Advisory: This chapter is PG-13, for one moment of foul language.

The exuberance of the match quickly spilled into the Great Hall. Everyone was still wearing their Quidditch things, their muggle clothes balled up and rescued from the wrong locker rooms – there was a funny moment where everyone tried to figure out who had who's clothing, and then finally gave up, figuring that the house elves could sort it out with the laundry that night. (Hermione looked very tempted to launch into a lecture about disrespecting the house elves, but Ron hurriedly distracted her, fishing for praise of his Keeping abilities.)

It was like a Hogsmeade weekend, with twice the energy. The two teams sat together, which left everyone either wondering where to sit, or happily mixing and mingling with friends from class, or after-school activities. The racket was hardly any quieter than it had been on the field, and Harry found himself shouting to be heard.

The Professors had decided to allow the bit of extra ruckus, and it seemed they were even affected by the holiday mood, McGonagall grinning and chatting with Hagrid, and Flitwick laughing jovially at something Professor Sprout had said.

What made Harry happiest though, was Dumbledore, who scanned the crowd with a serene, Cheshire grin until he found Harry, and bestowed the slightest of winks.

Having both regained Ron's friendship, and earned Dumbledore's approval, Harry figured that day pretty much ranked with Christmas, and was about to tuck happily into his turkey and dressing, when a very strange thing happened.

An enormous eagle owl suddenly burst through one of the circular windows near the enchanted roof, and began circling the Great Hall. In its beak was clutched a large, red envelope.

"Ohhhh, someone's in for it!" Ron laughed, pointing upwards.

"You didn't seem to think it was so funny second year!" Hermione teased. But Harry found himself equally intrigued – who'd gotten into trouble lately?

His stomach sank as the eagle owl spied him, and began winging its way towards their table.

The table fell suddenly silent, even as hoots and whoops began filling the Great Hall.

"I haven't done anything!" Ron protested, at Hermione's suspicious glare.

Harry noticed that the letter had begun to smoke…but it didn't look like regular smoke…it was…

…green.

"DUCK!" Harry yelled, as the owl drew closer to the table, "UNDER THE TABLE, NOW!"

Harry ducked just in time to see the massive owl drop the red envelope, now spewing green smoke, to the table. There was a tremendous BANG! And all of a sudden, the entire Great Hall was lit in piercing green light that sparkled and refracted on Ron and Hermione's faces.

Harry found he could suddenly hear nothing but a high pitched keening sound, roaring, filling his ears – he realized that every single student at Hogwarts had begun screaming at once. He reemerged from under the table, despite Hermione and Ron's voiceless pleas for him to stay put, and saw it – glittering green and vile, the Dark Mark, but massive, hovering menacingly in the air over their heads, a foul serpent squirming lazily out of its sparkling green jaws.

"IF THERE ARE THOSE AMONG YOU WHO YET FEAR DEATH," screeched a high, cold voice that Harry recognized with a sinking, hot-and-cold sensation in his midriff, "I GIVE YOU THIS ONE CHANCE TO SAVE YOUR WORTHLESS LIVES FROM THE WRATH OF LORD VOLDEMORT."

The high-pitched screaming increased in volume, if possible, sending another deafening wave crashing through Harry's eardrums. Hermione had grabbed his leg, and was clinging desperately, trying to drag him back under the table.

"MY ARMY OF DEATH EATERS HAS SURROUNDED THE SCHOOL. DELIVER HARRY POTTER TO ME, AND WE WILL LET YOU ESCAPE WITH YOUR LIVES. IF NOT, WE WILL TAKE THE SCHOOL BY FORCE AND KILL ANYONE AND ANYTHING THAT DRAWS BREATH.AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The screaming tripled in intensity, and Harry ducked instinctively, his heart turning to ice – Hermione was still doggedly grabbing his leg, and Ron had flung himself on top of her, covering her bushy head with his arms – both had their faces pressed to the stone floor, but they were alive.

This was insanity – he surely couldn't kill anyone with aHowler...

"DO YOU STILL FEAR ME? KNOW THIS – LORD VOLDEMORT IS NOT A CHILD'S STORY, SENT TO FRIGHTEN YOU INTO OBEDIENCE. DO YOU HEAR MY VOICE? IT IS THE SOUND OF YOUR DEATH. YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT. IF YOU DO NOT DELIVER HARRY POTTER TO ME BY THAT TIME, IT WILL BE YOUR FINAL HOUR ON THIS EARTH."

And as suddenly as it had come, the high, booming voice ceased, and the great, glittering skull with the bulging serpent flickered, and went out, raining hot ash down from the enchanted ceiling.

There was a moment of peculiar silence, where all Harry could hear was a dull whine in his ears – for a moment he thought he'd gone deaf. Then, he wished he hadn't.

Desperate screams and sobs began to fill the air. He spied Hannah Abbott under the table across from him, tears rolling down her contorted face, her hands mashed to her ears. Several members of the D.A. emerged weakly from under the tables, wands at the ready…Harry looked from Ron's blood-drained face to Hermione's, then found Luna, Ginny, and Zacharias, all staring about shell-shocked.

"Excuse me, please," Dumbledore said, mildly, and all heads snapped up to the Headmaster as though at a tennis match. Harry couldn't understand why Dumbledore's voice was so calm – surely, he was not about to suggest that "no one panic?"

"If everyone could please regain their seats? Yes, that's right, Miss Lovegood," he said, as Luna plopped into her seat, looking a bit jumpy, at worst, "Please help those who are less able…Come on, then."

Slowly, students crawled out from under tables, coaxing more recalcitrant classmates. Harry spotted Neville sitting ashen-faced and tight-lipped a few spaces down…he was staring determinedly at the table-top, as though steeling himself for something.

Once the students had returned to their seats, Dumbledore held up both hands, and said, "I had hoped this moment would never come. But please rest assured, it is not unexpected. And please believe me when I say: Voldemort does – "

There was an outburst of screams – Harry heard Parvati Patil shriek, "Stop him! Someone stop him!" and Ernie MacMillan cried out, "For God's sake, man!"

Harry observed as McGonagall, without the slightest change of facial expression, put a hand gently on Dumbledore's forearm. He sighed.

"He Who Must Not Be Named does not make idle threats. I believe that if he does not receive Harry Potter by midnight, that he will attack. However, Vol – " there were scattered shrieks and gasps, "He Who Must Not Be Named also lives to incite terror. It is our responsibility to be brave in this dark hour."

"Fuck that!" cried a snooty, cold voice that Harry instantly recognized. His blood began to boil as he watched Draco Malfoy stand up at the Slytherin table, outrage and fear written all over his aristocratic features, "All he wants is Harry Potter! I say, let's deliver him!"

Stunned, ringing silence met this proposition, but Malfoy showed not the slightest hint of apology – neither for his rudeness to the Headmaster, nor the suggestion that they serve Harry to Voldemort like a trussed pig.

"Are you people daft?" Malfoy shrieked, his perfectly blonde coif falling into his eyes, "Or just stupid? Look, it'shim the Dark Lord wants! Or would you rather have yourselfandthe entire school end up dead?"

His cold, furious gray eyes met Harry's across the room.

"Why should we die for him!" he spat, violently.

"Mr. Malfoy THAT – WILL – DO!" boomed McGonagall, who had regained her indignant outrage, "You ought to beexpelled for the things you've just–"

"Shut it, you old hag!" Malfoy roared, and the Great Hall gasped collectively, "I have every intention of surviving the night, and I don't care who I have to piss off to do it!"

"Don't youdare talk back to Professor McGonagall, you slimy Slytherin creep!" Katie Bell roared, leaping to her feet like a feral cat.

"Oi, Jingle Bells!" retorted Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, who also stood. Katie bristled furiously. "I'm not dying for your sake, or any other self-absorbedheroes over there…"

"Coward!" cried Cho Chang indignantly.

Angry shouts and cries filled the air as members of each house stood up and gave a piece of their minds to one another. It looked like a riot was imminent.

"Be quiet!" Hannah sobbed, irrationally, "He'll hear you!"

"It's allHIS fault!" Draco shrieked dramatically, standing on a chair, and whipping out his wand. Harry flinched, his hand already halfway to his wand…

"That will do, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, firmly, and for the first time, Harry detected a hint of anger in the Headmaster's expression. All of a sudden, Draco's face went slack. He sat back down woodenly, and stared straight ahead vaguely, as though he was a mechanical doll that had run low on batteries. Harry didn't know how Dumbledore had done it, but he had the distinct impression that Malfoy had been tampered with.

Justin Finch-Fletchley stood timidly, raising his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly, as if all the consternation of the past five minutes were a very serious, but engaging class.

"Well, err…n-not that I th-th-think we should j-just deliver Harry to…to…to…"

"Go on," Dumbledore encouraged.

"But, w-well, Malfoy's…a bit…right?" he asked, more than stated, "I mean…I don't w-want to d-die…but…what are we…do we have…?"

"A plan? Why yes, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, I'm pleased you asked."

There suddenly came a melodious, soaring keen from overhead. Half the class ducked instinctively, but Harry recognized the sound even before he looked up to see Fawkes, brilliant scarlet and gold, winging his way to Dumbledore, singing as he went. Harry again felt as though he'd just had a piping hot sip of butterbeer, and could feel it working its way through his chest, giving him just the slightest bit of courage.

Fawkes settled on Dumbledore's arm lightly, and the Headmaster stroked his crown feathers with a loving and sad expression in his blue eyes.

"We will need a warning," he said, simply, and with a puff of smoke, Fawkes was replaced by a single red feather which wafted slowly to the ground.

"I have just now contacted certain individuals to come to our aid," Dumbledore said, serenely, addressing the students once more.

"The Ministry?" a small voice asked hopefully, from somewhere in the crowd.

Harry noticed the almost imperceptible flinch in Dumbledore's expression, as he replied, "Yes, I believe most of the Ministry will come."

"And the Dementors!" piped up another voice, "The Azkaban Prison guards! Have them come as well!"

Several students voiced their agreement. Harry looked bewildered into Ron's and Hermione's faces. Were the students really this disconnected from what was actually happening in the magical world?

Dumbledore shook his head sadly.

"The Dementors will not come to our aid," he said, gently, "They have already been swayed to the Dark."

"No!"

"That's impossible!"

"What are we going to do?"

"Please!" Dumbledore said, raising his hands, "Please! Allow me to outline our plan."

The din quieted once more, and Harry, Ron and Hermione, and the rest of the students who were standing took their seats once more.

"I can not ask any of you to stay here who do not want to. We have ways to evacuate the school in times of danger. However, evacuating is not without its own risks. Tom – that is to say, the Dark Lord – was a student here himself, and there is little about the castle he does not know. I can not promise that all the escape routes are safe. And of course, once you leave the castle, I can do nothing to protect you."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Dumbledore certainly wasn't putting a very positive shine on this, though admittedly, it would be impossible to do so.

"This is your fault," said the nasty voice in his head, "Your fault. Your fault."

And suddenly an idea dawned on him. A terrible idea.

Hermione quickly jerked her head away from Dumbledore, and looked at Harry, panic-stricken.

"The castle does, fortunately, have extremely ancient and powerful spells of protection cast upon it," Dumbledore continued, his voice sounding a bit more soothing, "As does each individual house, and each individual dormitory – some of them still in place from the Founders themselves. It is my recommendation that everyone file back to their dormitory, and remain sequestered there with their Head of House, in order to allow – "

"Harry, please," Hermione whispered, "Don't! Don't, Harry!"

But he was already standing.

"Err," he said, and there was a dull thunder as everyone turned in their seat to stare at him.

A look of deep pain crossed Dumbledore's face, though he was still smiling.

"Yes, Harry?" he asked, gently.

"If everyone thinks I ought to…I'll…I'll go," he said, simply, "It's…"

He paused, and swallowed dryly…he didn't want to reveal too much of the Prophecy. He was fully aware of everyone's eyes on him – everyone except Hermione, who had buried her face in her hands, and Ron, who was comforting her.

"It's my responsibility," he said simply, "And…well, I guess that's it."

He sat back down.

For a while nobody said anything.

"Thank you, Harry," the Headmaster said, stiffly. He sounded positively ancient as compared to his normal self. "I'm sure that's appreciated, but hopefully it won't be necessary. Now, if the Head Boy and Girl, Prefects, and Heads of House could please ensure everyone's safe passage to their dormitories? If you would like to risk evacuating, your Head of House will contact you with procedures shortly. Everyone else, please try to remain vigilant and calm, and wait for further – "

There was a sudden, anguished cry that came not from the students, where he might have expected it, but from the staff table. Harry directed his gaze to the source of the sound, to find Severus Snape, sweating profusely and gripping his forearm, gritting his teeth together. Hagrid had concernedly put a hand on his back, and Madame Sprout was asking him something.

"Briskly, please," Dumbledore said, standing in place.

The Great Hall erupted into loud bustle. Harry turned to Hermione and Ron who were looking at him with stricken expressions.

"Harry, whatever happens,please!" Hermione begged, tears streaming down her face, "Please don't give up!"

"I'm not giving up!" Harry argued, "I'm going to face him!"

"Not like this!" Hermione insisted, desperately, "Harry, don't you see, you'll be no match for him, not like this, not with his entire army behind him."

"The Prophecy says – "

"To hell with the Prophecy!" Ron swore, an arm still around Hermione's shoulders protectively, "You can't! I'm your best friend!" he added stiltedly, not quite understanding his own logic, "And I say you can't!"

"I'm not going to let you die!" Harry roared.

"It's what he wants!" Hermione cried, in response.

"PREFECTS!" roared McGonagall's voice.

"Bloody hell!" Ron cursed vehemently. He pointed a finger squarely in Harry's face, "Don't you do anything stupid until we talk about this some more."

Harry simply nodded, and did not say anything. He wasn't sure what he could promise.

The three of them stood there for a moment, not knowing if they would ever see one another again once they parted.

"GRYFFINDOR PREFECTS!" bellowed McGonagall once more, and Hermione wiped her face, and in a business-like tone, called out, "This way please, follow us!"

And in an instant, they were gone, leading the file of Gryffindors who swept past, sneaking glances at Harry from downturned, fearful faces.