'Arthur!' Harry burst into Arthur Weasley's office, panting, 'I know where the last Horcrux is!'
'Wha -? Harry, what did you just say?'
'The – last – Horcrux! I know where it is! I'm going to need all the Aurors that can be mustered in one minute and then we're off!'
'What?'
'No time. Who are in the office?'
'Um... Fleur, Hermione, Tonks, Shaklebolt, Dean, Ron. Wait – Harry!'
But Harry had already disappeared behind the next door, where he barked at the Aurors drinking tea to get up and get ready.
Harry thanked the famous Auror training – his colleagues asked nothing at all. They merely jumped to their feet, and as soon as Harry told them where to go, they were all off.
Despite the fact that Harry knew where the hiding place was, the rancid stench of Dark magic came as a surprise. It was horribly acidic, corrosive, burning mouth and tongue alike, making breathing a laborious and, if not really a painful, but certainly an unpleasant business.
They were in a house. Somewhere in the south of Ireland, Harry knew. A dingy, run-down, dilapidated house with peeling wallpaper and rotting linoleum and ceilings that had once been white and were now covered with something that looked that soot.
It would have been absolutely quiet if it had not been for the distinct, and angry, voices of what was probably a whole dozen Deatheaters in the adjacent room.
'Crabbe, you jerk! I told you it wouldn't work'
'How was I supposed to know the bloody thing has a Warding Shield around it! It's invisible!'
'Shut up, will you? Lord Voldemort said it was urgent!'
'Well if you're so clever you go and get it!' the first two voices said together.
'Well, I've never credited them with an overabundance of brains,' Harry muttered. Hermione, who was nearest him, stifled a smile.
Harry beckoned at his companions, making them huddle around him.
'Okay, we don't know how many are there. Could be three, could be twenty - '
'- there will be, knowing our luck -' Ron commented.
'- so I say we go in there and improvise-'
'- meaning be cannon-fodder-'
'- will you shut up, Ron?'
Ron closed his mouth, huffily. Tonks giggled nervously.
'Are you willing to take that risk, Harry?' Shaklebolt's calm voice had a strangely soothing effect.
Harry thought of Draco's lovely, pale face - his pale, aristocratic, refined beauty, haughty eyes and sarcastic remarks. A warm smile flashed across his face.
'Yes. I am,' he answered, and not for a single moment was there any hesitation, 'are you all with me?'
'If you are sure,' in the half-light, Fleur resembled a fairy princess of some sort even
more – even in Bill's oversized shirt an dirty combats, 'I am.'
Dean shrugged, indicating he too was in. Tonks winked merrily. Shaklebolt placed an encouraging hand on Harry's shoulder. Hermione nodded.
Harry turned to Ron.
'If you'd rather -'
'Don't be daft,' Ron cut across him, ''course I'm with you. Always was, wasn't I?'
Harry grinned, but a second later he turned professional.
'Fleur and Tonks, you take the left. Dean and Shaklebolt – the right. I will take the centre. Ron and Hermi – I want you to keep the rear.'
'Harry, I think you'd be able to use -' Hermione flushed at the thought of being left behind.
'Hermi, stay. You're my best friends. I've lost enough already, so you two will stay here, where it is safe. Besides, you have the baby to think of now. No heroics, either of you – promise?'
Ron looked less than happy when he heard this, but Hermione lowered her eyes - she had to admit he was right. Even though she hated having to admit this.
'Good luck,' he said finally, and took a step forward.
Upon his mark they launched their attack. Harry swept into the room, and immediately realized that he should have listened to Ron. No, there were not twenty. There were about three dozen Deatheaters, all packed into the cavernous hall - which seemed like a tiny place from the outside.
They could hardly say 'sorry, mistake' and leave, could they? So Harry flung himself at the nearest Deatheater, tackling the man who was twice as big as him. The element of surprise worked – for a few precious seconds the Deatheaters did nothing.
Harry stunned three as he went, trying to fight him way to the centre of the room. However, this proved to be difficult once the Deatheaters realized what exactly was happening. Sending spells right, left and centre, without really realizing what he was doing or what exactly he was casting, Harry let his anger loose. Every bit of frustration and hatred he had felt in the last few days was set free. He had no idea how he managed to parry most of the spells, had no idea how he dodged and flung himself aside and ducked and jumped and lunged. He felt strangely separated from his body – like he wasn't really controlling it. The instincts, the primal, animalistic desire to live took over and he could not do anything about it.
He glimpsed Tonks and Hermione, back-to-back, surrounded by Deatheaters, Fleur swearing in French as spell after spell erupted from her wand. Tonks, a wide, almost maniacal smile on her face, as she jinxed enemy after enemy. Something caught her arm and her jacket sleeve became red, but she did not seem to notice.
He heard a yelp fo pain and was pretty sure it was Dean's, but his attention was immediately diverted by a the sight of six Deatheaters grouped in the centre of the room. They were guarding something. Something he had to get to.
Wishing he had his Invisibility Cloak now, Harry shouted 'Expelliarmus Forte!', which cleared his way a little. He was a few metres closer now, but was surrounded by an almost solid wall of Deatheaters, who were not yet attacking him, but had such bloodthirsty looks on their faces that he was sure they would be more than glad to. He had about a split second to decide on his next action.
Fleur screamed somewhere behind him. Harry fought the instinct to run to her, but forced himself to stay put. A single Deatheater separated himself from the mass of black.
'Give up, Potter,' her voice was low and familiar. The woman who had murdered Sirius, all those years ago.
If Harry had been angry before, now he was beyond angry. He reached such an intense level of loathing and fear that they simply disappeared, leaving his mind calm and rational.
'I'd rather die,' he said coldly, brandishing his wand.
'My pleasure,' she laughed.
A flash of green. Harry ducked, and it passed above him, singing his hair. Another flash. He rolled sideways, knocking a few Deatheaters off their feet as he went.
Jumping up, he sent a spell at her, but missed, simply making her stagger. She laughed. Disapparating and Apparating in the next instant right in front of him. Harry smiled, a smile that was Slytherin-y in every way. And then she attacked.
He watched the Avada Kedevra fly at him, watched it calmly as it hit his chest and bounced off him. The woman had not realized he had put up a shield. She fell with a low thud, and her unseeing eyes became fixed on the ceiling...
