A/N: Oh dear, it appears there are now many people out for my blood. (Including my mother.) Yes, 'tis true, Remus and Draco are gone. So is Pettigrew. This is war, folks. People croak. And it ain't over! Read on…
Chapter Forty-Seven: A Phantom Of Many Colors
The days that followed the Third of March were fair and beautiful, filling the air with the glow of spring. But as far as Severus Snape was concerned, the sun no longer had any right to continue shining.
Draco…
He had been a fool, to take Draco in. He should have known better. He should have handed him over to Minerva and given her the responsibility of protecting the boy. Since when could Severus Snape ever successfully shelter any child? What right had he to attempt it?
On the third night of the third month, the fallen had numbered three. It seemed nothing short of a miracle there were not more dead, given the scale of the battle, but although the wounded had flooded St. Mungo's, only three had lain in that empty room at Hogwarts when it was over.
Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, the once-best-friends who had slaughtered each other with their own hands.
And Draco Malfoy, murdered in cold blood by his own father.
The headlines of the Daily Prophet blared for days with the horror of the act. Draco had gone from suspect son of a Death Eater to innocent martyr in the wizarding public's eyes, a shift in attitude that Severus would, under any other circumstances, have found highly ironic. But he had no room in his thoughts for irony now. Such emotions only led to more pain. All emotions only led to more pain.
I was a fool.
Minerva would never have allowed him to resign, so he did not try, but focused his attention on his Slytherins…the ones who were left, at any rate. They had taken Draco's murder hard, particularly Blaise, who when it came right down to it was probably the closest thing Draco had had to a real friend in the complicated, treacherous world of Slytherin politics. So Severus concentrated on him, and Draco's other Housemates, and did what he could to answer their questions and allow them to vent their shock and grief. He found himself wondering if Draco had ever realized, thanks to that same, obscuring veil of caution among Slytherins, how well-regarded he really was.
Probably not. No one else had.
Still, it made the errand Severus had to run a week later somewhat easier, and gave him some more traditional things to say when he arrived at Malfoy Manor.
As he expected, the manor observed all the proper trappings of a house in mourning: the curtains drawn, the wreath upon the door, the lights dimmed, the bowed heads of the servants and house elves as they led Severus into the parlor. The woman in black in the hard-backed chair did not greet him when he entered.
Narcissa Malfoy was a beautiful woman, but Severus had never personally found her particularly appealing. Her smug bearing and lofty disdain has always reminded him too much of James Potter and his ilk. But today, for the first time, he noticed with a trace of irony that Narcissa's beauty was more striking than ever. There was no warmth in her face – that would have simply seemed strange – but for the first time since he'd known her, her gaze was devoid of pretense. There were no airs, no poses, but neither did she carry herself as the tragic, bereaved mother. Rather, her face was devoid of any expression at all.
She did not look at him when he approached and half bowed. "Madam Malfoy."
Her voice was flat, dead. "Why have you come?"
"It was my duty," he replied, and sat without being asked.
A faint smile curved her mouth. "Is that all?"
"For you, yes." He was blunt with her. They had never been friends, even when Severus and Lucius had been close, and Snape no longer had any patience for her.
She knew it, too. "You blame me for not protecting him." He didn't answer. He wasn't there to air grievances, to vent the grief and rage that roared inside him, or to give her the means to do so either. But she was right. He did.
You. The one above all others he should have been able to count on. He would have been alive if he had someone, anyone, other than me. You. You, his mother. Why did you not come for him?
To his mild surprise, she seemed to shrink, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. With her eyes closed, she whispered, "Did you truly think I could have protected him?"
"I could have protected him," Severus said coldly, "had he allowed it."
She kept her gaze on the hearth, even though no fire was burning. "I do not mind if you blame me. It's only fair…for I blame you as well."
He had expected an accusation from her…just not quite like this. He had expected more…drama. That would have been easier to bear…he'd rather hoped for it.
But then…I've learned all too well in the past few days, how dangerous it is to hope. I forgot…a man such as myself has no right to hope. Hope is for those who deserve it.
He wondered how Narcissa would classify that emotion. Then again, it was not as alien to her as it was to him, from what he knew of the Black sisters. They, each of them, had her own idea of what she wanted from life. And each had been determined to achieve it. Bellatrix had coveted power, Andromeda love, Narcissa…wealth. And all the trappings that came with it: social standing, beauty, comfort. And each of the Black sisters had focused single-mindedly on her goal to the exclusion of everything else.
Each of them had got what she wanted. But out of all of them, Severus would not have pegged Narcissa as the weak one. He'd have gambled on Andromeda caving in and seeking more material comforts or a more approved mate. And Bella, Bella had never desired or cared for anything but power. Of all of them, Narcissa, you were the one who broke your own rule. Never allow anything to distract you from your aim…especially not love.
He couldn't be sure exactly when he realized she valued her child, as something more than a possession, more than the decorations of her status. But it must have been when Draco was small. Like all society mothers, she had paraded him around like a living accessory to her gowns and robes…
And somewhere in there, you suddenly found that you loved him.
It explained everything about this beautiful woman, sitting silently here, so clearly no longer caring about anything – least of all, herself. She had broken her own rule, forgotten her goal, allowed herself to love, to value, to cherish, and it had destroyed her. She who loved only greed, with a husband who loved only power, she had allowed herself to love her own child. She had loved Draco. Severus had known that before now. And that was why he hated her.
Narcissa Malfoy had loved Draco as much as he had, and that was why he hated her…almost as much as he hated himself.
"You could have saved him," he heard himself say. "You were the one person who could have saved him."
This time she didn't flinch. She met his eyes and replied, "You should never have taken him from Lucius. Did you truly think my husband would have let him live after that?"
Severus was forced to look away. "How long do you think he would have survived in the Dark Lord's service?"
She closed her eyes. "Damn the man."
"Which?" he asked, dryly.
In her eyes, there was a flicker of the old hardness, her familiar coldness. "All of you."
Incredibly, he found himself smiling. To smile was infinitely preferable to the alternative. Her eyes still closed, Narcissa smiled as well. He would never have imagined how much he would end up having in common with the premiere socialite of wizarding Europe. They were still chuckling, without mirth, when a servant entered and said, "Madam, it is twelve o'clock."
She shrank again at hearing this, and Severus went to her and offered his arm. "Shall we, Madam?"
She accepted his help and rose. "Together. It seems appropriate, does it not?"
He knew what she meant. He'd never appreciated her wit before, he mused, as they made their way out of the house. He noticed the servants shuttering the windows and covering the furnishings. Some were carrying suitcases. He glanced at her, and asked, "Where are you going?"
She didn't look at him. "Does it matter?"
He did not answer, and by then, they had reached the main doors of Malfoy Manor. After today, Narcissa Malfoy would depart the house and never be seen again, but in the events that would follow, few would notice, except when remarking on the boarded-up manor house that lay abandoned in Wiltshire.
They came out together, two people who had loved a child and failed him, whose every last hope had perished with him. They walked from the house to the waiting funeral procession together, a slow march of the damned.
It might have seemed odd to some people that Remus Lupin's funeral had more press attending than Draco Malfoy's, until they noticed that Harry Potter was there.
In the days following March third, Harry felt as if he was moving in slow motion, unable to really see or feel what was happening. Hermione cried endlessly, Ron alternated between tears and rages, and Ginny's public silence was belied by her red eyes. She cried when no one else was watching, and Sirius, after that first night of hysterical grief, was stoic between bouts of quiet tears, but seldom let Harry out of his sight.
Professor McGonagall had asked him to take over teaching Defense, and she hadn't had to ask twice. All of Defense class now focused on the battles everyone knew would be coming. The D.A. trained every day. There was no more Quidditch, and even if there had been, no one was in the mood to play anymore. All the joy had gone out of life at Hogwarts.
Sirius was silent at Harry's side, as the funeral for Remus went on. Neither of them had wanted to say anything, so Professor McGonagall spoke of what a good man Remus had been, a good teacher, a loyal friend…a loving parent…
Harry couldn't seem to hear properly after that, and he felt Sirius shaking next to him.
Parent…Remus…
"I love you, Harry…"
The light of the moon in his eyes…Remus…
"I'm not going anywhere, Harry, never fear…"
REMUS!
People were moving around. Harry blinked. It must be over. He and Sirius didn't move as other witches and wizards filed past the new grave to pay their respects. Mrs. Weasley, weeping softly, on the arm of Mr. Weasley, with Bill, Charlie, the twins, and Percy's ghost behind them…Tonks stood there for several moments, tears sliding silently down her face, before she knelt, touching the smooth stone and the earth around it, then went quickly away. Students whispered things quietly as they went by…Harry heard Neville say, "Thanks, Professor," and others saying they would miss him, that he'd been a good teacher.
He could have been our teacher a lot longer, if people hadn't been afraid of him, Harry thought, in a burst of anger as he remembered Umbridge and Crouch. So many things could have been different.
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had just come back, all of them red-eyed from prolonged crying, and hardly anyone else was left. Except the reporters, of course. Harry sighed. He could feel Sirius trembling next to him.
"Harry?" Ron said, quietly. "You want to…."
Harry shook his head, trying to think through the heavy fog in his mind. "Yeah," he murmured.
""Kay. We'll wait for you, mate," said Ron, patting his shoulder lightly.
Sirius stayed where he was, while Harry went slowly to the grave. He stared at the white marble…clean and glowing white, like the moon…and the chiseled word, his name.
Remus…
Abruptly, he turned and went away fast. Professor McGonagall caught his arm as he passed her. "Harry, are you sure you don't want a moment longer?"
"Yeah," he managed to say. His throat was dry. "I…okay…."
"Very well," she said, quietly, keeping a hand on his shoulder. "Let us allow your godfather a little while alone, perhaps."
Harry nodded mutely and went over to where Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were waiting for him. "Do you need anymore time, Harry?" Ginny asked. He shook his head, and she put an arm around his shoulders. "C'mon, then."
They walked slowly, Hermione leaning on Ron, and Harry leaning on Ginny. The reporters beyond the gate of the cemetery were calling questions to them, but Harry barely heard it. All he could seem to see was the moon on the grounds that night, and the faces of the people who'd died.
Death will surround you, Firenze had said. He'd warned Harry. He'd said Harry would be powerless to stop the death, and he'd been right.
It seemed strange to think that only three people had died that night. So much grief, so much pain, so much emptiness and loss…it felt like a lot more. So much happiness had gone away…
"Look," Ginny said suddenly.
Harry turned and saw another group of witches and wizards dressed in black, gathered around a grave. Among them, he recognized Hogwarts students, a lot of them Slytherins.
"It's Draco," Hermione whispered. "It's Draco Malfoy's funeral."
She ws right. At the front of the group closest to the grave, Harry saw a woman, her face hidden by the veil she was wearing, but beside her…Snape. None of them had really expected Snape to come to Remus's funeral, but it was because Draco's funeral was at the same time. The Potions Master's face was hard and expressionless…but he never took his eyes off the grave where Draco was being buried.
The four of them had stopped some distance away, and stood watching silently. Hermione murmured, "It might be nice to…"
"They wouldn't let you come, Hermione," Ginny said sadly.
Blaize Zabini was speaking to Draco's mourners, but they weren't close enough to hear what he was saying. All at once, Ron and Hermione began walking toward the gathering, so Harry and Ginny followed. As Ginny had predicted, a servant spotted Hermione and started toward her, but to everyone's surprise, Draco's mother held up a hand. The servant stopped, confused, and she waved him away, then turned her attention back to the grave as if nothing had happened. As if Hermione Granger's Muggleborn presence didn't matter to her at all. Watching her as they stepped in behind the other mourners, Harry realized nothing mattered to Draco's mother at all. Not anymore.
Zabini resumed speaking. "He was…the best friend I ever had…I'll miss his sense of humor, and the way he…talked about Quidditch all the time, and…he was just…" The Slytherin boy seemed to be struggling for words. "A good friend." Blaize finished in a whisper and hurriedly left.
Snape and Mrs. Malfoy were the first ones to file past Draco's grave, and the first to leave. Harry and his friends stayed to the back until everyone else had gone. Blaize saw them and paused as if he wanted to say something, but suddenly thought better of it and left. Finally, the four of them were the only ones left at Draco Malfoy's grave.
Harry wondered what Snape thought about what Draco had done. No doubt he blamed himself. Draco had died to save him. But was that really Snape's fault?
"You with your friends and your family…he's all I have!"
If Draco had had someone else, anyone…he wouldn't have done what he did, Harry thought. If he'd had other…friends.
His mind went back over the last few months, when Draco had been at Headquarters. There'd been that Dreamless Sleep Potion, and the Quidditch game at Christmas, but..none of them had ever tried to be Draco Malfoy's friends. Would he have…accepted them? If they'd tried?
There really no way to know now, is there? he thought. But the thoughts wouldn't stop. We were a lot alike, you and me, he mused, thinking about the way their lives had gone. Never really had a choice about…your father. Well, you did more than me, but you had no way to know, and I guess in all…we were both pawns. Getting used by people…not having control. I know what that's like, being scared, and being not wanted. He took a deep breath. I wish I'd told you.
He turned and walked away, but Ron and Hermione each went a little closer to Draco's grave. Harry distinctly heard Ron say quietly, "Good game, Malfoy."
Hermione lingered longer still, but when she finally turned away, she had only said one word: "Bye."
The Ministry had at last roused to real action, and under the determined leadership of Madam Bones, they stayed in almost non-stop, round-the-clock sessions, passing restrictions that prevented known or suspected Death Eaters from having access to their bank accounts, trying to cut off financial support to Voldemort's army. The Daily Prophet was in its heyday, issues now being published twice a day, with special editions following frequently, to be snatched up as soon as they appeared. The terrified public was news-mad. And the words of Harry Potter, once presented as subjects of ridicule, were now accepted as the absolute authority on any and every aspect of the wizard war. If Harry and his friends hadn't been so preoccupied, they might have remarked on the irony of it all.
One interesting thing was that even though people still feared to openly deride He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, they apparently had no such reservations about his minions. Editorials and articles alike were united in a vilification of Lucius Malfoy. He was revealed as the ultimate villain, a pure-blood wizard, patriarch of one of the oldest wizarding families, who had so cast off his own sense of honor and duty, that he had become capable of committing the ultimate atrocity – murdering his own son. The shock reverberated throughout the wizarding world, and many pure-blood families now recoiled from their previous half-hearted support of Voldemort and threw themselves on the mercy of the Ministry.
The reaction was no less intense within the walls of Hogwarts itself. The students supported by all the teachers now made preparing for the final battle as high a priority as studying for OWLs or NEWTs. With the permission of the Headmistress, D.A. practice was now openly taking place in the Great Hall to accommodate the increased number of students involved. Almost every student from Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw, had enlisted in the D.A. The younger classes were being taught defensive spells and magical first aid, while the older classes, especially the sixth and seventh year students, were emphasizing increasingly difficult offensive skills. On any given night, the Great Hall, emptied of its tables, rang with the shouts of combat, as spells and hexes were fired from all areas of the room. Professor Black worked with the seventh years, enabling him to stay close to Harry, while Professors McGonagall and Flitwick coached the other classes.
"Harry!" Sirius called, from where he was instructing Hermione on the Crystal Ball Shield. "You're still going wide on that Blinding Hex. Bring your hand a little more to the right when you arc your wand. You need a focused aim."
"Okay. Got it." Harry tried the motion again. The hex shot straight from his wand, sending Ron staggering backward and rubbing his eyes.
"Right on target," said Ron. "Can't see a thing. Cancel it and let me have a go."
Harry moved several paces back and raised his wand, when the doors to the Great Hall suddenly swung open. The room went silent, and students moved away hurriedly as a large group of Slytherins, led by Blaze Zabini, entered the room. Zabini stopped, and the other Slytherins formed up behind him as he looked around the room, a defiant sneer on his face. Those DA members who didn't already have their wands drawn surreptitiously pulled them out.
The status of the Slytherins in general had been a subject of much debate since the attack on Hogwarts. Many of the students had parents who were believed to be Death Eaters, and Slytherin House had always been considered a bastion of loyalty to the Dark Lord. Since the attack, there appeared to be a considerable dissension among the members of the house. Arguments were frequent, some students had broken down in tears, others vanished altogether, and rumors had spread that some of the Slytherins had defied their parents and been subsequently disowned.
Zabini turned his head, as the dark figure of Severus Snape entered the hall behind them. Snape stopped along side Zabini, and gave him a curt nod. Zabini turned back to his scrutiny of the room, and when his eyes met Harry's, he started forward. Harry went to meet him, followed closely by Ron. Hermione and Sirius joined them and they met Zabini in the middle of the hall.
"You still heading up the D.A., Potter?" Zabini inquired.
"Yeah, more or less," Harry replied.
Zabini nodded. His eyes drifted around the other students who had paused from practicing, then met Harry's again, hard and determined. "We want in."
Harry considered him carefully. "All of you?"
"Yeah." Zabini motioned to the group of Slytherins, and they moved to join him.
"You'll take instruction where it's given," Sirius told them, motioning Harry aside. "And you'll accept whoever you're partnered with – half-blood, Muggleborn, whatever. Is that clear?"
Zabini nodded, and the other Slytherins followed suit.
"All right, then," Harry said with a shrug. "You're in."
Sirius proceeded to separate out the Slytherins, sending them to partner with various other students. Finally, he teamed Zabini with Hermione.
Ron grumbled at that, and Harry cuffed him. "C'mon, let's get back to work. She can hold her own."
The D.A. became the focal point for interaction between the four houses. Tensions frequently ran high, especially where the Slytherins were concerned, but between the professors and the senior DA members, order was maintained, and the high intensity of instruction and practice continued uninterrupted.
School-wide drills were added, and Harry was pleased with the results. At any time during the day or night, Professor McGonagall's voice would echo through the castle. "Everyone to your stations, please; this is a drill." Fifth years from each house would gather the younger students into their common rooms; sixth years, accompanied by Professors Flitwick, Sinistra, and Sprout, took up defensive positions at the smaller, lesser-used entrances to the school; seventh years followed Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Black to the main entrance of the castle, prepared to meet an all-out assault. The drills generally ran smoothly, as procedures and instructions were reinforced at each D.A. meeting.
It happened during dinner a few days later. Ron was moaning to Hermione about the length of the Transfiguration essay assigned by Professor McGonagall. Neville was displaying the star-shaped blue rash on his arms to Luna and Ginny.
"It's from the Common Perphylia plant; Professor Sprout and I have been harvesting them in the back greenhouse all morning," Neville said.
"It looks painful," Ginny declared. "Does it hurt?"
"No," Neville replied. "But it'll keep turning colors until it finally fades out." He scratched, and under his nails, the rash turned bright green. "And it itches like mad."
"Why did you want to harvest them?" Luna asked dreamily.
"For Professor Snape. He uses them in a burn salve."
Hermione turned from her conversation with Ron. "That's a compliment to you, Neville. Professor Snape only uses the best plants for his ingredients. I hear that it's a fertilizer that you've developed that has made them produce so well."
Neville flushed, and Harry grinned, glad to see Neville getting credit for his work. "What's in it?" he asked.
"Honey, onion, spicy grukkus, soy…" Neville recited.
"Blimey," Ron exclaimed. "Is this a fertilizer or a marinade?"
Neville considered the question for a moment, then replied seriously, "You know, it would probably work as both."
They all burst into laughter. "Really, Neville," Ginny exclaimed, "why don't you…"
The doors to the Great Hall burst open, and Filch came running in, followed by two Aurors that Harry didn't recognize. They went straight to the head table, and whatever they had to report brought the professors to their feet.
"Students," Professor McGonagall's voice rang through the Great Hall. "All of you to your stations, please, at once."
Harry slid from the bench and intercepted Sirius as he followed Snape up the aisle. "Sirius?"
He paused long enough to pull Harry into a quick hug. "Hogsmeade is under attack. Don't know if they're headed for Hogwarts or not. Snape and I are going over there to help."
"Black!" Snape shouted from the doorway. "Let's go!"
"Be careful," Harry managed to croak out, then Sirius was gone with Snape and the Aurors.
The seventh years in the entrance hall were taking their positions, and Harry joined Hermione and Ron. "Did Sirius say what's up?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah. Hogsmeade." Harry saw all the color drain from Ron's face.
Hermione grabbed his arm. "Ron…" Her voice trailed off. Harry remained silent. What could he possibly say? High above them, the Hogwarts clock tolled one.
The hours dragged by, each one seemingly longer than the previous one, each one interminable. Professor McGonagall paced in the entryway. At intervals, an owl would appear, offer her its missive, then depart again in the direction of Hogsmeade. She would then announce the contents of the note.
"Hogsmeade is under attack by a large force of Death Eaters."
"Heavy damage, many structures in flames."
"Auror reinforcements arriving."
Then nothing came in for awhile. The ghost of Percy Weasley hovered above the hall, keeping watch out of the highest windows. Occasionally, he would drift down to exchange words with Professor McGonagall or to speak quietly with Ron. The clock tolled four, and Percy's ghost swung around. "Professor! Owl coming in!"
Upon receiving the message, Professor McGonagall's shoulders slumped for just a moment, then she straightened up and turned to the assembled seventh years. "Death Eaters withdrawing. Prepare for casualties." Her eyes swept the group. "Neville Longbottom, take the message to Madam Pomfrey and remain to assist. Miss Mills and Mr. Stafford, go with Mr. Longbottom." A Hufflepuff girl and a Ravenclaw boy took off after Neville.
Within a short time, figures began appearing on the grounds – Aurors helping injured Hogsmeade residents towards the castle – some walking, a few being carried on stretchers. On Professor McGonagall's instructions, the students hurried out to assist. Hermione took a small girl from the arms of an Auror, who shook his head at her. "Her ankle's broken. Couldn't find her parents." Hermione spoke softly to the toddler, who seemed to be stunned, and hurried off towards the infirmary with her.
"Ron! Ron!" Harry and Ron spun around to see Ginny running towards them. Out of breath, she clung to Ron's arm and gasped out, "Fred…George…any word?"
"Not yet," Ron responded grimly. Ginny shivered, and her brother pulled her into his arms. "Hang on, Gin."
"Sirius!" Harry sprinted toward two figures that had appeared from the Hogsmeade path, Ron and Ginny close behind him. A wobbly Sirius Black was being supported by Madam Rosmerta, a blood-stained makeshift bandage tied to his head. "You're hurt!" He took Sirius's free arm while Ron took the other, and Ginny stepped forward to support Madam Rosmerta, who was looking rather worse for wear – her skirt torn, her face and clothes soot-stained. "What happened?"
"They torched the Three Broomsticks," Madam Rosmerta said bitterly. "Left me to die inside." Ginny hissed. "I got out by the back alley, but someone grabbed me."
"Oh, hell," Sirius groaned. "Never try to help a damsel in distress."
"Well, how was I supposed to know it was you?" she exclaimed.
"What?" Harry stared at them.
"She coshed me with a bottle of firewhiskey," Sirius explained. They both laughed at the sheepish expression on his face.
Ron broke in. "Did either of you see the twins anywhere?"
Sirius started to shake his head, then winced. "Afraid not. I was out for most of the battle. Rosie?"
"No, not anywhere near us." Madam Rosmerta smiled at Ginny's anxious expression. "Don't worry, love. Those two are more than a match for anybody, and it's still chaos down there. They'll be along once the casualties are out."
Harry and Ron helped Sirius into the infirmary, and Healers directed them to the area where the less seriously wounded were being treated. Ginny followed with Madam Rosmerta. Feeling as if he was leaving Sirius in good hands, Harry joined Ron and Ginny in questioning Aurors and Hogsmeade residents in the infirmary about the whereabouts of the twins. They received only negative replies. Then they heard the screaming.
"Get off! Let me go!" Someone was yelling frantically. "I can find him! I can follow them!"
"That's Fred!" Ron grabbed Ginny arm, and they headed back towards the doors.
Fred was kicking and fighting, being half-dragged, half-carried by Moody and Snape. Harry could see that Fred was injured. There was blood on his face and he was favoring his leg, but Fred himself did not appear to care.
Harry ran to help Snape, Moody, and Fred's siblings as they tried to calm him down.
Moody grunted at Fred. "It's over, Weasley. They're gone."
But Fred continued to flail, trying to break free. "Let me go after them!"
Snape snarled," Bloody hell, Weasley, if you don't…" He was cut off by a random clout across his chin and staggered back.
"Blast it, Snape," Moody roared. "Some help here!"
"Fine." Snape drew his wand and aimed it at Fred. "Stupefy." Fred collapsed in Moody's arms.
Percy's ghost appeared beside them. "What the hell happened?"
Ginny looked around. "Where's George?"
Moody and Snape looked at each other; Ron and Ginny froze. Harry held his breath. "The raiders took prisoners," Snape said. "We think Mundungus Fletcher was captured too."
The temperature of the room suddenly dropped. Percy's ghost said, "George?"
"Missing," Moody replied gruffly. "Some of the bodies in Hogsmeade haven't been identified yet, but if he's not there, they've taken him."
Harry's stomach began to spin, and he felt as if he might throw up.
Ginny said in a trembling voice. "So…he…might still be alive?"
Moody responded in a gruff, quiet voice. "Better pray that he's not, girl. If he's been taken, he's better off dead."
Ginny swayed, and Harry leaped forward to hold her up. Still holding the unconscious Fred, Ron breathed, "Oh, no…no!"
An inhuman, tormented wail made everyone in the infirmary recoil in fright, and a blast of frigid air whipped through the room as Percy's ghost shot through the ceiling.
Harry kept his arms around Ginny, as she sank to the floor, making faint whimpering noises. She turned her face and buried it in his chest. Ron helped Moody and Snape get Fred into one of the beds, and sat down beside him, his face grey and slack with shock. Sirius, back from being treated by the Healers, put his arms around Harry and Ginny. Quietly, he said, "We should send for Molly and Arthur."
Snape scrubbed at his face tiredly. "Right."
"I'll take care of it," Sirius said. He turned to Harry, who was still holding Ginny, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you going to be okay if I…" He nodded toward the door.
Harry took a shaky breath. "Yeah." Sirius squeezed his shoulder, brushed a hand over his hair, and quietly went out.
Ginny still hadn't spoken. She just clung to Harry and moaned. Harry didn't know what to say to her and wasn't sure that she'd hear him anyway. He rested his cheek against her hair and held her.
By that night, Hogsmeade had been thoroughly searched. Eleven people were dead, among them the owner of the Quidditch Supply Store and Mr. Zonko. All the wounded were either at Hogwarts or St. Mungo's. Sirius had returned with the rest of the Weasleys to wait for news. By midnight, everyone was accounted for, and the witnesses to the battle confirmed that six people had been captured by the Death Eaters: four Aurors, Mundungus Fletcher, and George Weasley.
"Poor devils," Moody muttered, as Mrs. Weasley sobbed in Sirius's arms.
Professor McGonagall was holding Mr. Weasley's hands in hers. "Arthur, you understand that there is no way for us to…"
Trembling, his head bowed, Mr. Weasley murmured, "I know. I know."
Ginny had been transferred to Bill's arms, and he was holding her as she cried. Tears slid down the eldest Weasley's face, as he looked at the Headmistress. "He's gone?" She nodded.
Watching them, Harry had passed through shock and horror into a strange numbness. He got to his feet and made his way slowly, on leaden legs, out of the hospital wing.
Returning from Hogsmeade after midnight, Severus Snape wanted nothing more than a large glass of firewhiskey. Or two. Followed by a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion. But as he left the Hogsmeade path, he spied a solitary figure, too small to be an Auror or a Death Eater, moving across the grounds towards the Whomping Willow. Swearing under his breath, Severus detoured to intercept him.
By the time he reached the tree, the wayward student had vanished, but Severus was well aware of where he'd gone. A few minutes later, when he emerged into the Shrieking Shack, he found Harry Potter sitting quietly in a dilapidated old chair.
He crossed his arms. "Well, Potter? If you're in the mood to break things up, this is the place to be. Lupin made a habit of it every month."
The boy didn't look at him. "I just wanted to be alone," he muttered.
"There are plenty of places to be alone – in the castle," Snape informed him. Harry didn't answer. "Are you all right?"
"What does it matter?" the boy said faintly.
Snape walked over to him and laid a hand on his forehead. Not ill – but not right either.
Harry said, "George is gone. They say he's as good as dead."
"I know," said Snape.
"People are just going to keep dying." Harry closed his eyes.
"That is the usual result of war," Snape said, watching the boy carefully. Potter appeared on the edge of another breakdown.
So what he said next was the last thing Snape expected to hear. "I need to end it. It's time for me to fight him."
Snape just stared at him, surprised. "Don't be ridiculous."
Harry finally looked up at him. "You've heard the prophecy. I have to do it."
Snape said," And at the moment, you're on the verge of collapse. He could kill you in his sleep." Harry grimaced. Snape went on, "I have observed you for the last week, Potter. You haven't shed a tear for Lupin and the others. You haven't been sleeping. If you continue in this state, you'll be in no shape to fight anyone."
Harry hesitated. "Remus..." He shivered. "I can't…not yet…I have to…"
Snape cut him off. "What you have to do, Harry, is prepare yourself. You not only have to fight him, you have to win."
Harry chuckled. "Good point." When he looked at Snape again, his eyes were clearer. "Do you think…when it's time…should I do it alone?"
Snape fixed him with a sardonic grin. "Do you really think any of us would permit that?"
Harry smiled, but sighed, "I don't want any more of you to die."
"If you don't win this battle, we are all doomed anyway. And for the rest of us, the Dark Lord is not the only enemy."
Harry caught the dark tone of his words and nodded. "I guess it'll be a big battle then."
Snape nodded. "Before we can think of arranging such a thing, you must be ready. Which means you must look to your own well-being."
Harry got slowly to his feet. "Yeah." He started toward the door, and Snape had to grab him as he swayed.
"To begin with, I suggest you get some sleep." Putting an arm around Harry to steady him, he walked him out of the Shrieking Shack and back to the castle.
A few days later, Harry had to admit Snape had been right. After a few nights of judiciously ingested Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry felt at least physically able to face the world again. Not that the world was especially appealing. Fred was no longer sedated in the hospital wing, but applied himselfto whatever jobs the Order gave him and never said a word. Ginny and Ron had thrown themselves into DA practice and barely thought of anything else, except when one or the other of them would break down in furious sobs. Hermione spent all her time organizing and drilling the students in Harry's defense strategies and Madam Pomfrey's first aid magic. Everyone knew it was only a question of when the next attack would come. There had been another in Diagon Alley, but no civilians had been hurt, because no one went out anymore.
Finally, at the appointed time, over the half-formed protests of Sirius and the elder Weasleys, Harry and Professor Snape made their way to the Room of Requirement.
Outside the door, Harry paused. Snape stopped with him. "Are you ready?"
Harry nodded, and looked up at him. "I am scared, you know."
For a moment, Snape was silent, and then he said," I would be more concerned for our side if you were not."
Harry took a deep breath, opened the door and went in. One entire wall of the Room of Requirement was a mirror. Snape faltered. He obviously hadn't known what to expect. Harry positioned himself in front of the center of the mirror, then glanced back over his shoulder. "Maybe he shouldn't know you're here."
Snape replied, "He will be more inclined to accept that he is truly being challenged, if he sees that you are being backed. He knows our way of fighting. Besides, I want him to know I am with you."
Watching Snape in the mirror, Harry smiled at him. "Thanks."
Then Harry focused attention on his own reflection. As with last year, he concentrated on his scar, staring at it, and then through it, until within the reflection of his eyes, he detected a gaze, not only his own. Unfamiliar thoughts seem to rise up from the back of his mind, drawing his gaze to his own reflection again. He was vaguely aware of Snape sucking in his breath. Behind the green eyes in the reflection was something else. Something with red eyes. It was not on the surface, but it was there – a presence.
It made him dizzy, trying to keep his mind under his own control. He knew the other was enraged at his presumption, and wanted to punish him for it, but in the past year, Harry's control over his own mind had grown stronger, and he managed to focus through two sets of thoughts on what he had come to say.
"It's time," he said slowly, his voice sounding strange in his ears. The creature inside his mind seemed to pause, curious, almost eager. "We both know it's a stalemate until…you and I…end it." He took a deep breath, shakily. "At the cemetery where you took my blood…meet me there. Tomorrow."
It agreed. It was amused. It did not see its agreement as giving in to Harry, but rather indulging him in a last fancy. It expected to win. It expected Harry to die tomorrow.
"One of us will," Harry agreed. Then he let go, and the presence withdrew, making him sway forward, as if a pair of ghostly arms that had been holding him very tight had suddenly let him go. He put his hands on the mirror to steady himself, then turned around.
Snape's face was paler than usual, and he was watching Harry with a great deal of apprehension. As Harry turned towards him, he took a reflexive step backwards.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked in surprise, still feeling drained.
Snape shook his head, as if to remind himself that Harry Potter held no fear for him, and said curtly, "Nothing. Are you all right?"
"Sure," Harry said faintly, but all energy seemed to be draining out of him, and his legs buckled. Snape caught him as he sagged, and he tried to say he was okay, but all that came out was an incoherent mumble into Snape's shoulder.
He must have faded out, because the next thing he knew, there was a pillow underneath his head, and he found himself still in the Room of Requirement, but in a bed that hadn't been there before. Snape was checking his pulse. "Contacting him mentally has obviously had an adverse effect."
"S'okay," Harry said weakly. "Happened last time too."
Snape froze in the act of feeling his forehead and stared. "What last time?"
Harry sheepishly remembered he'd never told anyone about that. "I did it once last year after Frimby Park."
Looking at him incredulously, Snape demanded, "Why?"
With a shrug, Harry replied, "I was mad. I wanted to….I guess…tell him off."
Very slowly, Snape repeated, "Tell…him…off?" When Harry nodded, he looked away for a moment, then made a quiet noise in his throat. Harry realized with astonishment that Snape was chuckling. "Gryffindors."
Harry had to laugh too, or he would have, if his head hadn't throbbed in protest. At Snape's concerned reaction, he said, "It's not too bad – just aches."
Snape summoned Dobby and had him bring one of the stronger brews of Headache Potion made especially for Harry. Once the headache was taken care of, Harry just felt tired. "You had best get some rest," Snape told him, and Harry woke from a doze to find Sirius in the room muttering with Snape over in front of the fire.
Sirius came over and sat at his bedside. "How are you feeling?"
"Not much up to a bloody battle," Harry said with a weak smile.
Sirius grinned. "Neither are any of us, come to think of it. What say we just call the whole thing off?"
Harry snorted. "Fine. You ask him for a postponement." Sirius just ruffled his hair, and he grinned drowsily. "Is the Order ready?"
"As ready as we'll ever be," said Sirius. He ruffled Harry's hair again, this time more slowly. "Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."
Harry smiled, and closed his eyes. His godfather's touch lulling him back towards sleep, he heard Snape say, "Brilliant insight, Black." Sirius responded with something sarcastic and vaguely obscene, but Harry didn't stay awake to hear much more.
The next morning, Hogwarts was full of tension even before the sun rose. No one was asleep. Everyone knew the war would end today, one way or the other. There had been no keeping that a secret. Aurors, Ministry wizards, and Order members moved purposefully through the halls, organizing groups of students.
"Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years, assist Miss Collins and Mr. Banks in the hospital wing!"
"Third year Ravenclaws and Slytherins to the Potions lab!"
"Fourth years with Mr. Filch. Argus, get them on the towers and the Owlery. We're going to need message relays."
"Yes, ma'am, Headmistress! All right, you lot, follow me!"
"D.A., report to your team leaders! We're moving out from stations."
Madam Pomfrey and entire teams of Healers had gathered in the hospital wing, assembling great stores of Potions, and preparing beds, talking in agitated voices about overflow rooms and triage teams.
"Healer Churchill, where do you want these sheets?"
"Take those to the dungeon cold room."
"You're moving overflow down there?"
"No, that's the morgue."
The Great Hall had been converted into a staging area of sorts. Order members and Aurors and teachers swarmed the place, along with the D.A. and parents who had come to help out. People were so busy and anxious that many didn't even notice Harry when he came near, and those who did had little time to do more than whisper a quick greeting or encouragement, or to touch him as he passed.
Hermione and Ginny were with Professor Smythe-Wellington and several others crowded around a map talking about entry points when Harry arrived, and the two girls broke away to hug him fiercely. "How're you feeling?" Hermione asked.
"All right," he said with a shrug. "You?" She shrugged in return. "Where's Ron?"
"He's with Blaise, talking teams. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout want Neville and Luna here with the Healers, but Ron and Blaise say they're too important as fighters, so they're seeing about that," said Ginny.
"Hermione, have we got somewhere we could practice the Pulse Hex?" asked a breathless Ravenclaw sixth year Harry didn't recognize.
Hermione frowned, but Ron shouted to them, "No more practicing, Adam. Just stick to hexes you're most familiar with."
"He's right," Harry agreed, and Adam looked at him with wide eyes, as if he'd suddenly given a very strong order. "All that matters when you throw a hex out there is that it works to take them down. Even a Stunner will do the trick better than one you're not sure of."
"Right," Adam gasped, and scurried away.
Harry blinked. "Am I scary or something?"
"It's called respect, Potter," said Smythe-Wellington, coming over to him. "Everything should be ready within the hour. We'll be at Little Hangleton by dawn."
Harry nodded, gazing around the bustling Great Hall. "Okay," he said quietly. "But there's something I have to do first."
The sky was just growing pink and gold with dawn when Harry walked alone on the edge of a deserted meadow. Dew sparkled over the grass and the tombstones of the cemetery, nestled forgotten in the countryside. The air was cool with spring, and birdsong was beginning to lilt over the trees. He made his way among the stones, following a direction Sirius had given him, until he stopped in front of one of them that had a morning glory crawling up its side, white blooms bright against the gray stone.
JAMES POTTER…LILY POTTER
Beloved Parents…
Harry felt like he ought to say something; he ought to have done this a long time ago. But on the few occasions when it had occurred to him, there had always been some crisis or another, keeping him away.
But he had to come today. Otherwise he might never get the chance.
He knelt down and brushed a dead strand of vine off his mother's name, running his fingertips down the cold marble, damp with dew. He pressed his hands against it, above each of their names, trying to quell the trembling inside him.
Everyone's seen you but me, he thought. He'd passed feeling resentful for it, but now just felt sad. I wish I could have. He'd spent a long time this morning looking at Hagrid's photo album. He took a deep breath. I'm scared. I'm trying not to be, but… I guess if it all goes wrong, I might get to see you today. He breathed in again, his chest tight.
"Whatever happens…" he whispered. "I've done my best. I hope…hope it's enough. And I hope I've…done right…by you, by what you did for me." He gripped the top of the stone once more. "I wanted it to be here. It seemed right somehow. I'll…I'll try, I'll…do my best."
Then he got to his feet and walked away.
Back in the meadow, a few hundred yards from the cemetery, the Order and all their allies were waiting for him. Harry moved to the back, where the D.A. was gathered, and Sirius joined him. "Ready?" he asked quietly.
Harry nodded.
Smythe-Wellington and Moody came back to them. "Good thinking, coming here instead," Moody said approvingly. "Keeps 'em from setting a trap for us at Hangleton."
"That was the idea," said Snape. "We would have been fools to give them twenty-four hours notice of the real location."
"How soon do you think he'll know to come here?" Blaise asked, looking at the brightening sky.
"Probably not long," Harry replied. He gazed out over the field. Their side looked powerful now, with hundreds of people in red Aurors' robes, (even non-Aurors had been given red robes to prevent confusion in the battle), spread out over the grass. Behind the fighters were groups of Healers, daring the dangers of the battlefield to care quickly for the wounded before moving them away.
Harry himself was in the middle, to the back of the Order's forces. "You don't put your best people on the front lines," Moody had said.
So there they were, behind everyone else. "Maybe the strategy makes sense," Ron said to Blaise. "But you can't see a bloody thing!"
"Will soon enough," Ginny growled. "COLLINS!" A fifth year Slytherin girl among the Healers paused and turned around, with an armful of bandages, raising her eyebrows. "Keep your eyes open, eh? Don't think Death Eaters won't try to have you lot for breakfast if they can!"
"Very reassuring, Weasley!"
"Aye, love, regular inspiration, you are!"
"Glad someone can stay in a good mood around here," said Sirius, putting his hands on Harry's shoulders. "You ready?"
"Still ready," Harry replied, forcing a smile.
Sirius blinked, then chuckled sheepishly and pulled him into a hug. They stayed that way for several minutes. "I'm proud of you, you know?" Harry nodded into his chest. "Remus, your Mum and Dad…they'd all be proud of you. Couldn't be prouder." Taking Harry's face in his hands, he pressed their foreheads together. "Look after yourself, if we get…separated…"
"You too," Harry murmured. "Don't do anything fun." Sirius laughed shakily into his hair.
"Harry," Hermione said suddenly. The two of them looked up, and followed her gaze—and everyone else's—to the edge of the meadow.
Figures were gathering there, a mass of black robes and white masks that grew larger and larger with each passing moment. Sirius's arms tightened around Harry, his heart beating against Harry's arm. The Aurors and the Order had grown very quiet, and what whispers there were had become tense and urgent.
"This is it," Harry said quietly. Moody and Snape were coming toward them, motioning to Sirius. "I…Sirius, I…"
His godfather stared into his eyes, then leaned forward and whispered into his ear, before letting him go. Then Harry felt his scar burn, heard the shouts of alarm from the front of the Order lines, and turned to face the battlefield.
To be continued…
Coming soon: The decisive battle on which the future of the wizarding world rests! Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix face off for the last time against Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters in Chapter Forty-Eight: Amare Et Bellum!
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