Disclaimer: Not mine. JK Rowlings. No HBP spoilers, and there will never be any.

A/N: See? Another chapter already! I just needed my beta on my tail. You'll notice Isabelle Lestrange is becoming more and more integral to the story. It's a nice surprise, even for me, as it definitely wasn't planned. She was originally just going to have a small part. This works so much better though. In this chapter, James Milamber is definitely more co-writer than beta, as he 'plays' Isabelle.

Anyways, without further ado…and be forewarned…things are picking up a bit!

Burning day was always a wonderful time, Albus Dumbledore reflected as he gently stroked the ashes up around the newly reborn Fawkes. Even when things seemed to crumble, there was always change, always a reason for hope. It was with that in mind, though his eyes lacked their usual customary twinkle since his confrontation with Harry, that the old man exited his office, and headed towards the Hogwarts kitchen.

He could so do with some shepherd's pie.

From a perch on a high windowsill, a small raven with a single white feather above its brow watched with curious eyes as the Headmaster of Hogwarts left his office. As the door swung closed, it launched itself into the air and swooped down to land behind the large mahogany desk. As the bird's clawed feet touched the ground, it seemed to shimmer. After a few seconds the shimmering stopped – and in place of the bird, a young woman with pitch black hair with a single small white streak above her temple crouched behind the desk, out of sight of the portraits that lined the walls of the office.

Isabelle Lestrange withdrew her wand from its place of concealment within her robes and flicked it in six-sided star pattern. "Tenebrae," she whispered. There was an odd sensation, as if all the air was being pulled forcibly out of the room, and quite suddenly the room was filled with darkness so absolute you could easily be mistaken into thinking you had simply stepped into a black hole.

There were several cries of alarm from the portraits as Isabelle quickly followed the edge of the desk around to where she knew the Headmaster kept his small bowl full of lemon drops. She quickly located the item in question, withdrew a small vial from its hiding place inside her sleeve, and poured the contents over the sweets. There were a few muted popping noises, and then all was still. With a satisfied smirk on her lips, Isabelle pocketed the now empty vial and her wand, and made the change once again. By the time the Darkness spell had worn off, she was once again safely perched on the high windowsill. The portraits were looking around in confusion, a few of them holding whispered conversations, but none seemed to have the slightest clue as to what had happened. Secure in the knowledge that Dumbledore's fate was sealed, Isabelle settled down to wait for his return.

A half an hour had passed before Dumbledore entered his office again, and immediately sat down in his favorite chair. Already, his mind was straying back towards the recent confrontation with Harry, and the sight of Hermione Granger-Weasley's dead body. It was, he suspected, an image that would stay with him as had all the other deaths he'd borne witness to throughout the years.

A twinge of pity for Harry flashed through him. It was, after all, one of the boy's best friends, and he'd had to find out about it from a picture in the Daily Prophet. Albus couldn't blame him for being…a little upset.

Sighing, he tried to push the subject out of his mind, and did so quite effectively given his Occulumency training. Deciding to freshen his breath with a lemon drop after that rather delicious bit of pie, he reached for the bowl…and absently popped one in his mouth.

At first he couldn't tell any noticeable difference. His lemon drops always tasted a bit odd right after he'd eaten something else. However, within the minute, he knew something was wrong. A curiously light-headed feeling had overtaken him, as though he was being inundated with oxygen. This was followed by a swift pain that stabbed through him, and caused him to, by pure reflex, bring one hand up to clutch at his chest. And then Albus Dumbledore knew no more as he slipped into the black oblivion provided by the poison that may or may not have been delivered before it was fully ready.

Sorry, Albus, Isabelle thought as she took flight once more, out the window and up into the clear sky. That one's for Harry.

Two hours later, fresh from a meeting with Voldemort, Severus Snape entered Dumbledore's office and for once in his life…was speechless. The sight of the most powerful wizard in the world slumped over in his chair, one hand clutching at his robe, with mouth open and eyes staring vacantly ahead struck him hard.

"Merlin…" Snape breathed after a moment, and rushed forward to check to see if the old man happened to be breathing at all. Unceremoniously tossing Albus' beard over the back of his chair, Snape placed his shaking fingers to the wizened wizard's throat, and then slowly raised his hand up to remove the man's half-moon glasses, and gently close his eyes.

Rising to his feet, Snape went to the fireplace, and after putting a dash of the green powder into the flames, he called for Madam Pomfrey. "You need to come immediately, Pomfrey. The Headmaster is…has been attacked. Poison…" It was then that he remembered the poison that he and Potter had been working on.

"Bloody hell." The last time he'd checked on the poison, it had been nowhere near ready. Even Potter had known that. That could only mean one thing. The Granger girl's death must have pushed him completely over the edge.

Ignoring Madam Pomfrey's cry of shock, he exited the office at such a speed that had his robes taking the term "billowing" to a new level. As soon as he was outside of the Hogwarts gates, he Apparated and came face to face with a mildly shocked-looking Potter.

"Snape." Harry said in greeting.

Severus' reply was short and to the point. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry didn't even have time to blink before a female voice shouted a second spell. The Boy-Who-Lived seemed to flicker briefly, almost like a bad television signal, and the jet of green light passed straight through him and impacted on the wall behind him, leaving a large black scorch mark.

"And they say the killing curse can't be blocked…" Harry said wryly, as he drove his fist into Snape's jaw and sent him sprawling. He turned emerald green eyes to Isabelle. "Guess those who said that never had a Slytherin 'round at the right moment." He blinked, and then one corner of his mouth tugged up in a slight grin. "Well, a good one, at least."

Isabelle curtsied impishly. "One does one's best," she said with a smirk. "Now, what are we going to do about his dark snarkiness here?" She indicated the prone form of the Potions Professor, who was clutching his jaw with one hand and groping for his wand with the other. Isabelle prudently Summoned it, pocketing it along with her own.

Harry turned his gaze to Snape with an expression of extreme distaste, and cocked his head to the side as he pretended to survey the Potions Master. "Kill him?" He said in a tone that was half sarcasm, half hopefulness.

"It's a thought," Isabelle said in a similar tone, enjoying the sight of what little colour remained in Snape's sallow face draining away. "He quite obviously knows who poisoned that meddling old coot, so it's not like we can really just let him go."

"On the other hand, I'm the Golden Boy of the Wizarding world, and he's known far and wide as a brilliant Potions Master…and an evil git." Harry grinned at Isabelle, even as he withdrew his wand from his holster, and pointed it at Snape. In an affected tone, he went on. "Dumbledore…dead? Poisoned! I always knew Snape was still working for Voldemort, the evil git! Still, I can't believe he'd poison Albus!"

Isabelle grinned viciously back. "Kills two birds with one stone…I like it. Very Slytherin of you, Mister Potter."

"Mm," Harry replied noncommittally. "Anyways, it'd be no less than he deserved, the ruddy idiot." Harry gave his full attention to Snape, who was easing himself to his feet. "What the bloody hell were you on about? How many times do I have to knock you flat before you stop barging into my home? Potions fumes affected your brain that badly, Snivellus?"

Snape sneered, and straightened his clothes. "No more so than all those games of Quidditch affected yours, Potter. At least I have the common sense to know when a potion is ready, and not administer it before that point. Albus Dumbledore is DEAD, Potter! You just killed the one truly good hope that our side had, you dundering idiot!" As he spoke, he drew himself up, until he was practically towering over Harry, flecks of spittle flying from his lips in his rage.

"Control yourself, Snivellus, and stop spitting all over the place," Isabelle said coldly. "We're not on 'your' side anymore, so shut your bloody mouth before I shut it for you – permanently."

Severus whirled around to face Isabelle. "What's this, Lestrange, your time of the month?" He smirked at her. "Had Potter between your legs already, and he wasn't good enough?"

Isabelle eyed him with contempt. "Is that really the best you can come up with, Snape? And to think I actually used to respect you. Oh how the mighty have fallen."

Splotches of color rose on Snape's sharp cheekbones, and he stared at her for a long moment, and then looked at Harry. "Albus trusted you, Potter." His tone was his perpetual sneer. "Just like that mutt did…like Granger and Weasley did. Now you see why I've never had the slightest urge to become your…friend. I prefer to stay alive." It was deliberate, and very cruel. Snape had been embarrassed, and so he lashed out with full acerbic strength.

A split second after he finished speaking, Snape found himself once again sprawled out on the floor. Isabelle stood over him, rubbing her knuckles absently, as the Potions Master spat blood. "You just don't get it, do you?" she sneered down at him. "You really don't, and for that I almost pity you. You've been alone your whole life, and you never realised why. It's much more fun to sit down in your bloody dungeons, whining and bitching about it. You're pathetic, Snape, you really are. Harry's ten times the man you are – ten times what you could ever be." She glanced up at Harry, her dark eyes snapping. "Do you want to deal with him, or shall I? I'm a little pissed off right now, so I might end up imploding his head instead. It's so easy to mispronounce spells, don't you find?"

The Boy-Who-Lived was more pale than normal as he looked at Isabelle, and then gave an expressive shrug of his shoulders before speaking. "As far as I'm concerned, it could be as simple as Severus Snape poisoning Albus Dumbledore, and then taking his own life because he didn't want to face Azkaban, coward that he is." He pointed his wand at the Potions Master. "I'd love to kill you, but unfortunately you're still one of Voldemort's little pets, and more privy to information from him than I am." Here, only drawing a single breath, he said firmly, "Obliviate!" and then curled his lip in disgust as Snape's expression showed his confusion, and returning awareness. "How dare you barge in here and accuse me of sleeping with Isabelle! It's none of your bloody business who or what I do. Get the hell out of here, and go whine to Albus about how hard your life is or whatever you do!"

"Well, that was fun," Isabelle said brightly after the front door had swung shut after a still slightly confused Snape. "I've wanted to hit him for years now."

Harry blinked, and stared at Isabelle as his brain processed all the information that had been shoved at him. Finally, completely off subject, he said "So, from that little encounter I gather that you successfully slipped the poison to the Old Man?"

"Of course I did, and it was almost pitifully easy. A simple Darkness spell circumvented every one of his security measures. At least poisoning the Dark Lord would be a bit of a challenge."

The jet-haired young man quirked an eyebrow at her, and then shook his head in bemusement. "So, Miss Lestrange…now what?"

Isabelle hesitated a moment, then shrugged exaggeratedly. "Now, I suppose we wait for the news to get back to Voldemort." It was quite obvious this was not what she had wanted to say.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "Things are going to move a lot faster now, I think." He beckoned to Isabelle, and led the way into the kitchen. It was only after he had them both glasses of pumpkin juice that he spoke again. "Do you think you'll make it? Alive…I mean. After all this…its going to get rather bad, I'd imagine. I don't plan on be…thank you for poisoning Dumbledore. I couldn't have pulled it off."

Isabelle watched him curiously over the rim of her glass, idly running her fingers around the rim. "Will I still be alive? I hope so, and…I hope you are too. Maybe you don't expect to survive, but I know I'll do everything I can to help you do just that."

He made a soft sound of amusement, and took a long drink of his pumpkin juice. "I've lost Ginny, Hermione, and Ron." He said simply, and then after a moment, "Forgive me if I'm looking forward to peace after my job is done." It was an ambiguous remark at best.

"Don't make me slap you, Mister Potter," Isabelle snapped. "You'll give me your word right now that you'll not go looking to get yourself killed, or so help me, I'll go straight to the Dark Lord and tell him what you've got planned. Don't for a second think I won't!"

Harry couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him at Isabelle's words, but he was silent for a long moment as his gaze rested upon her face in admiration. Finally though, he said quietly "I'm not the type to kill myself, Isabelle. Gryffindor, remember?"

Isabelle gave a very un-ladylike snort. "Do you really think I'm going to rely on a school House you were Sorted into by an old hat when you were eleven? I want your word, Harry, and I want it now. Promise me you'll not deliberately put yourself in danger."

Harry stared at her in disbelief. "You cannot be serious. Isabelle, common sense should tell you, from all the times Voldemort has been after me when he could have been going after Dumbledore, that this final fight will ultimately come down to me and him. You can't expect me to not put myself in danger. I'm not going to run away from this with my tail tucked between my legs."

"Of course you're not, don't be ridiculous. But I don't want you doing some ridiculous martyr act and dying right after you kill the Dark Lord, either. I know you, Potter, better than you might like. I've watched you for years now, and I don't want you getting any…ideas once you've dispatched Voldemort."

He paused in the process of lifting his glass to his lips, and said dryly, "I'm touched…and a little weirded out. You've watched me for years? Should I be concerned, Miss Lestrange?"

"Don't change the subject," she growled, although a faint blush tinted her pale face.

"She blushes!" He said triumphantly, and then took a drink of his pumpkin juice before leaning forward in his seat and saying seriously, "I promise you, Isabelle Lestrange, that I will not get any ideas about ending my life in any way, shape or form after I kill Voldemort." And he meant what he said, too. Exactly what he had said.

She looked at him suspiciously, clearly trying to find something wrong with what he'd said. "Fine," she said shortly, draining the rest of her pumpkin juice. "Don't you have anything stronger?" she asked, making a face.

Harry waved absently in the direction of the living room, and his liquor cabinet. "There's Firewhiskey. Help yourself."

"I think I will," Isabelle left the room and returned a moment later with the bottle of Firewhiskey and two glasses. "I think we have much to celebrate, not least of which that we both got to knock Snivellus around a bit."

"I'll drink to that," Harry grinned at her, taking the full glass she offered and raising it in a toast. "To knocking Snivellus around a bit!" Isabelle raised her own glass mock-gravely, and they both drank.

"Much better," Isabelle sighed, pouring herself another glass. "I used to get so bloody bored at Hogwarts with only pumpkin juice to drink. The Muggles are much more creative." She lifted the glass to her lips and drained it again.

By the time the bottle was half empty, they were both rather tipsy. Isabelle had a habit of laughing for no apparent reason, and Harry wore a wide grin not seen since Ginny's death. Even that thought was not enough to knock him out of his alcohol induced euphoria.

"You should have seen him," he chortled as he related one of the many stories of the Golden Trio's doings at Hogwarts. "He looked like he'd just been walloped over the head with a dead cat by Professor McGonagall. Just stood there with his mouth hanging open, the great git. And then he comes charging after me and Ron, screaming about taking a gajillion points from Gryffindor, and he slips over in it again. He ended up with all this purple goop all over his robes, and stalked off trying to look menacing, but he was purple. It was brilliant!"

It suddenly seeped into Harry's brain that Isabelle wasn't laughing anymore. He turned to look at her and found her smouldering eyes watching him intently.

"You know, Mister Potter," she said slowly, standing up and walking around the table towards him. He watched her come curiously, not really registering her intent. "It seems to me that I'm in a…rather unique situation here."

"How's that?" Harry asked, fighting to keep his eyes in focus to make out her face.

"I have a very drunk Harry Potter sitting in front of me," she said softly. "And I think I'm just drunk enough to do something about it."

In a display of rather astounding agility for someone who'd had as much Firewhiskey as Isabelle, she somehow ended up straddling his lap. Harry opened his mouth to raise a rather feeble objection, and found them captured by hers.

What the hell, he thought to himself, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and pulling her closer.

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