and discomforting fear is gnawing relentlessly at the back of my mind, increasing in its intensity with every step I take: It's too quiet and too still. Don't get me wrong, I have no desire to run into Voldemort or his minions, but now I find myself thinking that perhaps I'd be relieved if that did occur. It's scary to have your enemy in your sights, but it's a lot scarier when you have no idea where they are or what they're doing.
The only real sound I hear—besides the ones we are making ourselves—is the distant crackling of the blaze that is consuming our home. My nerves are steeled and my desire to destroy Voldemort is sealed with this thought. I've put up with a lot—I've had to to survive. But there are some things I don't forgive, and all the things he's done to Hermione, my parents, my friends, Hogwarts, and now our home, have put me so far past the point of forgiveness that I couldn't see it on a distant horizon with a pair of binoculars.
Though I've been giving the owl call periodically, I've yet to get any answer. This is another way in which the silence disturbs me. Could the Death Eaters have perhaps captured them, and left? Is that why everything has gone so still? It's unlikely—Voldemort would want Hermione and myself above all others, and I can't imagine him leaving without us—but it's still unnervingly possible.
I stop and hoot again, louder than I've dared so far. All I want is some confirmation that my friends aren't dead or captured. I beg desperately for it, and for once, my prayer is answered in the form of two distant, but distinctly unnatural hoots.
I run in the direction from which the noise originated, Ron and Hermione following me. I hoot three times again, and this time the reply is much closer.
I hear Ron growl vaguely behind me. "Oh, enough of this bloody owl calling! Who's there and where are you?"
"Over here, little brother!" comes a soft voice to my left. I aim my dim wand light at a bush about fifteen feet away where Fred is hiding.
We trudge through the snow, relieved. When we reach the bush, we see Fred, George, and Ginny all crouched behind it. Ginny stands and runs to hug Ron immediately. He embraces his little sister with a lot more feeling than usual, I observe. Apparently my worries for their survival were not lost on him.
"I'm all right, Ginny," he assures her quietly. "You?"
"I am now," she says, relief clear in her voice.
"Yeah, good to see you all again," Fred agrees, and I can see in his eyes as he looks at me that he'd not been holding out much hope for our survival.
I don't waste time with the greetings. "Where's Dumbledore?" I ask. "We need to get everyone together, and without him, that's hopeless."
George looks at me. "Everyone's hidden around here; there's a good bet he is, too. But I've got to tell you, Harry, finding everyone doesn't bother me as much as the quiet does."
So I'm not the only one who's noticed. "I know," I agree, not elaborating further. Stating my fears will do no more than scare us all more. But whether I say it aloud or not, I do believe deep in my heart that something is wrong. I don't know what, or why Voldemort is holding back, but we should have run into, or seen, or heard some sign of the Death Eaters by now. And yet there is nothing. More is going on than meets the eye. We should feel on top, in a way; we've evaded them, and we're gathering. We've survived. But I fear that's exactly what they want us to think.
With our group expanded from three to six, we set out again. We are cautious, not that I see the point in it anymore. I have a horrible, sinking feeling that we're being quiet and wary for nothing. That Voldemort knows exactly where we are and is simply biding his time, waiting for some moment which he'll at last deem correct. We're like ants under the glare of the sun through a magnifying glass. We run about, trying to maintain order and get out; and all the while some kid is watching above, controlling everything, waiting until he tires of our running and decides to finally get the frying started.
It takes a little over twenty minutes—more than enough time to confirm my fears with not so much as a distant voice from a Death Eater—to round up everyone. As Fred and George had said, everyone was hidden relatively close to one another. Dumbledore, Sirius, and Lupin are the last ones we find.
Now we are huddled in a circle, deep in the trees, my wand giving us the light we need. All of us are shivering from the cold. The blizzard has, thankfully, lessened to a simple snowfall. Dumbledore stands directly across from me, Sirius and Lupin at his sides. Hermione is pressed close against me, attempting to find some warmth in this world of bitter chill. Cautiously, still remembering her reaction when I'd kissed her—something I'm beginning to think I'm never going to get a chance to really talk with her about—I put my arm around her.
"Something's wrong about all of this," Moody is growling, his grotesque eye spinning so fast it's a blur. "I don't trust it."
"Nor do I, Alastor," Dumbledore confirms. He looks at me. "And neither does Harry."
I have not said a word to him about my suspicions, but as it often is with Dumbledore, I don't need to. He knows my emotions as well as I do, can read them from my face, my eyes, my posture when I don't even realize I'm relaying anything. Sometimes that can be a bad thing, but right now, I'm relieved that I need not take the time to explain.
"What do we do now? He's destroyed everything, we can't go back," Neville whispers, sounding as lost and frightened as a small child separated from his mother.
"Well, you know what they say," George says, trying to be upbeat, but his own voice can't even hold up the façade of folly. "If you can't go back, you have to go forward."
"Are we still going to try to make it to a border?" Ginny asks.
I shake my head before anyone can say anything. Dumbledore is looking to me expectantly. "No. We might have had a chance before, but we would have needed supplies, money, food, clothes. All those things have been destroyed now. Some of us have even lost our wands in the fire. We wouldn't make it for two days as we are." I close my eyes for a moment, considering how to word my next decision so that everyone does not immediately oppose me, as I feel they most likely will. "We only have one option left, unless anyone thinks it's a good idea to sit here and freeze to death while waiting for the Death Eaters to come trooping down on us. We have to fight."
Much to my surprise, only silence resounds. No one is yelling at me, no one is arguing. Just the dead, ringing silence that snow always brings when it falls, a silence that is deeper than that of any other.
"Fight . . . him?" Neville finally asks in a quaking voice.
"Yes," I say, keeping my voice firm, trying to instill some confidence in my companions.
"What do you want us to do?" Katie demands, sounding rattled. "We can't beat him. There are fourteen of us, and there are hundreds of Death Eaters, plus You-Know-Who himself. We don't even have fourteen wands! Harry, you're asking us to commit suicide."
The silence is deeper than ever as I realize she has spoken aloud the fact I'd been trying to keep hidden from everyone by a shield of bravado and courage. Now that it's out in the open, I can no longer deny it. "Maybe," I admit. "I know we can't win. I know we're outnumbered, unequipped, and unprepared. We're pathetic in comparison to them. There's a good chance he'll kill us, Katie, yes, but whether we fight him or not doesn't change that. He'll kill us if we stay here, and he'll kill us if we fight him. We'll die either way. The only difference is that if we try to run, or wait here, he'll come upon us without our knowledge, and we'll be on the defense; but if we instigate it, it's on our terms. We've been avoiding death for almost two years now, and sooner or later we all had to know that death was going to outsmart us. That's finally happened, and it's all coming down to here and now. And now we have the option of going out like the cowards we've been, or fighting to our deaths, showing courage, being the Gryffindors we're alleged to be. Maybe we can cause some damage to them before they finish us off. If we can even take out one of their men we'll have done something, something more than sit here and wait for the end. Death is our only option, it's true, but rather than letting that fact weigh you down and make you feel irrelevant, I'd like to see you manipulate it, take advantage of it, let it give you the strength to rise up and do something so great that we'll always be remembered as the group that made a difference. Let's make some use out of our last hours."
I know that if there was anyone left who hadn't yet begun to get very in touch with their mortality, I've just made them join the rest of us who have. Dumbledore is watching me, a kind of sad, resigned pride in his eyes. I must say myself that for a pep speech that came out of nowhere when I was feeling more depressed than ever before, it was quite strong.
Finally, after such a long silence that I fear I've put them to sleep, Ron pipes up from beside me, "So what's the plan?" His voice is toneless, and I can see the resignation in his eyes, resignation to the fate that I've just spoon-fed them all. But from these few words, I know that he's with me in this.
"Yeah, we're listening," Hermione whispers. I still have my arm around her shoulders, and I look down at her. She gives me a small, sad smile, and I return it briefly, a tiny sign of appreciation for her support. Though I know that my own words are true—that Voldemort will kill us either way—it doesn't make it any easier to live with the knowledge that in all likelihood, I'm leading my friends to slaughter.
"Look," I begin, "if anyone objects to my plan of fighting, that's all right. We can break up if we have to—"
Ginny cuts me off. "No, Harry. We'll follow you, and only you. Some of us may not want to face it, but I think all of us know what you just said is true. And I think that we all have pretty much given up the idea of running. You're our leader, and if you're going to do this, then none of us are going to leave your side." Ginny looks around, almost warningly. "Does anyone want to argue with that?"
This time the silence is shorter, and easier to interpret. They are going to stand by me. I can't say that makes me feel any better or any worse. It goes the same distance in both ways. None of them look happy—most look terrified, or on the verge of tears—but none are backing away.
"A-All right," I say, a little started at the overwhelming support. "So . . . I guess that if we are going to have this battle, we need to pick a battleground. We may not have much, but we have that advantage. So we need to move fast, before they find us and initiate this thing. I think that we should go to Hogwarts."
"But that's where they've set up headquarters!" Angelina protests. "That would give them the advantage."
"Maybe," I agree. "But equally, maybe not. They sure as hell won't be expecting it, which is an advantage. Besides, it all started there, two years ago, or seven years ago, however you want to look at it. It all comes down to Hogwarts. It's the center of everything. It's where this began, and I'd like it to be where it ends. The way I see it, if we fight somewhere else, we're going to die leaving Hogwarts to be Puerclades forever. Hermione knows how awful that is, and I have some idea. But if we die on those grounds, fighting for it, then a piece of it will always be Hogwarts."
I see some people nodding. Hermione gives me a wider smile this time, and I can see I've gotten through to them. I now look to Dumbledore. I know that in his eyes, the final decision will rest with me, but I need his backing in this. "Professor?" I ask tentatively. "What's your take?"
"I shall follow your decisions, Harry, whatever they may be. But I think that you are correct on both your decisions here tonight, if that is of any aid," Dumbledore says.
It's of more aid than he can possibly know. The fact that he thinks I'm making the right choices, speaking from a century of wisdom as compared to my seventeen years, is a great help. "What do you think we should do now, sir?" I ask.
His answer is the one I had expected. "That is your choice, Harry. However, I must suggest that perhaps it would be easier to fight if we were each equipped with a wand? We have extras at the headquarters of the Order. We can go there briefly if you wish."
I nod. "Yes, that's best. But I don't want any of your people who are there to come along, or feel like they're obligated to. It's best if they stay free. They're not at risk right now, and if this battle takes out the rest of us, it will be good to have some people left to fight."
I am amazed at how casually I'm speaking of our imminent deaths, as though what's coming is no more than a forecasted storm. It's unnerving, how easily I'm continuing. Am I in some kind of denial, or am I just far too good at accepting the hard things?
Dumbledore gives a small nod. "Of course. But some of them will want to fight, no doubt. They may insist upon it."
I bite my lip in consideration. Finally, I say, "Well, we'll figure it out when we get there."
"Why can't we stay there, with you?" asks George. "I mean, I know the whole idea of letting the Dark Lord massacre us is heaps of fun, but it seems a shame not to utilize the second hideout."
Dumbledore looks to him sadly. "It will not work, Mr. Weasley. Don't think I haven't considered it. We have special wards that do not allow for a greater number of people than that which comprises my forces. I can take you there and keep you in a small holding room while I gather the supplies, but you will be allowed to stay there for no more than fifteen minutes before you are automatically ejected. It is a safety precaution only the toughest of dark magicks could break through. I could reconfigure the wards, but it would take days of carefully undoing and redoing spells. It would be too late."
I can see the disappointment on the faces of those around me. It is clear that with George's words, they thought that they might actually have a way out, only to have it come crashing down on them.
"So how do we get there?" I ask tonelessly.
"Group Apparition," Dumbledore says simply. "It is a process that is maddeningly difficult, but I've mastered over time. Simply do as I instruct, and we shall be at the headquarters in a matter of moments.
"We first need to adjoin hands. Everyone's hands must be linked. If someone neglects to touch another, the entire process will be thrown off, with dire consequences."
I remove my arm from around Hermione and shift a bit farther away to allow room for our hands to take hold of one another.
"All right," Dumbledore continues . "Now, Sirius, Remus, Alastor, please envision headquarters vividly. Everyone else, simply think strongly of the place you want to go to. Repeat 'Order of the Phoenix headquarters' over and over in your mind. I shall do the rest."
I think the words over and over in my mind, blanking out everything else, understanding from experience just how important complete concentration is to the process of Apparition, group or otherwise. But after a while of this, my mind begins to wander and I realize just how much time has passed. How long does group Apparition take?
"There seems to be something wrong," Dumbledore speaks up in a slightly concerned tone.
My eyes open, and I can see everyone shifting. Ron drops my hand; Hermione does not. "What's happening?" I ask, frowning.
"I'm not certain," Dumbledore begins, seeming deep in concentration, his brow furrowed, "but I do not think we did anything wrong in the process. No, I am almost dead certain that it is an error of admittance." Seeing the blank looks on most of our faces, he explains: "Someone here is blocked from allowance due to our security barriers."
Hermione shifts next to me and speaks up, her voice hesitant and slightly ashamed. "It's probably me," she says. "Your barriers probably still recognize me as a traitor."
It makes sense, but to my surprise, Dumbledore shakes his head. "No. Our security barriers aren't set up in such a way. Since you were always on our side as it is, they would let you through. Someone else is causing the interference."
"Not necessarily," Moody growls. His eye has finally stopped spinning, and is now settled on Hermione.
I bristle. "Hey, what are you saying?" I demand, growing defensive.
Moody's eye flicks to me for a moment before going back to her. He doesn't even bother answering me. He crosses the distance between himself and Hermione and stops in front of her. I can feel her take a slight, involuntary step backward. Moody pulls out his wand, and I leap between them.
"What do you think you're doing?" I yell.
"Move, Potter," he snaps. When I don't, he sighs in irritation. "I'm not going to hurt her. I'm running a test. It will cause no physical pain, and if it does, you can curse me if you bloody well like."
I see Dumbledore nod at me from behind Moody, and I put my trust in him. "Count on it," I mutter, stepping slightly to the side.
He points his wand at Hermione and says, "Vestigo Acclaro!"
Hermione has no reaction, much to my relief. But after a few moments of nothing happening, she glows bright red for about five seconds before returning to normal. I stare, uncomprehending. Looks of horrified understanding cross the faces of Sirius, Lupin, and Dumbledore. Moody just looks grimly satisfied. No one else seems to understand.
"Yup," Moody says. "It's her."
"What is her?" I demand. I am well aware of Ron watching all this stiffly from beside me.
Moody glances to Dumbledore. "You tell him," he growls before limping away to where he'd been standing.
Hermione and I look at each other, and I can see the fear on her face. Whatever is happening, I believe without a doubt that this isn't some last-minute betrayal.
Dumbledore sighs. "She's under a tracing charm."
My mind takes a few moments to process this, but Hermione immediately gasps. "Oh, God," she whispers. She looks completely horrified.
"Wait," I demand, still trying and failing to think. "A tracing charm? Like . . . what? What do you mean?"
"Voldemort is tracking her," Sirius explains. "It's how he found us so easily at the hideout, and why he's probably not coming for us now. He knows where we are. He's just biding his time—playing with us, I guess." He looks to Hermione, who is standing beside me, a look of horror on her face. "I don't believe she was aware she was under it."
"I . . . I . . ." Hermione says, seemingly unable to speak. "I'm sorry . . . Oh, Merlin, it's all my fault." She looks near tears.
"It's all right," I tell her gently. My eyes dare anyone to contradict my words. I'm surprised to see that with the exception of suspicion on the Weasley twins' faces and worry on those of Katie and Angelina, no one looks accusatory.
Dumbledore steps forward. "Hermione, it's not your fault. Voldemort has tricked many of the greatest wizards, and often times the simplest tricks are the hardest to outwit. Don't blame yourself for this."
She does not move. "If I'd have thought . . . of course he would, it would make sense, so why didn't I see this coming?" she mutters. "I told you you shouldn't have brought me here," she sighs miserably.
"I don't regret it," I tell her. "Stop making it sound as though I should. How could you have known?"
She shrugs, and silence falls again.
"Can't you take it off her?" I ask.
Moody shakes his head. "Curse was personalized. The caster probably channeled the Dark magic in the cover curse to make it that way. Only the wand that put it on her can take it off."
Dumbledore nods. "Thank you, Alastor." He looks around. "It does not seem as though we can take you along, Hermione. So Harry, stay with her here. I will take the others; we shall go to the Order, gather wands, and return. We shan't be more than ten minutes, and should you be found . . . fight as best you can."
Oh, the words that inspire such optimism. "All right," I agree. "But make sure no one comes along unless they really want to. How many people are there?"
"Eighteen," Dumbledore responds. "Not including myself, Sirius, Alastor, or Remus."
I nod. "Okay. Make sure at least nine of them stay. We'll need a team remaining. And . . . make sure to appoint a leader. Someone I trust. I want to know for certain that they'll be left with someone who can continue the fight and make a real difference."
"The only person there that you know is Sibyll Trelawny. And Hermione should know Valerie Vector, the old Arithmancy teacher. Sibyll isn't high on your list of most trusted people, I'm sure," Dumbledore says.
I am startled to hear that Trelawny has survived, but I shake it quickly. "No, not her," I say very firmly. If I leave the Order in her hands, they'll be doomed to failure—or at the very least, doomed to a future of being told repeatedly that they're doomed to failure. "Who else, then?"
Dumbledore coughs slightly, making me look to him. As soon as he sees he's got my attention, he begins, "If I may? Perhaps it does not need to be someone back there." He looks to where Sirius, Lupin, and Moody stand. "Perhaps someone that is here?"
I consider it and realize there's no reason that wouldn't work. I look to Sirius and raise an eyebrow. He sees me and shakes his head vigorously.
"No, Harry," Sirius says. "If you're doing this, I'm going to be by your side. I promised Lily and James I'd take care of you!"
"And coming with me tonight won't be doing that," I reply. "All that will be doing is getting us both killed, which is pointless. I know that you want to avenge my father's death. The best way to do that is not by coming tonight. It's better for you to stay here, and keep fighting. Professor Lupin could do it, but . . . I'd just rather it be you."
"I must agree, Sirius," Lupin adds, looking at his friend.
"As must I," says Dumbledore.
Sirius is staring at me, his eyes flicking over to Dumbledore and Lupin periodically. "Harry . . ." he begins, trailing off. He sighs and shakes his head, as though trying to clear his thoughts. "I can't let you do this alone," he insists. "Remus will do a perfectly good job of leading them. Or even Dumbledore!"
"Not I," Dumbledore says, with a slight shake of his head. "Oh, no, my boy, not I. For many years I've expected tonight's stand, and my old heart will never rest at ease if I do not partake in it. It is the burden of a younger soul to bear, carrying on the Order."
"Sirius, I want you to let me do this alone," I say. "Right now, I'm trying to deal with the fact that I'm leading all the people I care about to near-certain death at the hands of a maniac. I'm carrying a huge weight on my shoulders. The fact that you aren't among those I'm leading, that you've still got a chance to live and to fight . . . it will lessen that weight by more than you can imagine. Please, help make this easier. If you want to look out for me, to fulfill my parents' wishes, then do this. Don't make me go to my grave with more guilt than I already have. Please." My words are full of truth and I say them as strongly as I can.
Sirius is watching me, looking torn and conflicted. "Are you sure? You aren't just saying that?" he asks, and I can tell he is weakening.
"Yes, I'm sure," I say.
He looks to Dumbledore and Lupin questioningly before sighing and saying, "All right, then. If it's what's best for you . . . I'll do it."
Sirius comes over and grabs me into a tight hug. I hug him back, feeling tears welling in my eyes as the mutual understanding passes through each of us—this is the last time we will see each other. This makes it all real to me as nothing else has. Not to say that I've thought this has all been a dream—no, I've understood exactly what we're off to do. But now the real pain of it is beginning.
"You've done great things, Harry," Sirius is telling me, his voice muffled and gruff from an attempt to fight back tears. "Tonight is no exception. You're one of the bravest men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And I want you to know, from someone who knew James Potter better than anyone, that he'd have been extremely proud of you. The same goes for Lily, and for me. I love you, kid." He breaks away from me, tears running down his face.
"Thanks," I say, a tear leaking out of my eye, as well. "For everything."
He nods and looks like he wants to say something, but breaks off, probably to conceal a sob. He turns and walks back to the other side of the circle. "Dumbledore, let's go," he orders gruffly.
I stare at him, feeling the loss already. I study each bit of him, from his wild black hair, to his pale and slightly gaunt face, to his deep-set eyes which still hold within them the shadows of his years in Azkaban. I try to engrave a picture of him in my mind. I feel Hermione's hand on my arm and I look down at her. She still looks ashamed, and she spreads that feeling to me when I realize I've temporarily forgotten all about the revelation of a few moments ago. She pulls me back a few steps so that the circle can close again without us. After a few moments during which I stare at Sirius from outside the circle, all of them vanish in one swift, silent motion, leaving Hermione and I quite alone in the middle of the dark, frigid, winter forest.
"Goodbye, Sirius," I whisper, letting the lonely words fall on the deaf ears of the trees and fade away into the blackness.
Hermione rests her head on my shoulder. She isn't tall enough for it to be lying flat on the top, so instead it's just sort of rested vertically on the side. I look down at her, another tear falling.
"Are you going to be okay?" she asks me.
I nod, my throat constricted. "Yeah. I'm just glad he's safe." I look at her. "What about you? Are you okay?"
She shrugs slightly, not looking at me, her feet shifting the snow around her. "I feel awful," she murmurs. "I'm supposed to be the brilliant one. I'm Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, the mental library of books and tactics and spells, and I couldn't even consider the possibility that they'd try something like this. Lucius must have done it earlier in his office. If they'd had it on me before, they would have tracked me sooner. A skilled wizard can embed a simpler spell such as a Tracker in a different, more powerful curse so both hit at the same time. Lucius has the skill to do it. He probably placed it within one of his blasted Cruciatus curses, just in case something happened and I should get away."
I shake my head a little. "You were under a lot of stress when we were in his office, and afterward. Anyone who blames you for not being smart enough to see something that most people without telepathy couldn't have caught isn't worth considering."
"I guess there's nothing to do about it now. It's over and done," Hermione says, but I know she's saying this to end the conversation. She still feels guilty.
We're quiet for a while in the chilly darkness. We cannot see one another very well from the dim light of my wand. Finally, she speaks again.
"He was right, you know," she whispers.
"About what?" I ask, my eyes still fixed upon the spot where Sirius had stood moments before.
"About you being one of the bravest men," she says. "Everything you've done—for me and for your cause, and what you're doing tonight—proves just how much you deserve the title of a Gryffindor. And he was right about your parents being proud of you. I don't see how anyone wouldn't be." She sighs, shifting a bit. "I wish I could say the same for me about someone . . . about anyone."
"Hey, don't start that," I say. "You deserve just as much respect as I do. You sacrificed everything to protect Ron and I. You suffered more than I can imagine just trying to keep that façade up. Sure, it didn't work out like you planned, but things don't always. If everything had worked out the way I had planned, we wouldn't be here tonight. Hell, as far as that goes, if my life had gone the way I'd planned, Voldemort wouldn't exist, all of our parents would be alive, nothing bad would have happened to you, and we'd all live in peace and harmony. Things never go the way you want them to. But you tried, just like I did, to keep things right, o protect the people you cared about. And again, it didn't work out. But you tried to make it work out. And that's all that counts."
She shakes her head. "That doesn't mean I deserve respect. I still screwed up. I let Voldemort into Hogwarts and effectively allowed him to commit genocide and destroy the wizarding world. Now I'm responsible for the deaths of all of you, since I led him here. I can't even say my parents are proud of me—I got them killed, remember?" She looks down. "Sorry. You don't need this tonight."
"Good intentions, bad action plan," I sigh. "It's happened to me before. And there is someone who's proud of you: I am."
She stares at me in bewilderment. "For what?"
"For everything I just said and more. I care about you for the same reasons."
Our eyes are locked for a few instants, and then she looks away. She sighs and goes over to sit on a nearby rock. "I suppose we should talk about what happened earlier, right? Before Ron came? It's not a favorable topic of conversation, but our time is running short, and this is likely to be the last time we'll ever have together, just you and I. Might as well get the issues cleared up rather than take them with us to the grave." I shudder at the blunt way she puts it.
She looks at me again, and I wait for her to say something. After a long silence, she does. "I know I reacted oddly when you kissed me. I hope you didn't take that as a sign that I was angry with you for doing it. Did you?"
"Kind of," I admit, shifting awkwardly and wishing there was something I could sit down on as well.
Hermione shakes her head. "Well that's not it. I . . . I felt scared. The fact that you were kissing me was a clear sign that you cared about me. And the fact that I enjoyed it was a clear sign that I cared about you, too. Harry . . . I've hurt all the people I've cared about. My parents, my friends, you. I couldn't bear the thought that I was going to hurt you again. And then when I thought, 'hey, maybe that phase of my life is over,' I also thought that Voldemort was never going to let us be. I've grown so accustomed to living in misery and having everything that makes me happy taken away that I just knew that the same would happen again. I didn't think I could stand losing something else I loved."
I try hard to conceal the surprise I feel. I hadn't expected anything like this. "Oh," I say, knowing how lame it sounds, but I am unable to think of anything else.
She doesn't seem to notice as she continues. "But now, everything is coming to an end. We're going to die. So why not let it all out? He's already going to succeed in doing what I knew he would—taking us away from each other, leaving us alone and miserable again."
I shake my head vigorously. "No," I say firmly. She looks up at me, confused. "I do care about you, Hermione. More than I can say. And yeah, we're going to die. But I promise you, here and now, that Voldemort will never take me away from you. I'll always be with you, no matter what happens. I swear it."
She watches me carefully for a few moments. When she speaks, her voice is heavy with resignation, but I wonder if I have heard a distant tint of hope. "I don't know how you intend to pull that off, Harry, but it sounds a lot nicer than saying we'll be separated for eternity. So why not take a walk on the optimist's side for once? I promise to stay by your side for as long as I can."
"We started it together, we'll end it together," I assure her.
She buries her head deep in my shoulder and embraces me. I don't say anything. I don't feel I need to. We pull apart, and I lean in to kiss her again, this time less self-consciously. The kiss is brief, but it lasts just long enough for me to feel brief joy at the fact that she does care for me the way I do for her; along with it though, is disappointment. We finally confront and realize these feelings on the eve of our deaths. How romantically ironic.
We are still kissing softly when a loud crack sounds from behind us, making us jump apart and pull out our wands. My heart has leaped into my throat and I am prepared for my final battle when I see that it is only my friends returning. I lower my wand, letting out a shaky sigh of a breath that I had been holding. I notice that the group is stronger by better than nine people. Sirius, of course, is absent. I'd half hoped that he would return, so I could see him one last time and prove that things aren't always as you expect. But it's better this way, I tell myself firmly.
Dumbledore steps forward. "The matters have been taken care of," he assures us. "Twelve of the eighteen people there wanted to help, but I only allowed ten to come. There are nine people left at headquarters now, including Sirius. Everyone is equipped with a wand." Dumbledore motions toward the new people, who have clustered together in a group. "These are my people. Many of them are Ministry officials, and old contacts of mine. Valerie Vector is among the group with Sirius, but Sibyll Trelawny is joining us tonight. Sibyll?"
Much to my displeasure, I see Professor Trelawny step forward from the crowd. She looks just the same as ever: cloaked in a crimson shawl, her hair done up in a bun, donning spectacles that magnify her eyes to a grotesque size.
"Professor," I greet her, with as much respect as I can muster. I'm not in the mood for pleasantries, and besides that, it's always been fairly difficult to even pretend to possess a smidgen of respect for Trelawny. Morbid and cruel though it may sound, I must express my disappointment in the fact that she survived rather than someone more worthy and more useful, like McGonagall. It's a true example of the fact that life is not fair.
She clasps her hands together before her face and inclines her head slightly in greeting. "Welcome, my children," she murmurs in her signature, mystically whimsical voice. "You may wonder what I am doing here; you most likely feel I would be more use to the group who remains. I see that as well. My Inner Eye could be of great use to them. However, I must follow what I see, and I did indeed observe myself coming here with all of you. And so I do."
I've had enough already. My patience is at zero. My mixed feelings about Hermione and I, the empty feeling in my chest from Sirius's departure, and the very thought of what we are about to do is taking its toll on me. I have a horrible, sinking feeling that time is running out, and my adrenaline is beginning to flow again, leaving me with a nauseaus desire to keel over and heave up the meal we just ate.
"Not to be rude or anything, but we don't have time for this. We have to get going. We're not safe here, Voldemort could pop up at any minute," I say, keeping my voice carefully neutral.
Dumbledore nods. "Of course," he agrees. "But before we set out, I must inquire as to whether or not Sibyll has any last minute predictions to bestow upon us about the nature of what awaits us beyond." That old twinkle of his is dancing once again in his eyes.
Professor Trelawny looks as though Christmas has arrived. "Why, as a matter of fact, I do!" she cries.
I work hard to suppress a groan. Unable to help myself, I ask, "Let me guess—it involves my dying, right?" It is a weak joke, as it's already an accepted fact that we will all be dying tonight. Sadly, in the long run, Trelawny's predictions of my death were true. But then, eventually, under any circumstances, they would have been anyway.
Trelawny never was one to take jokes well. She immediately grows indignant and huffy. "Every Seer makes mistakes, dear boy. It is the overall count of successes that matters."
"Looking at it from that angle doesn't really help matters," says Hermione in a low voice, and I can't help but grin.
Apparently having heard this as well, Trelawny folds her arms across her chest and turns her head. "Fine! I shan't grant prophecies to those insolent clouded Eyes who offer no faith."
"Forget we mentioned it, Sibyll," Dumbledore speaks up, his voice calm and soothing. "You are not a trained monkey, nor should you be asked to perform like one."
"Thank you, Dumbledore," she says with satisfaction, unaware that Ron and I have almost begun sniggering at the analogy of Trelawny to a monkey. For the briefest of times, it feels like we're all Third Years again, crowded around in Trelawny's stuff tower room, loathing her together.
I allow the moment of nostalgia to pass, and prepare myself once more. "All right, is everyone armed?" I ask, feeling my heartbeat increase. There are murmured affirmative answers, and I nod briefly. "You all understand what we're doing tonight? You know that this is not a battle where we're evenly matched, or even a battle that we have much chance of surviving? You understand that we are making one final stand now, and you are still willing to follow?"
The answers are firmer this time, and I feel slightly heartened by that. Hermione grabs my hand and I squeeze it. As I speak, I force myself to sound the part of the brave, willing leader, instead of the scared kid that I am. "Okay, then. It's time."
And it is with those last words that I take the first step in the direction of Puerclades.