Thank you for the reviews yesterday!

CLIFFHANGER warning on this chapter. It'll be resolved tomorrow, but still. Don't read this chapter to the end if you don't like cliffhangers.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Up From Beneath

The first thing Harry noticed when he woke on the morning of the autumnal equinox was that Argutus was blue.

He blinked and reached for his glasses, slipping them on before he looked again. But no, his eyes had not deceived him. The little Omen snake was swarming with blue, color that bent and rippled and ran over his scales with his movement, as though he were a moving mirror pointed at an ocean scene.

Harry murmured, "Why do you look like that?"

Argutus woke and tilted his head to look down at his body. "I must be foretelling a vision of the future," he said, sounding pleased with himself. "I don't know what it means yet. I think I will in a few months. Do you know what it means?" He nudged Harry's hand with an affectionate push of his neck.

Harry tried to pick him up, but Argutus slithered free easily and waited until Harry lowered his left arm and let him crawl up it. "No," he said. "And do you mean that you'll know what this glimpse of the future means in a few months, or how to sense what a vision means then?"

"What a vision means." Argutus wriggled and got comfortable on Harry's shoulder as Harry went towards the loo. He liked the sensation of hot water cascading over his scales, and would not listen when Harry told him that he was a decadent little snake. "I can almost grasp the meaning right now, but it's floating just out of reach. I am only a young Omen snake as yet. Give me time."

Young, but curious and arrogant as hell, Harry thought, with a shake of his head. Argutus regularly left his shoulder now to slither around the school and "investigate" what other people were doing. Since he couldn't understand English, he came back with all kinds of wild and preposterous tales. If Harry could believe Argutus, half the school was plotting against him, and every spell was practiced for the sole purpose of either affecting Harry somehow or affecting an innocent Omen snake who was only trying to find interesting things to see.

He dwelt on the thoughts as long as he could. They were amusing, and they might help to keep his mind away from the battle that would be rising soon.

Any moment, he kept expecting a letter from Madam Marchbanks or the hanarz telling him that the attack had begun, but he got through breakfast—and another inflammatory article from the reporter he didn't recognize, this time hinting that Harry had used Dark magic on his parents—without one arriving. Now they were in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Acies was having them write down all the definitions of Dark they knew so far. She'd given no reason for it.

Well, I know the reason, Harry thought, as he finished his list and racked his brain for one more possibility. She'll probably tell us how inadequate they are in a moment.

Wildness, solitary magic, compulsion, deception…those were the four definitions of Dark magic he knew, and everything else he'd come up with was a variation on those. Harry frowned at his parchment, and hoped against hope that his brain might conjure more if he just concentrated.

Halfway through a period of intense concentration, he realized that he was reviewing the battle plans in his head, and gave up with a little sigh. Pansy glanced quickly at him, then looked away, as though trying to pretend that he wasn't of interest to her. Harry sat back and thought about the plans one more time.

Snape and Regulus, who was due in an hour, would remain in the school with him until the attack actually began, and then go with him to the battlefield—or battle tunnel, as Harry supposed it might more properly be called. Honoria was acting as messenger. Most of his allies, the ones without Dark Marks on their arms, were holding positions in the junctions between the Muggle world and the wizarding one. Lucius, Hawthorn, and Adalrico had chosen those wizarding tunnels most likely to be attacked, and were well away from the hanarz's chains, which would otherwise strike at them.

He wasn't forgetting anything. That was what they had planned. No one had sent him a letter saying that he couldn't do his part. Harry had discreetly warned the Ministry, through Madam Marchbanks, that something momentous might happen today. He didn't dare be too open, with any of his Light allies. The balance between them and his Dark allies was shaky, the more so with all the opposition stirring against Harry among the Light purebloods. Besides, many in the Ministry would go slightly mad if they knew the southern goblins were free to make their own decisions about protecting the tunnels under Muggle London like that.

"Read me your list, Miss Bulstrode."

Harry sat up, blinking, and flushing a bit as Acies's dangerous eyes passed across his face and he realized that she had surely noticed his distraction. That's the bad thing about having a professor with a mind that's partially a dragon's. You can't fool her.

Millicent cleared her throat and began to read. If she had been at all startled by their professor's abrupt demand, she hid it well. "Dark is often wildness," she said. "Examples are the magic that appears on Walpurgis Night, the magic in birthing rituals, and the use of Dark creatures like dragons. At the same time, Dark Arts often rely on compulsion. Webs, for example." There was probably no force on earth that could have kept her from winking at Harry at that point, and Harry didn't try to stop her. "These forces are usually seen as coming together in the wildness of the caster's will. They restrain others so that they may be free and unrestrained themselves."

"Very good, Miss Bulstrode," said Acies softly. "Three points to Slytherin. And do any of you know how the spells often considered Dark Arts—the Unforgivable Curses, for example—fit in with these definitions?"

There were a few shrugs and mutters. Harry cocked his head in curiosity. Remus had been the first Defense professor to teach them some of the theory behind Dark Arts, and of course the disguised Mulciber had shown them the Unforgivable Curses, but Harry hadn't known that the theory could account for specific spells so well. He'd got used to wielding what magic needed to be wielded, and then working out the theoretical ramifications of what he'd done later.

"Dark Arts represent a partial sacrifice of will," said Acies. "Many wizards and witches are safe even with those spells called evil if they do not surrender their whole wills, if they remember that the use of some curses may mean time in Azkaban or the death and ruin of people they love. But when they give themselves up completely, trade free will for wildness, then they are likely to cast a Crucio where a far milder pain spell would do instead."

She swept her head around to stare at the rest of the class. "When we begin practicing with Dark Arts, I will expect you to keep this in mind. Retain your free will, always. No amount of power can make up for its sacrifice."

"Professor Merryweather," said Susan Bones, her voice both fascinated and horrified. "Are you saying that—that Dark Arts are all right as long as we don't lose ourselves completely?"

"I am considering them from the perspective of the wielder, Miss Bones," said Acies, implacably. "From the perspective of the victim, they are of course different. But it seems that you are considering that a pain curse must be a Dark Arts spell. Does that include Anapneo?"

Susan frowned. "But that just helps someone who's choking. It's not a pain curse!"

"Yes, it is," said Acies. "It causes pain."

"That's different from something like Crucio," Susan argued.

"Three points to Hufflepuff," Acies said. "You are distinguishing among them already. That is an integral part of Defense Against the Dark Arts, the inner defense and ability to think rationally about spells, no matter their effects. Another way to sacrifice free will is to give in to fear." Harry told himself that Acies wasn't looking significantly in Margaret's direction, that he'd just imagined it. "When one begins to scream in fear of Dark Arts, one has surrendered and made a whole sacrifice where a partial one—that of caution—is required."

Harry heard Margaret make a rude sound under her breath, but he didn't get to hear more than that as his scar erupted in pain.

Even as he went to one knee, seeing Millicent reach out towards him and Pansy make an aborted movement, Harry remained calm. I expected this. This is probably the first sign of the attack. Voldemort is so excited that he can't control his glee any more, and the link between us is open.

He quickly realized he was mistaken when he opened his eyes again and saw, not the Defense classroom, but a misty dreamworld, like the vision he'd had of the Weasley house when Voldemort attacked it. He stood up quickly, and stared in several directions. He was on a beach, near the rolling sea.

He recognized it—the beach in Northumberland where Death Eaters had attacked him, where he had run with unicorns, where he and his father and Connor had celebrated Midsummer.

"Potter," said Voldemort from behind him, his voice laced with self-satisfaction. "I had looked forward to meeting you here. But I see that you have guessed wrong. How disappointing. Up from beneath, Harry. Any moment now, the Muggles will hear the singing come from their river."

The pain in his scar grew intense then, and the dreamworld broke apart around him. Harry came to on the floor, with Millicent and Acies bending over him, sheltering him from the too-curious gazes of his other classmates.

Harry lay paralyzed for a moment, trying to work out what Voldemort meant, why the hell he would be on a beach instead of in London, why he would be talking about singing, of all things—

And then Argutus crawled towards his face, hissing in concern, and Harry caught another glimpse of his blue and shifting scales.

The color of water reflecting the sky.

An attack by water. Not the tunnels.

Singing.

The sirens Voldemort freed!

Harry, gasping, felt his mind leap over several steps to arrive at the logical conclusion. He'd heard the words "up from beneath" in his vision of Voldemort, and simply assumed that they meant an attack through tunnels. He'd had no real proof that they did. And Bellatrix had been speaking of telling their allies about the attack, allies to whom Voldemort had promised the aid of the basilisks, but only if they needed it.

I was a fool, Harry thought grimly, his new crystalline thoughts unfurling quickly. And "their river." Voldemort's sending the sirens up the Thames.

Harry let his magic flood through him, dimming the pain and raising him to his feet so quickly that both Millicent and Acies had to scramble out of the way. His mind was still racing, and he didn't immediately move, other than to wipe away the blood pouring from his scar, because it was getting in his way.

Those wooden disks he used—perhaps the tangle of lines on them represented rivers, after all, and not tunnels. That doesn't tell me where he is, though, does it? He could be anywhere in London. He might be somewhere else entirely, contacting and controlling the sirens by means of those disks, and I won't know. So what's the best course to find him?

A Death Eater can Apparate to his side.

Harry started out of the Defense classroom, with the intent of finding Snape. Plans raced around his head and chattered a mile a minute. He knew what he would do the moment he found Snape, and he knew what weapons he would fetch from the trunk in his room, and he knew which of his allies he would try to contact—the only ones whom he had the means to contact.

"Harry."

He blinked and turned around. It was so hard to remember that Millicent might be concerned for him. The knowledge that he had been wrong, his allies all in place to counteract a plan that Voldemort had no intention of using, seemed to have moved him into a different world, and if she had something useful to say, then she should say it and be done. Harry stared at Millicent, and she looked quickly away from him, as though his eyes frightened her.

"Good luck," she said softly.

Harry nodded once, and then sprinted out of the Defense classroom, heading for the dungeons. His mind dragged up information he had noted but not thought of consciously until now, when it might prove useful. Snape's teaching Potions right now. The classroom, not his office.

He ran. He had not used his training in sheer speed very often lately, but he hadn't let himself go, either. He knew the best way of taking stairs, of sliding quickly around corners with an eye as to whether anyone was coming towards him or not, and how to let himself fall and roll when it was the best way to get somewhere quickly. He was at the door of the Potions classroom before he had known he could be.

Before he could knock, someone grabbed his shoulder, and he whipped around, though his magic didn't rise in defense. The touch of the hand was too familiar for that.

It was Connor, grimacing and touching his forehead. "I felt him," he said quietly. "He's happy, isn't he? And I know that he was talking to you. I figured you'd go to Snape."

Harry considered Connor for a single rapid moment. His brother had never fought, not in a proper battle, and it might be suicide to take him along.

On the other hand, Connor's jaw was set, indicating he wasn't going anywhere, and there was the chance, if only a chance, that his compulsion gift could be useful in reversing the sirens' voices.

"He's attacking with the sirens," said Harry. "Not in the tunnels, the way I thought." He put his shoulder to the door of the Potions classroom and banged it open, interrupting Snape in mid-speech.

Snape caught his eye and didn't waste his breath on anything as trivial as a scolding for the interruption, instead taking several long steps forward. Harry met him next to a table full of wide-eyed third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and motioned curtly with his head for him to bend down. Some guardian part of his mind had warned him that it would be for the best if everyone around them didn't have the idea that Snape carried the Dark Mark on his forearm. It was known, of course, but students this young didn't need the reminder.

"Voldemort's attacking London, but with the sirens, not up the tunnels," said Harry. "I need you to Apparate me to him, following your brand. I'll fetch a few things, and then we'll go."

Snape did not argue. Rather, he turned to his class, snapped, "Write me a foot-long essay on the properties of Calming Potions, due tomorrow," and then followed Harry out of the classroom. Harry lengthened his steps the moment they were out of sight of the silent and staring third-years. The common room was his goal now, and the gifts his allies had given him which might help in battle. He had the means to summon at least two of his allies from their mistaken positions in London, and they could tell the others. Harry only hoped that they would be willing to follow the sudden change in plans, as well as willing to let former Death Eaters Side-Along Apparate them.

"How did you find out about this?" Snape demanded behind him.

"He contacted me in the middle of Defense," said Harry, and wiped at another stubborn blob of blood creeping down his face. Damn scar. It's rather annoying. "Just had to laugh and brag about his victory, I suppose, and not seeing me there."

That was something else Harry hadn't considered.

He expected to see me there. He expected me to have figured out his plan.

There was proof positive that he suspected Harry was spying on him in his visions. Harry grimaced in resignation. I can't trust the scar link to give me reliable information on his movements anymore.

I suppose that I'll just have to take on the war on the offensive, then. Well, let's. You won't know what bit you, Tom.

They reached the door of the Slytherin common room, and Harry snapped, "Pureblood dignity," making it slide back. A few students with free periods, lounging about the place, stared at him as he walked past. Their stares only intensified when their Head of House and a Gryffindor followed.

Harry ignored them. It was hardly a secret that Snape opposed Voldemort anymore, not when he'd openly attacked Bellatrix at the end of third year. He was more concerned right now in running over the things he could take with him to the battle. Any slim advantage he had over Voldemort right now would be helpful.

He walked over to his trunk the moment he entered his room. Fawkes, sitting on his bed, opened one eye and gave a sleepy chirp, and then sat up again and chirped more forcefully when he saw Harry kneel down and start rifling through his belongings.

Out came Honoria's whistle, which Harry hung around his neck, and the dragon scale Ignifer had given him. Harry hesitated, thought about waving it right now to summon her, and then shook his head and stuck it in his pocket. If he waved it now, she couldn't come to him anyway through Hogwarts's anti-Apparition wards. Better to do it once he reached the scene of the battle, and then there would be a person beyond the former Death Eaters who knew where to find him.

He drew out the flowering vine that Hawthorn had given him for Christmas last year, and leaned towards one of the blossoms. He had to hope it would work when she wasn't at home, but crouched in one of the tunnels beneath London, getting ready to deflect an attack she thought was coming at any second.

"Hawthorn?" he asked.

He heard a startled breath, but though he stared hard into the flower, he couldn't see anything. Well, she had only told him it would transmit voices, and she presumably knew her own enchantment. Hawthorn responded a moment later, her voice intense. "Harry? You're using the vine I gave you?"

"Yes," said Harry, as he sorted through other items in his trunk, using his stump to move them and his hand to actually pick them up. Alliance compass—I don't need it, but Connor might, if he gets separated from the others in the battle and needs to know which direction to head in. He tossed the compass to his brother, who caught it, looking startled. Books, robes, maps, no, no, no—ah, the knife that Adalrico gave me! Harry hung that at his belt as he continued talking to Hawthorn. "Plan's changed. Voldemort's not attacking the tunnels. He's sending sirens up the Thames, and maybe other rivers, to sing at the Muggles. I don't know where he is, but you can find him through your Dark Mark, can't you? I need you to alert the others, and Apparate the ones who have no Mark to the site of the battle."

No complaints, no hesitation, no remarks about Hawthorn standing a good chance of being killed if she went into a nest of Death Eaters. She said only, "Of course, Harry," and then there came the sound of quick footsteps on stone, an odd thing to hear through the blossoms of a plant.

"Thank you," Harry said, not knowing if she heard him or not, and then put the vine aside and scanned the rest of his trunk. The glass serpent caught his eye, glowing almost completely blue, and he scooped that out and into his pocket. A good thing to have an emergency Portkey around, whether it was for him or someone else. He was sure it would work to transport someone else to Malfoy Manor, since it had worked for Vince.

Draco.

Harry hesitated. He knew that Draco had Ancient Runes right now. The classroom wasn't that far away, and since Harry had no idea if the attack had already begun or not, and was doing his best not to act like an idiot and dash into things, he knew he had the time to take him along.

Do I want to? He would be going into danger—

Then Harry shook his head, remembering the conversation he'd had with Draco last year on the day he freed the unicorns and Draco made him understand exactly what his love felt like. No. I told him I would never make him wait behind like some soldier's spouse who couldn't fight. He can fight, and he would want to come with me. At the very least, I've got to offer him the choice.

He slid to his feet, closed the trunk, and glanced down at Argutus. "Do you want to stay here?"

"No! This is interesting." The little Omen snake sounded rapturous. Harry shook his head and held his arm up for Fawkes, who flew to his shoulder.

"We're stopping by the Ancient Runes classroom to fetch Draco," he said. "And then we need to go briefly into the Forbidden Forest.'

"Do we have time?" Connor demanded, his eyes flaring with a courage that struck Harry as inescapably Gryffindor. "There could be innocent people dying right now."

"There could be," said Harry steadily, hoping that his brother paid attention to his words and not the death glare Snape was throwing him. "But I don't know that, and I'd rather not rush into this. I don't even know where Voldemort is, not for certain. We've got to go, yes, but we have some time."

"Harry is correct," said Snape, in his softest voice. "I, for one, would rather see him take care with his safety than rush blindly into things on the mere hope that he could save someone's life."

Harry arched his eyebrows at him. "See? I do learn," he said, and then he was out of the room, running across the Slytherin common room, then towards the stairs out of the dungeons and up to the Ancient Runes class. Plans were still running around his mind, chattering at him, but some of them would necessarily be held in abeyance until he saw what the battlefield looked like.

He didn't bother begging the professor's pardon when he finally stepped into the middle of Ancient Runes, just locked eyes with Draco, who was sitting across the classroom in a straight line from the door, and said, "We're going to do battle with the Dark Lord. Are you coming?"

Draco blinked once, such a hard blink that it seemed to clear out most of his surprise. Then he nodded, stood, and scooped up his wand from his bag, following Harry out. Harry waited for him to come up and stand at his right shoulder, unable to express the satisfaction he felt in mere words.

He did give Draco one fierce smile, which Draco returned with interest. Then they were off again, and Harry felt the smile drop from his face as he raced through calculations of time and distance, and concluded that they had a few minutes to spare. He would ask for aid, but if the question couldn't travel fast enough through the Forbidden Forest, then they would have to depart.

Fawkes sat up on his shoulder and gave a deep warble. Harry smiled at him.

"Can you tell the Many that I'd like their help?" he asked.

Fawkes uttered a resigned sound at having to deal with snakes, and then rose and vanished in a ball of flame. Harry focused on reaching the doors out of the school, his mind throwing possibilities at him.

What happens if Voldemort's in London? Then we battle him in front of a bunch of Muggles, I suppose, and it's work for the Obliviators later. I'd still rather use magic in front of Muggles than sacrifice their lives.

What happens if he's somewhere else? It should be near water. We'll have to depend on our magic, and hope that he doesn't have a large number of Death Eaters with him.

What happens if Draco or Connor gets hurt?

Harry narrowed his eyes. Then Voldemort, or whatever Death Eater did it, gets to know what pain feels like.

Can we count on any other aid from magical creatures? No, I don't think so. I know I can transport the Many, but I couldn't take more than a few Runespoors, and the centaurs are too big for us to Apparate. The unicorns might aid us, I suppose, but that's entirely their own affair, and we can't count on it.

Do we have a way to contact Regulus? I guess we can hope he feels something strange through the Dark Mark and comes to us, but we can't count on that, either. I should have thought of firecalling him while I was in the school, but I didn't, and it would have meant a side trip, anyway. If we all survive this, then I'll make sure we have some faster way of contacting each other. A mirror might do the trick.

Harry was a bit surprised that he hadn't tried this method of planning before he leaped before. It wasn't really simple, but it worked. Of course, it was probably only working because he had no idea if Voldemort was already snaring and torturing innocent Muggles or not.

And why is he attacking Muggles anyway? What does he want from them?

It doesn't really matter, I suppose. Nothing good.

They reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, in time to meet a proud Fawkes and a writhing tangle of the Many. Harry knelt down, thinking just in time to pull Argutus into the collar of his robes.

The tiny green-gold cobras poured up his body and coiled around his legs, his chest, his neck, and his face, hissing greetings all the while. One of them hung around Harry's throat, ignoring Argutus as if he were a piece of string, and said, "We have come, because you helped free us from the web that would have taken us. It took you a long time to decide that you wanted repayment for that debt."

"Well, I want it now," said Harry simply, and then glanced up at Snape to make sure that he was speaking English. "Do you think that you can Apparate me with the snakes clinging to me?"

Snape nodded, and then looked at Draco and Connor, who wore identical mutinous expressions. "I will come back for you," he said. "Do not try to follow, or what you receive from me will make being splinched look amusing."

Connor cowered. Draco just glared at him, a steady look that said Snape had better come back.

Harry shook his head and turned away again, this time heading for Hogsmeade and the edge of the wards around the school. The shape of the Portkey in his pocket bumped and jostled, and so did the unfamiliar weight of the blade at his belt and the whistle around his neck, which the Many were curiously twining around. I hope these will be useful after all.

They reached the edge of the wards. Harry glanced once at Snape, who seized his left arm with his right hand. He shook his own left sleeve, and his Dark Mark came free, gleaming black.

"Can you still Apparate to him even though he hasn't summoned you?" Harry asked, abruptly realizing that there might be a flaw in his plan.

"We can find him, if we concentrate," said Snape quietly. "It is not widely-known, but we may go to him even when he does not summon us, if we are willing to expend the necessary magic." He narrowed his eyes. "He may be actively keeping me away, of course, and then this will not work, but I do not think so. He wants you there, Harry."

His eyes conveyed a different message. Endanger your own life on purpose, and you will have to deal with me.

Harry nodded, in response to both messages, and then leaned close to Snape. The Many and Argutus both hissed encouragement. Harry saw Snape close his eyes, and his face became pale and strained.

The snake on his arm, black and slickly gleaming, unwound from the skull, and conducted an obscene little dance towards Snape's elbow. Harry stared, and then the world around them vanished and whirled around and squeezed him through a tight tunnel, and he was landing on sand and heard the roar of the surf in the background.

He wasn't that surprised to find himself on the Northumberland beach. He grimaced. Bastard. Probably chose the place on purpose, hoping to throw me off balance.

Harry didn't feel thrown off balance. He felt focused, sharp, his mind clear and rich with purpose. He answered the squeeze of Snape's hand on his shoulder with a quick nod, and then turned around, looking for Voldemort, even as he drew Ignifer's dragon scale from his pocket and gave it a quick wave.

He caught the sensation of familiar magic, a powerful glamour, and stared at it. His own power went to work, wearing it away. When it fell, he could see Voldemort standing with a circle of wooden disks spread around him, one hand extended and a low humming noise rising from his throat, or perhaps his robes. The purple shapes of two basilisks coiled at his feet. Behind him crouched two naked Death Eaters, one man and one woman. Harry opened his mouth in a snarl. Greyback and Whitecheek.

Voldemort looked at him, and smiled.

And then his magic rose and unfolded around him.

He had been feeding on Muggleborn children, Harry knew at once, or at least on someone. The feeling of dark, vicious magic that rose from him like greasy smoke was immeasurably stronger than it had been at the Burrow, perhaps twice as powerful. Harry knew it when the magic turned, coiling like one of the basilisks, and then shot straight at them.

At him, and at Snape, who still had not Disapparated.

"Go!" Harry screamed, and then reached out and poured his will into the goal of getting Snape to go back to Hogwarts for Draco and Connor, the way he had once forced Evan Rosier to go back to his lord. He heard the crack of Snape vanishing, and had a moment to feel satisfied.

Then Voldemort's magic struck him like a whale's back.

Harry went sprawling, and found he couldn't get a breath. The magic held him down, lying on top of him, squeezing every bit of air out of his lungs, flowing and overflowing and draping and slamming down. There was more, always more, and Voldemort pinned him and yet had the power to do whatever spell to command the sirens he was pouring through the wooden disks.

"You thought you could challenge me, Harry," Harry heard Voldemort whisper, beyond the ringing in his ears and the blackness teasing at his vision from the lack of breath. "How wrong you were, how wrong all the challengers to Lord Voldemort's power always are."

"Flagellum Ardoris!"

Harry heard a scream, smelled smoke, saw a burst of light. Then the pressure on him eased, enough that he could draw in a breath. Air had never tasted so sweet. He rolled over and drew his own magic up, weaving linked Shield Charms around himself, so that he wouldn't get taken by such surprise again.

When he turned his head, he saw Ignifer Apollonis dancing around Voldemort's circle of wooden disks, igniting one after another. In her hand was a whip of flame, glowing red and orange and gold, and white where it ran into her clenched fist, and cracking down with enormous force at the slightest twist of her arm. Everywhere it touched, it burned, and already four or five of the disks were gone.

She saved my life.

And Voldemort was about to take hers, now that he was past the shock of surprise and drawing back his magic for another strike. He had his wand leveled, Harry saw. He could and would cast a Killing Curse without hesitation.

Harry focused on Voldemort's wand and thought, Expelliarmus!

It probably only worked because Voldemort hadn't been expecting an attack from that angle, but Harry didn't care. The yew wand still soared from Voldemort's hand to his. Harry quickly threw it down on the sand behind him and took a step backwards, trying to snap it in half. It resisted the weight of his foot, though. Voldemort had probably enchanted it to protect itself against such a simple tactic. Pity.

"What shall we do?"

Harry started. He'd forgotten about the Many, involved in the battle as he was. "Attack the large snakes and the ones in the circle who smell like wolves," he said. "Bite them, spit into their eyes, do whatever you can to make sure that they don't interfere."

He heard the cracks of Apparition as more people arrived—allies or Death Eaters, he couldn't tell. The Many left his body in a glorious wave, pouring directly towards the circle. Voldemort was hissing to the basilisks now, commanding them to the attack, and Harry could only hope the hive cobras would survive. They had one enormous advantage: their mind was collective, and could move to any body in the hive at an instant's notice, which meant the basilisks would have to kill them all to actually defeat them.

Harry felt a weight against his shoulder, and Draco whispered, "I'm here. What should I do?"

"Cover your ears," Harry suggested, and blew Honoria's whistle.

Someone roared with laughter behind him. Harry turned to see Karkaroff sagging, his arms wrapped around his belly as he tried, gamely, to stifle his laughter and take a few more steps forward. Behind him were other Death Eaters, though it looked as though Hawthorn and at least one of his allies were hastening over the small hills and down to the beach.

The basilisks were engaged with the Many, and Greyback and Whitecheek were among the whistle's victims.

But Voldemort was free to pay attention to other things now, and his gaze locked with Harry's.

Harry felt his scar blaze into life. He gritted his teeth and moved forward, trying to retain the clear head that had brought him here. Voldemort was working some sort of spell with the wooden disks. Harry thought it was to control the sirens, though he had only his guess. That meant the disks had to be destroyed. Of course, Voldemort's magic was coiling protectively around them now, making that easier said than done.

Needs must, Harry thought, reluctantly, and began to siphon Voldemort's magic.

Voldemort realized what was happening at once, of course, but the moment he moved to defend himself, Harry flicked his gaze to one of the disks that Ignifer—helpless with laughter, just like the rest of them—hadn't managed to destroy, and thought, Reducto!

The disk blasted apart. Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and the pain in Harry's scar increased until he sagged to his knees. He felt Draco put his arms around him from behind, and leaned back into that comforting embrace, even as his body flooded with foul, tainted power.

Harry hated the feeling of it. He was drowning in slime and ashes, and he couldn't imagine making that magic part of himself. But he knew that he had to keep on drawing it. Voldemort was too strong. In a moment, he'd come up with some way to both defend the circle of disks and fight Harry, and then the battle would turn in the Death Eaters' favor.

The relentless roar and hiss of the waves surged up in Harry's mind between the silence of one thought and the next, giving him his answer.

He took a deep breath and opened himself wide, the jaws of the snake inside him stretching and stretching. He dropped all the other magic, even the Shield Charms he'd strung around himself. Voldemort could have taken him in that moment, if he'd reacted fast enough.

He didn't. Harry seized his magic instead, and opened the siphon at the other end, pulling Voldemort's power from him and dumping it directly into the sea.

In moments, the feeling of slime and ashes diminished, and so did the sensation that the magic he'd swallowed was about to get out of control. Harry was vaguely aware of figures fighting around him—someone must have worked a Finite Incantatem to end the spell of Honoria's whistle—but he was much more interest in draining all of Voldemort's magic that he could.

Voldemort started to reach for Harry's own power, and then hesitated, obviously worried about the safety of the disks. Harry made him pay dearly for that moment, ripping into his core, digging into the magic that Voldemort had been born with, and tearing part of it away.

His enemy roared.

And the pain in Harry's scar increased until it became the world.

Sand and sea and Draco's arms and the pale, red-eyed face in front of him vanished. Harry knew that, yes, this was worse than the pain he'd endured when Bellatrix cut off his hand, and still he kept swallowing. He didn't think he could stop at this point, or close the siphon—one end in him, the other in the ocean, the one pulling, the other dumping.

"Reducto!"

Merlin only knew how that spell got through to him, when nothing else had, but it might have had something to do with Voldemort's attention turning elsewhere. Harry lifted his head, blinking, dazed, and saw Draco in front of him, shattering a second wooden disk as he watched.

Voldemort was narrowing his eyes, obviously unable to believe that a boy had done this, had dared to defy him—

And then he paused, and laughed softly in Harry's direction. "This is the boy that was at the center of your mind," he said, in a voice weakened by pain and rage. "The one you care about. I shall take such pleasure in destroying him."

Voldemort's gloating was a mistake, Harry thought, in at least two ways. First, it gave Harry the anger to rip off another great swathe of Voldemort's unnatural magic, and send it running away into the sea.

Second, it gave Lucius Malfoy time to get there.

"Cremo!"

The rest of Voldemort's wooden disks burst into flame. Voldemort screamed like something dying, like something wounded, and wheeled to face Lucius, who had just lowered his wand and was looking at his former lord with no expression whatsoever on his face.

Harry gathered himself. Voldemort's magic was building, shifting, no doubt aiming at Lucius. His wand had gone soaring back to his hand by now, and while his wandless power might be drained, he was still dangerous. An Avada Kedavra could still lay Lucius low.

Harry imagined his enemy utterly drained of magic, and struck out wildly with his will, aiming straight at everything Voldemort was.

It didn't work, as Harry had thought it wouldn't, ripping an intense wound but not a mortal one. Voldemort turned around, his eyes narrowed, and then reached out and pinched Harry's siphon shut. Harry gasped at the pain, but felt a healthy dose of satisfaction to go with it. He should have done that long since. We rattled him. And we utterly destroyed whatever plan he had to capture or kill the Muggles. I hope.

A voice spoke from behind Harry, saying his name. Connor's voice.

Voldemort turned. He spoke no word, but a boiling black light left his wand, a spell Harry didn't recognize, aimed straight at Connor. Harry wasn't quick enough to stop it.

Harry did have the time to think about what should happen in the next few moments, as the chattering plans in his head shut up and one voice alone remained, one that assessed the risk. It was an unknown curse, one that Connor was more than likely not to survive. And if Connor died or was destroyed, then Harry knew he would not long survive his brother. The guilt alone would tear him apart.

On the other hand, he had at least a chance of being able to survive the curse, whatever it did, since his magic was so much stronger than Connor's, and Voldemort had been seriously weakened. And he had former Death Eaters among his allies. There was a chance that one of them had seen Voldemort use this curse before and would know how to counteract it. They would have the motivation to help him where they might not want to help Connor.

Sometimes, his training in sacrifice was a wonderful thing, to let him make such decisions so fast and so clearly.

He rose and flung himself in the way of the curse.

Black walls snapped shut around him, his mind closed in on itself, and then he tumbled into darkness, and silence, and cold.