A/N: Alright, well, sorry this chapter took so long. Had a lot on my plate and this one is a lengthy one. Thankfully, the Three-Day-Weekend here in America helped me get this done. Also, super pumped to have made it to 100 reviews! Please keep that up because I really do love to hear from all of you! With that said, I'm not going to waste anymore time! Lets' hop on into chapter eleven!

Chapter XI: Memorial

(Daphne P.O.V)

The old saying of being stuck between a rock and a hard place rang truer than it ever had before for Daphne. The return of Voldemort and the loss of Moody weighed heavy on her mind, and that only made up half of her problem. The other came from the news about Astoria. A life without magic, that was Astoria's fate. Daphne couldn't accept it; Astoria didn't deserve that. She was the good one of the two, the one with the pure heart. To have everything stripped of her wasn't right. She'd often considered herself to be level headed one in her relationship with Harry, but Harry had accepted the reality of his own situation far better than she could.

Yes, hard truths had become the norm for Harry. It caused him damage; Daphne was sure of that, even if she couldn't specifically name how. Nobody lived the life that Harry did and was perfectly fine; it just wasn't possible. The two sat silently on the couch, though Daphne knew Harry wasn't really next to her. The boy's mind was adrift in memories of the past, it had been nearly an hour, but Harry's eyes had not left the photo of the First Order where Moody stood proudly in the crowd.

Daphne hated these situations. No matter how frequent they'd become, she never got any better at her girlfriendly duties. She didn't quite know what to say or do. If she could just let Harry fuck her until he wasn't in pain anymore, she'd have done so happily, but that tactic only worked in muggle movies, and those relationships never looked...well... happy. Daphne's head rested against his shoulder, and Harry broke from the picture to face her.

"He never said it," Daphne whispered just loud enough for the two to hear, "But I know that he cared deeply for you. He and Sirius, they used to have meetings about you, and I know that for as much of a hardass as he could be, he never had anything but praise for you."

Harry's smile lit up Daphne's world, and the warm bond of her hands put her instantly at ease. "Before he-, before he died, he finally acknowledged me. He called me by my first name; he'd never done that before." A chuckle left Harry's lips, "Merlin, it used to drive me insane the way he'd always call me Potter, or boy. I'd work myself half to death only to still not have made any progress towards earning his respect."

"Then, just when I finally get him to acknowledge me, he goes and dies." Daphne couldn't help but notice the smile that crept across his face, "It's so like him it's insane."

"Harry, you know that he always had nothing but respect for you. Your burden, I know I say we share it, but we both know that's not entirely true. The weight you've held, still hold, on your shoulders, it would crush most others. But you never let it rout you. Moody saw that in you, just like everyone else in the Order. I know he believes in you completely, just as I do."

"Yeah, I know," Harry nodded. "It sounds so dumb, like, I know that I can go visit him and that he's probably already with Morgana in Avalon, but I miss him, Daphne." She rubbed her thumb over the back of Harry's hand in soft circles. "You know, I wanted him to be there to see our family and train them all to be great witches or wizards like him. I wanted him to see me win. Because even until the end, all he got to see were my failures."

Daphne broke herself free of Harry's hands and cupped her face. Harry looked up at her, a thin layer of mist in his eyes, and smiled. "You know, I've always wanted to meet Morgana myself. Maybe one day, when this war is over, we can go together, and if we have a family, we can take them to see their Great Uncle Alastor. But I do know that the last thing Moody would want is for you to be sad. He imparted his will to you, just like so many others. We can't allow that sacrifice to be in vain."

Harry nodded; his eyes were different from when he'd realized Tonks had died, the fire of determination still blazed behind them. "His power is incredible now, and if I'm honest, I don't think a century of training under Morgana would help me catch up. Simply put, my current base strength is simply weaker than his at the moment. Maybe I can find another way to close the gap, but it is equally critical that he doesn't get to absorb the diadem. If that happens, it's game over."

"What if you absorbed the diadem?" Daphne asked. "I mean, the last time you absorbed a fragment of Voldemort's soul, it magnified your power incredibly, surely if you-"

Harry shook his head, "It wouldn't work. I only managed to absorb the shard inside me because, well, it was already inside me. But only he'd be able to absorb his own soul from his horcruxes. The priority should be to destroy the diadem. After that, we at least set a cap on his maximum power output."

Daphne nodded in agreement. Harry hadn't answered the question about how he planned to bridge the gap but now wasn't the time. If there was anything she understood about their relationship, it was when and when not to push Harry. "We also have to figure out how to deal with Carmilla, too," Harry sighed, "What a pain."

"So you're Michael now?" Daphne teased. Harry smiled, and Daphne soaked it in. Merlin, she loved his smile; even in the darkest moments, it never failed to make her feel safe. "Harry, let me worry about Carmilla. With Voldemort back, you have enough on your plate. Plus, I still have a score to settle with her."

"But aren't you dealing with finding the cure for Astoria? I can't ask you to-," Harry started, but Daphne silenced him with a gentle kiss.

"I'm the girlfriend of the Boy-Who-Lived if you can juggle being the Order's figurehead and figuring out a way to beat Voldemort. I can juggle finding my sister's cure and how to beat that foul witch," Daphne said with a smirk. "Don't start thinking that just because you're a big hero that you're better than me, Flyboy."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Princess," Harry returned warmly. Though the color faded from his face slightly. Daphne had become pretty familiar with that distant look. It was a look reserved for only one person, Astoria Greengrass. "So, about Astoria, do you believe Thatcher?"

"Yeah, I do," Daphne whispered. "But I don't want to accept that the only way to cure Astoria is for her to give up her magic forever. Maybe we can do continuous blood transplants, yearly or even monthly if we have to. I-"

"If that's what it would take, I think Astoria would rather live her life without magic," Harry sighed. Daphne nodded in painful agreement; life as a squib was something Daphne could only imagine Astoria would despise, but she knew Astoria's genuine worst fear was to be a burden. Harry was right that Astoria would, without a doubt, consider those treatments burdensome."

"She's just so stubborn sometimes," Daphne sighed and rubbed her temples. She saw the soft smirk on Harry's face, "Don't say it," she ordered, and the smirk vanished. "I don't know, Harry, I really don't know what to do anymore. Sometimes I wish one thing could go my way with this situation, but it's just been one roadblock after another. Even if I could convince Astoria to take the treatments, we don't even know if it's possible to remove a wizard's magical core completely."

Harry shook his head with exhaustion, "You know, the last lesson Moody reminded me of before he died was to focus only on what we can control. You're right that we don't know about the magical core issue, but if blood transfer treatments could work, we first need to teach Astoria to get over her burden issue."

"How do you propose that?" Daphne asked, "I mean, I love you, Harry, but you're kinda the president of the try not to be burden club and I'm not much better. We aren't exactly the best people to talk to her about it."

"No, perhaps we aren't," Harry said with a chuckle, "But I know who might be. When we get back, remind me that I need to write a letter, I think I have a favor I can still cash in on."

"Okay, but what do you mean by, 'when we get back', where are we going?"

In typical Harry fashion, he didn't reply. Though, Daphne had lost the part of her that used to be on edge whenever Harry did that. It had faded the moment she'd first heard him tell her that he loved her. Daphne had never heard truer words in her life, and she knew, just as the sun would always rise in the east, that Harry would never do anything to harm her.

Harry had asked to borrow Dobby, which Daphne thought was rather cute. Dobby had recognized Harry as his master just as much as Daphne, but Harry still asked for permission. She adored that about Harry; sure, he'd been an arrogant twat when they'd first met, but now, she knew Harry put her above everything. It was a thought that both warmed her heart and frightened her severely. The Boy-Who-Lived would've died for her in a heartbeat, and just because she'd readied herself to do the same didn't leave her naive enough to think the losses would damage the war efforts equally.

Sirius sent her a cautious glance when they'd reached the door to Grimmauld Place, but the Lord of House Black was the last person who'd ever treat Harry like a child. There was a slight glimmer of concern in Emmeline's violet eyes, but Harry shot her a soft smile and waved back at James, who'd picked up on the movement.

Daphne would never have admitted it, but she like James a little more than Teddy; James was quiet for one and didn't wake her up in the middle of the night with a scream capable of shaking the house. Still, she didn't dislike Teddy in the slightest, and everyone knew that Harry had a soft-spot for Remus' son.

They'd no sooner stepped out of the house before Harry summoned Dobby to their side. The excitable elf appeared promptly and ready to serve, then with a crack, the three vanished. Daphne's eye glistened with a familiar fuzz before it cleared up to reveal the Godric's Hollow Graveyard.

Daphne instantly fell silent but took Harry's hand. They roamed the cemetery that glistened with the powdered snow, and Harry conjured a handful of flowers for each of the headstones. They'd spent a little extra time at Tonks' grave. Harry had adjusted well to the other names that littered the memorial stone, but Tonks' had never failed to make Harry cry. The wound, no matter how much time passes, would always be fresh.

Daphne wrapped her arms around Harry and hugged him tightly from behind. She only released him when Harry finally had the presence of mind to drop the flowers on the grave and move forward.

The memorial stone shimmered in the snow, and Daphne watched Harry form a blue flame at the tip of his wand. Carefully, with penmanship foreign to her, Harry wrote down the late auror's name. "He always hated big ceremonies, but it thought," Harry's words shook in his throat, "I thought he at least deserved this much."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate the sentiment," Daphne said softly, her arm locked in his. "Hey Harry, are you ready to head back?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, and when I get back, I'll need Dobby to deliver a letter to Damyan Oblansk; he might be the only person capable of getting through to Astoria now.

(Michael P.O.V)

Michael could not stress enough how much he hated to apparate. Even when assisted by an elf, there was something about being squeezed through an invisible tube that just didn't appeal to him. Michael was convinced that there had to be another way, but wizards were too stubborn to innovate. He couldn't accept that their current option was the best one with all that magic knowledge available.

It also didn't help that for lack of kinder words, Hagrid was, well, loud. The half-giant wasn't rude, the opposite, actually, but the man could talk someone's ear off with ease. Maybe if we just let Hagrid talk to Voldemort about magical creatures for an hour, he'll kill himself, Michael thought grimly. He shook the notion from his mind; he didn't like to insult the half-giant. Truthfully, Hagrid was one of the nicest people he'd ever met, but passionate people could be a real pain when they started on about the subject they loved.

The overcast that hung over the Isle of the Drear had only added to Michael's glum mood. It also hadn't helped that he'd spent Valentine's Day with a literal model in one of the worst places for a date. Sure, Claire pushed the importance of the date aside, which was fair; February 14th was such an arbitrary date, but Michael couldn't help but confess he was a little bummed. Worse yet, though, was the cloud of concern that hovered over his head. Heron had been rather confident in his ability to arrive at the Isle on his own. Yet, breakfast had come to pass, and Michael hadn't seen even a whisper of the centaur.

Michael rubbed his temples, "I knew I shouldn't have let the little bastard go off on his own. Arrogant little prick is probably in a ditch somewhere as we speak."

Claire gripped his shoulder softly, "Hey, you don't know that. It's a lot of ground to cover. Maybe he just needs a little more time." Michael could only hope we was right. If he had to tell Harry the alliance with the centaurs had fallen through, that would have been bad enough, but Michael could only pray he wouldn't have to deliver news of the centaur's death to Bane."

Thankfully, as if Claire was a seer, the sound of a distant hoofbeat carried over the Isle of the Drear's slopes. Michael stood from the campfire and waved down at the centaur who barreled his way up the hill. Sweat beat down the centaur's face, and dark circles filled his eyes. Michael studied the half-man closely before he sighed, "You ran through the whole night, didn't you?"

Heron looked away from him towards Hagrid as if Michael hadn't even said a word, "Groundskeeper, please, point me towards the Quintaped." Michael shook his head and marched to the centaur's side. Heron's nostril's flared at Michael's refusal to start the mission. "I'm fine," Heron insisted, "It's just one night's rest. My father one time fought for three days straight. Don't you dare underestimate me."

"It's not about you, Heron. It's about my safety and Claire's. We're not about to go fight a class five beasts with our partner so tired he can't even aim his arrows straight." Heron huffed and turned his back on the Ravenclaw. Michael facepalmed and cast a binding charm that roped the centaur's legs down. Heron bucked at the conjured ropes but couldn't break free, and Michael was almost astounded by the verbose number of curses Heron was familiar with.

"I made your father a promise that I'd try and bring you back alive," Michael said, "Try not to make me a liar and take a nap. The Quintaped isn't going anywhere, and if the beast is as vicious as the stories say, a sleep-deprived, juvenile centaur-like you stands a snowball's chance in hell against it."

It didn't take a genius to tell that the young centaur wasn't the biggest fan of Michael's proposal, but the Ravenclaw didn't care. If he were on his own, that would have been one thing, but he had a low threshold when it came to Claire's risk factor, and he'd already had to cross it this month. He didn't plan to let it happen again, not when he could help it.

Heron glared at Michael through his tired, dark eyes, but Michael didn't so much as flinch. Finally, the Son of Bane took a hint and closed his eyes, a rhythmic tempo in his breath. Hagrid's hand pressed down on his shoulder with concern, "He's not going to like that. To tie up a centaur is to dishonor their strength. He'll take great offense to your actions."

Michael shrugged, "I don't really care. Even people with big egos need to be checked from time to time; centaurs are no different." The half-giant scratched his scruffy beard at his words, "Speaking of the Quintaped, do you know where exactly it is here?"

"I have an idea," Hagrid admitted, "The Quintaped would most likely enjoy showing its dominance, so I imagine it would be at the highest point around here, which by my obeservation means, probably over there." Hagrid pointed to the most ominous mountain side Michael had ever seen, "Giant's Mouth."

"Can I please just get one mission that maybe involves a frolic through a lavender field or something," Michael groaned, "Give me a break."

Michael doubted he'd ever get a mission so friendly, but still, he took the time to enjoy the moment of peace as Heron rested. Even in the gloomy weather, there was a beauty to the way the ocean crashed on the shore of the Isle of Drear. Michael's arm rested around Claire's as their feed dangled off the cliffside. Claire smiled at the way Michael tucked a curl behind her ear before she leaned into him, her head nuzzled in his neck.

It was peaceful, but calm didn't do Michael much good anymore. An uncluttered mind was normally seen as beneficial, but Michael thought the person who made up that idea must have had a pretty cushy life. His mental baggage provided him a distraction from the world around him, and Michael wanted to be anywhere but in the real world. He was a sixteen-year-old in a war for the soul of the wizarding world. His parents had forgotten Michael even existed, and he'd been assigned deadly mission after deadly mission. He loved Harry deeply, but Michael couldn't help but admit he liked his life a lot more when it involved pranks of the now-deceased professor.

Still, his life wasn't all bad. The war was a major pain, but his friendship with Harry had been one of the best things to ever happen to him. Claire had been the only competition to that memory, and even then, she'd only entered his life really because of Harry. It was a scary thought how the preparation for war had brought so many of the people he loved together, and for a moment, fear gripped his heart. How strong would all of their friendships be after the war? What would they talk even talk about? Shooting the shit and Quidditch just didn't seem like an adequate substitute to war plans and casualty reports. No, Michael knew his life was forever changed, so were the lives of all the other Order members; he just wasn't sure if he wanted to accept that.

Claire gripped him tightly, her grey eyes like the clouds above them as she stared into his. "You have that look in your eyes. The one when you're deep in thought about something concerning. Wanna talk about it?"

Michael tilted his head back, "Not really, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't. It sounds stupid, I know but, what if all of our friendships fall apart after the war. This war's changed people; even I've felt it. I know things can never go back to normal, but, what if after it's all over, none of us are able to cope? What if we all fall apart?"

That won't happen," Claire said firmly. Her words didn't quite reach Michael's introspective spiral, that was until her hand gripped his chin. "Even if it did though, I know that I'd never leave your side. You're my match Michael Corner, we're in this together, until then end."

The groans of Heron silenced Michael's response. He turned back to face the centaur, who struggled once more to break free of his binds. Michael sighed; he knew centaurs needed less sleep than humans, but he'd secretly hoped they had more time. Michael pushed himself to his feet and offered Claire his hand. "Looks like sleeping beauty's up, that means it's go time."

Claire nodded, and Michael marched to Heron's side before he dispelled the rope. A venomous hatred filled Heron's eyes, but Michael's facade remained uncracked. He turned his back on the centaur and pointed at the large mountain in the distance, "We don't know where, but somewhere in the mountainous area is the Quintaped. We'll go together and watch each other's back. No need for heroics, understand?"

Hagrid and Claire nodded swiftly, but Heron once again acted as if Michael was mute. This kid is going to die.

Michael's hand rummaged in the bag where his metal armor rested against his waist and felt a tingle race down his spine. The full-body suit was still a prototype, but with an idiot like Heron on his team against something like a Quintaped, Michael felt like he'd be testing the suit out sooner than he'd like. "Alright," Michael said with a glance at his team, "Let's move out."

Wind, so much wind. That's how Michael could best describe the environment around the Giant's Mouth mountain range. It was cold, but that was a surprise to nobody, but Michael's sweat had nearly turned to popsicle the moment he dripped down his forehead. It was bitterly cold. Claire's blue flames kept them warm enough to function, but Michael had no idea how anything could live up in the mountains.

Heron stayed in the front, and while Michael hated the idea, even with his transfigured boots, he couldn't keep up with Heron's hoofs on the mountainous terrain. He didn't have a watch on him, but Michael felt like they'd climbed for hours. The snow in the wind had utterly blocked their view of how far they'd ascended but gave them little reference of how much higher they had to climb.

It wasn't so much the distance that bothered Michael, however, it was the blindness. The Quintaped was said to have the strength to hurl boulders, and the lack of visibility made them sitting ducks. Michael had tried the spell that allowed aurors to see in the dark, one of the niftier pickups from Harry's arsenal, but it had only made his vision worse. The snow had only increased the brightness, and Michael needed to take a moment to recover from the sudden blindness. Claire guided him forward as he rubbed his eyes; no matter how much the Half-Veela shouted for Heron the stop, the centaur continued with no consideration for the wizard's behind him.

If the Quintaped doesn't kill him, I might do it myself, Michael growled. Centaurs were believed to mature much faster than humans, but Heron acted like a petulant child with a false sense of authority. He took a moment to pause; he'd started to sound so much like his father. The anger faded to pity; If I'd cared about my father's opinions, Michael thought to himself sadly, Maybe I'd have ended up just like him. So desperate for approval that his own safety didn't even matter. What a nightmare of a life.

Michael did what he could to keep with Heron, but the mountainous terrain certainly helped Heron out more than himself. Hagrid and Claire checked the sides of the crevasses as they climbed, and Michael's gauntlet stood on standby. The air grew thiner the further they climbed, and exhaustion set on him more readily. Only Hagrid and Heron were able to keep the pace they'd started on. Heron glanced back in frustration, while Michael and Claire gripped their knees and gasped for air.

"You wizards are so weak," Heron snapped. Michal couldn't even shout after the young centaur before he stormed off. Damn it all, Michael hissed. Hagrid patted Michael's head and smiled, before he went after Heron and quickly the two wizards casted bubble head charms to continue on.

It hadn't been that long since Heron went off on his own, but the young centaur was incredibly fast. Michael could make out Hagrid in the distance, but even the Half-Giant looked at a loss. Did we loose him? Michael wondered, but suddenly, Hagrid took off. Guess not. He and Claire glanced at each other quickly before they too bolted after the half-giant. At first, Michael wasn't sure of the urgency, then, he heard a scream that made his blood curdle.

Michael's lungs burned as he raced towards the sound. His legs felt as if the muscles within had been dipped into acid from the altitude strain. The exhaustion, however, quickly faded into horror at the sight before him. Claire fumbled into him at her arrival to the plateau, but Michel hardly registered it, his mind fixated on the horrific figure that glared up at him.

The beast roared and pounded its clubbed feet on the ground, a deep bloodlust in its amber eyes. Heron readied his bow and circled the beast a top speed before he unleashed a volley of arrows. The beast's red fur looked like a pincushion as Heron launched arrow after arrow, but that had done little but piss off the Quintaped.

In a blink, the ground beneath the creature's legs shattered, and he soared at the centaur, like a frisbee. Hagrid grunted and caught one of the Quintaped's legs from over his head and pulled it back down to the ground. Michael hoped the half-giant would have slammed it into the stone, but it was against everything in Hagrid's nature. No matter the creature, Hagrid showed it kindness; the Quintaped, however, was not as merciful.

The red-furred monster swung its arm back at Hagrid. Michael had no idea how heavy Hagrid was, but the way the Quintaped tossed him like a ragdoll made Michael's blood run cold. Hagrid grunted and stumbled to his feet; his coat ripped to tatters. The Quintaped marched towards the half-giant before he suddenly stopped and dropped with a roar from a fresh arrow in his kneecap, courtesy of Heron.

"Foul beast! Your battle is with me! You will not dishonor me with the turn of your back!" Heron shouted and level three arrows in his bow. "Today, you fall at my hands." Heron fired his onslaught of arrows, but his announcement had readied the Quintaped. Like it was child's play, the beast caught two of the arrows between his toes and the last in his teeth. He spit out the chewed up arrowhead with a grunt before once again the Quintaped prepared to pounce. Heron loaded another arrow, and Michael hissed, Move, you idiot, don't just stand there.

"Claire, get ready to rain fire and cover me, okay?" Michael said calmly, his hand on the bag that held his magical armor. He hadn't gotten a chance to stress test the whole suit in a controlled environment, but with the way the beast tossed Hagrid aside, Michael didn't like his unarmored body's chances. "I'm going to try a full-body sync with my armor, if this doesn't work, look after my mom and dad, will you?"

Claire's jaw dropped, but Michael hadn't waited to hear the witch's protest. With a snap of his fingers, the metal switch bands on his arms and legs swapped with the bimetal alchemical threaded steel. Michael's knees buckled a bit beneath the weight and snarled; it was heavier than his thought. Michael pulled himself upright just as the Quintaped flew into the air. He pointed the palms of his sapphire-embedded gauntlets behind him and grinned, "Well, here goes nothing, Ventus!"

Michael soared through the air and slammed his steel-clad knee right into the beast's face. It groaned and hit the ground with a roll. Good, Michael though to himself, It's heavy, but I can still move. He kept his eyes on the Quintaped, but the hoofbeats of the centaur trotted lightly behind him. "Listen, I don't know how much combat experience you have, Heron, but here's some advice. When you launch an attack at a distracted opponent, try not to tell them exactly what you plan to do, and for the love of Merlin, when an opponent charges you, dodge!"

"There's no honor in hitting an opponent when his back is turned," Heron snarled.

"Get that childish fantasy out of your mind!" Michael shouted. "In war, there is no honor, only life and death. Don't try to paint battle as anything beautiful; it's hell. There's only one objective in battle, survive." Heron only snorted in response and charged the Quintaped. What boundless stupidity. Michael thought as yet another volley of arrow rained down on the Quintaped from Heron's bow. The beast roared and leapt away from the metal-tipped hail before it surged towards Heron.

Crack! Heron's bow snapped in half as the centaur lifted it to try and guard himself from the strike. A cut raced down the young centaurs torso from the sharpened nails of the Quintaped before the beast gripped Heron's throat. Stupid kid, Michael growled before he summoned wind once more from his palms and blasted towards the best. He shot off the ground like a rocket and flung himself of the Quintaped's head. A blue glow beamed in his sapphire before he shouted, "Reducto!"

A ray of light blasted from Michael's palm and the Quintaped screamed from the impact. Michael had no sooner touched the ground before he pulled Heron free and forced some distance between them and the beast. "Claire, now!" He shouted. On command, fist of blue flames shot from the half-veela's transfigured claws and battered the beast. Cries of agony ripped themselves from the Quintaped's throat and Michael looked away, he didn't want the beast dead, but he needed the alliance with the centaur and the Quintaped was far from an innocent beast.

Claire's hands shifted back to normal and she dropped to her knees with exhaustion. Smoke rose from melted stone, and Michael's shoulders fell. If he thought he was in good shape, today had shown him that he had a lot of work to do if he wanted to use is Iron-Mage armor effectively. Michael's eyes narrowed, it looked as if the smoke shimmered, but that was impossible, or so he thought, before, as if the Quintaped's legs were made of rubber one of his clubbed feet rocketed towards him. The bones in his left arm shattered from his block, and a haziness filled his mind from the intense pain.

"Michael!" Claire shouted, her throat hoarse from the inhaled smoke.

"I'm okay," He grunted, before he turned back to face Heron. "Listen to me, I'm going to give this next spell everything I have. If this doesn't kill, I don't think I'll be able to move, so make sure Hagrid and Claire get back to safety." Heron stood firmly with indifference and Michael scoffed, "You owe me, I saved your life you ungrateful bastard." The young centaur snarled but nodded with agreement. "Good, now all I have to do is hope this is enough."

MacBoon retracted his arm and sprang from the smoke. A vibrant fire glowed behind the beast's bloodthirsty eyes, but Michael only smirked and lifted his good arm. A painful tug pulled at his magical core and the sapphire glowed in his palm. His right arm shook like a plane in turbulence and his shoulder popped in and out of place rhythmically. MacBoon howled like a wolf and Micheal chuckled, "Alright you son of a bitch, come and get it! Confingo!"

Fire erupted from his palm and from the corner of his eyes, Michael saw the mountainside melt from the impact. The Quintaped released a feral scream and Michael's knees dropped to the ground, the resistance against his flames now nothing but a burnt corpse. His vision blurred, but a smile stretched on his lips at the molten rock that slipped apart. "Suck it Rook, you're not the only one able to change the terrain," He laughed before his body fell forward with an unceremonious thud. "Merlin, I'm tired."

(Neville P.O.V)

Leadership, Neville hadn't ever planned to take that type of role. The order was pretty simple in their little group. Harry was the leader, and only if he wasn't there, Michael acted as his second. Some may have felt irritated at that, but Neville was relieved. Those two had the ability to make decisions that far outclassed Neville. He was happy to play his role; he'd never expected to take on a task like the defense of the whole castle.

It was the way the group turned to him after the information they'd retrieved from the Baron that really sparked his appreciation for Michael and Harry. How many times had he looked at his friends that way, unsure of what to do next? Numerous was the answer. Worse yet, his role was only a relatively small responsibility compared to the burden both Michael and Harry carried on their shoulders. How had they managed to keep their composure through it all and still looked alive? They were questions Neville decided he'd ask the two once the war was won. For now, he had a mission to complete.

It was only when Neville arrived at the seventh-floor of the castle that he waited for Hermione, Blaise, and Tracey to catch up. The Slytherin girl's face was as red as her hair when she'd arrived behind the dark-skinned wizard and Hermione. Blaise's eyes scanned the hall, a fog of questions behind his deep-brown pools. While Hermione stood patiently at his side, it was Tracey who spoke through scattered breath, "A little warning before you take off like that, Longbottom."

"Sorry about that," Neville said with a lowered head.

"Don't worry about it," Blaise said, an ever-calm tone in his voice. "You said you had an idea about the diadem, so what is it?"

"Well, I remember that on Harry's map, the Room of Requirement didn't show up on it." Neville's voice held itself at a hushed whisper as it continued, "Nobody explored the school quite like the marauders, and even they didn't find the room. To an average onlooker, or even a spiritual one, if a person had found the Room of Requirement and entered it without a person seeing them, then it would look like they'd dissapeared into thin air."

"So you think that Riddle knew about the Room of Requirement?" Hermione asked. Neville nodded, "Okay, well, while that helps a little, the Room of Requirement supposedly changes based on the needs of the user. So what would Riddle have asked the room to turn into?"

"That is the million galleon question," Neville conceded. "Honestly, I was just going to ask the room for a place to hide something."

"And you think that will work?" Hermione asked. Neville only shrugged in response. "Okay... well, we could do that, but I have a plan that might be marginally more productive."

"Do tell," Neville said with a chuckle.

"Why don't we just tell the room that we really need the Diadem of Ravenclaw hidden away inside of it?" Hermione asked. "I mean, I feel like that would be easier and also remove the possibility of us missing it by mistake."

Neville snapped, "That is... a much better plan than mine. Okay, let's go with that." Hermione smiled, and Neville stepped aside, "Alright then, love, it was your idea, so go ahead and take the honors."

The Hufflepuff stood back allowed the Ravenclaw to march back and forth. He looked back at Tracey and Blaise, who stared blankly at the wall. For a moment, nothing happened, and Neville wondered if the desire had been too specific until, from out of nowhere, a metal-barred door appeared.

"Well I'll be damned," Blaise smirked. "Honestly, didn't think that would work." Hermione only smiled before she pushed in the door. Neville gripped the back of Hermione's shirt and pulled her back. His blood pounded in his ears as a horribly familiar magic pulsated from the silver tiara.

"Don't go any closer," Neville ordered, a glare heavy in his eyes. "Without a doubt, that's his magic." The Diadem of Ravenclaw rocked back and forth on its stand. Neville stepped forward before another magic sparked from behind him. Quickly he dove to his left and rolled back to his feet. "What the hell was-"

He didn't need to finish his question before the cold, glossy eyes of Tracey answered it for him. "Don't touch the Diadem. If I wear it, it says it can show me how to bring Ron back. We have to keep it safe. I won't let you destroy it."

"The Diadem can't talk Tracey!" Neville shouted, "It's Voldemort's magic, it's playing a trick on you!"

"No!" Tracey shouted, "It's my fault Ron died, and with the Diadem I can bring him back." She readied her wand, "I can absolve my guilt. I won't let you destroy it!"

"Tracey, please, snap out of it," Neville said, his wand gripped tightly in his palm. "I don't want to have to bring you out of this trance by force."

"Petrificus Totalus!" Blaise hissed, and instantly, his girlfriend fell to the ground. Neville blinked at the lack of resistance, but Blaise only glowered at the Diadem. "There's nothing Tracey hates more than feeling out of control. This thing is fucking with her head, I'm not going to allow that."

"Get Tracey to Madam Pomfrey, and away from here," Neville said. "I have no idea what exposure to a horcux can do to people, but I don't intend to find out." Neville turned back only to see the Diadem in mid-air. "Um, Hermione, did you cast a levitation spell?"

"That's not me," Hermione said.

"Right! Right!" A familiar voice called out. Neville snarled at the figure who revealed himself with a smile, "I heard you talking to the Baron, and I know The Grey Lady really wants this. She said she'd even tell the Baron to leave me alone if I brought it to her. Sorry to do this to you Nev, I really did like your little group, but I've got to go!"

"Peeves!" Neville shouted and pointed his wand towards the poltergeist, "Drop the Diadem now!" His orders fell on deaf ears as the poltergeist raced down the hall with a laugh. Neville said nothing before he gave chase and barreled down the corridor. "Give a me a break."

A/N: I know that one criticism I get a lot is that I right stories that are bummers, and while I try to really emphasize the tragedy that is war, it doesn't mean that there can't be moments of levity. Once again, Daphne proves that even if she thinks she's horrible at the whole GF thing, she is perfect for Harry and Michael and Harry's friendly rivalry really showed itself with the last line in his section which was also very fun to write! First reveal of the full body armor was pretty cool too! Finally there was Neville's bit of progression and some chuckles.

If you did enjoy, please be sure to Follow, Favorite, and Review! Until Next Time, Peace!