A Subtle Change

by Weasleylover1

Sequel to 'What You Left Behind'. A view of the wizarding world as it heads into war, with relationships tested to the limits and the guarantee that everything will subtly change from now on.

31. Chapter 31

Author's Note: This was the chapter that wouldn't end, it has driven me mad with rewrites and revisions and it is with a certain sense of relief that I'm finally posting it! Thank you as always for your patience and your kind words and especially thanks to my kind reviewers:

Jadely31: Well the update certainly wasn't 'soon'...sorry, my need to give all the characters some kind of scene meant that it got a bit unending! Thanks for the lovely reviews! :)

Phoenixx Rising: I hope this is a good pay off for the tension! Thanks for reviewing! :)

Fai's Smile: Now you get to see why I thought you'd gotten a sneak at my rough draft. ;) And god yes, Druscilla took her time with Remus (which is hardly something she normally suffers from). The talk with her and Dumbledore just kind of came out of nowhere, but the more I got into it the more interested I got in the quite difficult relationship they have for two people ostensibly fighting on the same side and the fact that they do not usually bring out the best in each other, but I felt like they do tend to bring out things in each other that other people miss. They're a bit too good at seeing each other's faults, but they're not wrong about them. Neville's still having a rough time here but I hope everyone'll like the side of him we get to see in this chapter. Thanks for the review! :)

A Subtle Change

Chapter 31

Druscilla Thornfield had taken one final look over of the group of Ministry volunteers before leaving for Grimmauld Place; what she'd seen hadn't filled her with confidence. A handful of resolute but clearly nervous people, hardly the fearless fighting force she'd have hoped for.

She spotted a familiar face and almost groaned aloud. Tebrin Underwood, the young head of the Department for the Fair and Equal Treatment of Non-Human Magical Beings (what a ludicrous title, she thought - not for the first time), who'd not too long ago had to take a traumatised intern off her hands – an intern she'd traumatised. Druscilla was still hopeful that he wasn't aware of that, he was a pleasant, friendly man who took a very hard line on discriminatory or bullying behaviour. None of that was her current concern though. "Underwood, what are you doing here?"

The man gave a nervous shrug. "There was a call for volunteers, I volunteered."

"Tebrin, you lost a fight with a door last week." It wasn't much of an exaggeration, his scarf had become entangled in a revolving door and he'd had to be freed before it could throttle him. The incident had amused her no end at the time but didn't exactly fill her with confidence for tonight.

He gave a rueful smile. "And you recently got floored by Kingsley Shacklebolt if the rumour mill's to be believed."

"He's the Head Auror, I guarantee you the Death Eaters will be trickier to deal with than a door!"

"I went to Kingsley for an assessment and he agreed to my coming along. My scarf got caught that's all."

Druscilla ran a distracted hand through her hair. "Well, I suppose it's your funeral."

Tebrin winced at her words. "I've left a letter in my desk for my partner, just in case. He doesn't actually know I'm here, thought I'd better leave some kind of explanation."

"Oh this just keeps getting better!" She'd thrown her hands up and walked away at that point, furious with Fudge's decision and the fact she'd been shut out of the process by both him and Kingsley. The Head Auror had spotted her and tried to call her back, but in her fit of bad temper she'd ignored him. Now she wished she hadn't. The whole encounter had left her unsettled and twitchy, and usually the one person who could offer her reassurance on these things was Kingsley. By the time she reached the Order's headquarters she was, unbeknownst to herself, wearing the expression that always made people scatter out of her path at the Ministry.

One person who never ran from her though, no matter how black her mood or how unwelcoming her expression, was Remus. From the moment she entered the sitting room the Order were gathered in, he could tell she was upset. He wasn't sure when he'd learned to read her moods but now it was as though she'd got a neon sign above her head. Where everyone else read the rage and frustration they expected from her, he could see anxiety and misery.

He moved quickly to her side and quietly asked, "Are you ok?"

She shook her head. "Someone told me they've left a letter in their desk." He looked confused and she clarified. "You know, in case they get killed. I'm not at all sure I wanted to know that."

Remus grimaced. "There's probably a few of those letters lying around right now. Let's just hope none of them get delivered."

"Some will." The look on her face said it all; she wasn't the letter writing type. Remus couldn't imagine there was anything more personal awaiting discovery, should something should happen to her, than an up to date will and a list of instructions for keeping her office running. Then it occurred to him that maybe, to her, her office was personal. She'd invested her adult life and energies into the Ministry, and sometimes her lack of affection for the Minster made him forget just how much she seemed to cherish the Ministry as an institution.

Her sharp eyes noticed his wandering thoughts. "What are you thinking about? Not going to tell me there's a letter in your desk are you?"

He smiled. "I don't even have a desk. I was just wondering, why aren't you staying at the Ministry? Who's coordinating there?"

"Bizarrely enough, the Minister." She responded without a trace of sarcasm.

Remus raised his eyebrow. "Bit unusual isn't it? Didn't think you usually let him run things," he deadpanned, wanting desperately to see her smile, wanting to make her think just for a moment about something other than letters and Dark Lords and death.

It worked better than he could have hoped. She laughed, grim mask finally cracking, causing a few scandalised looks in the sombre room. She ignored them all though, focusing solely on Remus. "Well Cornelius has behaved himself lately, I thought I'd give him a treat." She became serious again. "He insisted on doing something and I could hardly let him come with us, all the Aurors would do then would be to try to protect him and he is a little old to be fighting."

"Dumbledore's here." Remus couldn't help pointing out.

"Dumbledore's Dumbledore," she replied simply. "Fudge is best where he is, and he and I both know it. And tonight of all the nights the Ministry doesn't need the two of us fighting each other, which as we are both in a somewhat anxious state of mind would be the inevitable fallout."

"I find it hard to imagine that the two of you would waste time fighting each other in the current circumstances."

Druscilla was reminded of the fact that Remus really hadn't known her that long and gave a quiet and self-conscious laugh. It would not after all have been the first time she and Fudge had indulged in squabbling while Rome burned around them. "Well anyway, if things go wrong there needs to be a clear point of command to rally round. Not all the Aurors are coming with us, we have to leave some people behind to guard the Ministry and St Mungo's, a few have been placed in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and of course there's always at least one Auror within shouting distance of the Minister these days. And then there's always one on watch somewhere near the Muggle Prime Minister. But, on the whole, most of them are here. If this goes catastrophically wrong things are going to look very bleak, and the value of a figurehead like Fudge isn't to be underestimated in such conditions." She didn't look happy with what she was saying. "I'm more use here than I would be there and he's more use there than he would be here," she summed up brusquely before offering Remus a playful smile as a pleasing idea occurred to her. "Are you worrying about me?"

Remus snorted. "I'm just worried you'll use the cover of the battle to take out anyone you're concerned could stand between you and becoming the next Minister," he baited her with a small smile.

"Well you've nothing to worry about then," she patted him condescendingly on the cheek in a teasing manner.

He grabbed her hand fiercely and locked their gazes. "Seriously, be careful," he all but growled out.

"Remus, I've done this before, I know how to take care of myself and I fully intend on emerging alive and intact from this. At which point I will need someone to remind me that defeating Voldemort doesn't make me Queen of the World and that I can't wander over to the Ministry and kick Fudge out undemocratically. In other words Remus, I shall need someone who is an expert at spoiling my fun, so don't you even think about doing anything foolish." She grasped his hand tightly in hers, drawing strength from the way he squeezed back as though trying to say everything still unsaid between them through a simple touch.

XXXXXXX

Across the room Percy Weasley saw his boss take Remus Lupin's hand and smiled, his mood lifting briefly at the sight. He was feeling physically ill; his mind wouldn't quiet down, one dreadful scenario after another flitting across his thoughts. The lunch he'd had to force down for fear of passing out otherwise was threatening to make a reappearance, and he'd stuffed his hands in his pockets in an attempt to stop the constant nervous fidgeting that he knew drew attention to himself when he felt like this.

Percy looked across the room to where Oliver was being kitted out by Emmeline Vance, the retired Healer who'd been in the Order longer than he and Oliver had been alive.

Oliver was dressed in the bottle green robes of an Emergency Healer, he had a pair of belts circling his waist and crossing his torso, each laden down with phials and pouches. Percy knew there was a very specific order that everything on those belts was kept in. His lover looked surprisingly comfortable, but then Oliver had exactly the sort of calm confidence that made for a good Healer.

It was unusual for the Aurors to take an actual medic with them, though they were all trained in basic emergency aid, but it had happened often enough through the years for a uniform to have developed distinct from that worn by the St Mungo's Emergency Healers. The robes Oliver was wearing were thicker, spell protected, less maneuverable than the emergency medics St Mungo's dispatched wore, and with a large white cross on the back. It was meant to signify to attackers that the person was a non-combatant. In practice there was little evidence to suggest it had ever stopped them from being targeted. Spell protected fabric was heavy and stiff, for a good dueller it gave more trouble than the limited protection it provided was worth. For someone more likely to be busy using their wand for healing than defence though every slight advantage was deemed worthwhile. It wouldn't stop a killing curse but it might stop a stunner in a pinch, might lessen the damage inflicted by certain curses. Percy wasn't at all happy betting Oliver's life on it, but he was all too aware that it was not his decision to make.

Aware he was staring, Percy glanced away from his lover, trying once more to calm himself through the slow repetitive breathing that various self-help books had sworn would work. It didn't work; probably whoever had written them had never tried to employ such techniques in a situation like this.

As his mother approached him though he forced a smile, and by the look on her face was at least semi-successful.

"Percy dear, where were you all afternoon?" Molly Weasley asked, brushing imaginary lint from his shoulders which she had to stretch up to reach.

"I..." Percy stammered, mind flashing back to an afternoon spent in Oliver's bed. Waking alone that morning to find Oliver had snuck out early as promised had felt far worse than he would have expected and by midday he'd been on the other man's doorstep, relieved when Oliver immediately pulled him inside and into an embrace. Dragging his mind back to the present and realising that Oliver had at some point wandered back to his side, making thinking clearly all the harder, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, the most believable lie there was. "...I was at work!"

Remus stood nearby was surprised to see Druscilla roll her eyes.

"You work too much," Molly Weasley fussed.

"Let him be, Molly." Arthur interjected to a grateful smile from his son.

Percy couldn't bring himself to meet Oliver's eyes.

"Oh bugger!" An exclamation from Tonks caught everyone's attention. She'd clearly just been stopped from falling over by Charlie and was casting her gaze frustratedly over the floor.

"What's the matter, Tonks?" Moody asked with a slightly long-suffering note to his voice. Long experience of Tonks had left him fondly exasperated by her much of the time, but even with his exacting standards she had often managed to impress him. It was just that she usually had him rolling his eyes towards the heavens less than ten minutes later.

"I've dropped my portkey!" The young woman dropped to her knees, searching the carpet. "It must have rolled under the sideboard," she groaned, trying in vain to stick her hand in the small gap between the piece of furniture and the floor.

Charlie crouched down to help her. "It can't have gone far," he said reasonably, but neither one of them could see it.

After watching Tonks scrabble around on the floor for a few moments, and realising that everyone else was starting to try and help and that the whole incident just seemed to be putting everyone further on edge, Moody huffed out a sigh of resigned irritation and produced another portkey. "Here, never mind that!" Moody passed her the portkey with a stern look, "Now hang on to that one!"

Tonks turned crimson in embarrassment and thanked him.

"Just be careful!"

She smiled at him softly at the grumble of almost paternal sounding concern.

Molly gave Alastor a fond smile, she had a good deal of affection for him and knew well that for all his abrupt manners and rampant paranoia he'd always kept a protective eye over the young Aurors he'd trained. Turning back to her family she frowned. "Where's Percy gone now?"

"I think he stepped out with Oliver a moment ago," Arthur replied.

Molly sighed, "I'll go and fetch them. We'll be going soon, what on earth is he thinking?"

"No. I'll go." Bill quickly volunteered. He'd noticed that, while everyone else was occupied watching Tonks lose her portkey, Oliver had steered his brother quietly and discretely out of the room and he had a hunch that Percy wouldn't be happy with whoever went after them. Well Percy and Bill were rarely happy with each other anyway and Bill was pretty sure he'd worked out what was going on with his intensely private brother and the handsome Quidditch player. If he was right then, given the circumstances, it was probably better he go after them himself than allow his mother to.

XXXXXXX

Oliver had indeed taken advantage of the distraction to usher Percy subtlety from the room. It was all too clear that his lover wasn't focussing at all on what was going on, busy worrying as ever about concealing their relationship from the world.

As soon as they were out of earshot Percy started apologising. "I'm sorry, yes I lied, but I could hardly tell them the truth, I think everyone's got enough on their minds right now...where are we going?"

Oliver dragged him into another, smaller and if possible even dustier, sitting room and closed the door quietly behind them. "Stop it." The Quidditch player looked slightly frantic. "Stop thinking about how to explain yourself to your family, or to me. You cannot be thinking about this right now. Just get through the next few hours, that's all I want from you and it's all they'd want too. For God's sake, Percy, just focus on staying alive!"

Percy gave him a hard look. "Only if you do the same."

Oliver looked confused.

"Worrying about me won't help keep you alive!" Percy continued. "I'm not the one you should be worrying about. I'm certainly not the one I want you worrying about! I didn't want you here to begin with. No offence, but you're not much a dueller from what I recall."

Oliver really didn't want to have that argument again. "Then it's a good job I'm not here to fight."

Percy laughed humourlessly. "Yes you are. Don't be naïve, that robe won't even make them hesitate."

"I know that." Oliver admitted quietly.

"You shouldn't be here." Percy pressed on stubbornly.

"Don't." Oliver's voice took on a hard edge. "Don't do this. I know you want me safe, you want one less thing to worry about out there, one less variable you can't control, but don't dismiss me like that. I've heard a lot of dumb Quidditch player jokes in my time; I've been dismissed as useless by a lot of people, but never by you. No matter what you say I'm not going anywhere, so if you say something like that you better mean it."

Percy wrung in hands in frustration. "Of course I don't think you're useless! I just don't want you to get hurt!"

"And I don't want you to get hurt either. And I really don't want to fight with you right now!"

"I don't either...I just...you..." Percy was gesturing wildly with ink-stained hands. "Bloody hell, Oliver, I never know what to say to you!" He grasped Oliver's hands in his own and drew him close. "You are the only person who has ever made me wonder if words are overrated." The kiss started out soft and apologetic but as Oliver's hands wound into Percy's hair the mood altered to something desperate and reckless, hands grasping and pulling, bodies so close it was as though they were trying to inhabit the same space.

A low whistle from the door had Percy jumping out of Oliver's embrace, though his lover had to reach out to steady him before he fell.

Bill Weasley was alone in the doorway, looking pale but amused. "Time to go. If you're quite done here."

"Bill!" Percy looked horrified and seemed no more eloquent than he had when trying to speak to Oliver moments before, mouth moving but speech failing him.

"Oh get over yourself!" Bill scoffed. "It's not like I can say I'm surprised." He rolled his eyes at his brother's awkwardness. "We don't have time for this. It should be needless to say, but looking at your face it isn't, I'm very happy for you, you're still a pain, and I will never not be ridiculously glad you came home no matter what else I might have said on the matter." He squeezed Percy's arm, "It's time to go."

Still silent, Percy nodded.

XXXXXXX

Ron and Hermione, concealed under Harry's invisibility cloak, had retreated to the safety of Grimmauld Place's dark hallway, well away from Moody's magical glass eye and Dumbledore's, possibly no less magical, real ones. Hagrid had brought them along as promised, having to travel separately from Dumbledore and McGonagall to ensure they wouldn't be noticed. They'd faithfully promised him they would stay put in the kitchen until everyone had left and then tell Fred and George that they were there.

In reality they had followed him unseen into the sitting room and watched as Moody distributed the portkeys amongst the gathered Order members.

Hermione had been terrified after what had happened to Neville that her spell would injure Tonks, but the whole thing had gone without a hitch. Tonks had stumbled and dropped the portkey exactly as Hermione had planned, and Ron had neatly summonedit under the cloak at lightning speed. They were waiting anxiously outside the doorway to hear how the portkeys were to be activated when Hermione had to suddenly pull Ron abruptly out of the path of his brothers and Oliver Wood.

"What's that about?" Ron whispered aloud, watching Bill and Percy quietly engaged in intense conversation with Oliver eyeing the two brothers carefully.

Hermione shrugged and shushed him.

A brief snatch of conversation became audible as Percy and Bill passed mere inches from them.

"Be careful out there." Bill sounded very much the concerned big brother that Ron couldn't ever remember him having been with Percy. By the time Ron been old enough to absorb what was going on around him his brothers' relationship had already soured. Suddenly it looked friendlier than it had in years.

"You too." Percy gracing Bill with a genuine smile and sincere gratitude was no less surprising. Whatever they'd been up to, Ron felt sure that something had happened to clear the air between them.

Hermione pulled on Ron's elbow and they crept closer to the door again, listening carefully as Druscilla Thornfield called for quiet.

XXXXXXX

"Right," Druscilla looked as grim as Hermione and Ron felt. "You've all got your portkeys, they're set to activate to the word Porta. They're a one way trip; once we get there we should be able to Apparate out. Oliver, Emmeline, that's what you two will be doing with any wounded. Take serious cases to St. Mungo's and anything less lethal looking to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing via the Floo network at the Hogshead. You get back to us via your portkeys. Understand?"

Oliver and Emmeline Vance both nodded.

"We know roughly where Harry should be," Thornfield continued. "Professor Dumbledore is going after him. The rest of us need to keep the Death Eaters occupied. Disarm and incapacitate with all possible expediency. If you're injured try to send up purple sparks to alert the medics. Be careful and try to watch each other's backs."

Druscilla ceded the floor to the Headmaster, leaving the pep talk to someone far better qualified. As he started talking though her mind was only half on his words (something about teamwork, mutual support...possibly something about truth and righteousness, she couldn't be sure), the other half of her mind occupied in rampant worry. Worry for Remus, concern for herself, downright anxiety for Percy; and a beneath it all an iron determination that, despite all of that, they were going to succeed.

XXXXXXX

Ron couldn't claim to have heard much of the Headmaster's speech either, too busy worrying about his family. The sight of even Bill and Percy burying the hatchet had made it clear just how serious this was. He sometimes envied Hermione her Muggle family. Her parents were probably sat at home having a cup of tea and talking about the weather, and his were heading off to fight some of the most dangerous people he'd ever known.

He watched in quiet anguish as the Order activated their portkeys and his family vanished from sight with everyone else.

"Give it five minutes," Hermione whispered. "If they see us they'll try to send us back with someone. Plus once they've engaged the Death Eaters it'll be easier for us to slip through and find Harry."

Ron nodded, quiet but resolute. The next five minutes felt like the longest of their lives. Hermione fidgeted with the end of the plait she'd bundled her hair into, while Ron attempted to pace while remaining under the cloak. Given that they couldn't move even a full step away from each other and remain covered, it wasn't many moments before Hermione had smacked him on the arm and demanded he stand still.

"If anything goes wrong, just get behind me ok?" Ron tried to insist.

Hermione snorted in derision. "Ron, I am just as capable of protecting myself as you." He knew that was the polite version, that she could just as easily have pointed out that she was in fact very much more capable than he was and demanded he stay behind her. "If anything goes wrong we work together and we get out of it together, now is not the time for you to indulge in old fashioned stereotypes!"

"It's not..." he sighed exasperatedly, "It's not because you're a girl! It's because I care about you. I'd say the same thing to Harry!"

He would, she thought, he was just that sort of person; he'd protect his friends with life and limb if it came to it. Her eyes softened. "And he'd no more listen to you than I will. We're doing this together, Ron!" She squeezed his hand briefly before checking her watch. "Ok, I think we've waited long enough. You ready?"

He nodded and took a firm grip of her arm. "Go ahead."

She spoke the activation word and felt the familiar tugging behind her navel. The world blurred and span and suddenly they were in a small stone room with burning torches on one of the walls. There was no one in sight but from the next room could be heard shouts and curses and the odd heart stopping scream. She froze for a moment before looking up at Ron. He stared back at her determinedly and nodded. As one they moved through the doorway, careful to keep a tight grip on the invisibility cloak, and into pandemonium.

XXXXXXX

Following his tumble that afternoon Neville had found himself confined to the Hospital Wing for the night, though he'd had the strange impression that Madame Pomfrey was no happier about this than he was. She'd put him behind a screen at the far end of the ward and told him in no uncertain terms to stay put. By half past eight that evening he felt much better and was beginning to grow rather bored of lying in bed, so when he heard voices further down the ward the impulse to listen in was irresistible.

"The common rooms have all been sealed; we should at least not have any trouble from wandering students tonight." Neville easily identified Professor Flitwick's squeaky little voice.

"Won't they panic if they realise they're locked in?" he heard Madame Promfrey ask. "The last thing we need is them trying to spell the doors open and hurting themselves."

"Not to worry, student-repelling charms." Flitwick assured her.

"What?" Neville was mouthing the same question he heard from the nurse.

"Something of my own invention, similar to the Muggle-repelling charms the Ministry uses, as soon as someone tries to leave one of the common rooms they'll suddenly remember something they had to do and forget all about leaving. I'll let them out in the morning." Flitwick sounded rather pleased with himself.

"Filius, that's rather brilliant."

"I actually developed it to keep them out of my desk, but Madame Pince is now on at me to cast one on the Restricted Section. As though now were the time to talk about that." Something in Flitwick's tone of voice told Neville that they weren't simply using these charms to enforce a stricter curfew.

He heard a snort from Madame Pomfrey. "Given her own way I imagine she'd have you cast such a charm on the whole library." There was silence for a moment before she continued, hesitantly, "Have you heard anything?"

"No, not yet. I'm going to go and wait in Dumbledore's office, I've got an open Floo network to the Minister's office waiting for any news, but it's probably too early yet." A grim note entered his voice. "You might well know something before I do. If you need me send one of the ghosts, they're patrolling the school and I've asked the Grey Lady to stay close by so you shouldn't have any trouble finding her."

The voices grew more distant and Neville heard the door to the Hospital Wing close.

Tentatively he peered around the screen by his bed. Madame Pomfrey was sorting through a cupboard of medical supplies and didn't hear him as he wandered over to her. "What's happening?"

The nurse jumped and nearly dropped a potions phial. "Oh, Mr Longbottom, you scared me! Get back to bed!" she scolded.

"I feel fine, Madame Pomfrey," he insisted. "What's happening? Is it news on Harry?"

She nodded, reluctantly. "They're trying to rescue him, no harm in telling you now I suppose. Look if you really are feeling better, Longbottom, you should go back to your dorm, I may need these beds in a bit. Though I'd need to get Professor Flitwick to unlock your common room," she sighed, "What I'm to do with you I don't know! There'll be wounded people coming through that fireplace soon no doubt and I don't have time to deal with students, that was the whole point of sealing the common rooms!" The no-nonsense nurse sounded unusually anxious.

"Let me help."

"Mr Longbottom, what help exactly do you think you can be?" The nurse scoffed.

Neville however was determined. "I can fetch you what you need, I can take any messages to Professor Flitwick. Please, let me do something."

She sighed again. "I suppose if I send you back you'll only rouse the whole of Gryffindor House and then we'll have everyone to deal with. Very well, get dressed and strip your bed, there's clean sheets in the store cupboard, and you might want to be quick about it."

He nodded and retreated behind the screen to change out of his pyjamas, raising his voice to ask, "Why are they coming here, why not St. Mungo's?"

"Anything serious enough will but any more minor cases, or anyone who it wouldn't do to expose to the public eye while injured, will be coming here. They'll be Apparating to the Hogshead and we've opened the Floo network between there and here, so keep an eye on the fireplace."

XXXXXXX

Druscilla was back to back with Kingsley, the two of them cutting a deadly swathe through anyone that approached. She could see Moody away to her right somewhere and the tall form of Bill Weasley close by, but mostly she'd lost track of where everyone else was. Her focus had narrowed down to the Death Eaters in front of her and the man behind.

Kingsley was enjoying seeing her ruthless fighting style employed against someone other than himself. Out of the corner of his eye he was following her progress along with his own and couldn't help thinking that if you dressed her in black robes and a hood there wouldn't currently be much to choose between her and her opponents.

"Good god, Dru, I'm fairly sure you fight dirtier than they do!" he exclaimed in dark amusement.

She grinned, wild and carefree and looking far far too much in her element for someone fighting for their very life. "Thanks!" Her voice was unnaturally bright, but the anxiety he'd spotted in her when they'd first arrived seemed to have disappeared the moment she'd raised her wand. For all those years spent building a political (if not always diplomatic) career, she was at heart a fighter.

Kingsley could tell the Death Eaters were trying to draw the two of them apart, he could also tell they were starting to succeed. Druscilla was too rash in her attacks, too prone to trying to advance even when she was in danger of being surrounded. 'Reckless', the damning single-word assessment he had seen scrawled in Moody's meandering handwriting across the last evaluation she'd had in the Auror training programme; before she'd abruptly taken an interest, and a job, in International Magical Affairs. He'd been curious about that for some time but it was only recently, while assessing the various volunteers for this mission, that he'd actually gone down to the Auror Archives and looked out her file.

The young Druscilla Thornfield had passed all the tests she'd taken with flying colours, but that last report wasn't anything like as complimentary as her test scores suggested it should be. The initial evaluation was clearly not written by Moody and was couched in careful phrases, 'works well independently', 'tenacious in pursuit of her goals', but it wasn't hard for Kingsley to translate these comments to 'not a natural team player' and 'stubborn as mule about having her own way'. After all, she'd not changed all that much. The last thing in her Auror Office file was an official warning doled out during her voluntary service during the last war, after she'd left the Auror training programme but while people still seemed to think there was a good chance she'd return to it. The reprimand seemed to have been very much foreshadowed by Moody's earlier comment, 'increasingly reckless behaviour', 'inability to follow commands', 'endangerment of self and others'. No wonder she'd never come back to the Auror Office, they wouldn't have had her. They'd have been right not to. Kingsley had a healthy respect for the woman and felt that though it might not be her natural milieu she was actually surprisingly good at diplomacy. She'd taken to politics like a duck to water, albeit a particularly angry duck.

Druscilla for her part was well aware of what the Death Eaters were doing and was fighting every aggressive instinct in her in her attempt to counter it. It wasn't working though, the distance between her and the Head Auror was beginning to grow.

XXXXXXX

Ron and Hermione had arrived too late to see where Professor Dumbledore had gone in search of Harry and were doing their best to navigate their way through a pitched battle to the other side of the room, where they could see an open doorway with a passage beyond. They moved slowly through the room, casting curses from under the cloak, hurling WWW products where possible, and helping the Order wherever they could. Everyone was too occupied in fighting to notice that there were curses coming from thin air, but a few of Fred and George's odder inventions were making people look about them in confusion.

They had to doge a few badly aimed curses themselves and several times the cloak was in serious danger of slipping away from them but they held on tight, moving well in sync with each other. They had stuck to the outsides of the large room at first, keeping open a retreat should anyone come their way, but in trying to aid people they had been drawn further and further in. Ron noticed this and tugged on Hermione's elbow. "We need to back up a bit!" he pulled them both out of the path of a charging Auror and Hermione signalled her agreement. Invisible as they were, they were at as much risk of trampling by their own side as the Death Eaters.

They had just succeeded in retreating towards a quiet corner of the room when something knocked them both from their feet and the cloak from their hands.

XXXXXXX

Upon arrival, Dumbledore had wasted little time in leaving the fighting behind to seek out Harry and Voldemort. The rooms they had arrived in seemed to be on an upper story of the building but even Dumbledore's excellent sense of direction was put to the test navigating his way through the maze of passages and stairways. Some instinct he'd long ago learned to trust had him heading steadily downwards as quickly as he could, until the floor turned from stone to hard earth and the odd echo of his steps told him he was probably underground. He had encountered no one since he'd left the battle above, but here for the first time he saw signs of other people having once been there. Odd rooms he looked into contained gruesome sights he backed away from quickly, fear rising in his throat that, prophecies be damned, Riddle might decide to simply dispose of Harry rather than risk him being rescued.

Moving silently now, he proceeded down the winding passage as quickly as he could, dousing the light from his wand as he saw the flicker of a torch up ahead.

Cloaked in a powerful disillusionment charm of his own invention, Dumbledore walked right past Riddle without being noticed by either of the small room's occupants.

Harry was on the floor, still fighting to get to his feet as Voldemort stalked back and forth across the cell. Riddle's face, once so handsome, once one of his most powerful weapons in swaying people to his way of thinking, was shocking up close. For a moment Dumbledore could look at nothing else, too busy trying vainly to find the charming young man in the disfigured, snake-like features. Tom's face was further twisted in rage as he ranted angrily about loyalty and betrayal to Harry, almost as if he were talking to a confidante rather than a prisoner, halting his pacing occasionally to knock the boy back to the floor.

"...It's so disappointing, you give people everything and they repay you like this!" Dumbledore waited, his legendary patience suffering as Harry did. He found he was barely breathing as the Dark Lord's extended diatribe came to a frustrated halt. He watched as Riddle shook his head, looking at Harry with his full attention suddenly. "Anyway, you should be pleased at least. Your little friends are here, Harry, isn't that nice? We can have a proper reunion once things have calmed down. Now I'm afraid I will have to leave you for a while whilst I go and arrange their welcome, but I'm sure you won't be alone for long. We'll soon see if we can't find you some company down here."

Voldemort's departing shot, "This won't take long," chilled even Dumbledore's blood. The Headmaster waited until the door was closed and locked, and the footsteps of Riddle faded down the passage beyond, before throwing off his disillusionment charm and re-lighting his wand.

He'd expected to have to hush Harry quickly in case anyone else was nearby, but the boy just stared at him uncomprehendingly. After a moment he simply looked away.

"Harry..." Despite his plans to move as quickly as possible, Dumbledore found himself crouching in front of the boy and turning his head gently to face him. "Harry, it's Professor Dumbledore. I need you to trust me; I'm going to get you out of here."

Harry, having imagined all kinds of things and people (both welcome and not) in the dark of the cell, had at first assumed Dumbledore was nothing more than another illusion brought on by his own increasing detachment from his surroundings. The hand that touched his face though, the first physical contact in what felt like forever that hadn't turned his stomach, felt too real to be illusory. Either his sanity had declined entirely or Dumbledore (at least someone who looked very much like Dumbledore, right down to those fathomless blue eyes) was in his cell with him. With no way to know for certain, Harry chose to believe what he desperately wanted to - that someone cared enough to have come after him.

"Professor..." he grabbed at the old man's arm, assuring himself that the man was in fact real. "You came!"

Unsure of how long they had and knowing that he couldn't possibly explain to the boy what he had planned, Dumbledore quickly withdrew. "Yes, Harry. Please trust me, whatever happens I will get you out of here."

Something in the Headmaster's tone didn't sound right, but Harry was too exhausted and too relieved to be terribly concerned by it. Questions were queuing up in his mind, where was the rest of the Order, how were they going to get out, how had Dumbledore found him…but Dumbledore's suddenly severe expression made him bite his tongue.

Expecting the Headmaster to at the very least tell him what they were going to do next, Harry was shocked to see Dumbledore turn his wand on him; all at once Harry felt his body leaving his control.

It was not quite like the Imperius, there was no feeling of floating relaxation, instead it was more like he was being squeezed out of his own body. For a moment he could have sworn he could see the whole tableau as though from an outsider's perspective, his head throbbed and vision swam. He was aware that his body was moving, more gracefully and precisely than it ever had under his control. Dumbledore's wand flew into his outstretched hand and with a flick of his wrist Dumbledore himself (now stood eerily still with a glassy, empty expression) seemed to completely disappear. The wand was secreted into his back pocket and he dropped lightly to the ground in a kneeling position, legs curled beneath his body and Harry could feel his muscles tensed and ready to spring.

XXXXXXX

Unlike Druscilla, and indeed many others at the Ministry, Kingsley had always striven to avoid all semblance of favouritism amongst his staff. It was essential in order for him to be able to do his job, he needed to be able to send in the best person no matter how dangerous the task or how fond he was of them personally. The fact his judgement remained impartial though didn't mean the rest of him did.

He'd been fond of Nymphadora Tonks from the day he'd met her, all spiky green hair and nervous clumsy mannerisms, unable to keep still and so desperate to impress. She had impressed him. Her duelling style was awkward without being ungainly. Her habit of never quite knowing where her limbs were heading next she had learned to use as an excellent foil to those she was pitted against; it is after all very hard to anticipate your opponent when they are not fully sure of what they're going to do themselves. Her instincts were surprisingly good, and the constant sense she gave off of having been an outsider for much of her life appeared to have made her much more observant than most. He'd watched with no small degree of pride as her performance had improved and how at every setback, every failure, she became more determined.

She had excelled in her job, impressing even the difficult Moody, to the degree that when Dumbledore had asked if there was anyone amongst Kingsley's staff who might be willing to work with the Order she'd been the first person who'd sprung to mind.

Despite what some assumed about Tonks, she was the last person that needed watching out for in a tough situation. She was skilled, resourceful and quicker on the draw than almost anyone else in the department. Still Kingsley couldn't help a sense of misgiving at seeing a wildly grinning Bellatrix Lestrange approaching her niece. He couldn't hear their exchange from where he was, but he'd have laid down any amount of galleons that Bellatrix was saying something about the stain the likes of Tonks and her mother were on the glorious Black family name and how she intended to rectify the situation.

Tonks held her own well, but Bellatrix had taken down people much older and more skilled than her niece and by the next time Kinsgley could spare her a glance several minutes later it was clear Tonks was beginning to struggle. He remembered a piece of advice he'd been given by Moody in his own training. Mad people are the hardest to fight, they don't know or care if they're hurt or losing, they're not playing from the same rulebook as the rest of the world.

Seeing Tonks stumble and recover with less surety than he liked, he glanced briefly over at Druscilla. She was too far away from him now for words but a look was all it took for her to understand his intention to leave her to it and try to help their colleague. She nodded distractedly, offering a grin as she viciously cut down the Death Eater in front of her.

Kingsley forced his way through the fighting bodies around him and reached Tonks only in time to watch her fall to the floor, clutching her side and dropping her wand. Without a moment wasted on the shock and horror of seeing his friend in pain, Kingsley aimed a powerful hex right at Bellatrix Lestrange that sent her reeling back from where she'd been looming over her niece, a bloodied knife flying from her grasp.

"Tonks!" Kingsley crouched at her side, sending up purple sparks without delay.

The young woman looked up at him with pain clouded eyes, blood pooling alarmingly around her. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and was relieved to see Oliver Wood bearing down on them.

The young Quidditch player took over with a brisk efficiency which reassured Kingsley further and he leapt back to his feet, shielding the pair of them until Oliver had Apparated Tonks away.

XXXXXXX

Neville had followed Madame Pomfrey's instructions to the letter and so was watching the fireplace intently when Oliver Wood strode through in a flash of green flame, a young woman limp in his arms.

"Madame Pomfrey!" The nurse was at their side in an instant, gesturing for Oliver to place the woman on a nearby bed.

The Quidditch player laid the woman down gently, revealing a gash in her robes with blood flowing freely. "I tried to heal her, it's just a stab wound, it hasn't even managed to pierce any internal organs according to the scan, but I can't get it to heal. I must be doing something wrong." Oliver sounded distressed but stood back to allow Madame Pomfrey to examine her patient.

The nurse scanned the woman herself and shook her head. "No, you're not. This won't heal by magic; it looks like the blade was coated in something to prevent magical healing. Who stabbed her?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

"If she stabs anyone else take them straight to St Mungo's; this is not going to be easy to stabilise and if there were any internal problems I mightn't be able to cope. Leave Tonks here though, moving her will just make it worse. Staunch the blood flow while I fetch some things."

Oliver nodded and pressed the bloodied bundle he'd been holding against the wound. "I need to get back. Can you treat her if I go?"

The nurse returned to the bed and placed an armful of jars and instruments on to the bedside table. "Of course, you should go back."

Oliver removed the compress again but the blood flow seemed only to have increased and he quickly replaced his hand.

Neville didn't think he'd ever seen that much blood, he had no idea how the human body could lose that much and still live. Madame Pomfrey looked decidedly shaken too, running her wand back and forth over the prone figure. "Mr Longbottom, come here," she summoned him.

Neville hesitated only a fraction of a second before steeling himself and drawing closer to the bed. Oliver, understanding the nurse's intentions, took Neville's hand and pressed it where his own had been, holding a wad of material that looked like it was torn from someone's robes against the wound. "Hold that there really firmly!" The Quidditch player looked the calmest of the three of them, but it was an eerie calm as though this wasn't the worst thing he'd seen tonight. "I have to go back," he repeated. He patted Neville kindly on the shoulder and left as quickly as he'd arrived through the large fireplace. It was only after he had gone that Neville realised neither Madame Pomfrey nor himself had asked how things were going out there.

The nurse had managed to rouse her patient to some semblance of consciousness and was coaxing a potion down her throat. Neville could feel her heartbeat via the blood that was seeping through the fabric he had pressed painfully tightly to her side. A slow steady pumping, no longer sending blood to the major organs but instead out of the body altogether. In less than a minute though he began to notice a reduction in the blood loss.

Madame Pomfrey eased a corner of the compress away from Neville's hands and away from the wound. "Oh thank heaven, it's working. The blood's started to clot."

"What did you give her?" Neville finally found his voice.

"A blood clotting agent, the wound's not going to heal but the clotting process has been accelerated to reduce the bleeding enough to stitch her."

"Stitch her?" Neville felt a little faint. "Like Muggles do?"

"It's not the fastest healing method but it does work. You can take the compress off her now."

The nurse threaded a needle, sterilised everything with her wand, and gestured for Neville to step back and let her work. He watched in horrified fascination as the needle repeatedly pierced the bloodstained skin, pulling the thread behind it. The wound was still bleeding a little and the once white sheets were a macabre pattern of deep red. It felt like it took forever, but it couldn't really have been more than ten minutes before the wound was neatly closed.

"Mr Longbottom," Madame Pomfrey, having discarded her needle, touched him lightly on the arm, causing him to jump. "I can't tell you tonight will get any easier, you've done very well but if you want to go back to bed no one will think any the worse of you."

The young man took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, I want stay. Tell me what I can do."

He was rewarded with a small smile. "Go to Professor Flitwick, he's in Dumbledore's office - password's Sugar Mice - tell him to let St. Mungo's know that they may be getting some patients through with magic resistant wounds. Then go down to Professor Snape's store and bring me up all that you can find of this," she handed him the empty jar that she'd had Tonks drink the contents of. "You'll need to go into his private store, he said he'd leave it open in case I needed anything tonight so you shouldn't have any problems getting in, and he's very organised so it should all be stored together."

XXXXXXX

Ron had wrapped his arms around Hermione as they fell, instinctively trying to cushion her fall. Bruised and winded but having apparently escaped major injury, he tried to struggle to his feet but something had his lower body pinned. Twisting up and off Hermione as best he could, he saw the thing pinning him was an Auror, lying unmoving, eyes open but unseeing, on top of them. Horrified as he was, Ron realised this had probably saved them, they'd mostly been hidden by the Auror's body and torn robes. The cloak however was a good six feet out of their reach. Hermione gave a gasp and he squeezed her hand, thinking the sight of the dead Auror had upset her. Hermione's mind however was on something else entirely. "Ron!" He looked at her as she held up the splintered remains of her wand.

He swore loudly and pointed his own wand at the cloak to summon it, but it was no use, someone was stood right on it.

"Never mind the cloak, help me move...this!" Hermione clearly recoiled from saying 'body'. The Auror had been a large man and it took both their strength to shift him. They crouched behind his body, miraculously still unnoticed by the surrounding fighters.

"We need to get the cloak back!" Ron hissed.

"I know, but I don't know..." whatever it was Hermione didn't know Ron never found out as she suddenly pulled him down and a curse shot millimetres over their heads. They'd been seen.

Ron fired back, a hundred to one shot as he was barely able to see where the original attack had come from, and then ducked back down in time to avoid another curse. "We need to get up!"

"We'll be more of a target that way!" Hermione protested.

"Yeah, but we can't dodge crouched on the floor. Trust me, it's like Quidditch!"

"What?!"

"To dodge the Bludgers you don't want to stay still, or in any position where you can't move in a hurry." He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet and took up a defensive stance, more closely related to a Quidditch Keeper's resting position than a dueller's, raising his wand. "You throw the WWW stuff and I'll see what I can do."

XXXXXXX

From across the room Remus regarded Ron and Hermione with a mixture of horror and fond resignation. They had both followed Harry headlong into danger time and again over the last six years, perhaps it had been foolish to think they would even consider not doing so again. Like James and Sirius risking themselves in learning a dangerous and illegal transformation merely for his own sanity and comfort, the bond of friendship between these three teenagers was stronger than anyone would likely have anticipated.

How on earth they'd managed to find their way here Remus hadn't the foggiest, though Tonks' misplaced portkey was suddenly looking a lot more suspicious than it had an hour before. He struggled through two Death Eaters, past a gaggle of Aurors, trying to make his way over to help the young pair, before finding his progress halted by a short and all too familiar figure. "Hello Remus."

And suddenly he was reminded that it wasn't just James and Sirius who'd risked themselves to keep him company at the full moons. "Peter." The chaos seemed to fade away, taking with it all the noise and urgency of the fighting, leaving just two old friends stood with their wands pointed right at each other.

Pettigrew fired off a curse before Remus had even gathered his scattered thoughts and he was likely saved more by the instincts of the wolf than his own hard-earned expertise. He dodged rather than try to deflect the spell, and whirled to the side, finding time to reel off a curse of his own that Pettigrew dodged more clumsily but just as effectively.

The shorter man laughed. "Learned a few things since our school days, Remus. I'm not your slow friend anymore."

"I never saw you that way. No one did!" Even now it felt important that Peter knew that.

"Everyone did!"

Remus didn't know if the anger and resentment were feigned or real, if that was how they'd actually made Peter feel somehow. If he'd just been granted the answer to the question that had haunted him for years – why would their friend betray them like that? His eyes searched the man in front of him in vain for any vestige of the boy he'd been friends with, of the man he'd mourned after he'd believed Sirius had killed him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to find it or not, if would make things any better or infinitely worse.

XXXXXXX

Oliver Wood stumbled out of the fireplace at the Hogshead, mind filled with images of Tonks half dead and drenched in blood. Blood that still stained his hands and robes. Suddenly he recalled a comment from Druscilla Thornfield when she'd seen his uniform. "I always thought that should have been red, not green." At the time he'd thought it a very odd comment from a proud Slytherin like her, now he understood what she'd meant.

Other things started racing through his mind. Things like he didn't remember when he'd last firecalled his mother, that he'd never properly thanked his father for the constant support and faith in his Quidditch career. He'd never paid one of his teammates back for the last time they'd gone out and ended up in a Muggle bar and he'd not had any Muggle money. He'd never written to Katie after Angelina's funeral like he'd intended to. He'd never done any number of things he should have done, and suddenly he was faced with the inescapable fact that he might never have chance to do any of them at all. It was an uncomfortable moment for a man who'd never shied away from anything, but he suddenly knew that if he didn't go back to the fight right now he wasn't sure he'd go back at all.

Oliver abruptly became aware that he was being watched. The solitary bartender (who reminded him vaguely of Dumbledore for some reason) was polishing a glass behind the bar, or perhaps just distributing the dirt more evenly. Ashamed of his thoughts, he nodded a brusque greeting and was taken by surprise as the bartender tossed him the cloth. He caught it instinctively.

"For your hands," the man grunted gruffly.

Oliver wiped his hands thoroughly on the cloth, surprised when every last trace of blood vanished. "Thanks." He threw the cloth back and activated his portkey before he saw the man catch it, and before he could lose his nerve.

The first thing he saw upon his return to the fighting was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger duelling a Death Eater. Too far away from them to help, he set about getting the attention of someone who could.

XXXXXXX

"Ron," Hermione cried as he stumbled back under the onslaught of a tall masked figure. "Use the Acri Caligo hex!"

"The what?!" He'd never even heard of it.

"Trust me!"

Well if he didn't trust her already he wouldn't be in this mess. He dodged a curse as she drew close and muttered instructions, loud enough for him to catch but quiet enough to be nonsense to his opponent who was still keeping back, as though they felt two teenagers (one without even a wand) were not worthy of their full attention. The hex hurled a steaming, roiling fog into the Death Eater's face, forcing them to pull their mask off in frustration as they tried to see through the dense cloud, revealing the ill-favoured features of Executioner Macnair. "Nice call!" Ron whooped in admiration.

"I've got more where that came from," she said grimly.

Hermione continued to prompt him and Ron soon found himself reeling off curses and hexes and counter-charms he'd never heard of, at her instruction, deviating only occasionally as he saw a risk or opportunity she had missed. He was far from a practiced dueller but he had the chess master's talent for seeing the bigger picture and thinking several moves ahead. He was however no match for Macnair, even with Hermione throwing the last of the WWW products and managing to hit him with something that tied the executioner up in pink frilly ribbons that it took him a good minute of aggravation to free himself from.

Suddenly, to Ron's relief, there was a large, familiar figure between them and the immediate danger. Hagrid, armed with his pink umbrella and holding the invisibility cloak that he must have rescued.

Hagrid swung the large sturdy umbrella with all his considerable strength and felled Macnair with a cry of, "Tha's fer Buckbeak!"

"Hagrid!" Hermione exclaimed.

"You two! I 'aven't words for 'ow cross I am right now! Get tha' over yer and get ou' of 'ere!" He flung the invisibility cloak at Ron and stood before them, brandishing the pink umbrella menacingly, as they hid themselves back under the cloak.

"Come on!" Ron tugged Hermione along the outer edges of the room. "Let's go and find Harry."

XXXXXXX

Neville hurried through the Hogwarts corridors, bearing the supplies from Snape's stores. The castle was eerie without his fellow students milling about, even the ghosts seemed to be occupied elsewhere. It was odd to think of everyone sleeping quietly while their world hung in the balance.

He was reminded of his first year and that madcap night-time adventure with Harry, Ron and Hermione. A pell-mell race to escape Filch, culminating in an unforgettable encounter with that terrible three headed dog, and all because he'd gone and forgotten the password to Gryffindor Tower. At the time, crawling shaking into his bed, he had sworn to himself he would never forget anything again and that he would certainly never again stray away from the tower at night. He'd never really expected to keep the first of those vows, but he surprised even himself by breaking the second only a few months later when he'd found himself dashing through the corridors late at night once again after Harry and Hermione, trying to warn them of Malfoy's plan to get them caught. That hadn't ended much better than the dog incident. If anything it had been worse, with the dressing down from McGonagall and the fact that the very few people who'd been willing to talk to him before it had happened wouldn't so much as look at him after he'd lost the house so many points.

That had all changed though due to Dumbledore's kindness at the end of year feast. He had purposely left Neville's points to be allocated last, making it his act in trying to stop the other Gryffindors from going out yet again at night that won Gryffindor the house cup.

Approaching the Hospital Wing as quickly as he dared while carrying so many glass vessels, Neville found himself smiling a touch grimly at the memory of Hermione throwing him in a full bodybind and leaving him alone in the deserted common room for the night. The famed Gryffindor trio might not always have been the most considerate or attentive of friends but they had certainly taught him to stand on his own two feet, and even to stand up to them.

Too lost in his thoughts Neville almost managed to overshoot the Hospital Wing. Five years later and he was still the same forgetful Neville.

No, he thought, not quite the same. The Neville of five years ago would have probably fainted at the sight of Madame Pomfrey literally stitching closed a horrible gaping wound. Something that he felt had started that night when he'd stood his ground to the few people he'd then called friends had continued to grow inside him ever since. A sense that standing up was more important than fitting in (which if he was honest he'd never been terribly likely to manage anyway), that courage was about much more than fighting duels and facing down Death Eaters (though heaven help him he'd ended up doing that last year and somehow lived to tell the tale), and that he was perhaps, just perhaps, more capable than he often thought himself.

Back in the Hospital Wing Madame Pomfrey greeted him with a welcoming smile and relieved him of the (miraculously unspilt) bottles, jars and phials. "Thank you, Mr Longbottom. I shouldn't say this, but I have to admit I'm more than half glad to have you here tonight."

Despite it all, Neville smiled.

XXXXXXX

Having successfully gained Hagrid's attention Oliver had made the mistake of stopping to watch the giant man rush to Ron and Hermione's aid. His Quidditch-honed skills alerted him to the incoming curse with mere moments to spare and as he threw himself to the ground he felt a searing pain as the spell brushed his back. He had a feeling that only his spell-imbued robes had saved him from much worse. Gritting his teeth he rolled back to his feet and, with what had to be the luckiest shot he'd ever made, stunned an approaching Death Eater.

"Nice shot. I take back what I said about your duelling skills."

Oliver wasn't sure if Percy's healing spell or gentle hand did his back more good but he had no time to think it over as his lover was already moving away, confronting another Death Eater who'd tried to approach them. Oliver felt like he probably should have been less sanguine at having Percy step in front of him to defend him, but he was well aware that the other man was more powerful and more capable in this arena than he was. Much as he wanted to join him, to protect him as well, Percy clearly didn't need his help and a cry from behind Oliver reminded him that fighting wasn't what he was there for.

The young Quidditch player whirled round to see Emmeline Vance unmoving on the floor. Fearing the worst he dashed over, staying low and expecting at every moment to be hit by whoever had harmed her but no spells came his way. It seemed most likely she'd simply been caught in the crossfire. He was relieved to find her breathing but when he attempted to revive her she couldn't be roused. Her pulse felt wrong, out of rhythm somehow. Oliver wished he had better medical training but his instincts told him something was seriously wrong, that the spell might have caused damage he couldn't see, and with that in mind he pulled the elderly witch into his arms and Apparated directly to the St Mungo's emergency arrivals Apparition Bay.

He was still blinking in shock under the clean bright lights as a young woman ran over to him, gesturing to a nearby porter to grab a trolley. "What have you got?" she asked, clipped and efficient.

Her brisk manner brought his brain back into focus. "Eighty-seven year old female, name of Emmeline Vance, hit by what I thought was a stunner but I can't bring her round. Breathing's shallow and her pulse doesn't feel right."

"Any history of heart trouble? Pre-existing medical conditions?" the woman asked as Emmeline was transferred to a trolley.

"I don't know." Oliver felt helplessly ignorant in the face of her calm professionalism.

"Ok, we'll take it from here."

"Right." Oliver didn't want to leave but knew he wasn't supposed to stay. "Look after her."

The Healer's cool grey eyes looked him over. "Of course. You've come from..?" she didn't finish the sentence but it was clear from the Aurors in the corners of the room and the number of medical staff poised for action that St Mungos had, as promised, been fully briefed on what was happening and what they could expect.

"Yes." Oliver suddenly realised he didn't have time to stop and worry, especially with Emmeline out of action. "I need to get back."

She nodded, attention already returning to her patient. "Good luck. We'll take care of her."

Even with no time to lose, it took a moment, and a deep breath, before Oliver could activate his portkey and run back into the fray. The loss of the dignified, slightly terrifying, Emmeline made him feel awfully alone. They'd been keeping reasonably close together, trying to watch each other's back and work together on their patients, taking turns evacuating the more serious cases. Now it was all down to him.

Oliver had only been back in the room a few moments though before realising there was at least one clear advantage to him going it alone. Youth and physical fitness were on his side and, without having to go at a pace the elderly witch (for all her surprising spryness) could match, he was able to treat the battle more like a Quidditch pitch. In reality it wasn't that different to keeping track of, and dodging around, teammates, opponents, Bludgers and Quaffles. He was certainly profoundly grateful for the gruelling training regime he'd adhered to since he was a teenager.

Veering madly around the room from one casualty to another as best he could, Oliver couldn't really tell how well either side was doing. There were losses on both sides, he'd already been forced to leave a young Auror who'd been losing consciousness when he reached him. The man's injuries were simply beyond anyone's abilities to heal and as his eyes had drifted closed Oliver dragged himself away in hopes of finding someone he could help. He'd just done reviving a stunned woman when he suddenly swore he felt the temperature drop.

He looked up and saw a figure appear through a small doorway in the far wall. Tall and imposing, clad in black robes, with a face so hideously deformed as to appear barely human, the sight of Lord Voldemort was enough to frighten even the most battle-hardened of Aurors. Oliver froze in place, but he was far from the only one. He tried to see where Percy was but couldn't find him in the sea of people, bright lights, and smoke.

Voldemort however was clearly far less interested in the attacking forces than in speaking to Bellatrix Lestrange, who he hauled out of a fight by instantly felling the three Aurors she'd been languidly duelling.

Oliver was close enough he could hear something of their exchange, could see her gesture back towards where Voldemort had appeared from, and catch something about Dumbledore that very clearly incensed Voldemort.

Still frozen in place Oliver spotted a group of Aurors who had been fighting their way closer, attempting to ambush the 'Dark Lord' and the woman who was now pouting at his side like a scolded child. An angry, almost thoughtless, gesture from Voldemort felled the group of them in heartbeat.

Feet thinking more clearly than his brain, Oliver was halfway towards the fallen figures before he'd had time to consider anything. Definitely before he'd had chance to consider the consequences of running towards Voldemort instead of away.

Oliver never reached the people he was unthinkingly trying to help, in his solicitude for them he never even saw Voldemort raise his wand.

He'd never known pain like it, never felt anything so powerful coursing through him. Oliver was incapable of doing anything but scream, but even that he wasn't sure was actually making it out of his head. He couldn't hear anything over the blood throbbing in his ears. When it stopped it took him some moments to realise that it had. The searing, endless, limitless pain was simply replaced by a bone deep ache that was nearly as bad, and a bewildered confusion in his pounding head.

"Deal with them!" Voldemort pushed Bellatrix roughly back towards the fighting, firing off a further round of killing curses somewhere to Oliver's left.

Oliver, shaking all over, shocked to find himself still alive at all, crawled painfully over to the nearest of the prone Aurors. There was no breath, no pulse, no signs of life. Had his brain not felt so like someone had shaken it loose inside his head he'd have known better than to waste time checking.

He staggered carefully to his feet, steadied by Moody who never took his focus from the Death Eater he was duelling as he reached out with his other hand to help Oliver. The fighting hadn't stopped, Voldemort's appearance had probably lasted less than a minute but it seemed impossible that anyone could cause such destruction so quickly. There were people, mostly Aurors, lying lifeless all around him. Oliver's head rang with pain and other people's screams.

"Don't you have something you can take?"

The gruff comment from the still fighting Moody had Oliver scrabbling through the pouches on his belts, unaware that as he did so the ex-Auror had stepped between him and the room to shield him as best he could. He only realised this once he'd found and swallowed a potion that eased the feelings of pain and confusion in his body and mind. "Thank you." He considered stopping to help but even as he hesitated Moody had the Death Eater unconscious and tightly bound upon the floor.

"Get on, lad. I've been doing this longer than you've been breathing."

Oliver nodded dumbly and began the slow struggle across the room to the next set of purple sparks, hoping against hope that Percy was somewhere still fighting.

XXXXXXX

Druscilla had abandoned her flowing robes for the occasion in favour of well-fitting trousers and a thick jumper; she'd learnt the last time round that anything that restricted her movement was not beneficial in a fight. The only advantage robes did have was that your opponent never quite knew where you ended and the fabric began and could end up sending a perfectly aimed shot right through your robes without ever actually touching you. Druscilla did not think this small potential advantage was worth the risk of falling over your own clothing. Her greatest attribute in duelling had always been her speed; she thought well on her feet and could reel off curses and counter-curses at an alarming rate, as she was now. Years of experience leading raids and fighting duels, combined with her speed and tactical thinking, made her deadly. It also made her a target.

The Death Eaters were well aware of who the biggest threats to them were when it came to Ministry personnel and were focusing in on her and Kingsley in particular. She had been fighting near to him when they had arrived but had now lost sight of him in the ensuing chaos. He'd gone to help Tonks and she'd seen no more of him since. She had lost sight of almost everyone now as she realised she was being pushed steadily backwards by the three masked figures in front of her.

She was granted something of a reprieve as Moody, visible for a second through the crowd (there was no mistaking that face), fired a curse right across the hall that left one of the three figures she'd been fending off lying prostrate at her feet. One down, two to go, and she quickly had one of them firmly on the defensive. She chose to focus on the right-hand figure while dodging everything hurled at her by the left, who was also a little distracted by a fight taking place behind them that was threatening to draw him in.

Druscilla was well aware she was in a tight corner but had a high enough opinion of her own ability to dodge trouble that the crushing blow that finally caught her struck with as much shock as pain. The curse knocked her foundations from under her and she hit the ground hard, attempting to roll to her feet but stumbling as she tried to put weight on her right ankle and almost screamed in pain. She dodged another curse at the last possible moment and almost fell again, letting out a stream of profanity as she hurled curse after curse at her attackers. She knew all too well the only way left for her to win this was to end it fast. Her attackers however had noticed her weakness and were doing everything possible to throw her balance again, weaving madly and forcing her to keep moving until she could feel her equilibrium tilting dangerously. A particularly nasty hex had her throwing herself desperately to one side, grabbing a wall to try and regain her balance and failing. From the moment her head hit the floor she knew it was over, she was seeing stars and, as she brought her wand up to defend herself, realised she was too dizzy to focus.

XXXXXXX

After years of the constant anxiety of a double life, being finally recognised by his fellow Death Eaters for what he was had been almost a bizarre sort of relief for Severus.

He'd chosen his moment well and even once the spells shielding the island from sight and attack were brought down there had been no immediate response. The Dark Lord, busy with Harry, had taken longer to notice than Severus had even dared to hope for, but once he had realised what was happening his response had been typically swift and decisive. He knew only someone on the inside could have brought down his spells, and the difficult nature of the enchantments required to stop the wards being easily raised again meant that very few could have been responsible.

Severus had thought, bitterly though with a certain resigned fatefulness, that that would be it, that even his abilities to lie and deceive were about to be pushed past their limits. To his surprise though the Dark Lord, instead of interrogating those present, had seemed more concerned with ensuring Harry was still in his cell. A few Cruciatus Curses had flown and Voldemort had been off in the direction of the boy's cell, leaving instructions that anyone finding a way in should be killed on sight. The Death Eaters had been somewhat in disarray still when the first of the Aurors burst through the door, and, though Severus was forced to admit they had rallied admirably, in all the confusion it had been surprisingly easy (yet in another sense shockingly difficult) to cast aside his mask and openly join the other side.

He'd instantly drawn the ire of a number of Death Eaters and shown them, with no trace of mercy, exactly what he'd learnt from them over the years. As he'd dispatched them as efficiently as possible his eyes had sought out and found Minerva, who looked as though she had in fact been searching for him. Neither had wasted their breath in greetings, but they had for a time fallen into step with each other.

Severus was darkly amused by the way many of the Death Eaters seemed more fearful of Minerva than of any of the others, not that he felt he wouldn't have been too in their shoes. He wondered if wearing her teaching robes had been an intentional act of psychological warfare on her part. He had thought his respect and regard for the powerful witch could rise no higher, but watching her now he might well have been wrong. His instinct had been to remain near her, they were well tuned to each other and functioned more than satisfactorily in partnership. She never faltered for an instant, movements precise and economical, curses accurate and deadly. Even the brief appearance of the Dark Lord at the far side of the room, (yet another moment when Severus thought he'd reached the end of his over tried luck), hadn't visibly phased her for a moment. In fact Severus was forced to admit he'd drawn strength from her calm presence at his side, almost faltering at the realisation that she was purposely manoeuvring herself both closer to him and further between Voldemort and himself.

It took him several long moments after the Dark Lord's disappearance to convince himself of what needed to be done. It was becoming clear that not enough people were willing to approach Minerva to make his support at all necessary and he couldn't help but notice, with an internal sigh, that Lupin appeared to have landed himself in difficulties. Who he was having trouble with, Pettigrew of all people, was somehow no surprise to Severus. Lupin was holding the other man at bay with varying success, simultaneously having to dodge both his curses and that horrific silver hand. If it was horrific to normal people Severus spared the briefest of seconds to consider how it must appear to a werewolf. Lupin was by far the superior fighter, in all ways but one – it was clear he had become infinitely reluctant to kill his old friend. Severus cursed the man's weakness even as he battled his way over to them, looking around as he did for Druscilla Thornfield surprised that she wasn't holding the werewolf's leash. His searching eyes saw her backed against a wall and he calculated her chances of even being able to help herself much longer, never mind her pet werewolf, were limited at best and fast diminishing.

As soon as Pettigrew saw Snape his expression melted from a cruel amusement at his old school friend's expense to one of horror. Severus had always made his distaste for the pathetic creature quite clear right back from their school days, and he felt a flicker of triumph deep inside from his teenage self as his killing curse hit the smaller man decrying him for a traitor in a trembling voice.

"A shame we don't have a moment to reflect on the irony of him calling me a traitor."

Lupin's eyes met his in shock and bemusement before something scarily close to gratitude crept in. As he opened his mouth to voice things Severus doubtless did not want to hear, and that neither of them had time for, the taller man cut him off, redirecting him as effectively as he knew how, by grabbing Lupin's arm and pointing him in the required direction. "Thornfield's in trouble." The possessive rage in the werewolf's eyes at the sight of her fighting desperately, and possibly hopelessly, for her life, had Severus letting go of him as quickly as he possibly could. Minerva was right, he might not wish Lupin the harm he once had, but not being indifferent was not enough to make them friends, especially with that beast lurking just below the surface.

Severus dispatched a pair of masked Death Eaters even he couldn't identify, before realising how close he'd found himself to the route first Dumbledore and then Voldemort had taken. The Headmaster had insisted no one follow him, that Riddle was his problem and his responsibility; but the unease Severus had felt when Albus had first unfolded his plan to him had only increased upon seeing the Dark Lord seemingly unharmed, and it was only a moment's deliberation before he found himself charging down the corridor after Dumbledore.

XXXXXXX

Druscilla had been involved in enough action in the last war to have sustained her fair share of injuries. In the past she remembered pain sharpening her senses and fuelling her often rage-filled attacks. Now though even the pain felt like it were somewhere miles away, she tried to stand and was instantly thrown back to the ground, but still everything felt so far away and so very unimportant.

Somewhere, deep inside, some part of her was screaming, insisting that she had to get up, had to raise her wand, had to fight, but the rest of her had no idea how to follow those instructions.

She'd never indulged in morbid fantasies of how she might die, but if she had this would not have been her first choice. She found herself staring into a smiling face and smiled back insensibly, reaching out a hand to be helped to her feet only to be thrown back against the wall again with a cruel laugh echoing in her ears. Blood dripped down her face and her legs refused to obey any further commands. She wanted to look away, didn't want the last thing she saw to be a Death Eater getting the better of her, but that wasn't who she was and instead she squinted through blurred vision at the laughing figures before her. Slowly though it dawned on her that they weren't laughing anymore, and that she was still alive.

As she struggled through the fog inside her own head she recognised a form she knew very well.

Remus Lupin was stood in front of her, yelling at her to get on her feet, yelling at Oliver to get over to her, and fighting like...well, like a beast, she thought idly. She finally clambered slowly back to her feet, all sense of urgency gone, Oliver grasping her arm just before she fell again.

After her confused look was the only answer he received to "Where are you hurt?" Oliver ran his wand over her and then grabbed a phial from his belt and poured the contents into her mouth. She swallowed it instinctively and found the world coming back into focus. "Your ankle's sprained as well, balance on me a moment." She complied as he knelt down and took her foot gently in his hands and pulled off her boot, muttering a spell that had her foot feeling better instantly and a bandage wrapping itself tightly around the ankle as a support.

Oliver passed her her boot and she hurriedly put it on as he questioned her. "Vision back to normal? Ankle ok?"

She nodded. "Yes, I'm good, thanks!" She squeezed his arm as he rushed away, trying to fight his way through to the other side of the room where someone (she was glad she couldn't tell who) was crumpled on the floor.

She moved instantly to Remus' side as he tackled another masked figure. The man hadn't moved from in front of her while Oliver had healed her, fighting off the two Death Eaters she'd been duelling. One was now unmoving on the floor. Between the two of them, the other quickly followed.

XXXXXXX

With no control, no power, no influence over his own body, with the last vestige of independence swept away by the man he'd trusted for so long, Harry was raving internally like a caged animal. Dumbledore however clearly had no trouble whatsoever in keeping him in his powerless state. Minutes passed which felt like hours and Harry felt the same encroaching numbness that had overcome him frequently during his long weeks in the cell. He couldn't even begin to guess how long had passed before Voldemort returned. By the time he did though, Harry was almost ready to be pleased by any change of situation. Anything rather than sitting alone in the dark, utterly powerless.

The Dark Lord's mood had clearly not improved, giving rise to a certain amount of hope in Harry that wherever the rest of the Order were they were causing the Death Eaters no end of trouble. "I hope you won't take it too amiss, Harry, if I tell you your friends really are tiresome." Voldemort appeared to visibly calm himself before continuing. "But never mind, they won't trouble either of us much longer."

"Tom." The voice was Harry's but the words and intonation were certainly not, and Voldemort knew it. He halted suddenly and whirled around just as Harry's form leapt to its feet, wand outstretched. "This needs to stop."

Voldemort looked almost confused and raised his wand to counter. "Dumbledore?" He laughed suddenly, high and cold. "Still hiding behind a boy? Using your pawns against me again."

"Please, Tom, put an end to this. What has any of it achieved? Can you honestly tell me any of this has succeeded where everything else failed and made you happy?"

"Happy!" Voldemort laughed again, though it sounded a little forced and Harry had the impression that the Dark Lord was scanning the room searching for the advantage while Dumbledore wasted time trying to get through to him. "Happy has nothing to do with it, though I admit the fact it's now been so many years since I've had to listen to your lectures on truth and righteousness does give me a warm feeling inside."

"I wanted to help you."

"You wanted to help yourself! Cleanse yourself of everything you'd done wrong in the eyes of the world. Do you think your connection with Grindelwald is so long forgotten that it could have been hidden from me! You should have stuck by him. While he may have been weak in many ways, he could certainly have improved you!"

Harry felt sure he could feel something burning deep inside at the mention of Grindelwald's name, some awful tangle of emotions that were not his own. "I should have stood up to him, I stuck by Gellert for rather too long. And then, yes, I met you and thought how like him you could turn out, but I was wrong. For all his failings he had understanding and ambition beyond anything you have ever achieved. He had a view of a world and a way of being that I could not in the end defend any longer, but you don't even have that. You never stopped being the frightened child I first met. That child has guided your every move, has ensured that the only thing you could ever truly care for was yourself. And I am sorry for you, sorry I couldn't help you. That I failed to save you from everything you'd already suffered and everything you brought on yourself. But I cannot allow this to carry on any longer."

The choice of words was not lost on either Harry or on Voldemort. That Dumbledore had 'allowed' any of this struck Harry as painfully possible, and appeared to inspire a hunted look in the Dark Lord. "You do not 'allow' anything here, Dumbledore," he snarled, wand raised and curse flung before Harry could have responded. But Harry was no longer in charge of his responses, and Dumbledore had always been more than a match for Tom Riddle.

The benefits of an experienced mind acting within a strong, young body (even one suffering from recent neglect and abuse) were clear. Harry's body was dodging around spells and keeping Voldemort constantly on the move. The shadow of a searing pain in his arm, which Harry only registered in a vague disassociated sense, didn't slow his movements at all, he wondered if Dumbledore could even feel it. The Headmaster was in complete control of Harry's body and didn't seem to be intending to return it to him until Voldemort was defeated. Even after all Voldemort had done to him Harry had never felt more helpless than he did now, and never more like a pawn in the deadly game the Dark Lord and the Headmaster had been playing for too long. He could feel senseless, defenseless, fathomless rage boiling up inside him and for a moment he felt the wood of the wand in his hand, severe pain in his arm, and the floor solid beneath his feet, before something hit him like a brick to the head and knocked him back into his disassociated state. Voldemort had seen his opening though and advanced enough to expel the wand from his hand and hurl a curse, that could have ended it all, in his direction. Harry found himself hitting the floor and rolling out of the way, landing full on the injured arm and stretching out his hand for the wand to fly back into. He was on his feet again within moments but it was still too long, he was now thoroughly on the defensive, countering attacks with increasing difficulty as Voldemort's confidence grew.

Harry could almost feel Dumbledore's relief flooding his limbs as a glance at the door revealed a figure he knew all too well. The next thing that he saw was the Dark Lord cursing in vain as he was hurled violently against the wall of the cell.

XXXXXXX

Lucius Malfoy's day had gone downhill from the moment he had left his bed and Narcissa's arms. Most days did, he found of late. Though to be fair there was a compelling argument to be made that anything had to be an improvement on Azkaban. An invasion of rampant do-gooders and a small army of Aurors while his wife was in the building though was not improving his day in the least.

Right now, despatching what felt like the hundredth Auror but couldn't really be more than the tenth, watching his wife on the other side of the room where she was trying to help her ludicrous lunatic of a sister, he felt ready to scream. He had watched in utter bewilderment over the years as the two sisters had thrown everything from insults, to curses, to drinks, to pieces of furniture, at each other. Yet whenever one of them appeared to be truly in danger from someone else, the other was usually quick to step in. As an only child he'd never understood the odd nature of their bond. Much as he hated Bellatrix himself he'd have sworn that, after the Dark Lord, the little sister she mocked so cruelly and heartlessly (though perhaps not near so heartlessly as Narcissa mocked her) was the one thing left she might just care about. Narcissa had over the years drawn further and further from the dark woman she most often referred to in terms that sounded shockingly unnatural in her well-mannered, cultured tones, but she'd never quite severed that bond.

His wife was getting drawn into a fight that wasn't hers, that had never been hers, and for a moment he found himself fervently wishing he'd been more like his own father. That he'd taken a firmer hand and insisted she keep herself out of harm's way. God though, she was beautiful like this. Her pale powder blue robes were the most colourful thing in the room. Her small stature and slender form made her look almost childlike, but the way she moved, the spells spilling from the ebony wand in her elegant fingers, were evidence of the powerful woman so few but him ever saw. Her magic had never seemed to sit well with her, she had always seemed created to be sat at home cherishing a family and tending her garden, and instead...instead he had dragged her uncomplaining in to his world, and at every turn she had plastered herself to his side with a devotion that had humbled him from the start. Dispatching the Auror he'd been fighting, he moved quickly, trying to cross the room to stand at her side as devotedly as she'd sat at his.

Someone else was moving towards where Narcissa and Bellatrix were holding back three Aurors already. Bella's power was incredible but her focus was distinctly lacking and Narcissa clearly struggled to keep her sister from getting them both overwhelmed as she dragged others in against them. The tall redhead moving slowly towards them had clearly also noticed this and, as he drew close enough to the two women that Narcissa noticed him with a look of distracted horror that he had come so close, Lucius found himself trapped behind too many people to get to her side. Literally shoving an approaching body from his path, he raised his wand over the crowds and hurled a curse with more venom than he could remember feeling in a long time. The redhead was suspended briefly in a flash of green light and fell.

Narcissa's eyes found his for only the briefest of moments; love and gratitude shining out and, through a fond smile, he found himself thinking what a good thing it was she had never had much need of Occlumancy. She'd have been terrible at it.

An anguished scream dragged his eyes from his wife to the distasteful sight of Molly Weasley, face covered in tears and snot, and apparently hell bent on revenge. "Oh come on," he found himself sneering, "With so many surely you won't miss just one?" He wasn't even sure which one it had been. How one earth could she tell? Either way his fastidious manners shuddered at the scene the woman was creating.

XXXXXXX

It was his wife's almost inhuman cry of grief that caught Arthur's attention first. Following her gaze, the sight of his son on the ground squeezed something inside his chest so tight that for a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move, and, were it not for Moody, Fenrir Greyback would have been on him in a moment.

Almost dazed, Arthur watched as Oliver Wood, ducking and diving Death Eaters with the same skills he'd honed dodging Bludgers, threw himself down beneath a hex and turned the prone figure on the ground. His wand moved briefly over Bill before the Quidditch player stumbled uncertainly to his feet and moved on, clearly realising that there was nothing left he could do.

While Arthur found himself paralyzed in grief, his wife had thrown herself in Malfoy's direction, causing even the powerful, collected man to stagger back under the force of her curses. "Damn you! You and your crazy wife! Your son never had a chance did he?! All the pair of you know how to do is destroy!"

"Don't you dare speak of her, you aren't fit to even say her name!" Lucius went from a calm disdain to white hot fury in a second at the mention of Narcissa.

Arthur found the use of his feet again in terror for his wife. Molly Weasley however, grief stricken and furious, attacked Lucius again. "They should have locked her up when they locked you up!"

Lucius, temper calming as fast as it had flared, had much better control of himself than Molly did and easily deflected her curse, sending her wand flying out of her hand and into his left.

As he caught it he simultaneously flicked his own wand in a complicated pattern. Arthur didn't recognise the spell but the look of cold cruelty on the other man's face had him redoubling his efforts to reach his wife.

Flame, white hot, shot from the end of Lucius Malfoy's wand to lick at his wife's robes. "There, goes with your hair and that fiery temper of yours." The icy blond turned on his heel and simply walked away, calm composure thoroughly back in place.

"Mum!" Percy was closer at hand than Arthur was and, flinging a Death Eater from his path, extinguished the flames in a moment, dropping to his knees beside his mother, heedless of making himself a target. His shout however had attracted Lucius' attention, and unfortunately the Death Eater he'd flung aside had come within a hair's breadth of crashing into Narcissa Malfoy.

The look of fury was back on Lucius' face in a heartbeat at his wife's near miss and Arthur, still struggling to get to his family, saw his wand raised in the direction of his son who was utterly unaware.

Arthur was not a violent or vindictive man and even as the curse left his wand he knew that killing Lucius Malfoy was an act that was going haunt him for the rest of his days, though never so much as the loss of his eldest son and the horrific image of his wife engulfed in flame.

Struggling to see through tears, he finally fought his way to his wife's side. "Molly, Molly..." he could see her chest rise slightly but her breath was an unsteady rasp and she was utterly unresponsive. The smell of burnt flash made him retch.

Oliver Wood crashed down suddenly beside Arthur, ducking a curse. Percy fiercely returned the attack jumped back to his feet in time to send a black robed figure spinning into a wall. Arthur instantly moved aside as Oliver ran his wand over Molly's burns, muttering a spell as he passed over her throat. Her breathing eased and her body relaxed. "She's stable and not in pain. I can't revive her though, she'll need proper treatment first. Just keep her safe and don't move her. She's not stable enough for Apparition, we need a St Mungo's transport team, I'll get them as soon as I can. With Emmeline out of action I can't leave now, I'm sorry." He tried to go but was stopped by Arthur.

"She's gone ice cold," Arthur choked out.

Oliver placed a reassuring hand on the older man's arm. "Don't worry about that, it's the spell I've put on her, it'll stop the burns getting any worse and limit any tissue damage." Yet more purple sparks went up, coming from two separate directions at once. "I have to go, Arthur, there's nothing more I can do right now."

Arthur nodded reluctantly as Oliver climbed carefully to his feet behind Percy, leaning into the other man and stopping to say in his ear, "I think she'll be alright, try not to worry." He shouldn't have stopped even for that, Druscilla had stressed that the first rule of triage was to keep moving, get a patient stable and move on; don't stop for anything, especially something as insignificant as reassuring relatives. He reasoned though that the more worried Percy was, the more likely he was to lose focus and he was currently all that was standing between Molly and someone trying to finish the job, so in a way Oliver was just protecting his patient. That was complete rubbish of course and he knew it, he simply couldn't bear the idea of leaving Percy in pain and was terrified he'd take his attention from his surroundings again in order to check on his mother.

Oliver had spoken right into Percy's ear in order to be heard above the chaos and Percy felt his body relax as much at the feel of Oliver's hand on his hip and Oliver's breath on his ear as at Oliver's words of comfort. His attention however never faltered, he didn't so much as glance at the other man, remembering clearly Druscilla's advice that losing focus in this kind of situation was the quickest way to get yourself killed. He cursed another Death Eater as they came towards him and whirled to face a movement at his side, relieved when he saw it was Charlie moving closer to help him watch over their mother.

XXXXXXX

Charlie reached Percy and squeezed his arm briefly. "I'm here." Stupid thing to say but he had no other comfort to offer. His younger brother however seemed in much better shape than he was. Percy's steel core that always lurked just behind the pompous facade was clearly visible. His face was set, his stance unwavering, and both his magic and his emotions fully under his formidable control. Charlie was surprised by just how deeply he envied him.

He tried to focus on being useful, helping his brother to keep the Death Eaters at bay. Something though, some instinct honed from dealing with one too many enraged dragons had him casting his eyes across the crowded room, squinting through the smoke and sparks until he spotted the blonde head he was looking for.

Most dragon species formed small close-knit family groups, the young remaining with their parents until they were ready to go out and seek a mate of their own. The familial bonds were touching to those who studied them but also incredibly dangerous. Any misstep with one of them would bring down the wrath of the group. Charlie had made that mistake only once and was smart enough to have learned from it.

The same instinct that told him to be on the lookout for the mate of a fallen dragon called his attention to Narcissa Malfoy. Once he'd spotted her he knew his instincts were dead on. Slight and slender, with her blonde curls loose down her back, she looked like some eerie porcelain doll brought to life. Greif had given character to the wide blue eyes and rosebud mouth, the pretty, doll-like features twisted in an expression of fury and despair that filled Charlie with dread.

He saw two stunners had hit her, seemingly with no effect. She was still moving, driven on by grief and likely a fair dose of the Black family instability. Her curses, hexes, jinxes, and spells Charlie couldn't even begin to identify, were flying at random and she was hitting as many Death Eaters as she was those who were fighting them. She was completely unfocused and all the more dangerous for it, a loose cannon that was drawing ever closer to himself and his family.

As Percy efficiently threw the Death Eater they'd been tackling into a bodybind and halfway across the room, Charlie began to realise he might have been wrong about her lack of focus. She wasn't moving in a terribly direct manner but her eyes were fixed on his father. She knew exactly who'd killed her husband and, with Bellatrix at her side, was clearly out for revenge. She seemed entirely disconnected from the world around her, bent purely upon destruction – possibly self-destruction, and she was drawing ever closer to his family. Charlie stunned her ineffectively, watched her stumble and then continue, and was gripped with the cold certainty that nothing was going to stop her.

Part of his job, the worst part, on occasion involved ending the misery of dragons too injured or ill to recover. The spell was only designed for use in close quarters and, even with the most powerful of wizards casting it, would never bring down a full grown, healthy dragon. Dragons though are a lot more powerful and resilient than people.

That it would be painless and gentle as death can be was scant consolation to Charlie. The woman's eyes met his as the curse hit her and for a moment the grief appeared to lift into something close to triumph before pure white light enveloped her and she fell almost gracefully to the ground beside her husband.

His hand shook and breath hitched as he pushed what he'd done to the side, refusing to become distracted from protecting his mother. It was with no small amount of gratitude he saw Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been wreaking havoc – in an admittedly more focussed way – at her sister's side, distracted away from his family by a well timed curse from Moody that left her screaming – in pain or rage was unclear. By the time she too fell several minutes later Charlie's attention had already been claimed by another assailant.

XXXXXXX

Severus had never been good at following orders or doing as he was told. It had got him in as much trouble as a Death Eater as it ever had at school, and even though he had genuinely tried once he'd begun working for Dumbledore to honour the old man's gentle requests (which only a fool wouldn't recognise as firm orders nonetheless), he had never found it easy. Running through dark corridors, breaking his word once again, refusing, again, to do as he'd been told, all Severus could think was that he should have broken this word sooner. For all his faith in Dumbledore, his terror of Voldemort whispered doubt deep inside him. Doubt that even the Headmaster could defeat him without terrible cost.

Severus had never allowed himself to say to anyone just how much the Dark Lord frightened him, how in his presence he felt like all he wanted was to turn and run. Albus had always known, but Albus knew everything. Raising his wand against the Dark Lord had never truly felt possible, but his momentum, as much emotional as it was physical, overtook any sense of fear or doubt, and as he crashed into the dungeon room and saw Harry (under Dumbledore's guidance? Snape wasn't sure) staggering back under an onslaught of curses, he raised his wand. With all the hate and anger he'd spent a lifetime collecting, he hit Lord Voldemort with a curse with so much power behind it that the Dark Lord was lifted right off his feet and hurled against a wall.

Severus wasted no time crossing to the boy's side, steadying him and receiving a brief thanks that was both articulate and genuine enough to assure him that it might be Harry's voice but they were Dumbledore's words.

"Severus!" If there was one voice in the universe less welcome than Harry Potter's, there it was. Well he'd never really expected to live out the night, had always realised that the only way to atone for the things he'd done was to stop worrying so much about his own advancement and wellbeing. Arguably a preoccupation with how he might survive and succeed was exactly what had entangled him in Voldemort and Dumbledore's messy games to begin with. If Severus was to break the habit of a lifetime and be honest, he'd never been good at keeping his head below the parapet, never been good at not drawing attention to himself. Gauche and Gryffindor as it might be, finally throwing off pretence almost felt worth it all. He was more than ready for an end.

"Everything I have done for you!" The Dark Lord's surprise was in some small way gratifying, proof that Severus had in fact played his role every bit as well as he'd thought he had, perhaps even better. "And you choose this ageing fool over your future?! He's never appreciated you Severus, not like I do. He was just one more person in a long line that sidelined and ignored you, treated you like you were worthless, viewed you with that same hypocritical holier-than-thou disdain that he did everyone he couldn't use."

"I really don't see what you hope to achieve by spitting your venom at us." Severus' words were braver than his heart felt. The tone of near-boredom hard won through years of never allowing anyone, least of all the creature before him, to see him afraid.

"My venom?" The Dark Lord gave a high, cold laugh that twisted Severus' stomach in knots. "But they're not my words Severus, don't you remember?" He paused and smiled towards the figure at Severus' side before fixing those red eyes back on the Potions Master. "They were yours. They're what you told me when I first met you. It's what so many had told me, but I'll be honest I don't think I'd heard such 'venom' towards the sainted Albus Dumbledore until I met you, Severus."

Severus, distracted and appalled, turned his eyes from the Dark Lord to the Headmaster, unable to help but wonder how he might have taken this. "I think if you were looking for proof of the idiocy of my youth you'd need look no further than the ugly tattoo on my arm." For a moment he could have sworn he saw an expression on Harry Potter's face that he'd never seen aimed at him before (or likely ever would again). Before he could be sure of whether Albus had actually smiled at him though, the world lurched.

Typical Albus, wait until everyone was busy with their own concerns, their own petty victories and point-scoring (a weakness Riddle had never done away with), to land the blow. Severus shouldn't have expected otherwise. Shouldn't have thought that anything he could have ever said or done would have made Albus so much as hesitate in his well-laid plans. The explosion of power from the other man had knocked him to the floor even as Voldemort no more than stumbled, but Albus had seen his opening and, taking full advantage of the young body at his disposal, dived in to a close quarters struggle that looked to Severus almost as much physical as magical.

Severus staggered back to his feet but found himself back on the floor within moments. The Headmaster had a grip on the Dark Lord's arm exactly where the Dark Mark was on Severus', and whatever he was doing had Severus' head pounding as though it would explode. Prostrate on the floor, he scrabbled for his wand, unable to see, blinded by pain.

The pain intensified still further, for a moment the room swam, it felt like his arm had been engulfed in cold fire. It felt like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and for long minutes he was powerless to do anything but cradle his arm close to his body, eyes screwed shut in agony. The sudden silence in the room could hardly reassure him; if there was one person he knew who would stand in silent appreciation, awaiting the reveal of their victory to their victims, it was the Dark Lord. On the other hand, when had Dumbledore ever been quiet at seeing someone in pain?

XXXXXXX

Since he'd swooped in as a regular knight in shining armour, Remus hadn't left Druscilla's side. On any other day she'd have been irritated but, genuinely shaken by her near brush with death, all she could muster was gratitude. Not only gratitude that he wanted to keep her safe but also that he made no further effort to shield her once she was back on her feet. He worked instinctively with her, allowing her to watch his back rather than simply trying to watch hers. She didn't always respond well to other people's interventions, but as she'd grown older (and hopefully grown up) she'd learnt the value in occasionally allowing other people's support. She noticed that she was in much better step with Remus that she'd ever been with Kingsley, perhaps because the two of them had always felt a little bit like they weren't entirely fighting on the same side. Her competitive nature had met an interesting match in Kingsley's calm self-confidence and natural authority, they'd both wanted to lead and neither were ever entirely contented to follow the other. Remus though readily took his cues from her, and she began to appreciate just how devastating such a partnership could be.

Such thoughts though were on the peripheries on a mind hastily crunching tactics and feints and seeking (as always) the upper hand. A vicious blow had another Death Eater twitching on the floor and she had them disarmed and tightly restrained before they could recover their senses. She was turning to aid Remus when she was hit full force by a shockwave of something she couldn't explain, but it was clear that the whole room felt it too. It was as though something had exploded somewhere far beneath their feet, unleashing a feeling of terror and a scent of death, as though someone had opened up a not quite fresh grave.

Almost as one the Death Eaters were screaming, writhing, dropping to their knees in apparent agony. The younger Order members and less experienced Aurors stopped in sudden bemusement and even concern.

"Get their damned wands and get them restrained!" A middle-aged Auror with spiky hair raised her voice above the din.

Druscilla, who'd needed no prompting to take such action, was only concerned about why it was one of Kingsley's staff giving orders and not Kingsley himself. As soon as she could take her attention from the Death Eaters immediately in her path, she started scanning the room. She squeezed Remus' arm affectionately as he remained at her side but her focus was elsewhere, her eyes repeatedly searching for Kingsley. Leaving the werewolf to help a wounded Auror she crossed the room, desperation growing with every step. She saw Percy crouched by his mother, she'd been vaguely aware of Molly being injured but too far away to see the full extent of what had happened. The burns didn't look good, there was a protective aura of gold around her preventing the risk of infection but meaning her family couldn't touch her.

Druscilla started to head towards her young friend when something at the side of the room caught her eye.

She knew even before she turned the body that it was him. His robes were no different to those of the other Aurors but she'd spent so long watching him, seeing him simultaneously as friend and rival and always as someone to watch, that she felt she'd have known Kingsley Shacklebolt anywhere. She dropped down beside him with a quiet, "No, no, please no." She wasn't given to vague appeals to the universe but this one dropped from quivering lips before she could stop herself, leaving her only to be grateful that her voice had hardly risen above a whisper. Her head dropped to her chest and her breathing hitched, the room span and inside she felt herself screaming in rage and sorrow. Public displays however were not her way and she dug her nails hard into her palms until she felt control returning, and only then did she rise back to her feet.

XXXXXXX

Severus wasn't sure how long he lay in silence on the floor on the dungeon cell. He seemed to have lost consciousness briefly at some point and awoke to find all light in the room extinguished and the scent of vomit extremely close to his face. Retching again, he sat up as quickly as his protesting body would allow and silently summoned his wand in to his outstretched hand. He didn't want to light it, didn't want to know why the room was so silent or what the source of the other smell, discernable once his nose was removed from such close proximity to the vomit, was. Something smelt like death. It had been many years though since he had allowed himself to be guided merely by his own wishes and, duty bound as ever, he did not hesitate as he wished to but fully illuminated the room with a flick of his wand.

The room held three objects of interest. The closest was something shrivelled and inhuman, like those bodies Muggles sometimes turned up preserved in peatbogs, shrunken and leathery. It looked in fact very much like the description Potter had given of the thing Wormtail had produced from the cauldron that night in the Little Hangleton graveyard. It also, rather appropriately, looked like something that had been dead for a very long time. Despite more pressing concerns, Severus spent a long moment drinking in the sight of all that remained of Lord Voldemort.

He regretted even that brief moment once his attention landed upon the person on the far side of the room.

"Albus..." Severus scrambled to other man's side and gently swept the long white hair from his face. The blue eyes were open but unseeing, their twinkle gone. The body was cold to the touch without a sign of life upon it.

As Severus' breathing hitched and his head pounded, a pathetic groan came from somewhere behind him. It took a lot to pull his attention from his fallen friend to the injured boy, but he supposed that it was what Albus would have insisted that he do.

"Potter." He made his way to the boy, removing Albus' wand from his reach and trying what basic first aid he knew. Potter was barely conscious and seemed to have no idea who was trying to help him, but from what little he did manage to communicate Severus was certain that it was indeed Harry Potter and no longer Albus Dumbledore in the thin and battered body. He was injured, his arm was almost certainly broken and he showed the signs of weeks of starvation and abuse, but his heartbeat was strong and he seemed likely to survive. The Potions Master sighed and allowed himself to settle on the floor beside the boy. Bone weary and aching with grief, he knew there were things to be done but somehow he couldn't find it in him to do any of them just yet.

XXXXXXX

Ron and Hermione were still wandering through empty corridors, still under the cloak, and still very much lost, when they felt the shockwave of something terrible happening somewhere beneath their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Ron swore and stumbled over the cloak.

"I don't know." Hermione stopped for a moment, looked around and dragged him in the direction of a staircase. "Come on, underground's the last place we've not checked."

When Ron and Hermione entered the dungeon cell a few minutes later Severus genuinely thought for a moment that he'd actually gone mad. Or perhaps that the Dark Lord had killed him after all and this was hell. He stared at them in utter disbelief. "Where the hell did you two come from?" his voice came out as a croak that had Hermione looking concerned. He waved away her inquiries after his wellbeing and instructed the two of them to take Potter out of the room. The stench of death was becoming overpowering and was unlikely, he felt, to encourage the boy back to consciousness.

"It's not much better outside to be honest..." Ron trailed off as he and Hermione caught sight of Dumbledore's body. "Is Dumbledore...?"

"Just get Potter out!" Severus interrupted Ron, nerves and temper fraying sorely.

For possibly the first time in history, a Weasley other than Percy followed Snape's instructions instantly and to the letter. A minor miracle. He'd take what he could get.

XXXXXXX

Surveying a scene of human devastation Minerva McGonagall hardened her heart to it all and grimly strode in the direction that first Dumbledore and then Snape had disappeared.

A prone figure in black Death Eater robes made a grab for her ankle as she passed but she leapt aside with a catlike grace and hurried on. She all but ran down a series of darkened passages and stairways, pausing now and then to choose a direction when the passage forked but within minutes she could hear voices, including the ever irritated tones of the Potions Master. Her heart almost froze in a moment of powerful relief. Her relief however was short lived as she came around a corner to see Ron and Hermione (she was glad she'd been forewarned of their presence by Hagrid, heaven knew what kind of shock they'd given Severus when they'd appeared) crouched over Harry, thin and grubby and, even unconscious, looking so desperately broken that it hurt to look at her once cheeky, lively student.

Meeting Severus' eyes however was worse. Albus wasn't with them and all it took was a glance at her friend and colleague for her to understand why.

Severus would, if pushed, be forced to admit he too felt a deep sense of relief seeing Minerva come round the corner. She looked like a beacon of sanity in all the madness. She was, as always, composed, dignified, and somehow had managed to come though the battle looking much as she had at the beginning, with her robes tidy and not a strand of hair escaping her neat bun. The very sight of her soothed his raw nerves. Struggling for words, but knowing he had to say something, had to try to explain things, he managed, "The Dark Lord is dead...really dead this time."

Minerva nodded and Severus saw her gaze pass to the doorway behind him. "Minerva, don't..." she pushed past him. Severus was unsurprised and, leaving Ron and Hermione to take care of Harry, followed her back into the room. It was possibly the last place on earth he would wish to return to, but likewise was not somewhere he could watch his friend step into alone.

The stately witch was silent as she crouched beside the body of their friend. Tears and theatrics were not her style. She didn't even seem to notice the smell of the room's second corpse.

"I couldn't save him, I was too late." It sounded like an apology, though he hadn't intended it as one.

"No," she looked up at him with damp eyes, "You did everything, and more than, he ever expected of you."

He didn't argue with her but offered a hand which she gratefully took to pull herself back to her feet. He was unprepared however for her to quietly put her arms about him and hold on to him in a way that no one had in longer than he could remember. "I am so glad you're alright." Her voice barely trembled but her grip on him did not loosen.

Almost without his permission his hands tightened upon her back. "I..." he hesitated, reaching for the honest words he found so difficult and so dangerous. "Likewise. Not that any of them ever stood a chance against the Head of the lauded Gryffindor House," he allowed the tiniest sliver of levity to enter his voice and was rewarded with her letting go and gracing him with the smallest of smiles.

"Well, obviously. I mean if I can handle you on a regular basis I don't know what on earth the rest of them thought I was going to back down at." She smoothed her robes and cast a troubled glance toward the door. "Come on Severus, we need to get the children back to school. Harry needs to be seen by Poppy."

Through his grief and confusion Severus still found himself fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Potter needed to be got back to school with his little friends.

Seeming to sense his disdain, Minerva gave him a sharp look. "They've seen things none of them should have ever had to. Be kind."

"I am not kind."

She snorted. "Bollocks."

Severus wasn't sure how anything still had the power to shock him but her unusual lapse in language managed it. He was left to hurry after her, trying not to glance back at his fallen friend.

XXXXXXX

Remus revived a pair of Aurors and splinted the arm of a third, grateful for the classes he'd taken with Madame Pomfrey all those years ago when the two of them had decided it might be for the best if he knew how to heal himself. Glancing around for Dru, still unwilling to let her out of his sight for long, he spotted her climbing slowly back to her feet, her face averted from the rest of the room.

As she stood he realised she'd been crouched beside the prone form of Kinsgley Shacklebolt. Oliver, close by with a patient, moved as though to help, but she shook her head. He and Oliver both got the message loud and clear, nothing to be done.

She looked furious, and for one dreadful moment as he saw her focus on a group of subdued Death Eaters he thought she might do something regrettable, but it passed almost too quickly to be sure. What he was certain of was the moment when it dawned on her that the Aurors, indeed all the Ministry staff, were looking to her for orders, and he watched with no small degree of pride as she wrestled her emotions back under control.

"Round them up, get them back to the cells," she gestured at the captured and unconscious Death Eaters. "Anyone not working for the Auror Office, help the medics get the injured to St Mungo's. Leave the dead for now, and don't wander off on your own; heaven knows what we'll find in the rest of this building." She gestured to a small group of senior Aurors, "Secure the rest of the building, first sign of trouble summon help. Sara," she turned to a short woman with spiky hair, "You go with them, you're in charge."

The Aurors followed her orders with only a momentary delay. Druscilla didn't spare Kingsley a backwards glance but made her way over to where Oliver and Hestia Jones had started to collect the walking wounded together. "I think one of you had better come with me and see if we can find Harry and Dumbledore..." Her voice trailed off as Professor Snape came in to view with McGonagall levitating Harry behind him, Ron and Hermione walking on either side of their friend.

"Harry!" Remus exclaimed, hurrying over.

"He's fine!" Severus insisted. "Well, he's alive anyway." As ever, Severus' idea of comfort wasn't most peoples'.

Remus felt a weight lift from his chest and moved to Harry's side, stroking the matted, messy hair gently.

"We need to get him back to Hogwarts, he should be looked over properly by Madame Pomfrey." Remus became aware of something brittle about Severus' tone, like there was barely repression emotion threatening to break free, noticeable even through the raw, raspy texture his voice had taken on. He looked at the other man and at Minerva McGonagall stood at his side.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Remus asked, knowing already that he wouldn't want to hear the answer.

The two teachers were both silent for a moment. The attention of the whole room was suddenly upon them.

McGonagall raised her voice to be heard by everyone, clearly not wishing to say this more than once. "Professor Dumbledore is dead. As is Voldemort."

There were gasps and cries of dismay from around the room. Hagrid burst into tears and McGonagall moved over to comfort him.

"Ron." Percy, white faced but determined, gently pulled his brother aside. "Ron, Mum's hurt."

Remus watched numbly as Percy led his brother over to where Molly was awaiting transport to St Mungo's. He watched Ron hug his father and saw the moment when he realised that one of his brothers wasn't there. "Where's Bill?"

Remus turned away and focussed on Harry alive and breathing in front of him.

"Come on, Hagrid," McGonagall's firm tones brooked no argument, "Help us take Harry and Hermione back to school."

The giant man stumbled over to Harry and lifted him like feather into his strong arms, stroking his hair as Remus had done. "Poor little thing," he choked out.

Hermione looked torn, "What about Ron?"

Remus patted her shoulder. "Go with Harry for now. Ron's got his family with him." The girl had tears in her eyes, her jeans were torn and her jumper stained with blood, her arm held a little awkwardly. "I think we should get you looked at as well," he suggested gently.

"I'm ok, I just grazed my arm when I fell." She couldn't tear her eyes from the Weasleys, just as Remus couldn't bear to look at them.

Snape was in some private conference with Druscilla, they seemed to be having a mild disagreement which ended in her throwing up her hands in surrender. "Ok, fine, just get them back to school, I'll owl you later." She sounded unhappy and harassed.

The Potions Master came back looking grimly satisfied.

"What was that about?" McGonagall asked.

"She wanted to send Aurors back to the school. I thought that ill-judged. Hogwarts would not benefit from a Ministry presence."

McGonagall nodded her agreement. "Quite right, Severus. Now come along, we need to get the children back. Remus, are you coming?"

For a moment he was as torn as Hermione had been, looking over to where Druscilla was moving amongst Ministry staff. He was aware though that her working night was far from over, and even his affection for her and desire to reassure himself by keeping her within his sight couldn't overpower the need to check that Harry really was going to be alright. "Yes, I'll come with you."

XXXXXXX

Druscilla watched Remus leave with the Hogwarts staff with a pang; she found she wanted him with her and that irked her as much as anything else. She was also concerned that she hadn't handled the issue of Hogwarts' security very well. She was uncomfortable as much at the idea that the Aurors weren't welcomed at Hogwarts at her request as she was by the idea that Hogwarts wasn't as well-guarded as she could have rendered it. She'd found herself an unlikely ally to Fudge a few years back when he'd taken the decision to place dementors on the Hogwarts gates, she was all too aware of the impact an attack on the school could have. She was also aware that the rift between school and Ministry could benefit neither.

She ran a distracted hand through her hair, wincing when her fingers caught in a section matted with dried blood. Barking out some last instructions to the Ministry staff, she chose a couple of Aurors who looked like they desperately needed to be anywhere but there and ordered them back to the Ministry with her. She instructed them to brief the support staff in the Auror Office and hurried to do the same with the Minister. It occurred to her that she should have probably owled him as soon as she had news, that that was in fact what Kingsley would have done. Too late now.

Druscilla could feel eyes on her as she sped through the Ministry corridors, eager to keep moving, as though she could outrun the sight of Kingsley's body. She brushed past Fudge's assistant and burst into the Minister's office, startling him to his feet.

Cornelius looked scared and for a moment her heart, already battered and bruised and in her own pain ready to feel empathy with almost anyone, went out to him. She saw clearly an old man terrified that the world he'd dedicated his life to (with varying degrees of success) was about to fall.

"It's done. Voldemort's dead. Potter's going to be ok." In her hurry to relieve him she settled for the crude facts, she was in no mood for grandiose declarations of victory.

He sank gratefully into his chair, but her face told him there was more to come and he waited anxiously as she continued after a moment's pause. "Kingsley's been killed. So has Dumbledore. I don't have figures on the body count and other casualties yet but I'll have it pulled together as soon as I can..."

He'd never seen her babble before and suddenly she was frighteningly close to it.

"Sit down." She shook her head but he insisted. "Sit, Druscilla, please!" For the sake of not arguing with him further, she complied. His eyes took in the dried blood at her hairline. "Are you hurt?"

"I was, but I was treated."

"By an actual Healer or just one of the medics?"

"I'm fine," she persisted.

"You should be properly checked over."

"Please, Cornelius, stop it." Her voice was brittle,

He crossed to a drinks cabinet and poured her a large glass of brandy. "Thanks." She accepted it but instead of drinking stared into it, her fingers tracing the intricate cut glass.

"Will you go home?" He knew the answer even as he had to ask the question.

"No, there's still things to do."

"You could leave that to someone else." There was no force behind his argument, he knew she wouldn't be able to leave until she'd settled things as best she could to her satisfaction.

"You know I can't do that."

"No." He sighed. "Well, I have tried to make things a little easier. I've had young Meadows liaising with St Mungo's throughout the night. He's got lists of everyone who was taken there and I've been notifying their next of kin. I've also begun drafting letters for the families of Ministry employees who we know were killed."

"Cornelius," Druscilla turned a smile on him he hadn't seen for years, a genuine, grateful expression, edged with relief. "That is utterly brilliant of you."

"No," he corrected, unwilling to bask in the admiration of a woman who'd caused him so much stress. "That is what my job calls for."

The grateful smile turned a little sarcastic and the tired eyes rolled heavenwards. It was impossible even now, he thought, that they could hope to have a fully friendly exchange.

"What happened to him?" He wondered briefly if he should have specified that he meant Kingsley rather than Dumbledore, but she clearly understood the question.

"I don't know. I didn't see." She looked stricken. "I don't know if anyone did, I'll need to check with the Aurors."

"Well," Fudge tried to maintain a matter-of-fact tone, recognising that the woman before him had been pushed almost too far for one night. "Wait until all the reports are in, we may know more then. For now it's not the key issue. His deputy's being briefed?"

"Yes. I sent a couple of Aurors back to the office to brief him and the rest of their staff." Kingsley's deputy had, most unwillingly but at Kingsley's insistence, been left at the Ministry in case of any assault upon the Minister whilst most of their resources were concentrated elsewhere. Druscilla was unable not to feel pained at the fact that even in death Kingsley continued to make the Ministry run better and to make her job easier. Having a fresh person to hand the Aurors over to, rather than having a rudderless team of battle-worn men and women to corral, was a relief. "I'll send you my report before I leave, I'm going to go back and coordinate the clean up."

"Leave the full report until tomorrow." Fudge's tone brooked no resistance. "Send me the basics. I suspect you're in no better state to write a detailed report than I am to read it tonight."

For a moment he thought she was going to argue but she deflated and nodded acquiescence. "Are you going to go home?"

"Certainly not." He was affronted by the very suggestion. "I'll coordinate things here, I think I'll set up a desk down in the Auror Office and see what use they can put me to."

"Very well." She approved, and really a conversation in which she twice approved of his actions was more than he thought he could take.

"Go on, get going," he eagerly hastened her departure. "The quicker you get back there the quicker you'll be able to go home to bed. Come and see me in the morning."

Druscilla downed the brandy and nodded again, too tired to trade words with a Minister she'd never been fond of and desperate to be on the move again anyway.

As she limped through the office of Fudge's assistant, her ankle troubling her more than she wanted to admit, she found Stephen Meadows hovering between his desk and Fudge's office and took pity on him. "Yes, go in, he'll need to see you. We won, if that's what you're worrying about."

His smile offended her and she hurried away.

XXXXXXX

When Druscilla returned to the scene of the battle the last of the casualties were being cleared. Specialist teams had arrived from St Mungo's and were preparing to transport the most severely injured with portkeys that had been designed to offer the smoothest and gentlest transportation possible.

The Aurors had already removed the surviving Death Eaters and were at work tagging and bagging the bodies of both sides.

Oliver Wood was stood close by watching as St Mungos Healers prepared Molly Weasley for transport. He looked awful and she remembered he'd been close to Voldemort when the man had been throwing around the Cruciatus Curse during his brief appearance in the fighting. She wasn't sure if Oliver had been hit but he certainly didn't look as though a medical check-up were unwarranted.

"You need to go to St Mungo's. The walking wounded are all gone, there's nothing more you can do here, go and get yourself checked out." She patted his shoulder, watching sharply as he tensed under her touch.

"I..." Oliver looked over to where Percy was helplessly trying to quiet his brothers as Molly was placed on a magical stretcher. For a brief moment the bloodshot blue eyes met his own across the room with such appeal that he could hardly bear to not run over and embrace their owner.

"Wood, St Mungos, now." Druscilla repeated herself but with far less sympathy.

Oliver opened his mouth to argue with her but something about her countenance silenced him. The woman was looking at him as though she knew exactly what was going through his mind and she didn't like it. He'd never seen her like this, all her customary ease and charm vanished in an air of almost frightening authority. He shut up and set about doing as he'd been told. He had to trust that when it came to Percy she knew what she was doing.

XXXXXXX

St Mungo's was chaos when he arrived, or so it seemed at first. After a few moments of watching the constant flurry of activity though Oliver began to get the sense of a well-oiled machine, running at its top capacity.

He looked around for a seat but the waiting room was packed so he trooped up to the desk to give his name in to the triage nurse with the hefty looking clipboard that looked like it could double as a weapon if need be. He found himself leaning heavily against the counter as he gave her his details and didn't notice when she beckoned over another member of staff.

"Let's get you looked over." A soft voice at his side turned out to be the same grey-eyed, calm Healer as had taken Emmeline into her care earlier.

"Emmeline Vance," he said immediately. "I brought her in earlier, elderly witch, potential heart problems..."

Recognition dawned on the Healer's face almost instantly. "Yes, I remember. We got her stabilised easily enough, she's gone up to the intensive care ward but signs were looking good. It's you who needs attention right now."

"No, there are other people waiting, I'm fine..." But he was too tired and shaky to make any serious attempt at resistance as she took his details from the desk, led him into a cubicle and whizzed the curtain closed behind them.

She gestured at the bed. "Sit down." His legs betrayed him and obeyed. The bed was high enough that with their height difference she was now looking him directly in the eye. She was quiet while she scanned him, stopping at his back where he'd been hit earlier. "Would you mind taking off your jumper, please?" He complied and she wandered round to the other side of the bed to view his back. A bit of impersonal poking around elicited a grunt of discomfort from Oliver.

"Hmm," she frowned. "You've been patched up fairly well but I want to do some more scans. You were wearing the spell-imbued robes weren't you?" He nodded, vaguely worried that he'd discarded the heavy, blood-stained, outer layer sometime after the fighting finished and now couldn't recall where. "Well I think they took the brunt of the curse and it looks like it was only a glancing blow anyway." Her tone however sounded more concerned than her words. She ran her wand over him several more times and Oliver watched in quiet fascination as bits of him glowed in different colours in response. He didn't know enough medical spells to interpret the colours but the Healer didn't look happy.

"I'm worried there might be some signs of nerve damage, but that's not been caused by the curse that injured your back." She frowned, looking confused, "Did anything else happen to you?"

Oliver had to take a slow breath before continuing. "I was hit with the Cruciatus Curse."

The Healer, tired and stressed, scowled at him worse than ever, "And at what point were you going to tell me that?"

Oliver couldn't find anything to say to her and looked down at his feet.

The woman seemed to regret her harsh tone. "I'm sorry," she passed him his jumper and indicated he could put it back on. "That was utterly uncalled for, but I've got a roomful of people who all need seeing and the longer I have to spend guessing what's happened to you the longer we all have to spend here tonight."

"I understand, I'm sorry." He dodged looking at her by pulling his jumper over his head.

"No, please don't apologise, but if there's anything else I need to know then this is your chance to say it."

He managed to meet her gaze and shake his head. "No, there's nothing else."

She nodded, scanned him again, and disappeared briefly before returning with a phial of something purple and glowing. "Drink that, please. It'll help you feel better and speed up your nervous system's recovery. The Cruciatus can have unpleasant lingering effects, but the damage appears to be minimal so you shouldn't have too many problems physically speaking."

Oliver handed her back the empty phial, wrinkling his nose at the curious taste. "Physically?" he queried.

She passed him some water which he gratefully gulped down. "I'll get you sorted with an initial counselling appointment for assessment of emotional trauma, but I won't have time to do that tonight. Will you be going home alone, is someone coming for you?"

"I don't need an emotional trauma assessment..."

"Mr Wood," she stopped him gently but firmly. "You were tortured," she watched him flinch at the word. "You are well within your rights to refuse the appointment but I cannot recommend strongly enough that you do not."

"It was over in...it must have been less than a minute." A minute that had felt like forever. He sighed, "I'm sorry, you're the Healer, whatever you recommend."

She smiled, "Good. Now can we contact someone to come and fetch you?"

That was going a bit too far. "No. My..." and damn everything now was not the time to be trying to work out what to refer to Percy as, "My boyfriend's here somewhere, his mother was badly hurt. I need to go and find him."

She nodded. "Ok, just try and take it easy. I'm writing you a prescription for a dreamless sleep potion, you can pick it up at the dispensary before you leave. You'll get an owl regarding counselling services in a week or so, please follow it up by confirming an appointment." She passed him the prescription and offered him a hand down off the bed. Remembering how dizzy he'd felt he took her hand gratefully and was pleasantly surprised to find himself on his own feet with no sign of shaking or vertigo. Her smile widened at his expression, "The potion kicked in?"

For the first time he smiled back. "Thank you, yes, I feel a hell of a lot better."

"You shouldn't need to come back but if you get any further dizziness, or shakes, or any symptoms that worry you, get in touch with the hospital and we'll book you in for a follow up."

Oliver left the Emergencies Department as quickly as possible. Most of the seriously wounded had been wheeled away into cubicles and side rooms by now but the waiting room was still full of walking wounded being triaged by the nurses. He hesitated for a moment, would Percy want him around? How could he explain to Percy's family why he was there? He'd had the distinct impression that Professor Thornfield had sent him away to avoid any awkward questions on a night when everyone had already been through enough.

He couldn't simply leave Percy to it though. Awkwardness be damned, he wasn't leaving his side again until Percy made it clear that that was what he wanted.

XXXXXXX

Minerva felt that neither she nor Severus could long stand to remain in the Hospital Wing where Poppy was drowning her sorrow at the news of Dumbledore's death by fussing over everything and one in sight and none more so than Harry, still unconscious but pronounced by the nurse to be in no serious danger.

Hermione had been gently persuaded into swallowing a dreamless sleep potion, though only after she had insisted on writing a note for Ron to tell him Harry would be alright. Neville was (much to the confusion of the two returning teachers) keeping himself busy helping Poppy with her patients. Goodness knew how that had happened, Minerva felt that that was a question that would keep until the morning. For now, she was more concerned by the silent man at her side. Severus had said almost nothing since they'd arrived back at the school. Most worryingly of all he had actually gone to the trouble of conjuring a chair at Harry's bedside for Remus Lupin, his harsh exterior cracking in public for once.

They had retreated to her office, though really she knew this could not be her office much longer. As Hogwarts acting-head she would need to move to the tower office Dumbledore had occupied for so long, but neither of them she felt could face that tonight.

Severus was sat in silence across from her in a comfortable chair by the fire, staring into the flames and refusing to meet her eyes. She warmed her hands on a cup of tea she couldn't bring herself to drink and allowed her gaze to settle on her friend.

Severus was a good ten years younger than her. He had been a scrawny, jittery, eleven year old when she'd first laid eyes on him as a young teacher busy finding her feet with the students and about to make all the usual, terrible mistakes. When years later Dumbledore had brought a young Severus Snape onto the staff she'd been wary, unsure if she could or should trust him. Unsure as well if the quiet, withdrawn young man bore her anything but the ill will he'd always seemed to as a student.

They two of them had danced suspiciously around each other for months before she'd decided it was ridiculous, that they needed to find a better way to work. Asking him to join her for tea, ostensibly to discuss how some of her house were faring in their potions work, she had managed over the course of an evening (and numerous pots of tea) to draw out a man she'd never been sure existed. She'd encountered a dry, occasionally cruel, sense of humour that was nonetheless usually bang on the nose and had her struggling not to laugh. She'd started to see hints of the deep passion he held for Potions, something she'd utterly overlooked as his teacher because it wasn't her subject. Most importantly he'd revealed, unintentionally she was certain, a core of painful self-doubt and recrimination that told her whatever he might have done wrong he was far from the monster she'd worried Dumbledore might have been bringing back into the school. Over the next 16 years there had been many many more meetings, countless shared pots of tea, and the boy who she'd once felt would come to no good had grown to become a friend, confidante, occasional thorn in her side (he'd never let her live down that ridiculous 7 year winning streak Slytherin had managed with the House Cup), and the one person who could always somehow make her laugh, even if she still didn't always approve of his humour.

He'd come a long way in the intervening years, they both had, but she had never seen him look so lost and vulnerable as he did now. Dumbledore would have been the first to admit he had made almost as many mistakes with Severus as she had, but he had also provided him with a second chance, a purpose, and the father figure Severus had craved. Even when Severus hadn't (couldn't? wouldn't?) trusted him, Dumbledore had declared to the world that Severus had his trust.

Before her brain could warn her that Severus scorned sympathy and was not fond of physical contact he had not initiated, she had reached across and taken his hand in one of her own and squeezed it in silent companionship. He turned his head towards her sharply but did not pull his hand away. As his dark eyes met hers anything she might have said seemed irrelevant and she settled for squeezing his hand again and simply allowing him to stare at her unshed tears. "I know, Severus." She did know, almost everything Dumbledore had been to him he had been to her as well. In one night they had both lost a guide, ally, and friend.

Severus said nothing but squeezed her hand in return so hard that it hurt, but when he let go she was sorry for it.

"Try to sleep," she advised as he stood to leave. She knew he wouldn't despite his polite nod.

XXXXXXX

Moody had, unasked, returned to Grimmauld Place and relieved Fred and George of the charge of their, thankfully sleeping, sister. He sent them to join the rest of their family at St Mungo's, promising to remain with Ginny. He had even, to Arthur's eternal gratitude, broken the news about Bill and their mother.

Percy was awed by the twins. From the moment they arrived they were ceaseless and untiring in their efforts to offer support. George went with Percy to get Ron checked over by a Healer and somehow persuaded Percy to suffer through a quick check-up himself. Fred meanwhile contrived to persuade another Healer to come and see Arthur and Charlie where they were refusing to move from outside the sterile treatment room - in which Molly's condition was being assessed and her burns treated. He had also procured several polystyrene cups of not-terrible tea and, with George, set about coaxing it into their father and brothers in much the way their mother would have done.

Charlie looked terrible and stayed very close to their father's side. Ron was wide-eyed and silent, cracking a slight smile only upon the arrival of an owl from Hermione to say Harry had been thoroughly examined by Madame Pomfrey and was going to be alright. Percy though felt like he was going mad. He wasn't good at inactivity, he was someone who dealt with a crisis by doing something about it and offering comfort was not something he considered to be his forte, but there was little else that could be done here.

Oliver's arrival, though welcome, did little to improve his feelings of agitation. Oliver looked tired and drawn but assured Percy he'd been checked out by a Healer himself and that there were no lasting issues from the curse that had struck his back. With his limited, but sill superior to the Weasley family's, medical knowledge he had tried to reassure them all as best he could and had even gone so far as to suggest that the treatment Molly required could take some time and that they might more comfortably rest at home and be sent for should anything change. The whole family however were adamant about remaining, though had Arthur not received further confirmation from Moody, via a brief owl, that Ginny remained asleep he would have insisted that someone go home to her.

Another hour of pacing and silence, comforting looks from Oliver (who was just as adamant about not leaving as Percy had been), and enforced cups of tea from his twin brothers, and Percy made a decision. He drew Oliver aside and blurted out. "I need to go to work."

"What?" Oliver looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"I need to go to work," he repeated more calmly.

"Now?!"

"Oliver, it's not over. I can't stay here without going mad and I'm not going home to bed while people lie awake worrying about whether their loved ones are alive or not because no one's done the paperwork that will tell them. I can't sleep while mum's still being treated anyway and you've said yourself there's nothing I can do here. At least at work I can be some use."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No," Percy protested. "Oliver, what use do think you're going to be at the Ministry?"

"I'm going to keep you from losing your mind."

Percy looked down at the gentle hand firmly gripping his arm. "Well, you are good at that I suppose." As Charlie approached he stepped away from Oliver's touch.

"You ok?" Charlie tried to pass him another cup of tea but Percy shook his head.

"No, thank you. Charlie, I need to go into the Ministry, I need to be doing something. Please understand me and promise you'll owl me as soon as there's news?"

Charlie look slightly despairing. "Perce, do you really think throwing yourself into work is going to help?"

"Honestly? Yes."

Charlie exchanged a look with Oliver. "I'm going with him," the Quidditch player spoke up, "I'll make sure he doesn't stay there too long."

Charlie shook his head as though trying to clear it, something Oliver had noticed him do several times over the last hour. "Ok, go. You're right, sitting here would drive anyone mad. But for god's sake, come and tell Dad yourself."

Percy looked reluctant and Oliver found himself kicking him on the shin while Charlie was distracted. "Do as he says!" he muttered. "Look at your Dad, you can't leave without saying anything!"

Oliver hung back as Percy did as he'd been asked, though not looking like he especially wanted to do it. He couldn't hear the exchange, though he did notice Charlie elbow one of the twins as they tried to interject. Still it ended with Percy hugging his father, not something Oliver thought he'd ever actually seen before in all the years he'd known the family, so he was willing to hope that Percy's swift exit wasn't being taken too amiss. Privately he thought it might be the best thing for Percy, though as with most things he had a nagging worry that his boyfriend was likely to carry a good thing rather too far and simply work until he was in a worse state than ever.

He followed along to the Ministry, wary of being in Percy's way and uncomfortable when they arrived. The atmosphere in the building was tense and the security clearly didn't want to let him in. It was a relief to finally reach Percy's office.

"Thank you, I'm really glad you're here." Percy sounded so quiet and lost that Oliver couldn't help but draw him into his arms. Percy was only content to accept the offered comfort for a moment though before pulling away, "I need to go and work, that was the point in coming here."

Oliver pulled him into a short but slightly desperate kiss, something he'd been longing to do since the fighting had finally stopped, causing Percy to blush and glance nervously at the open door.

"Sit over there." Percy pointed to a chair in the corner of the room (Oliver suspected it was the one Druscilla used when she met with him - it looked too comfortable to be standard Ministry issue). "And stop distracting me, you can do that later."

XXXXXXX

Oliver was bent over a figure in black robes, mask discarded but face with covered in blood. The figure reached out in fear and gripped his hand hard, harder than he'd have thought they still had the strength to do. "Please..." the voice rasped, barely audible and shaking in pain and fear.

"I..." Oliver looked helplessly at the hole in the side of the chest, the blood pouring out even through his spells. When he looked back his helplessness must have been clear on his face because what expression he could make out through the blood and pain showed a resignation and despair. "It'll be ok," he promised rashly, desperately.

"Liar." The figure didn't speak again, clearly no longer conscious, and Oliver was forced to finally pry the man's hand from his own.

Jolting awake in Percy's empty office it took Oliver a moment to work out where he was. Percy had left him to go and see the Minister, and he must have fallen asleep. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to forget the events of the night. A walk, yes, he needed to get up and walk about or he'd fall asleep again.

It seemed his timing couldn't have been better. Halfway down the corridor outside, looking lost, was Charlie Weasley.

"Charlie?"

"Hey," the other man smiled tiredly at him and followed him back in to Percy's office. "I was beginning to think I was on the wrong floor, everyone looked a bit busy to bother them with directions. It probably would have been easier to owl but I wanted to come myself. Mum's going to be fine and apparently that's in large part thanks to you," he clapped Oliver on the shoulder, "Thank you, for everything you did."

Oliver shook his head dismissively, "I just did my best. Percy's in with Fudge at the moment, he said he'd be right back though."

"How's he holding up?"

"Honestly? He needed this, he's not ready to deal with things yet and work's his avoidance tactic - has been as long as I've known him."

Charlie gave a small smile, "Yeah, but he'll work himself into his grave if we don't stop him."

"I think, now there's news on your mother, I can get him to go home and try to sleep."

Charlie nodded, "Yeah, Fred and George have taken dad home, the hospital's convinced him he should go. He wanted to go to be with Ginny at Grimmauld Place, but I think I talked him out of waking her in the middle of the night to tell her everything. We'll go over first thing in the morning."

"I'm so sorry about Bill." Oliver found the words he'd been avoiding falling out suddenly.

Charlie nodded stiffly. "Thank you. It's been a long night for you too, if you want to get home I can look after Percy."

"No," Oliver's tone was gentle but firm, "I'll stay. I can take care of him if you want to go back to your father?"

"He's not coming back to the Burrow with me?"

Oliver suddenly looked awkward, realising they hadn't exactly discussed where they were going but Percy certainly seemed to want him to stay and Oliver had never spent the night at the Burrow before and didn't personally feel tonight was the night to change that. "I thought he might be better staying with me tonight," he responded carefully, "I think he needs some space to calm down and rest before he deals with everything."

Charlie gave him an odd look, not unfriendly but a little curious. "Well, whatever he's happy with, thanks for looking after him."

Before Oliver could respond, though he wasn't sure how to, the door to Percy's office opened and the man in question walked in, a desperate question on his face as soon as he registered Charlie's presence.

Charlie nodded and smiled reassuringly. "Mum's going to be alright, she won't be awake until tomorrow though. Dad's gone home with Fred and George and Ron, we're leaving talking to Ginny until tomorrow."

Percy crumpled suddenly, relief knocking out the remains of his nervous adrenaline and Oliver had to grab hold of him before he collapsed. "Ok, that's it, Perce, I'm taking you home."

Percy looked too tired to even think about protesting.

"Erm," Charlie interrupted little awkwardly, "You going to stay at Oliver's?

Percy looked at Oliver for confirmation. He looked too tired and upset to know what he was doing, and Oliver didn't want to pull him away from his family

Charlie Weasley, though looking confused, reminded Oliver of why he'd always thought him one of the most friendly and considerate people he'd ever met. "I tell you what, you probably want to wrap things up here and I'm pretty knackered. Oliver, you'll make sure he gets somewhere ok?"

"Yeah, of course."

Charlie hugged Percy briefly, letting go quickly when his brother seemed uncomfortable. "Please go and sleep somewhere." He was gone before Percy could do more than nod.

Oliver took Percy's hand tentatively, a little afraid of being rebuffed, instead the redhead all but collapsed into him, breathing heavily. "Hey gorgeous, it's ok, it's ok," Oliver stroked his back soothingly, random endearments dropping easily from his lips. "Whatever you want is fine, where do you want to go?"

He heard a couple of deep breaths that he took as an attempt at calm. "Take me home."

"Yeah, yeah of course, we could Floo straight to the Burrow if you're not up to Apparating."

"No. I mean take me…" Percy looked lost for a moment, as though the notion of 'home' was a little vague to him, "Take me wherever you're going, take me home with you."

XXXXXXX

Druscilla was the only Order member left when Remus returned. Dashing about from one group of Ministry personnel to another it looked like she hadn't stopped since she'd found Kingsley and assumed command. She'd apparently Apparated back and forth to the Ministry multiple times and from what he'd gleaned of her conversation with the Aurors she'd been meeting with Fudge.

Remus waited patiently, offering his help to a group of Aurors engaged in creating definitive casualty lists. Eventually though it started to look like everyone was ready to wrap up for the night. The bodies had all been removed, lists had been collated and relayed to the Ministry, and through it all Druscilla hadn't as much as raised her voice in anger. He wasn't sure that this should have surprised him, but he'd been present for too many slips in her professionalism to not be impressed at her mastery of herself under the circumstances. It looked though like that mastery was beginning to wear thin.

Druscilla was having an increasingly heated conversation with a young man Remus didn't recognise who'd shown up only a few minutes before. "The Minister was just suggesting you might like to get some rest." He heard the man say in strained tones.

"I don't need rest!" she snapped. The Aurors nearest stopped and looked at her and she scrubbed a hand over her face and sighed. "Ok, I need rest." Remus moved over quickly, if Dru was declaring surrender then it was definitely time to go.

The young man apparated away at Remus' approach and Dru turned to him with a weary smile. "You waited for me."

"Of course I did. Are you able to leave now?"

She nodded tiredly, "Fudge is handling things pretty well back at the Ministry. Maybe I should be less surprised by that. How's Harry?"

"Asleep, he's going to be fine."

She gave him a tired smile. "My cloak's through there, let's grab it and go."

Remus followed her into the small anti-room their portkeys had first brought them to. He passed her the dark blue cloak that she'd clearly grabbed from the Ministry at some point in the night when the temperature had started to drop. Running back and forth as she was prone to though it seemed she'd discarded it again quickly.

She took it from his hands and slung it around her shoulders in a single graceful movement. "Thank you. And not just for this. You saved my life back there."

He brushed her thanks away. "I'm just glad you're alright."

She stepped back and eyed him quietly for a moment. "You made quite the impression, even through my head injury," she smiled wryly. "I think it's safe to say you were only a full-moon away from tearing that Death Eater's throat out with your teeth."

"I couldn't let him hurt you."

His tone reminded her of the almost possessive stance he'd taken up after that incident, as though he were protecting what belonged to him, though his eyes told another story entirely. Soulful and slightly lost, he looked as though a word from her would have him running to the world's ends for her. She moved closer, so close their noses were almost touching. "Careful Remus, I'll start to think you like me," she said in a voice so soft he was left almost unsure she had spoken.

"Well we can't have that," he moved to kiss her but hesitated. "People are dead."

"And we're not," her steady voice was belied by her still shaking hands as she brought their lips together, clinging to his arms, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to bruise, and that felt fantastic. Their left over adrenaline from the battle had found itself an outlet in a sudden desperate desire to feel alive and Remus understood exactly what she meant. There was no point in surviving if you weren't going to live.

He grabbed her roughly by the waist and kissed her again, wildly, passionately. Inappropriate be damned, what after all was so inappropriate about grabbing life while you had it.

Druscilla, exhausted and yet almost manic in her agitation, unspent adrenaline coursing through her tired, bruised body, only griped him harder as it became clear he wasn't going to pull away. A desperate cyclone of emotions, barely held in check while she had forced herself one step at a time through the aftermath of the fighting, poured themselves into the kiss. Rage and pain, lust and frustration, confusion and burning desire. So much of her was in the kiss that when their lips finally, reluctantly parted she felt momentarily drained, breathless in more ways than one.

"Come home with me." She didn't think she'd ever held her breath waiting for an answer to that question before.

Vague thoughts that he should be checking on the Weasleys who'd been so unceasingly kind to him, should go back to Hogwarts to wait at Harry's bedside and stop him from possibly waking up alone, were dismissed far more quickly than he'd have like to admit. A lifetime of doing what he 'should' melted easily in the face of the woman in front of him.

XXXXXXX

St Mungo's remained busy until the early hours. Too busy to notice a lone figure not on their staff slipping down to the morgue. Charlie was all too well aware that his actions were bordering on the unhealthy but found himself drawn to where his brother was laid out in an underground chamber far beneath the hospital.

Conjuring a chair he sank down beside Bill. "Yeah, I know, this is weird. I shouldn't be here, but I didn't want you to be alone. Mum's going to be alright. Dad's asleep, I strongly suspect that whatever the twins slipped into his tea he won't be waking up for a good eight hours. Ginny's asleep too, think everyone's grateful for that, no one's ready to tell her everything right now and you know the twins never really need anyone except each other. Ron's with them anyway, and Percy's," Charlie sighed, "I don't know what Percy's doing. As usual. I laughed at you for gossiping at the time but I wish I'd asked what you meant when you were saying you couldn't imagine Percy with another girlfriend. I wish I'd asked you a lot of things. Don't worry, I'm not going to sit here chattering all night like a mad man, I know you can't hear me. I just can't seem to do anything much for anyone right now and it occurred to me that the one thing I could do was stop you from being alone because I hated the thought of you lying here with no one. Did you feel like this when the wheels were coming off, that as the eldest you had to do something useful?"

Charlie lapsed into silence and covered his face with his hands. "God it's only been a few hours and I miss you already! How am I supposed to do this? How do I look after them?"

XXXXXXX

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Author's note: Well more than 50 pages and 29K words later, there we go! This chapter has haunted me, I wanted it to do so much and due to the length it got really tough to read through properly, so fingers crossed it's not a disaster! Do let me know what you think. Thanks to everyone who's stuck by me and encouraged me. The next chapter won't be this long and so shouldn't take quite so long to get posted I hope! x