Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!

Harry makes what could be considered a mistake in this chapter- in fact, several of them. That's his life.

Chapter Eighty-Seven: End of Innocence

Minerva sat back in her seat and watched her students with a faint smile. Another year ended, and despite the battle with Voldemort lurking ahead—a battle in which she would get to participate, this time—the most important thing to her was that her students had survived to the end, and found some joy along the way.

And they had done it under someone who had not known she would be Headmistress until June of last year. Really, Minerva thought she deserved some congratulations.

She shot a glance along the staff table, taking in the faces of both professors and their guests. Severus, of course, was silent as he stared at his food. He had grown both more brooding, and more hateful when he did speak, since the werewolf attack on Hogwarts's grounds. Minerva tipped a heap of beans onto his plate. The glare he shot her made her glad that she'd known him for twenty years, so she'd had a chance to get used to it.

"Eat your beans, Severus," she said, and looked at other people as if it didn't matter to her whether he did.

Sybill was chattering some nonsense at Acies, of course. The Defense teacher never paid attention to her, and Sybill never noticed that she didn't, making them perfect dinner companions. Behind them, Rubeus carefully handled his knife and fork, as though afraid he would crush them. Pomona, a year-long veteran of sitting at his side, ducked his elbows occasionally as she munched her way steadily through a plate of shepherd's pie. Filius was conversing with Peter, who answered his questions about using rats in duels with amused patience.

Others of Harry's allies who had answered his plea for help yesterday were there as well—Belville, Rhangnara, Pemberley, Apollonis, Rosier-Henlin, Parkinson, Bulstrode. Minerva had been uneasy about letting a woman she knew was a werewolf into the school, until she saw that Hawthorn wore a silver necklace at her throat, and Harry had explained to her that she'd never spent time with Loki or cared about his goals. She was here to protect Harry and her daughter. That, Minerva could easily agree with.

She looked back at Severus's plate, and saw him Transfiguring his beans into cockroaches, which marched under the table and got into Sybill's robes.

"Severus," she said.

He gave her a flat stare, Transfigured the last bean, and then sat back. His gaze was haunted as it roamed the walls. Minerva ate a few beans of her own while she thought about that. He had grown increasingly restive since yesterday evening, when the first of Harry's allies arrived and she lowered the wards to accommodate them. But she had tightened them again at once, after making sure the wards understood who they were. Severus surely could not be worried about how well-protected he was here.

"Severus," she said, making sure her voice was gentle, not mocking, and that she held his eyes when he looked at her. "What is it?"

He shut his eyes and sat still for a long moment. Lines of weariness sagged around his face. Minerva frowned. How did I not notice those? He looks as if he has had many sleepless nights.

"I am afraid, Minerva," he said, hissing out that word as if it were an embarrassing sexual disease. "Is that what you wished to hear? Do you truly want to know how little I look forward to going into battle here, or having Harry do it for me?"

"The only students who will remain until Midsummer have their parents' permission to fight in the battle, and they've been improving as duelists under Alastor's tutelage," said Minerva, looking towards the end of the table where the old Auror sat. He was engaged in an argument with Rhangnara, setting out his cutlery to resemble the position of solders. Minerva shook her head in amusement. "And this time, Harry is choosing the ground, and has a great many allies at his back. Don't worry, Severus. In one way, this is madness, drawing Voldemort to Hogwarts. But he never tried to attack a target so strong and well-defended during the First War. He'll have a hard time taking us, and would even if we didn't have Harry with us."

"It is still risky," Severus whispered. "I still wish that we were drawing him anywhere but here."

Minerva patted his hand. "I know, Severus. Most of the time, events happen so quickly around Harry that it's hard to take stock of them before they're over. But this time, there are others with you to see your child go into battle, and even other parents to share your worries with." She looked down at the Hufflepuff table, where Mrs. Smith sat with her son, Zacharias, and conversed with him. Most of the students near her watched with awed eyes.

"My child?"

Severus was actually spluttering. Minerva concealed her smile as she looked at him and said, "Well, Severus, if he isn't your son, what would you call him?"

"He—I—"

Minerva shook her head and rose to her feet. The students were at once silent, gazing expectantly at her. Minerva saw more than one tight grin of anticipation at the Slytherin table, especially on the faces of the first-years. It was a good thing that some of them were children still, she thought, and worried more about tiny school matters than about war.

"As with the end of every year," she said, "there comes the presentation of the House Cup. In fourth place, with two hundred seventy-six points, is Ravenclaw House."

Polite applause echoed through the Great Hall. Filius's House ducked their heads and muttered something. Ravenclaw never had really recovered from the vicious point-taking it had received after the other professors discovered that the majority of the students hexing Harry had come from that House; Filius himself had reduced their points to zero when he realized just how many people had realized they were learning Dark Arts but hadn't approached him. There was a limit to how much Dumbledore's spell could excuse them, he said sternly when Minerva asked him about it. They had done well to earn this many points back.

"In third place, with three hundred seven points, Gryffindor House."

Again, more polite applause. Minerva allowed herself a moment of pure, indulgent House pride as she gazed at her lions. They had tried, incredibly hard, especially after she had cast Remus out and they no longer had a true Head to give them points. But they had fallen short of Hufflepuff thanks to the antics of the Weasley twins, among others. Minerva had to admit she was looking forward to seeing the twins leave after the Midsummer battle. Now that they had the thousand Galleons they'd received from Harry, they could do something actually productive in the world, as well as plague someone else.

"In second place, with three hundred eighteen points, Hufflepuff House."

Loud cheering from Pomona's House, which hadn't got that many points in some time. Mrs. Smith gave her son a glance, and Zacharias dropped his hands from applauding and shut his mouth. It comforted Minerva to know there was at least one person in the world who could control him.

"And in first place, and the winners of the House Cup with three hundred ninety points, Slytherin House."

She waved her wand, and the banners along the walls turned green, while Severus's House indulged in self-congratulatory smirks, bowing their heads as the other Houses clapped for them. A pair of first-years hugged each other in excitement, and were dragged apart in moments by Millicent Bulstrode. The lines of worry in Harry's face eased a bit. Minerva hoped he was thinking of things he had done to help his House earn those points, because there had been many.

"And now, enjoy dessert!" Minerva waved her wand again, and the food cleared rapidly from everyone's plates, reappearing as chocolate cake. Most of the students began gulping it down. Minerva sat down and began sampling hers at a more leisurely pace.

A swift glance at Severus revealed that he had a faint smile on his face, a mocking sneer, of course. He glanced at her and said, as sweetly as he was capable of saying anything, "Better luck with the House Cup next year, Minerva."

"Actually," said Minerva, pausing to take a swallow of pumpkin juice, "I don't consider myself Head of Gryffindor any more. Lupin didn't work out, but the person I've hired to take his place will."

"Hired to take his place?" She knew his eyes would be narrow; she hadn't mentioned this before. "And who would that be?"

"Peter Pettigrew," said Minerva comfortably.

Severus choked in a most satisfying manner.

The next day, Harry woke up slowly. He thought about skipping breakfast in the Great Hall. He and the other students staying until Midsummer had no classes, of course, just their dueling lessons and their plans for the battle. No one said that he had to go to the Great Hall on time now.

In the end, though, he decided to venture there. The other students were leaving directly after breakfast, and he wanted to say goodbye to those friends and acquaintances who hadn't received permission to stay, like Ginny, Hermione, and Ron.

He stood and stretched, and that small movement was enough to cause Draco to stir, poking his head through the bed curtains. Harry didn't give him credit for being fully awake yet, though, because he mumbled, "Want company in the loo, Harry?"

"Go back to sleep until your head clears," Harry retorted, and headed for the shower, Argutus draped around his shoulders in dozing coils of silver and white.

He had just turned the shower on when sharp claws raked his right arm. Harry stumbled back in shock, staring down at the cuts. He watched as they froze over in moments, the ice only growing thicker despite the heat of the water that pounded on them.

When he looked up, the bird with the toothed beak and lizard-like tail was crouching on the far wall of the room, wings fluttering in time to its derisive, jerky laughter.

You haven't learned the truth yet, have you? it asked, and extended one claw, bright with his blood. You haven't learned how to dissolve the bond that links us, and at this point, with every mark you bear, the chance of your learning becomes less and less.

"I thought you said there was no way to dissolve it," said Harry, careful to keep his voice low so that there was less chance of waking Draco and Blaise. "That we were bound no matter what happened. You seemed rather upset about that."

You understand nothing of what has happened. If you knew what I was, you would still reject me, because you are that way. You set harsh limits on yourself. You know nothing of what lies ahead of you, at the end of the dark road. The bird cawed its laughter again, scarlet eyes fastened on his face. And when someone tries to teach you the necessary lessons, you shrink into yourself and lash out. You are weak. That shall be your downfall.

Harry didn't see the worth of responding. He looked at the cuts on his arm again. Like the others, they were parallel claw marks, a few inches apart, and the numbing cold from them hurt worse than the pain and had already frozen the blood. They would have icy scabs for a time, but the scabs would heal and fall off. Argutus, shifting on his shoulders, didn't even seem concerned about them, but then, Harry didn't think Argutus could see the bird.

Weakness, and limitations, and the end of the dark road, the bird told him, and then raised its wings and flew across the loo at his head. As Harry ducked to avoid it, it vanished, breaking apart as if the water were the sun and it were mist.

Harry shivered and ran his clawed arm under warm water to somewhat take away the sting. He didn't think it was worth listening to what the bird babbled about. For all he knew, this was some trick of Voldemort's, come to coax him into relaxing the bindings on his magic, so that Harry himself would be swallowed up by the Dark and violent parts of his power.

"But where do you think she is?"

"I don't know, Draco," Harry snapped absently as he crossed the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table with his boyfriend beside him. "Maybe she didn't feel well, or maybe she decided to enjoy the first day of summer holidays and sleep in. It's not that unusual for Pansy to miss breakfast, you know."

Draco didn't look satisfied, but just then Owen moved up to Harry's side, and he actually growled and tried to shove him away. Harry caught Draco's hand and Owen's amused eye, and shook his head at both of them.

"Was there something you wanted, Owen?"

"Yes," said Owen. "I wanted to know if you'd like us to show some of the Dark Arts we learned at Durmstrang to the dueling club."

Harry hesitated. He could well imagine that Moody wouldn't like it, but they could do it when Moody wasn't there; he preferred to split the dueling club into halves now, working with the less successful students and leaving the better ones to Harry. Owen and Michael would be able to demonstrate to their heart's content in front of people like Cho and Zacharias, who wouldn't breathe a word to Moody.

"All right," Harry muttered. "But make sure no word of this gets back to Auror Moody."

Owen and Michael nodded and shivered simultaneously. Harry smiled at them, dropped Draco's hand, and turned just in time to receive a bone-crushing hug from Hermione.

"Don't you dare die," she whispered to him. Harry didn't think she would have been quite as affectionate if he hadn't been going to battle, but, after all, he was, and her parents hadn't let her stay to see it. "It wouldn't be fair, or right. You have so much still to do."

Harry gently patted her back. "I won't, Hermione," he said. "I'll do my best to survive, just for you."

She sniffled once and hugged him harder, then let him go and turned to Draco. "I suppose that goes for you too, Malfoy," she said. Her voice was perfectly ungracious, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

"So glad to have your good opinion, Granger," said Draco, but he inclined his head to her, though he wore no matching smile.

Harry turned to receive a handshake from Ron and a half-hug from Ginny. "I wish Mum had let us stay," said Ron, frowning. "But she said that the twins were old enough to risk their lives, and we weren't." Resentment curdled his voice for just a moment before he brightened and recovered. "Be sure to tell us all about the battle in letters, mate, all right?"

Ginny nodded fervently, though her eyes, aimed over Harry's shoulder, were scanning the room for Blaise. "I want to know how all the spells from our club got used," she told Harry.

"I promise I'll remember," said Harry. It was amazing how easy it was to laugh and joke with people who wouldn't be here to see Midsummer, he thought, while he could hardly speak of anything but deeply serious strategy to the people who would stay.

"Good." Ginny gave him a second nod, and then went in search of her boyfriend. Harry turned to say goodbye to Neville. His grandmother had considered giving him permission to stay, but in the end had decided that she would rather have her grandson beside her.

Neville flushed with pleasure when Harry reminded him about his promise to find a counter for Indigena Yaxley's plants. "I'll send you the seedlings as soon as I have a viable plant, Harry," he said, his eyes glinting with excitement. "I'm not far from breeding one to counter the vines that stop wandless magic, I think."

"Good for you, Neville!" Harry said, and his ears flushed even more.

Harry turned away to bid farewell to the others, telling himself he could relax and ignore other pressing duties until noon. When he was done here, he intended to go up to the Astronomy Tower and watch the carriages that would bear them to the Hogsmeade Station safely out of sight.

"I think I can see Neville," Harry said, leaning forward and putting his hand over his eyes. Draco tugged him back from the edge of the Tower—not gently. Owen and Michael, who'd accompanied them there, had stirred uneasily, but they settled back when Draco pulled on Harry's robe. Harry supposed he was making them nervous, but he didn't really see why. It wasn't as though a wind were blowing, and the eastern sky behind them gleamed with the colors of the Light's blessing on their coming battle.

"You can't see Longbottom," snorted Draco. "With those weak eyes of yours, Harry? It's a miracle you see the Snitch."

Harry ignored him, watching the carriages as they trundled onwards. He could see the thestrals that pulled them, and so, he guessed, could everyone else on the Tower with them. He wondered idly what the students inside the carriages who'd never witnessed a death thought. Didn't they ever get curious about what made the vehicles move? Of course, they probably just assumed it was magic.

It was a glorious June morning, with the sun sparkling off the lake's water and the dew on the grass and several thousand other things that Harry wouldn't have imagined it could find an excuse to sparkle off. Harry experienced a moment of pure longing that he wasn't in one of those carriages, going home to an ordinary family who loved him, laughing and joking with his brother, and perhaps trying to play a swift game of Exploding Snap before they arrived at the station.

Then he told himself firmly not to be an idiot. What he had wasn't the destiny he would have chosen, but there were much worse ones.

"Come on, Harry," Draco said. "I'm bored."

Harry lingered a moment longer, though, determined to watch the carriages out of sight. The lead one hadn't gone far yet, just passing the edge of the lake.

He felt the moment when the wards vanished, the magic sucked out of them. He jerked up straight, his heart so loud in his ears that the sound of it hurt. That cannot mean what I think it means. It cannot—

And then the Death Eaters came out of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry thought he screamed. Draco grabbed his arm, and Owen and Michael grabbed his cloak, as if to hold him back from diving off the Tower. Harry knew he was fighting them, filled with conflicting impulses—to summon his Firebolt and get down there, to warn McGonagall, to shout until all the professors realized what was going on and spilled forth from the castle—

And then it was already too late. The first Death Eaters had aimed their wands and cried out the Killing Curse, and blasts of green light struck the first carriage. Harry heard a terrified scream that cut off in mid-note. Someone was dead.

The Death Eaters were running with their cloaks billowing behind them. They wrenched open the doors of the carriage and dragged bodies, two of them, small enough to be second-years, out of it. Then they manhandled the two struggling, shrieking survivors to the ground. More Death Eaters were coming out of the Forest, aiming their wands in curses that worked to stop the coaches and send the thestrals rearing and tossing their heads. Screams shattered the morning.

Harry's magic flared out of control. He used it to tear free of the grip of all three people holding him, and ran for the stairs down from the Astronomy Tower. The same thing was happening that had happened in the Forbidden Forest, that had happened in the woods where the magic had taken them for Walpurgis Night and let them hunt a white stag; the stones yielded in front of him, walls turned to misty remembrances of themselves, and he ran more quickly than anything mortal possibly could have.

He was calling even as he ran, intoning the Summoning Charm in his head again and again, and hallway down the stairs, his Firebolt met him. Harry swung his leg over it, and in a moment he was zipping down the stairs faster than his feet could ever have taken him, hunched small on the broom so as not to bump into anyone who might be pounding up or down the stairs in search of him.

There came the moment when Voldemort did something more than swallow the wards. His magic felt like a vast, dark, rearing wave, clouding half the sky. Harry felt him begin to swallow the magic from those students the Death Eaters had captured, and even through the stone, their cries seemed to reach him.

Harry reached the doors of the entrance hall at last, and blasted outward. The wards that McGonagall had put around the castle itself sparkled ahead of him, tightening as they tried to insure that no enemies could reach Hogwarts. Harry, not without regret, threw his magic forward, tearing a hole that he closed behind him when he was on the other side, and curled out over the grounds, moving towards the line of carriages and the Death Eaters wrestling students out of them.

Even as he moved, he saw a flare of magic from beside one of the carriages, the first sign of someone fighting back. It was Neville, his rage and fear lending him incredible strength. Harry saw one Death Eater go flying backwards, struck by something that appeared to be a forked lightning bolt. Then Neville turned and tugged the little girl that Death Eater had been holding towards him, shielding her with his body as he began running madly towards the castle.

Other spells struck across the battlefield. Death Eaters were burning with Ardesco, and staggering from the gusts of wind that came with Ventus. Harry saw Ron leading a troop of younger Gryffindor students back towards Hogwarts, and Ginny, her red hair streaming, staying behind to stand guard for three Ravenclaw first-years, who ran screaming and crying for safety.

"Harry!"

He swung his head. That was Hermione, motioning him frantically towards a carriage that had stopped at the edge of the lake. Harry dived, and caught a glimpse of a startled Death Eater, long blonde hair appearing from under her hood, holding a wand to Luna's temple.

Harry didn't ask himself about right or wrong; he simply lashed out, forming his magic into a snake, and swallowed the Death Eater's magic. She was crying as she staggered and dropped to one knee. Luna stepped away from her, looking vaguely puzzled. Hermione seized her hand and ran for Hogwarts.

Harry kicked back into the sky, half-dizzy with his newly-acquired power, looking around frantically for Voldemort. Dark power roared like a black flame behind him as he swung over the lake, and Harry turned that way.

Merlin knew how he'd assembled them that quickly, but Voldemort was there with a dozen children ranged in front of him, all of them either first-years or extremely small second-years. Harry hovered to a stop as he saw the magic blazing around them. A Dark Arts curse, he knew that, but not one he recognized.

Voldemort laughed softly. He wore no more intimidating garment than a dark cloak, but his magic draped hissing over him like a hundred serpents, and filled the day with an oppression that reminded Harry of Midwinter. His face remained bowed, but, coiled at his feet, a serpent made of stitched-together flesh reared. Its eyes were scarlet, and it stared directly at Harry. Harry knew what Voldemort was using to see, now.

"Such a simple test, Harry," Voldemort crooned. "I know that I cannot kill you until Midsummer, but you could make matters much simpler if you came to me and yielded yourself now. Your life for these children's, shall we say?" He waved a lazy hand, and the curse around them flared with obscene black life, letting Harry recognize it.

Life-Web. Harry felt his pulse pick up, hammering in his throat. Shit.

The Life-Web would tie up to twenty people together, and put the rein of their combined life-force in the caster's hand. He could will them to die at any moment, and they would. He could will them pain. He could will them suffering. He could will them to go mad. Harry had encountered mention of it when he was looking up ways to break Ariadne's Web; he thought Voldemort hadn't used it at Durmstrang only because the school was too big.

And it was another spell, like the Fisher King Curse Augustus had used on Adalrico, that could only be broken by the original caster.

"It tempts you, doesn't it, Harry?" Voldemort whispered, and tugged the tendril of black light that ran to his fingers. One girl, a Slytherin first-year whom Harry vaguely recognized, fell, face running with tears, too terrified even to scream. Harry thought her leg was broken. "Your life for theirs. Come closer, come lower, come to me, and I'll dismiss the Life-Web. I'll let them run home to their parents and have a normal life again."

"You're lying," said Harry, but his voice shook, and he could feel his body tingle with his own helplessness. Draco's words rang in his ears, asking what would happen if Voldemort ever tempted him to sacrifice his life for a dozen children he held captive. Would he be able to resist the temptation?

"You can't take that chance, can you?" Voldemort asked, and a boy in Gryffindor robes began to scream and scream, his limbs extending around him as if stretched on an invisible rack. Harry cast a healing spell in his general direction; other magic could still affect victims in a Life-Web, until the caster noticed it and refused to permit it. But Voldemort was obviously watching for anything that would spare the children, and after only a moment of relief, the boy went back to crying out.

Harry reached out sharply, trying to drain the magic that composed the Life-Web. It flared back at him, and flung his absorbere abilities away. Voldemort chuckled. "The laws of magic are absolute, Harry," he said. "When they say that this curse cannot be broken except by the one who cast it, that holds true for anything that you might do to try and break it."

Harry became aware of other screams behind him. He had to turn and help the others. He had to protect the people fleeing to the castle. Even if the professors and his allies had come out to help—and he was unsure if McGonagall would be willing to lower the wards for that, what she would decide was the greater danger—there were still too many Death Eaters, over a hundred on the grounds already, and more flooding out of the Forbidden Forest. He had to do things other than hover over Voldemort and make impossible choices about a dozen children in a Life-Web.

But he could not leave them, either.

His vision narrowed to a tiny point, and the broomstick spun dangerously. Harry grabbed and steadied it, and heard Voldemort laugh.

"Well, Harry? What is it to be? What is your choice?"

Harry could attack Voldemort, but that glittering dark power draped over him, augmented by the magic he'd swallowed from Hogwarts students, said he wouldn't win. And even if he managed, by some miracle, to kill Voldemort, that wouldn't break the Life-Web. The children would most likely follow him into death, if what Harry remembered from reading about Life-Webs where the caster died was true.

Shouts sounded from behind him. Intermingled among the cries of pain and desperation were equally desperate, equally pained shouts of his name.

The world roared around him, and for every moment that passed while he dithered, someone else got hurt.

He had to choose.

Harry forced his eyes open, and chose.

Other magic could still affect victims in a Life-Web, until the caster noticed it and refused to permit it. Harry struck quickly, therefore, intoning the words in his head as his eyes moved from child to child.

Adsulto cordis. Adsulto cordis. Adsulto cordis.

The Gryffindor boy was the first to stop screaming, as the Heart Attack Spell killed him. Then went the Slytherin girl, whose face smoothed into an expression of blank surprise out of screaming about her broken leg. Then the Hufflepuff girl next to them, falling over without a gasp.

Voldemort, the snake's eyes fixed on Harry, didn't notice what was happening at first, and then he cried out in a mixture of rage and shock. Harry felt his magic shifting, trying to figure out what spell was doing this and block it. He was obviously hindered by his own belief that Harry would never kill anyone when he could rescue them, however, and for long moments the spell was still able to get through.

Harry, his eyes wide, dry, aching, feeling each heartbeat burst in his ears, flare and then die like a firework, hoped he had made the right choice, quick death over endless suffering that would not have ended, he thought, even if he gave himself up, because if he had not made the right choice it was too much to bear, and he killed the last first-year in the Life-Web just as Voldemort caught on to what was happening and moved to will their hearts back to normal. Then he snarled, and his magic rose after Harry like a spitting dragon.

Harry wheeled, sending the Firebolt towards the battlefield, and curving his absorbere gift around him like another Argutus, draping it from his shoulders and letting it swallow the magic of all the Death Eaters it could grab. The ones chasing the children who were running for Hogwarts noticed the difference first, and began to scream themselves, in primal pain and shock. Then Harry was among those who thought something was wrong and swung to look at him, and rapidly ripping away their strength, making it dwindle to nothing, in some cases, and making some wizards almost Squibs in others before they could Apparate away. And all the while, Voldemort's power ravened at his back.

Swollen with new magic, Harry swung around and met Voldemort with a tremendous slap that he thought echoed in the ears of everyone all across Hogwarts's grounds. Harry felt Voldemort reel back, and followed that with another slap, one that he knew came close to reaching into his enemy's magical core. The sky shook around him, blazing with strange light, and he heard thunder and screaming in his ears.

Voldemort leaned back from him, leery—either of his power or of the prophecy, Harry didn't know—and Harry turned once more, this time using the stolen power to drape over and secure the last run of the last students to Hogwarts. McGonagall had lowered the wards on the castle, after all, and opened the doors of the entrance hall, and Harry could see the professors running out, grabbing students' arms and pulling them inside, casting spells to hinder the few Death Eaters still after them, and repairing the wards again once the students managed to cross to safety. Harry scanned the grounds, saw a witch in a white mask chasing a group of Ravenclaws, and poured his boiling rage down a channel at her. She ceased to exist in the next moment, and the Ravenclaws made it, huddling behind Professor Sprout as she swept them all inside.

Harry did not know how many would have died if he had not turned when he did. He knew exactly how many had died because he had hesitated so long, though. When he faced the carnage, he could count the smaller bodies littered on the ground. Students dead and drained of their magic, and, by the lake, dead because he had chosen to kill them.

The world was spinning gently within his head, and his vision widened and then narrowed again, and his breath came in gasps. He did not know whether he had made the right decision, but he knew one thing.

If I had not chosen to lure him to Hogwarts on Midsummer Day, he would never have come here at all, and they would still be alive.

Guilt piled on top of him until Harry felt the need to bow his shoulders, but he remained hovering instead, staring towards Voldemort. If he intended to launch an attack now, then Harry would have to be ready to meet it.

Instead, Voldemort cast Sonorus, so that everyone in Hogwarts could hear his voice.

"I want Harry Potter," his voice said, from every corner and every direction. "He is the price for your lives. Each and every one of you will live if you stay in the castle until Midsummer, and then each and every one of you will die if you attempt to shield Harry Potter from me. No one hurts the Lord Voldemort as he has and lives, but Lord Voldemort keeps his promises. You have thirteen days to think on this. Come Midsummer morning, I will attack without mercy." Then his voice vanished.

Harry waited, but Voldemort was striding back across the battlefield, the flesh-snake slithering beside him from the look of it, and the surviving Death Eaters had retreated into the Forbidden Forest. Harry, his chest heaving, looked at the students' bodies and wondered if it was safe to recover them.

A moment later, every body in sight began to bubble with black liquid and turn putrid. Harry swallowed back bile as he watched them dissolve, liquefy into floating purple and green globs. He had to turn his back to keep from losing his breakfast, at the smell and the sight and the knowledge that Voldemort had done this specifically so that no bodies could be brought back to the parents.

Harry remained hovering for some moments, both to keep guard and to count. Fifty-one, plus the dozen at the lake…

Sixty-three. Sixty-three people I've killed.

He flew back towards Hogwarts, through the last hole in the wards, which closed the moment he was inside. He landed near the entrance hall, and, as if in a dream, felt someone hugging him. He didn't turn, didn't look up to find out who it was, probably Draco or Snape, or maybe Connor. It didn't matter. Remembering the choice and the number was what mattered.

I made the choice. I don't know if it was the right one. And there will certainly be people in Hogwarts who want to turn me over to Voldemort, in hopes that he'll keep his promise and let them live. He won't, of course, but that's what they could think will happen. And they'll see his not attacking Hogwarts as a powerful man's choice, rather than, as it is really is, fear and the belief that he can't kill me until Midsummer anyway.

Thirteen days of siege.

This will be hard.

And I do not know if I made the right choice.