Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!

WARNING: Gore.

Chapter Eighty-Three: Night of Terror

Falco came from the sky, with the Dark running behind him.

It had taken the form of a huge black wolf, which Falco supposed was as acceptable as any other. He was a Dark Lord now, and Dark Lords should find pleasure in ravening beasts—and this wolf resembled a werewolf more than a wild, natural creature—and the color black. That he could not take much pleasure from them was a failing in him. But he fully intended to die tonight anyway. The plan was that he would not die until he had forced Harry to Declare for Light.

And that plan, itself, was simple. Falco would inflict a wound on Harry that he needed more than his own magic to heal. To draw on such a source of power, he would have to reach for either Light or Dark, and the Dark would be fully occupied helping Falco. The Light would have to enter the world, and for it to do so on Walpurgis Night would require either a sacrifice, such as Harry had offered of his phoenix last Midwinter, or a Declaration. He knew which one Harry was more likely to choose.

There were several things that could go wrong. Falco did not intend to let them go wrong. If nothing else, the Dark would help him, such as destroying those spells of lesser power that Harry might try to use. It had taken the form of not just a wolf, but one with his own green eyes, showing him that it honored him.

Falco glanced at the wolf one more time, and then turned swiftly back to stare.

For a moment, just a moment, he had thought there was a silver lightning bolt cutting the intense black fur of the wolf's forehead. The mark resembled the scar on Harry's brow too much for Falco's comfort.

Then he realized the mark came from a shroud of silver light the wolf was pulling with it, drawing strength from the stars and the dark spaces between them where their beams wandered. Falco shook his head and faced the ground again, telling himself not to be ridiculous.

The Dark snarled eagerly beside him. Falco reached out and put one hand on its neck, feeling the incredible power surging beneath the soft mockery of fur.

And feeling that—well. It would have been inhuman for him not to feel a bit excited, not to look forward to the expression on Harry's face when they both curved down.

On they traveled, towards the point where the immense, mysterious backroads of the Dark opened into the mortal night of the British wizarding world.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry was already looking around when Millicent landed them at the Walpurgis celebration, the largest concentration of Dark magic in Britain. He relaxed when he saw no sign of Falco yet, and then gave a second, longer look around, because what he did see was bizarre enough, he had to admit.

The magic always chose silver-and-green destinations for them—most of the time, Harry thought, entirely created of the magic, or perhaps modified from their normal appearances. He had been in a smooth green hollow where a silver fire burned, and in a field of lilies and grass, and in a forest last year, when he chased the wild Dark in the form of a white stag. This one was stranger than the others.

It looked to be a desert, with slick, dark green rocks twisting in every direction, forming shapes that maddeningly remained on the edge of recognition, very much the way that clouds did. Gleams of silver struck from the top of the rocks, gleamed from crannies under them, danced on the occasional flat surface as if the dark green were not stone at all but polished metal. No matter where Harry looked, there was silver light, and his eyes finally made out a ring of stars, low and clustered around the horizon, taking every opportunity to shine between the stones. It was—well, it was eerie.

He waited for some sense of the wild Dark to overcome him, since it usually changed the celebrants' moods, but nothing happened. He felt the same mixture of fear and anger and quiet confidence that he had when he walked out of the magic of the stone Millicent had used to bring them.

It was impossible to think he wasn't affected. Easier, perhaps, to believe that the wild Dark's mood and his coincided.

Harry nibbled his lip. I don't know if I dare believe that, though. I have no idea if we're going to get that much help from the wild Dark.

"Harry!"

He looked up, and felt the sweat of relief prickling around his body. Someone had lit a fire, and many wizards and witches stood around it, warming their hands against the intense chill air of the desert. As Harry hurried towards them, snow began to drift down around them—shattered flakes of pure silver, of course. When they landed on his skin, Harry shivered and cast a warming charm. It didn't seem to help.

He had the impression that the stars were staring at him through the gaps in the rock, awaiting some recognition, some challenge, some conclusion. The dark spaces between them rippled when he watched. Harry hissed between his teeth. Falco will come from the sky. I'm certain of it.

Draco and Snape were a few steps behind him, no more, when he arrived at the fire. Many of the faces there were unfamiliar, but a small contingent of wizards and witches who had drawn off by themselves came forward to meet him. Harry recognized most of his Dark-Declared allies, and exchanged nods with them. Honoria's eyes were shining with excitement, and Thomas seemed more interested in sifting the sand beneath his feet to find out what it was made of than in paying attention to an upcoming battle, but the others were grim.

"Do you think we'll be able to help you?" Ignifer asked softly, so that the strangers could not overhear.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. The prophecy might not tolerate interference at all, or it might accept a low level." As if speaking of it had called his attention to it, he could feel the prophecy now, a sweet charged thunder, prowling around the distant ring of stars like a living thing in a cage. Well, it is a living thing, almost, with the way it shifts. "On the other hand, it let Dumbledore do almost what he wanted last year, until the moment when Draco arrived and the actual prophecy began to work. There'll have to be a different sequence of events this time, since I'm ready and waiting for Falco."

He kept to himself his fear that the prophecy would allow Falco to hurt someone dear to him before it looped him and Draco in to begin the destruction of the second Dark Lord. If it had happened one time, it might happen the next time. He would have forbidden his allies to come if this had been any other time but Walpurgis, he thought—and then he pictured what would have happened if he'd tried that, and sighed. No, he wouldn't have been able to do it, not when they had their free wills.

"The attack will be from above, I think," he said, reaching back and feeling the reassuring weight of Draco's shoulder beneath his hand. "Do you see the way the sky is rippling beneath the stars?"

"More than that," said Hawthorn suddenly. "Can you smell the scent of the wolf approaching closer and closer?"

Harry glanced at her in startlement. She'd risen until she stood on her toes, her head back, her nose working. It was only a few days past the full moon, so Harry supposed he wasn't surprised that she could still use a werewolf's sense of smell to good effect, but—

A wolf? Like the one that greeted me the night when I freed the thestrals? Like the one that tried to take me into the Dark the night I lost my hand?

What is the wild Dark playing at?

He probably wouldn't know until it was too late, Harry had to concede, and mentally, he forced himself to live with that. "I can't smell the wolf, no," he told Hawthorn. "Does it resemble a werewolf pack or an ordinary wolf?"

Two more sniffs, and Hawthorn settled back on her heels, looking frustrated. "The scent's turned," she said. "I have no idea where it went. It's as though it ducked into a strong-running stream or a wind coming straight towards me."

Harry touched her elbow. "That's all right. You've been more than helpful. Just knowing that the wild Dark is coming in the form of a wolf might give me more of a clue to help defeat it." He doubted it, since everything he knew about the wild Dark was both advantage and disadvantage. It had behaved that way in the past, but it was so chaotic that it might never do so again, or it might turn back and use a mixture of traits that had helped it before. He faced Adalrico. "Did you bring the wards that I asked you for, sir?"

Adalrico nodded and held them out. Harry gathered them up. They were not, precisely, wards, but half-bracelets of wood and leather that grasped a forearm and sheltered those who wore them from most powerful spells. It also limited the wearer's ability to perform defensive magic, but most Dark magic didn't fall under that category, making Harry hope it was all right to use them on Walpurgis. He had known Adalrico was clever at making things, and had asked him if he could manage something like this for everyone who would be at the celebration. If nothing else, it would keep Adalrico's mind off Pharos Starrise, whom, Millicent had told him in confidence, he was spending far too much time thinking about.

"Good," Harry murmured, passing them out one by one. He hesitated when he came to Draco, though. He wasn't sure if Draco's part in the prophecy meant that he couldn't wear one of the bracelets.

Draco met his eyes and shook his head. "No, Harry," he said quietly. "In this, we're equal, and if you have to cast a spell that defends me, I should be able to do the same for you."

Narcissa sucked in a breath, but when Harry glanced at her, she was silent, eyes even shining with something that might have been pride. Harry turned away and went on passing the bracelets out. He heard the sound of them going home around wrists, and then someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He glanced up. One of the strange wizards who had huddled around the fire stood there. He coughed. "Might—might we know what will happen?" he asked.

Harry smiled grimly and nodded to the sky. "You know that a Dark Lord is coming?"

The wizard's hand tightened around his wand. "We could feel as much, yes," he murmured.

"And a prophecy," Harry said quietly, "claims that I'm the one who will defeat that Dark Lord. To stay absolutely out of danger, you probably should have stayed home. You can still Apparate there." He held out the small remaining number of bracelets. "Some of you can wear these. Otherwise, get yourselves under the strongest shield you can find, and hope the battle doesn't touch you."

"This is somewhat outrageous, you know," the wizard said stiffly, even as he took the bracelets from Harry. "Walpurgis is a celebration for all Dark wizards. It should not be interrupted by struggles from a few, and it certainly should not mean danger for those who attend it."

Harry raised an eyebrow, the odd combination of his own mood and the mood the Dark seemed to have planned for him raising his confidence. "It's always dangerous," he said. "Given the magic running around on this night and the doorway that appears. As for not taking place here, tell that to the prophecy prowling the sky." He could feel it drawing nearer now, as if its pacing circles were getting smaller.

The wizard stared at him, then turned away as if he didn't know how to respond. He probably didn't, Harry thought, and it was to the benefit of everyone that this conversation end now.

He turned to Owen, who was staring at the spaces between the stars with a frown as he snapped his own bracelet on. "I need to ask you to stay out of the way," he said quietly. "I know that you're sworn to protect me, but—well, it can't happen now, not when the prophecy asks for the particular people it does."

Own tore his gaze from the sky, and nodded. "I know that, Harry."

His eyes were heavy with shadows that had nothing to do with the upcoming battle, Harry was sure, and he frowned. "What is it, Owen? Has Draco caused another problem with Michael?"

"No," said Owen softly. "Michael's caused his own problems. It's nothing I want to talk about right now, Harry."

Harry made a small half-bowing gesture and a note to ask Owen about Michael later, and then turned. A breeze was tickling the back of his neck, a breeze that hadn't been there a moment before. He held out his hand and cast as strong a defensive ward over his allies as he could, then moved forward. Draco walked at his right shoulder, the posture the prophecy said he should take. How literal that had to be, Harry didn't know, but he had to admit it was much more comforting to fight Falco with full knowledge of what the prophecy said and how well the three of them fit it, instead of half-guessing and only realizing afterward what had happened, as in the fight with Dumbledore.

The stars began to dance and jingle and shake as if they were bells on a Christmas tree branch. Freezing music drifted down to Harry's ears, sharper and keener than the flakes of snow. He shivered a bit, then glanced over his shoulder. Snape was not far behind him, a stubborn expression on his face.

"Severus," Harry said softly. "Please. Get under the ward."

"No," said Snape.

"He'll hurt you," said Harry, more agitated now. He could feel the first rising of Falco's power in the distance, mighty as a tsunami. Of course, that would not be, mostly, his magic, but the magic of the wild Dark behind him. It seemed they were more closely allied than Harry had hoped, when he first began to believe that the Dark itself was the power this Dark Lord knew not. The prophecy was closer, too, and its thunder rolled like lead weights down Harry's arms. As if that were not enough, he could make out two of the damn things now, tangled and nested in each other. He supposed one was the original prophecy that Dumbledore and Lily had tried to raise him and Connor to fulfill, and the second was the prophecy that said the original one would happen three times. They'd probably both been present at Dumbledore's defeat, too, but he'd been too caught up in the battle to notice.

And now your mind is running in every direction, and you're thinking nonsense. He turned forcefully towards Snape. "Please, Severus, go back."

Snape opened his mouth to answer, and then the prophecies abruptly drew away. Harry turned just as Falco came down.

He and Draco stepped forward. He heard the soft sound that was Draco drawing his wand from its holster, and then every other noise was lost under the enormous shrieking howl of a wolf the size of Hogwarts.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Falco was in sea eagle form as he dived, but he flickered in and out of it as he reached the desert of the Dark and saw Harry waiting for him. Harry and others. Falco very nearly smiled. He had learned many things from Tom that were not as useful as he had hoped, like controlling the sirens, but one thing Tom had told him was correct. It had to be, because, watching from a distance, Falco had seen other people successfully use the same tactic.

He nodded to the wolf pacing beside him. It was enormous; actually, he didn't know how large it was, because its edges faded into the night around them and it rebuilt itself again and again from the blackness, now with a grotesquely huge paw, now with a muzzle that could have smashed in the Ministry. It lifted its head at his signal, though, and howled.

The waves of sound rolled over and around him. Falco staggered, but managed to keep flying straight. His heart surged and leaped, and he felt something like gladness, the warmest emotion that had touched him in a long time.

Almost over. And I know this tactic works. Tom said so. Other people said so. Harry cannot compensate for it.

The Dark shot around him, circled around him, as he dived lower and lower, and made the stars shake. Falco could feel the Light waiting just beyond, drawn, as it always was, by the rising of any power of the Dark's. Normally, it would not interfere on Walpurgis, any more than the Dark would on Midsummer.

But it had lost a wizard who had long flirted with it to the Dark when Falco Declared, and if someone powerful enough called on it, giving himself or another to the Light, then the gryphon would spread its wings.

Falco fixed his gaze on the person who would make Harry do that.

A prophecy swayed off to the side like a serpent ready and waiting to strike. Falco ignored it. It was going to be fulfilled, of course, but that was why he had come here. He was a willing sacrifice. A sense of clean and clear purpose filled him. He was, in the end, different from poor Albus, who had needed to torture people just to send out a signal. Falco thought this battle would cost very few lives, maybe one, and maybe two.

He struck. Harry had already begun raising his magic to meet a direct blow.

Falco's strike went past him, a wicked black arrow fringed with teeth, closing around Draco Malfoy and flooding his body with poison, his lungs with black smoke, his tissues with racing cancer. Ripple after ripple of power went home, like waves pounding on the beach. Falco gave all he had into the strike, not bothering to defend himself. Harry would realize what had happened in a moment.

He heard the Dark wolf howl in triumph, as he had expected.

He had not expected to hear Harry howling back as if in answer, or to sense him begin to fight instead of calling on the Light for help.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry turned as Draco fell, shock in his mouth thick as the taste of mint, for a moment. This could not happen. The prophecy had said that someone who loved him, with power, must stand at his right shoulder and help him defeat the Dark Lord. How—how could Draco—

And then he sensed the reek of Dark magic coming from Draco, turning him into little more than a corpse, and a barrier that hadn't fallen in almost two years broke inside him.

It was one thing for Voldemort to do something like this, or Rosier. They were madmen, and both seemed to have a personal grudge against Harry. Harry knew Falco opposed him for other reasons, and if such a human emotion as hatred had occurred to him in the last hundred years, he had probably rejected it as being contrary to what he wanted to achieve.

And now he had hurt Draco.

The barrier crumbled further. Pure and roaring rage had its own black tide in him, to answer what Falco had done. Harry could sense the wild Dark drawing back from Falco to watch, gleeful, as he turned the air around his enemy, inside his lungs, on his skin, to serpents.

He saw the world through a torrent of pitch, and he heard his own screams distantly, mingled with long hisses in Parseltongue that he didn't think anyone else could translate. He took a single step forward, still forcing all his magic at Falco, wanting him to drown in venom, as he had tried to drown Draco in it—

Don't think about that. He would crumble into his fear if he thought about that, if he had time to think about his world falling from beneath him.

He thought of the rage instead, and he screamed and screamed and ordered the serpents forward, and an enormous one had coiled around Falco's body now, half the arms of a man and half the flailing wings of a sea eagle, and could crush him if Harry would but give the command.

Harry gave the command. He could have wished Falco out of existence at that moment, washed on the flickering waves of his own loathing, but that would be too painless. He wanted the man to suffer.

He heard someone moving up behind him, but he didn't look to see who it was. He was leaning forward, banishing thoughts of Draco as they arose, concentrated on the need to inflict pain.

And then Falco's magic rose up against his, and the wild Dark leaned in at his back, unstoppable, unfightable. Harry's serpents exploded into a dark rain of flesh and muscle, and he went sprawling to the ground, pelted with bone shards, while Falco moved to hover above him.

SSSSSSSSSSSS

Falco was frightened, and angry. Why is he not calling on the Light?

He could feel the bruising impact of the serpent's coils on himself if he let his mind dwell there. He would not let it dwell there. The wild Dark, which had drawn off as if to watch the chaos with a gleeful eye, had come back to him, and now it was helping him drive Harry down.

And a new thought darted into Falco's mind, swift as rain, quick as light.

Why not kill Harry?

If it could be done, then it would solve a great many problems. Yes, it would disrupt the prophecy, but prophecies could shift. Obviously, it would have to choose someone else if Harry was dead. It would still come true, but human interference could change the course of it. Someone else would kill Tom, that was all.

Of course, killing Harry would leave Britain with two Dark Lords and no Light ones, but Falco could depart again, going into hiding or to another wizarding community where no Lords or Ladies lived. He was not bound to the island of his birth. And it would mean no more vates in the world, in a surer way than any Declaration to Light could ever do.

He wondered, for a moment, how much of his decision was driven by the mighty and unexpected pain he had suffered when Harry sent the serpents to grip him, but he dismissed it from his mind. If he was going to kill the boy instead of sparing him and making him Declare—and he had almost made up his mind to do so; Harry was Darker than he had ever thought, to reach for Dark magic at the moment when his lover's life was in danger—then he didn't need to give him mercy or worry about his own motives. He only needed to kill him.

He decided that breaking his mind would be the simplest procedure. Whether or not the body lived after that, his task was done.

He wrapped and shaped his power into another arrowhead, aided by the will of the wild Dark. He could feel it champing and dancing beside him, eager as a wolf on the blood trail. Falco would fling the arrowhead into the exact and vulnerable center of Harry's mind, and destroy his sanity; a second shot would destroy the tattered shards of what remained.

And then someone else attacked him from the side, and at the same moment, the prophecy rose and rushed forward, a song in its throat like a tide made of icicles—

And the wild Dark wheeled back and away from him, once again hovering at a distance to watch.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The world was very simple.

There was Harry, lying still on the ground, covered in blood, covered in gashes. There was the Dark Lord about to destroy him, with so much magic that it made his head swim and his eyes blur. Harry could absorb that power, perhaps, but backlash and worry about Draco had paralyzed him. He could see tears already forming on Harry's face, as the fear for Draco began to fight its way through the wall of hatred he had raised.

Luckily for Harry, his impulses were towards vengeance, and his hatred had always been stronger than his fear.

Snape aimed his wand at Falco, his magic rising like a tornado around him at the same time, a wheel of eyes and fangs and claws. "Inimicus!"

Even as the Hostility Curse shot away from him, he felt thunder like a drum in his head, and a high, ecstatic singing that was probably the result of Harry's allies doing something to aid him, assuming they had broken out of the ward Harry had put them behind. Snape would not turn to look. He was going to defend his child, and he was going to use Darker magic than Harry would have approved of to do it.

The Hostility Curse hit Falco, and the man—half a man now, half an eagle, and some other creature, fading into night, at the edges—turned to stare at him. He would have been stupefied and blinded by the loathing put behind that spell, Snape knew. It was a curse that let an enemy know exactly how one felt about him.

And knocked him off-balance for the next one. Snape smiled slightly. "Contundo!"

That was a spell he had learned from Evan Rosier, one that slipped inside an opponent's magical shields and promptly began to beat on their joints and the fragile places in their bones, shattering them. Falco shuddered, and lost another moment to the pain, to the wonder that he could be hurt, or perhaps to the fact that the wild Dark had circled away and abandoned him again.

Snape followed that curse with another. This was vengeance. It would not do to give his enemy time to recover, but neither would it do to blend the curses together so much that he could not appreciate the finer nuances of pain Snape intended to give him.

"Confervefacio!"

His wandless magic whirled around him and bore the spell up in a cloud of colored sparks; while normally it could strike anywhere on the body, Snape had wanted it targeted at Falco's eyes, and so it was. He smiled again as he heard the shriek. One's eyes melting into jelly and dribbling out of one's head would be a bit distracting even to a Dark Lord.

Another step forward, another Dark spell. "Deliquesco medullae!"

The marrow in Falco's bones vanished. Snape had never felt the effects of that spell himself, but he was told it was exquisitely painful. He listened with a detached ear to the wail that produced, then swung into the next one.

"Ad—"

And then Falco recovered enough to strike out at him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

It had all gone so wrong, so badly, so suddenly, and Falco did not know what to make of it.

He could hear the rustling laughter behind him as the wild Dark watched him struggle and writhe in pain, and he could feel the sudden creeping changes in his body as his bone marrow vanished, and he could sense his magic rushing in to compensate, but what drew his attention most were his eyes.

He could replace them, perhaps, but the pain

This was Dark magic unleashed. This was a man who had not become a Dark wizard because he was thinking about the balance of the world and how many Light wizards already existed, or even because he had come from a pureblood tradition that expected its children to Declare for the allegiances of their parents. This was an upstart, a wizard who had done what he had done out of hatred, who even now was doing this out of vengeance.

He dared to hurt me.

And Falco moved, bringing around his power and striking out with it, shapeless, formless, not knowing what would happen, but willing something to do so.

He heard a dry crack, and wished he knew if it meant that he had shattered Severus Snape's back, or neck. He heard the wild Dark laughing again, howling itself hoarse, but it did not come to him. He should have known better than to trust it, Falco thought bitterly.

He began to concentrate. He could, if he thought about it hard enough, Transfigure flesh into other shapes. He might be able to grow eyes in the palms of his hands. Granted, it had been years since he had studied the delicate shape of the eye and he did not know if he remembered enough about the iris and the cornea to be able to do so, but he would try.

And then Harry recovered.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

One kind of barrier had given way when Harry was worried about Draco, and another when that worry intruded and occupied his mind. And then he saw Snape fall, one of his legs broken so cleanly that it had snapped like a branch, and yet a third kind of barrier broke.

The lightless fury that climbed out from inside him was familiar. He had felt it three times before. Once was when Minister Fudge attempted to drain his magic. The second was when his mother had confronted him and tried to convince him to come back to Godric's Hollow with her. The third was when Bellatrix had cut off his hand and he had faced Voldemort in a duel immediately afterwards.

He had not felt it in nearly two years. But it came back to him, filling his limbs with familiarity. And Harry did not need to rise to his feet in order to use it. He opened his mouth in a soundless cry, and the fury lifted through him, ripping and twisting and warping through his magic, blasting the air with such ice that Harry felt it lash and burn down his throat. His magic came right behind it, and together they aimed themselves at Falco.

And then the wild Dark was there, too, slamming its shoulder into Harry's power, driving it forward, howling and dancing. Harry could not rely on it, he knew that, but the consideration seemed far away right now. He reached for the chaos, and it answered him, harsh and gleeful as if he had Declared for it. This was not the wild Dark of last Midwinter, or last Walpurgis, or any other time but when it had come from the sky after Midsummer and tried to charm him away. That was the significance of the wolf form, Harry realized hazily. It had worn it once before. It was, in fact, wearing it for the same reason now, because he was uncontrolled enough to attract its attention.

They hit Falco from three fronts, three sides. Harry felt him writhing, filled with magic as it held him up despite lack of bone marrow and tried to let him know what was going on and protect him from attack.

He knew what he wanted. And he was already divided neatly into three, his magic and the rage and the wild Dark. He sent them each to their tasks, and heard the wild Dark's voice whispering in his head: I go.

The rage wrapped around Falco, blasting him with the cold, whispering into his head that he was going to die.

The magic opened bright tunnels between Draco's and Snape's fallen bodies, sucking Falco's magic from him without remorse, and channeling it directly into them. Harry did not try to give his power to them as a permanent gift. He did heal the break in Snape's leg, and the poison and disease that Falco had set loose in Draco. He did it without flinching, and he could not have said how he did it, though in an ordinary state of mind, he would have had to think about it intensely to achieve the effect he wanted. This was Harry angry, however, so he simply willed it, and it happened.

The wild Dark waited, poised, circling, until Falco was beginning to recover and fight against the drain of his magic, which shock and pain had kept him from doing at first. Then it struck. Harry saw a giant black paw move across the sky, bearing silver nails like shooting stars.

It tore Falco apart on all levels; the physical was the least of them. His organs spilled out and pelted into the snow-covered sand around Harry with the soft sounds of leather sacks bursting, but his mind went flying too, his sanity torn like the cloth of a kite, and his soul unraveled like the bit of Tom Riddle from the diary Horcrux, and his magic tumbled out like blood and was sucked into the wild Dark's hungry maw.

It devoured him, and in less than a minute Falco's skin was left floating in the air like a flag. Harry thought it might come to rest on the earth in front of him, but the wild Dark puffed on it and blew it away into the night, to be chased and played with by multiple shadow-puppies.

And the prophecy sang all around him, ecstatic, warm, somnolent.

Harry, gasping, drove his hands into the sand and gradually worked himself to his feet. His mind rang and his body blazed with power, which he knew would give way to magical and emotional exhaustion, which would give way to pain. But for the moment, the magic still held him up, and he bowed in the direction the wild Dark had gone, understanding many more things in that moment than he had before.

The power Falco didn't know was the Dark. But it was my own Dark magic, and Snape's, as well as the wild Dark. And that truly is chaotic. It helped both him and us. Why? Probably for the sake of a good time. I finally have a safeguard against every trusting it again.

And the prophecy—

The prophecy said that Snape needed to stand at my right shoulder this time, and not Draco after all.

Harry grimaced a bit, as the lines of the third prophecy Trelawney had given shuddered in his mind again.

"Three on three the old one coils,

Three in its times, three in its choices."

The old prophecy is happening three times. I got that part right. But it's making a different choice of elder and younger each time. It already chose Draco and me. It couldn't have us a second time.

He thought the prophecy's song grew especially smug at that, as he turned to check on Draco and Snape. His other allies had already broken the ward he'd put them under, probably with their combined strength, and were running towards them. Narcissa was bending over Draco, her face pale with shock. Draco had his eyes open and appeared to be aware of his surroundings, Harry saw.

He stooped over Snape, and Snape's eyes met his without backing down. Harry squeezed his hand.

"Thank you," he said. "I would not—would not have found the strength if you had not done what you did." Already he could feel the rage dissipating, departing, not being locked behind barriers in him again, but fading into the charged midnight. Well, if there was any time of the year in which that could happen, it would be this one, especially since the wild Dark on this Walpurgis seemed to have allowed him to mirror its mood.

"I could not stand by and see you hurt," said Snape in a groaning, rasping voice.

"I know." Harry looked at his leg. "Can you walk?"

Snape demonstrated by standing, though he braced one hand on Harry's shoulder to do so. His face flashed white when he took his first step, but in a few moments he was only limping, and Harry was satisfied. Falco's magic had returned what Falco's magic had stolen.

"Harry?"

He turned swiftly, Narcissa's voice making him fear the worst, but she shook her head at him and stood with Draco in her arms. She must have cast a Lightening Charm, Harry thought distantly as he strode over to her.

"He's asleep," Narcissa whispered. "The shock, you know." Harry nodded, and avoided her eyes for a moment, but she caught his cheek with one elbow and tilted his head up. "Harry. I do not blame you."

He made himself look into her face until he believed her, then studied Draco with wide-open eyes that saw the magic as well as the physical reality of things. One by one, his muscles relaxed. There was no disease left. Draco would probably still have to spend some days in the hospital wing under the care of Madam Pomfrey, from the effects of having that much magic shoved into and then drawn out of his body, but he would do much more than simply survive.

He looked at his allies then, but saw at a glance that all of them were standing and well. The strangers who had been around the fire were gone, but Harry saw no bodies on the ground.

"They Apparated out when they saw the battle start," Thomas assured him, coming up to him. "Cowards. That was fascinating." He stared into the black sky as if longing for the wolf to come back.

Harry sighed a little. "From a certain viewpoint, yes, it was, Thomas," he agreed. "Do you want to come back to Hogwarts with me and examine Draco?" He trusted Madam Pomfrey, but he would feel better if he also had someone to study Draco for the aftereffects of magic.

"I'd be delighted." Thomas beamed. "Just let me inform Priscilla and my children." He tapped his wrist with his wand to start the communication spell.

Harry nodded to the others. "Thank you for coming," he said. "I appreciate that you were willing to stand with me. I'll be at Hogwarts if anyone wishes to Apparate there and talk to me." He certainly wasn't going to sleep tonight, as keyed up as he was.

One by one, the people around him began to vanish. Snape seemed inclined to wait for him, but Harry gave him a long look, and he went.

Harry used that precious moment of time alone to compose himself, as much as that was possible, and draw a deep breath.

Inevitably, his mind returned to the prophecy.

It has to make a third choice. It has to have a third pair for elder and younger. And who is that going to be? Me and someone else who loves me, going in to face Voldemort? I can't imagine doing it without Draco or Snape, though. And if it's Connor…well, he still doesn't love the whole of the wizarding world. I don't know who it can be, and that makes me nervous.

He heard a low snarl, and opened his eyes. The black wolf crouched in front of him, green-eyed, bearing the silver lightning bolt on its head, and its gaze was pure invitation, calling him into the paths of the Dark and the million mindless secrets that lived there.

"I am not going to Declare," Harry whispered. "Falco was wrong about that, and so are you."

The wolf gave a little satisfied chuff of breath, and spoke in the voice he'd heard on the night he went to free the thestrals. It doesn't matter what you do. I will have you someday.

"I don't think so," Harry said.

The wild Dark laughed, and laughed, and then broke apart, scattering into the air as a cloud of black flakes that it hurt Harry's eyes to see.

He glanced once at the desert, then wearily Apparated back to Hogwarts. It had been a Walpurgis night like none other in history, he thought, but he supposed the wild Dark might be insane enough to disrupt its own celebrations on a whim, too.