A/N: The usual disclaimer applies. The title speaks for itself, really, and I can't be arsed to say any more, as I'm writing this after writing the chapter, unlike I usually do. Enjoy…

Chapter 2: Stand at Stone Hollow

– Harry –

Harry's eyes cracked gently open as pain smote him, hard, at the base of his skull. The sun shone through the rotting holes of the barn around him.

It was morning.

More importantly, he was alive. In the morning. The memories of the night, the last few nights, all seemed rather far away, in this sharp light.

So, Harry pushed them violently to the back of his mind, letting them stay there. There were infinitely more important things to do and think of – for example, finding out whether he could move again, seeing if he could put some more distance between him and the nights.

He tried to sit up, but found that he could not force his recalcitrant limbs to do anything, so he lay on his aching – god, the pains were coming back –

Merlin – that bloody – hurts –

He lay there for what seemed like hours, mouth working weakly, pain lancing through him with every single movement he made, murky memories swirling out of reach –

Then, suddenly, he heard a – a hissing, from somewhere – Master, are you awake?

He could barely move his lips, but he tried.

Yess…sword…need…

You desire your weapon? The snake asked him, dark head poking into view, hovering sinuously above his own, tongue playing in and out of its slightly open mouth. Why?

If Harry had the strength to waste, he would have smiled. The – the snake sounded – almost stern –

There is…power in it…it…will help…he managed to reply. His mouth was wet – with – it had to be blood, filling his mouth with that bitter tang.

He swallowed it, nonetheless. He was so hungry –

A queer rasping seemed to come from nearby. It went on for sometime, filling Harry's hurting head with wild theories and thoughts of the snake – of which he'd already begun to think of as a friend – cutting or somehow harming itself on the –

On the sword, the hilt of which was now nudging his bloody, sticky, itching neck.

Which presented a pretty problem. How was he to take hold of the bloody thing when he could barely move his lips?

Head whirring with the hopelessness of his situation, Harry reached out, with all his strength, meaning to try to lift…his hand, which was moving, oddly, madly, to grasp the…the sword.

It was still oddly light in his hands – both light and heavy, as it dragged through his bed of makeshift rags, its heavy scratch-scratch accompanied by the slither and hiss of the snake nearby. He ignored the lurking, pulsing flow of memories the blood on the blade aroused, examining the brilliant sword for damage. There was none.

He could be thankful for that, at least. He'd have to return it somehow – to Hogwarts – if he got away from this rotting, blasted barn –

Harry stared at his hand, gripping the sword hilt. He still felt weak, but somehow knew he could move, if he really needed to.

Thank You, Harry said to the snake, trying to convey his gratitude by emphasizing the second word. The snake hissed dryly in short, sharp bursts. The painful throb at the back of Harry's head seemed to decrease in intensity as he puzzled over its meaning – what could the snake be trying to –

I am female, Master, the snake said, around more of the short bursts of hissing Harry was starting to think could be laughter.

Sorry, he hissed back, only to be replied with more bursts of laughter.

Suddenly, a sharp twang startled him from his thoughtful perusal of his only companion – and, he admitted readily, saviour. He started to get to his feet almost automatically, halting himself and cursing when he realised what he was doing.

Sitting down, he gripped the sword tighter, just hoping – praying – he couldn't be found now – he'd rather gut himself here and now than –

The wards around the Hollow he did not know he was ensconced within hummed, somehow satisfied. Harry relaxed, instinctively knowing the intruder was gone.

All he could do now, he knew very well, was wait.

The problem, now, was what to do –

Harry eyed the bloody sword, not really realising that he was subconsciously using it to heal most of his worse injuries, only seeing the sticky redness that clung to it. Lowering it, he berated himself, lowering himself back onto his bed of rags, snuggling deeper into them even as the snake beside him hissed, somewhat disapprovingly – something about finding food while the sun was out.

He eyed the sword again, then closed his eyes.

He wasn't that hungry. Not yet.

Unseen, the afternoon sun continued in its journey through the cloudy grey of the sky. Harry slumbered uneasily, tossing on his rags, his hunger needling at him.

It was taking so long –

– The Order –

"Where is she?"

Lupin's hollow voice did nothing to soothe the jangled nerves of Mad-Eye and the rest.

"She's gone, boy," Moody whispered fiercely, before anyone could stop him. "And so will Harry, if we don't get moving now!"

"Alastor – " Minerva's shrill, panicked tone rang out in the darkness.

"Minerva, she's gone, and keeping it from Remus won't bring her back," Hestia said, panicking. Remus started to sink down where he stood, seemingly overwhelmed beyond measure. The strong hands of Arthur Weasley gripped him, steadying him enough to allow him to sit down.

"Please," he started to half-rasp, half-sob, in Moody's direction. "please – "

"No, Remus – we need to find Harry – " Bill's strong voice came, cracking with the effort to remain calm in the face of Remus' despair.

"He's already dead!" Remus spat out, dry sobs racking his body as many Order members looked away. "He's probably dead – she's alive, she's got to be nearby – "

"I assure you, Remus, both Harry and Tonks are alive – and, most likely, with her, they'll get to him first," Moody growled, standing up, his magical eye quivering with urgency. "Enough of this shit!" His wand flashed out in the darkness, connecting with his Order medallion.

"Alastor, no – "

"Point-me Harry!" snarled Moody, almost squeezing the medallion into pieces. It glowed, emitting sparks, and thick, golden mist that formed into the words:

STONE HOLLOW FARM

…followed by a bright golden arrow that pointed ahead.

"We're on the right track – let's go," the scarred man commanded. "If we know now – they know too…"

– Harry –

Funny, Harry found himself musing, he could curl up now.

His limbs were shaking again, with magical exhaustion and cold and something else he didn't know or understand. He supposed it was from the standing up he'd done, earlier on. Harry gripped the sword of Gryffindor hard, remembering how much blood he'd spilled the night before he'd stumbled into this cavernous barn and activated the Order pendant with his last bit of magic.

He'd been so hungry when he woke up, the second time, that he'd given in and licked the sword – the blood had refused to come off – it stained the sword red, taunting him like Romulus –

"Tell me you like that, Harry…"

Harry snarled silently, his voice nearly gone, his hand clenching round the hilt of his sword so hard he could not feel his fingers. Slowly he tried to clear his mind, filling it with water – but that water turned to blood, his blood, his sweat, mopped up by that disgusting filth's towel –

Harry wished the bastard were here, so he could kill him again.

He'd used a dark curse, opening his major arteries using the magic of the sword, slashing open his throat as soon as he'd gotten close, watching blood soak into the grey earth and evil dim and die in those hard blue eyes…

Harry shook again, harder this time, with hot tears stinging his eyes and throat. He lapped them up silently, wishing he had the voice to wail out loud. Shame and guilt and disgust and rage wrapped round him, the touch of those disgusting fingers lingering on his skin like a disease…

Harry eyed the blood-encrusted sword, wondering for one moment if he could flay the skin from his body and be clean, really clean…

No, he firmly shut down that avenue. I won't give up now – not when my pendant is tingling, not while I'm alive, not while Lucius Malfoy still breathes…

He could still hear Lucius' dark, amused voice, feel his smooth, aristocratic hands in places where they shouldn't have been…Harry closed his eyes, feeling a surge of magic rise at the rage that seemed to blossom to life within him at that name. Good. His magic was on its way back, now, it seemed.

Even as Harry rolled over in the makeshift bed of rags and filth, he let himself wonder just who he'd killed during his escape. Probably not Pettigrew, or any of the Lestranges – they'd hung back a moment longer than the other Death Eaters. Jugson, perhaps? Harry mulled to himself. Not Lucius, though, the bastard – he was beside Voldemort –

Again, the surge of hatred filled him, and, opening his eyes, he saw the rubies on the Sword gleam red as blood, and he understood, for the hundredth time since that – that night – that he could, and would kill Voldemort.

And, as for Lucius…Harry thought to himself, smiling madly, greedily, I'll carve him up – piece by piece by piece…just a sharp knife, Lucius Malfoy, and me.

A sharp pain flared in his scar, even as his Order Medallion burned. Harry forced himself back down onto his bed, frowning.

So, this was it. The man who had been destroying his life from day one and the Order of Fools that had somehow failed to rescue him, were both drawing near.

Harry Potter ran his finger down the red blade of the Sword of Gryffindor, ignoring the apprehensive hiss of the snake nearby – the only one present to help him in this dark night.

Let them come, he hissed. Let them come.

– The Death Eaters –

"Stone Hollow is just a mile from here, my Lord," Sevurus Snape murmured, his previously shaking body now deathly still, as he knelt before the Dark Lord, who was pacing the bloody earth in the small clearing, ignoring the flinches from the members of his Inner Circle as he raked them with his red, feral eyes.

"Do not mock me, Severus," he hissed, turning on Snape's cowering form. "I cannot feel him clearly – he cannot be so near – "

"The boy Occludes well, Master – "

"Crucio! We had him for more than a week – he was weakened – you lie – "

"T-there are w-w-wards, my Lord," Severus muttered, shaking with pain as the curse ended. "H-he called the sword – there are wards – "

"Silence! Lucius – the girl – "

"S-stone hollow…" the demented mutterings of Nymphadora Tonks became louder as Lucius Malfoy, pushing his way into the tight circle of apprehensive killers, levitated her roughly to Voldemort's feet. "S-stone h-hollow…"

"She will say nothing else, my Lord," Malfoy offered cautiously, his demeanour properly humble. Voldemort snarled at him, such was his rage.

"Crucio! I heard her myself, you fool," he sneered at Malfoy as he sank to the bloody earth, limbs twitching. Severus gulped inaudibly. It was a bad sign, a very bad sign, when the Dark Lord's Cruciatus lasted for that long, and could still reduce Lucius Malfoy to a bundle of shivering flesh. Voldemort turned on him, and he flinched unashamedly. Now was not the time for stoic pride – the Dark Lord was almost animalistic in his rages, and he was at the very pinnacle of his worst rage so far.

"Leave the mudblood bitch – there is no time," he ordered, striding forth, parting the now terrified Death Eaters like water. "Leave her, Lucius! Crucio!"

Lucius Malfoy gave up his dignity, and screamed.

Severus tried to hold back his shudder, but could not. The curse did not last long, but he could see Lucius shaking and shaking as he struggled to catch up to the moving band of dark wizards, his pale face starkly white. Severus suppressed the urge to lag behind and finish him off – he would make him pay one of these days, for doing – doing that to his son –

"Ah – Stone Hollow – " Severus could hear the smile in the Dark Lord's deceptively soft tones as they approached a break in the trees. Suddenly, he came to a stop, as did all the Death Eaters, who rushed to follow him through the gap ahead. Severus made sure to end up beside Voldemort, and could see his cruel smile clearly. "Only wards – no matter – "

Only wards that could save my son, Severus thought bitterly, knowing he didn't dare to strengthen them. Not with his hated master so close –

"Severus!" He started, surprised in his thoughts of roiling hate, but recovered quickly.

"Master…"

"Check the wards – they resist me – stand back, the rest of you, now!"

And so it was. Severus stepped up to the wards, feeling them out carefully with his wand.

Severus' keen mind raced, measuring the simple, yet highly effective, wards. So like Harry to use them…they were almost too simple, at first glance, but, as he examined them cautiously, he let a sliver of hope for his wounded son seep into his heart.

"Can you break them?" came the demand – no, the threat.

"Yes, Master – but – "

"Then do so!"

Severus Snape, Potions Master, Death Eater, spy, and frantic father, set slowly about breaking the wards that now stood between his false Master and his true son.

– Harry –

Twang.

Harry's eyes opened, his body stiffening with alarm. Twang. There – the wards – they were breaking –

Twang.

– and not just breaking – twang – someone – twang – an enemy approached – twang – and then – twang – a friend…?

Severus! Harry's heart sped impossibly, his skin tingling irritably as the protective wards he'd set up began to rip apart. It had to be him – no one else would break his wards so messily on purpose…

Master!

The black snake's hiss of alarm brought him back to his surroundings.

Master – there are men, outside the clearing –

Harry bent, painfully, and picked up the warm coils from his pitiful bed of rags. She – she'd told him that, this morning, he could remember that – was hissing in fear and trepidation. Harry held the lovely, almost jewel-like coils close, stroking her head with one hand as the other searched for the still-bloody Sword of Gryffindor. He'd put it aside eventually, at some point, during the day –

Hush, little one, Harry crooned as best as he could, tamping down on his fear as he felt the rush of magic that signalled the first test of the Sepio domus ward he'd erected. Wind round my waist, and I will protect you…

And what about you? The snake demanded, complying with his request. Harry smiled grimly to himself, fingers finally meeting the sticky blade of his sword.

I will protect myself, Harry said, carefully pulling the sword toward him. The small snake had remained with him through the day, comforting him during his long feverish spell in the heat of the afternoon, and stubbornly refusing to leave him just three hours ago, when he attempted to send her away.

So stubborn, Harry crooned to her, mind forming a quick plan. A wobbly grin appeared on his face as he called his wand to him and began to raise his sword once more. Just like your master…

Twang!

The wards wouldn't hold for long – but, Harry chuckled to himself, he could always set up more…

And he proceeded to do just that, setting up a tight, specific impediment ward as delicately as he could. So that, if his father somehow managed to break away from the Death Eaters, he'd have a head start…

Do not worry, little one – my little Iona, Harry hissed lowly, once more, letting himself believe it for a few moments. My father will protect us…

– The Death Eaters –

"What is your delay?" Voldemort demanded suddenly, his high voice turning to high steel. Severus could sense the new impediment ward beyond, but did not know whether –

"Crucio. Speak when you are spoken to, Severus!" The Dark Lord leered at him from above, the shock of pain having caused the spy to fall to his knees.

"I sensed – another ward – going up, just now…"

"You lie! The boy is weak. He merely uses his last strength to block my mind, I know it! I felt him weaken all this day, though I could not see where he was – he knows he will die tonight." Pettigrew moved a shaky step towards his master.

"But, my Lord, the spell…"

"The spell can be performed using anyone, Wormtail," Voldemort said, turning on the frightened, rat-like man. "Why do you try to delay his death? Crucio!" Wormtail could not keep from screaming this time, the dark tendrils of energy of the curse moving over all the Death Eaters, making them shudder at its power.

Severus cut the last ward down, and prayed to the gods for his son. Voldemort turned, smiling, to him, and spoke.

"We go."

– Harry –

The battle was underway.

Harry huddled in his barn, gripping the Sword of Gryffindor in his left hand and his wand in his right, having bandaged as many wounds as he could with the least filthy rags. The newly named Iona hissed comfortingly, yet fearfully from his waist. He made no answer, peering out at the crossfire of spells that lit up the gloomy hollow outside.

The Order had arrived only just in time, and looked like they were losing. Harry gripped the sword tighter, and hoped he could kill Lucius Malfoy before he died, for that was surely what would happen to him now.

The dark, tall figure of Voldemort appeared, cutting through the ranks of the Order before him, some standing their ground bravely, and some retreating carefully to the barn in which Harry was hidden. Harry ducked back, feeling strength seeping from him – he couldn't afford to stand there and watch, not if Voldemort was –

A figure, stooped, cloaked in black, stumbled for the barn from the direction of its only proper opening, and Harry's frame filled with panic. Hiding the Sword near his dwindled nest of rags, faced the largest opening, wand gripped tightly in his hand, shaking Iona off as he changed his mind. It was too dangerous –

Stay there! He practically shouted at her, flinging her down next to the strongest wall, among the filthy rags he'd not used for his bed. She hissed fearfully, irritably, but stayed put, and that was the most important thing –

The figure stumbled into the barn, and its hood was low now, and he knew that face –

"Rudentis ligo," He intoned, easily, still confused as the figure dropped to its knees, bound, the dark hood falling farther back to reveal hair matted with blood, and a heart-shaped face he knew – "Tonks?"

The matted, dark hair changed suddenly, to bright, bubblegum pink. Harry felt his heart lighten immeasurably, even as he watched her clumsily raise her hand to her sodden pink hair, Acting on instinct, Harry fired off a little spell in that direction, wandlessly – a prank spell, really, just in case she wasn't –

She swayed slightly, and Harry threw caution to the wind, stumbling forward, seizing her as she tottered to her feet, snarling at his cautious conscience that the spell would take effect soon, anyway, and there was no harm – "Tonks – what – you're here – " – her arms tightened uncomfortably round him, generating a stab of fear – "Ow – you're – "

Tonks let him go abruptly, grey eyes mistily raking his form. She squeezed him to her, tightly, again –

"I'm here – " She said fiercely, the strength in her arms waning as the spell took hold, combining with whatever was – dear God, he could have killed her – was she – no…

"No – Tonks – please, don't – " Harry moaned, even as he heard more footsteps – almost silent – coming –

"Ask your question, Harry," the familiar voice came gruffly, from the – now Harry looked closer – familiar figure of Mad-Eye Moody. Harry felt surprise blaze over his features, as he noted Moody's pronounced limp, his gnarled hand, the wand at his side, the blood on his cloak. He straightened, feeling a smile edge onto his face as he asked the only question he could really think of.

"What did I help you with, summer last year, in the kitchen at Privet Drive?"

"You helped me rinse off my magical eye, Potter – needs a bit of that now, but it's hardly the time, is it?" Harry's smile widened, and he lowered his arm, breathing hard. Moody stamped forward, over to Tonks, eyeing her, turning her over as he checked her bleeding head.

Harry, boneless from the heady emotion of relief, let himself slide down to a sitting position across from the gruff ex-Auror. He stared at the floor, exhaustion flooding sharply through him¸ making him wonder if he should get the Sword out – it definitely strengthened him earlier –

And with the thought of the Sword of Gryffindor came the thought of the blood of Veron, and how it felt so fucking satisfying to slash him open, because of –

The nights.

Moody, eyeing Harry's seated position, muttered a healing charm – or, at least, that was what it sounded like – at the comatose Tonks.

"Took you a while, didn't it." Harry could taste the anger surging into his chest, feeling his limbs. His voice rasped irritatingly, angering him further, as he waited for Moody's answer.

"We had problems, Potter," was the only reply, as Moody shook Tonks sharply awake. Harry disregarded the odd action – surely an ennervate would have been fine – "The Ministry was being attacked at exactly the same time Dumbledore had an urgent meeting with the Minister. We Apparated into chaos, spells flying everywhere – the Headmaster had to stay behind. Couldn't leave that bloody Orwell, snivelling on about where were his guards and so on…there you are, Tonks – how the bloody hell did you – "

Tonks could barely sit up, but she smiled weakly, rasping out her words bravely. Harry felt a painful twinge of guilt, but shoved it aside – he'd had a right to be suspicious of her – it looked like she'd been captured, those bruises on her face, the way Moody was talking to her, almost gently –

"…knew someone got me…" she coughed. "Managed to hit Avery with a Draining Curse, Mad-Eye – and Malfoy, when he came in…" The smile on her pale face turned nasty.

Harry joined her with one of his own – anything horrid done to Malfoy got his approval, hands down, except when he could have done it himself – "A glamour and a Babbling Curse later, and voila – he's me, babbling on about the location of poor old Harry." Chancing a look at Moody's frowning face, Tonks evidently thought to explain. "Didn't have time to use the Portkey, or try Apparating – someone came in, and the place I was held was crawling with Death Eaters…I just played along, pretended to be the stuck-up bastard, and that."

"Well done, then – I wondered who that was, firing Stunners at their own people." Tonks grinned weakly at Mad-Eye's praise, struggling to sit up.

Harry stared at them both, having barely heard the words after 'portkey'. He licked his lips slowly, disregarding the way Moody looked over at him – with – with such galling pity –

"You've got – you've got a Portkey out of here…?" he faltered. Mad-Eye Moody winced – Harry didn't care, he just wanted out –

Boom.

The wall – Merlin, the wall he'd put Iona –

Harry tried to move, but his bones imploded with pain, and a body had shot above his, shielding it from the debris –

His scar thrummed with pain – Voldemort…

– Dumbledore –

He was too late – he could feel it, leaving the Minister behind, shivering in his opulent robes and home, eyeing his guards – scrabbling at the burning medallion, which seemed to flash with names – injured – hurt – dying –

Finally, a location –

He Apparated immediately, opening tired, fearful eyes to the chaos before him, cleaving through the Death Eaters that mistakenly tried to hinder his movement. A loud boom paused the fighting – Voldemort was at the barn, duelling with two Order members.

Albus Dumbledore incanted, fear gripping icily at his heart. Blasting more Death Eaters out of his way, he watched, the distance effectively preventing him from taking any action, as Voldemort laughed coldly, seeming to look at something beyond the two pale Order Members – that was Alastor –

Voldemort dodged a weak beam of light from the other figure – that pink hair, Nymphadora – and sent off, in return, a long burst of strange, sickly yellow light that the obviously weakened woman ducked, too late.

Nymphadora Tonks went down with an unearthly scream that pierced the Hollow, so that everyone in it looked in the direction of the barn, momentarily, and saw, along with the Headmaster, what came next.

Alastor went down hard, a strange cutting spell seeming to douse him in blood. A bloody, shaking figure that could only be Harry rose behind his fallen body, sending off a bright burst of light as he stooped before him, emerging with the Sword of Gryffindor held aloft.

Albus sent out a widespread Disarming Jinx, hoping, hoping, as he saw Harry shout something at Voldemort, as he saw Harry continue to deflect –

Alastor rose beside the grim, skeletal figure which was dwarfed by Voldemort's thin, malevolent form, but was cut down almost immediately, blasted back into the rotting barn. Harry's concentration seemed to waver for a moment and there it was –

Albus' heart sank like a heavy rock –

Voldemort let loose another long, yellow stream of the unknown curse, and Harry's hasty, nearly invisible Wall charm failed. The scream that arose shook the clearing in its ferocity and pain, and the sword of Gryffindor blazed with red fire as it Harry dropped to his knees with a heavy thud and a crack, falling further onto his face, the wand and the sword clenched still in his hands.

The dramatic fall – our only hope, Albus thought dazedly, his eyes locked onto the scene before him – nearly masked the fervent hiss of a dark snake, now shaken irritably away, that had bitten Voldemort lightly in his thigh just as he concentrated enough to cast the curse on Harry.

Voldemort let out a long laugh, and remained laughing still as the enraged, desperate Alastor Moody tackled him fiercely, and fell, moments later, to the same curse. He looked piercingly across the clearing, at the deathly pale Albus Dumbledore, who could only duel, and hope, and hope that Harry was not –

…not dead…

Smiling darkly directly at his foe, Tom Riddle Disapparated from the clearing, followed immediately by the Death Eaters that still could, one of them directing a piercing glance at the desperate Headmaster of Hogwarts before he left, a glance that the Headmaster did not, could not see.

Albus Dumbledore hastened, like a wild man, to the remains of the last hope for the wizarding world, shouting at the grieving, desperate Order members to stay back. Bending over the nearly-dead form of Harry Potter, he made a decision that would change the wizarding world forever.

"Is he?" the Order asked, begged, pressing closer.

"Yes." Weeping broke out – and not just among the weary, disheartened women of the Order. Remus Lupin staggered forth, his form convulsing with grief, muttering incoherently to himself:

"All gone…all gone…alone….all gone…"

Albus conjured a stretcher immediately, levitating Harry's 'remains' onto it as people sobbed and stretched hands out to him. He had to get him away quickly, in case he stirred, to a safe place where he could recover until the now whirling, nearly shattered mind of his wild-eyed Headmaster could formulate more plans to keep him safe.

For now, he was better off dead. If Voldemort came after him in this state, the War would truly be lost, then and there, if it had not been lost in Harry's mind during the harrowing weeks of his torture and captivity.

Now, as he prepared to create a Portkey, keeping his face stern, Albus hit upon the perfect place.

"Portus! Take the wounded to St. Mungo's if you can, Arthur," Albus said to the pinched, battered-looking man approaching him, trying not to look at the sobbing, hunched figure of Remus Lupin, who crouched at the foot of the broken boy's stretcher. "I need to – to take him – to check…" his voice faltered, as convincingly as possible. Arthur nodded wordlessly as Albus Dumbledore finished his act. "I will return to Headquarters as soon as possible, with Severus, if I can. First, I will – lay Harry to rest."

And with that, the bloodied body of Harry Potter disappeared, and had been seen in public for the last time for a long, long, time.

A/N: You'd better appreciate this bleeding chapter, readers o'mine – the spectre of Chapter 3 does na please my weary eye at this late, Godforsaken hour…

To put it simply, that was rather hard going. I don't even feel like checking it over – except to spell-check or whatever – so any errors in it will stay in it until I get my homework out of the way.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed Part the First! I'm unsure as to what exactly to do with the material I have for the next chapter, so I'm not sure of its name yet. It should come halfway during the week, if I can overpower the evil gods of college assignments on time. Until then…