Chapter Forty-Nine

Mr Black stood at the window of his office, staring out at the grounds.

Harry could see them from where he stood behind him; the dark silhouettes of the arriving Death Eaters hurrying into the Ballroom in the distance.

Mr Black took a step back, turning and walking, briskly, in the direction of the cupboards behind his desk, flicking his wand as he did so.

A bright silvery otter – a patronus – formed from the edge of it and spun from the room in a flash. Harry frowned, watching it go, but pushed any curiosity about it aside – his mind still entirely on Grace.

"Mr Black," Harry hurried after him; "Mr Black, please –"

"Can you duel?" Mr Black turned to him, abruptly.

"What?"

"Can you duel?"

Harry hesitated, uncertainly; "I…I've been getting lessons with Unc – with Professor Lupin. He's taught me some stuff."

Mr Black's eyes averted, ever so slightly, and Harry caught the almost-hopelessness in his eyes at the less-than-confident assertion.

"Yes, I can duel," Harry said, more firmly.

Mr Black's eyes closed as he shook his head, turning and yanking the doors to the cupboards open before reaching inside; "Where did you see her?"

"In the Lab."

Mr Black continued talking to him, as he carried on rummaging amongst the boxes in the cupboard – half his body inside it - as he did; "It's not possible, Harry. If he were here, if he'd managed to get in without detection, the Death Eaters wouldn't have triggered the alarms."

"Maybe they did it on purpose."

"Why would they do that?"

"To clear the place out? To let you know he was here? I don't know, you tell me. You used to be one of them, didn't you? Maybe it's a trick."

"Of course, it's a trick, Harry!" Mr Black snapped as looked over his shoulder at him, sharply; "And we're the suckers."

He got to his feet, clutching folded black robes in his hands that he shook out, before shrugging into them. He lifted something silver – a mask, one of the ones Harry recognised from his nightmares and his witnessing of Voldemort's resurrection – though he didn't put it on, yet.

"If she's here –" Mr Black began, doing up the fastenings of his Death Eater robes, sounding entirely sceptical as to the possibility of it; "- then the Order will have heard about it by now, and they'll come for her. But Grace isn't on the grounds, Harry – she can't be, there's been Personnel posted at every doorway of this building since lunchtime this afternoon – and if the Dark Lord were to somehow get his hands on her why, why would he bring Grace here, of all places?"

"To get to you. He thinks she's yours, he thinks you'll come for her –"

Mr Black looked at him, shaking his head; "Harry; if Grace were taken, don't you think her father would know something about it? That something would already be being done to recover her?"

Mr Black drew in a breath, as if trying to get his temper in check, and then reached back into the cupboard, drawing out another set of robes and handing them over to Harry; "Put these on. There's only one mask so, just keep your head down, stay behind me." He stepped forward, pulling back the chair behind his desk and reached down, tossing back the rug that had been beneath it; "Lets just hope my cousin hasn't revealed the –"

"I know what I saw, Mr Black!" Harry insisted, frustrated by Mr Black's refusal to even consider that Grace might be in danger; "I've been seeing things all year; things that Voldemort –" Mr Black flinched at the name; "- things that's he's been doing. And I'm telling you, he's got Grace!"

Mr Black opened his mouth to speak but Harry was having none of it, he had to make him see, and he reached into his pockets, pulling out the mirror that had been failing him all evening and yelling into it; "Grace Potter!"

He held it out to Mr Black, to make him look, shoving it into his hand; "I gave Grace the other one for Christmas and she's been on it every day all week to me – she's treated it like bloody gold dust, and if she was safe, she'd answer me! She's here, at the Foundation, I know it!"

Mr Black released an exasperated breath, as he shook his head, looking down at the mirror in his hand.

And then he froze.

Harry frowned, eyes going to the mirror.

It wasn't either of them staring back through the surface. It wasn't a reflection. It was a window; through to the other side.

And, from it, a gleaming silver mask stared straight back up at them.

The mirror slipped from Mr Black's fingers; falling and shattering on the floor. But the Death Eater on the other side was still there – the mirror and mask in fragments – and the voice was silky smooth when it spoke from them.

"That's seven years bad luck, Regulus."

Mr Black took a step back, his wand swiftly drawn.

"Not that you're going to be around to see it, I'm afraid."

Mr Black's voice was a whisper; "Dammit."

The windows of the office were suddenly blown out in a crashing shatter and Mr Black and Harry hit the floor under the force of the impact, glass showering down upon and around them.

A jet of purple light flew at him where he was on his back on the floor and Regulus barely deflected it, another firing his way on the heels of it and he only just rolled out of the way in time to avoid being hit.

"Harry! Harry get down; run!"

His instructions were contradictory, making no sense, but he couldn't even see Harry and Death Eaters were pouring into the room and it had been thirteen bloody years since he'd duelled for his life against one damn adversary – nevermind all of these! – and he was pretty certain that his chances were minimal.

Regulus sprung to his feet, aware of the fact that he couldn't just lie there and expect to bloody survive and he fired curse after curse at the figures in the room and most of them were deflected, but it was a distraction, at the very least – and it was startling, how easily the spells came to him, the hexes, the curses – but he couldn't hold them off for long, no, and he was almost struck, deflecting it at the last moment so that the force of the colliding magic sent him flying backwards with an 'ompfh' and he hit the shelves, and crumbled to the ground.

His duelling attempts were almost pitiful; rusty and unpolished but, even then, flashes of light still fired forth from his wand as he scrambled for cover – and wasn't it funny how the threat of impeding death could so effectively ignite a person's self-preservation instincts – and voiceless spells sprung from him, never forgotten – 'incarcerous, 'impedimenta','stupefy' – and he got one, then.

But the moment of triumph didn't last long as another attempted to engage him and Regulus fired out a 'protego', taking cover with a dive behind the couch as an 'avada kedavra!' – from the very familiar voice of his oldest cousin – was yelled out and a flash of green light was fired his way.

"NO!"

It was Lucius' voice. The very same voice that had spoken from the mirror.

The utter bastard.

"The Dark Lord wants them alive!"

Regulus could have almost sighed with relief – he'd surely be dead within the next two minutes, otherwise – not that it was anything to be excited about.

The Dark Lord - of course - had far more satisfying intentions towards he and Harry.

Regulus put his cheek to the floor for the briefest of seconds, eyes scanning the carpet for any sign of Harry, and he could see his feet up ahead, evident of the boy taking cover behind his desk, but Regulus was not the only one taking fire and he could see flashes of purple and then orange and then yellow lighting Harry's hiding place, as a Death Eater engaged him.

Thankfully, it seemed as if Harry was actually able to respond and fire back a few defensive spells of his own and keep him at bay. Though, obviously, Regulus couldn't count on Harry holding out so, for much longer.

Regulus quickly tried to figure out who it was that was attacking him – noticed one of them advancing on the desk past his own returning jinxes on those focused upon him – and fired out a stunning spell as soon as he got the chance, flooring them when he did; not much of an accomplishment, considering the Death Eater's back was to him.

It was all Regulus could do for Harry before he was suddenly engaged again; Lucius, this time, and Regulus fired back from where he was taking cover – firing two spells, each on the heels of one another, that he knew would be deflected – before blowing up the bookcase to the side of where Lucius' stood and forcing him, as well as the nearby others, to instinctively lift their arms to take cover.

Regulus took the opportunity of distraction to dash from the couch to the desk, throwing himself down next to Harry where he was huddled, his wand clutched tight in his hand.

"Mr Black!"

"Blow up the furniture, Harry! Confringo!"

Harry did as he was told, blowing up the nearby shelves and bookcases and the chair and the couch – everything he could – while Regulus fired out curse after curse with one hand – it was sloppy fighting and it probably wouldn't do much damage but he was only fighting for time – as he grabbled at the floorboard with the other – the one he had been going to lift before Harry presented him with that damn mirror - and threw it aside; the same for the other two lined up next to it, exposing the escape underpasses below.

Another spell from him, from Harry, fired forth, keeping the Death Eaters at distance, and then Regulus grabbed Harry by the back of the neck and shoved him down the gap into the tunnel.

Lucius was suddenly upon him at the desk, firing forth a hex and Regulus lifted his wand, deflecting the offending spell with one of his own – and he was getting the distinct impression that Lucius was actually pulling his punches more than necessary and that was probably the only reason they hadn't captured him by now – before he fired out another, a non-lethal that he verbalised, unnecessarily - 'stupefy', and he got him, that time – almost as if the man didn't bother to deflect knowing what it was that was coming – and Lucius hit the ground.

Regulus jumped down the gap in the floorboard – the tunnels were dark and narrow, so that only one person at a time could walk through, which could work to their advantage, so long as they weren't corned - and then he realised that Harry had waited for him and he grabbed him, roughly, shoving him on ahead.

"Go! GO! Run!"

Harry did.

Harry ran on ahead, and he could hear Mr Black hot on his heels.

For a second, Harry allowed himself a tiny flicker of hope that they were actually going to get away.

Until the tunnels were suddenly filled with flashes of light, that is, and Harry's running slowed as he turned to glance over his shoulder, seeing Mr Black engaging a Death Eater who was advancing towards them at alarming speed – and not the only one, at that – purple light flashing back and forth between them and colliding and the tunnels almost seemed to shake around them with the force of it, and Harry stopped several paces back, turning fully and raising his wand to help.

"Don't stop running, Harry!"

"But –"

"Straight ahead. GO!"

Harry turned and ran for it; running deeper into the tunnels.

He had no idea where he was going. Just carried on running and running, until the lights and the sounds behind him faded and he was running in silence and darkness – he daren't light his wand - the only sound in the tunnels his thudding footsteps and his thudding heart in his ears and the gasps of his breaths.

Regulus burst through the floorboards of what he guessed – correctly – was the Research Centre, clambering up and out of the channels beneath them.

By some absolute miracle he had managed to floor a few of his pursuers. Not many of them, mind, but enough to slow down those behind as they attempted to climb over the fallen. And he had managed to lose them, somewhat, for a minute before Regulus had then come to the fork in the road – four different ways in which Harry could have run, and he had told Harry to go straight, which would lead to the exit, but there was no telling if he got it, if he'd actually run that way – and it was surely better to split up, the two of them, then, and Regulus could draw the Death Eaters out of the ground and away from where the boy had run.

Even if he hadn't reached the courtyard, Harry could take cover in the tunnels until help came for them.

The Order would be here any minute, his patronus sent long enough ago, that Dumbledore would have surely received the message and given the orders to step in by now.

Regulus left the blown open floorboards – an obvious sign that he had left at that point – so that the Death Eaters would follow and hurried deeper into the Research Centre, flicking his wand and plunging the room into darkness.

But he wasn't alone for long.

A flash of yellow light was suddenly fired his way, lighting the darkness and the silence, and only just missing him, hitting the ground in front of him and blasting a crater in the floor that he had to dodge to avoid stumbling into it.

It made him lose momentum – and bloody balance – as he ducked, a flash of purple behind him and hitting the shelves to his side, before he was forced to turn; engaging the Death Eater on his heels – he recognised the details of the mask, it was Barty – and spells fired forth between them.

It seemed as if Barty were the only one at that moment.

But not for long.

Regulus could see others emerging and hurrying towards where they stood – one breaking off and taking a left – while Regulus mustered up all of his strength to blast back a spell that sent Barty stumbling backwards under the force of the collision between it and the shield charm, giving him the second he needed to dart right and take some cover as he ran.

Regulus carried on with the same tactic as before – blowing the bookshelves behind himself as a means of creating a distraction – and then he turned, abruptly, wand pointing at the fallen debris rather than his pursuers – there were three of them, which were less than what there should be – uttering; "Turbinis vasti!"

When he did, the debris on the ground lifted and began to swirl around them, forcing their attention onto avoiding the blows, and the distraction allowed Regulus the chance to disable two of the three within the inflicted vortex with various impediments and stunning spells, flooring them, while the other stepped out and fired spell after spell – obviously not happy with Regulus beating them over the head with all of those books – with such ferocity that Regulus was forced to dive to take physical cover by the tables.

The lower number was alarming – there was only this one, now, and the elusive figure who had ventured off – evident that some remained in the tunnels and had continued to go after Harry. But Regulus forced himself to focus on the remaining one before him; he was no use to Harry dead, after all.

"Does itty bitty cousin want to play?"

The familiar voice spoke from behind and he spun around from where he was crouch on the floor – she would have gotten him if she hadn't wanted to taunt him a bit first – and he only just fired back as her first attempt fired towards him, before he rolled across the floor and jumped to his feet.

Regulus drew in a breath, hand tightening around his wand, knowing full well that there was no chance of family ties softening up Bellatrix, in the way that they had managed to with Narcissa a short while ago. If anything, the very fact that he was family – and a traitor – would only make her attack more ferocious and she proved that within the first second; her first curse sent his way barely deflected and the force of the will behind the spell knocking him back when he met it with a counter of his own.

Bella was merciless, eyes glinting will the full force of manic hatred; another spell fired forth that he deflected, once more, and another and another and he had to dodge it, physically, before another hit on the heels of it, all in such quick succession that he could barely muster up an attack of his own – forced into the defensive, from the start – and, even then, he barely got the shield charms up quick enough, and then an 'impedimenta', that floored him, before a 'crucio' fired forth and, oh hell, she got him.

Regulus had forgotten it – how could he possibly – and the relentless, unyielding, sheer excruciation of the Unforgivable tore the scream from deep within his bloody guts, even if he was entirely unaware of sight or sound or anything beyond the curse being cast upon him as he writhed on the ground, utterly at her mercy.

He felt his wand being torn from his hand – he was vaguely aware of the need to hold onto it, that to let go would be the end of him, but it was impossible under the intensity by which his cousin could inflict the Cruciatus – and he could faintly hear the screech of her manic laughter past the agony and over his wails.

And then the pain and the screams and the laughter abruptly stopped.

There was a thud; the sound of a body – Bellatrix – falling to the floor.

And then the only sound in the room was that of Regulus' heaving breaths as he lay there in a boneless heap and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

For barely a second, that was, before the sound of thudding boots on the floor approaching snapped him out of his trance and had Regulus grasping for traction against the wooden floor as he pushed himself upwards and scrambled backwards on his hands and his heels away from the approaching Death Eater until –

"What the hell are you doing here, Regulus?"

Regulus stopped in his backwards retreat, eyes closing, and he collapsed back onto the floor.

"Severus."

Harry hurried along the passageway, in an utter blind panic, knowing that the voices he could hear in the distance behind him did not belong to Mr Black and he felt around the dirt walls, for anywhere he could hide, but they were perfectly formed and seemed to lead nowhere.

He didn't even know the Foundation had underground tunnels! Malachi had never mentioned as such but the distant voices behind him kept him scurrying on through, each step that he took losing any and all hope that Mr Black was still following.

He was alone.

They must have gotten Mr Black, somehow, there was no way he could have fought them all off by himself – there must have been a dozen of them that had invaded the office – and he felt a jolt of grief and of guilt when he realised it, that Mr Black was probably captured – he refused to think that he might be dead – but those feelings were quickly overrun by fright when the voices were no longer only behind him but up ahead as well.

No. No. No.

They had him surrounded; closing in on him from both sides. Almost as if they knew the tunnels and the way through and out.

Harry drew in a breath, feeling himself begin to panic even more, as he lifted his wand – figuring it was better to be up there than cornered down here – and he spoke quietly as possible, not that the spell would be quiet – "Confringo!" – and the top of the tunnel blew out.

Harry jumped, grasping the ledge created, and pulled himself up and out of the passage, crawling and collapsing in a heap in the room that he found himself.

It only took Harry a second to realise where he was.

It was the Lab.

Harry scrambled to his feet in the darkness, turning slowly where he stood, his eyes taking in the large, empty room before him. The very one that he had seen in his mind only an hour or so beforehand – entirely certain that his baby sister had been in this room – and Harry walked towards the spot that he had seen her.

The place was utterly deserted. Not a soul in sight nor any sign, even, of a disturbance. No chair in the spot where it should be, where Grace had been sitting in the middle of the floor.

It made no sense.

"Grace?"

Harry felt sick.

Harry had seen it.

He had seen it. Just like he had seen everything else, all year.

He had the vague thought in his mind that he ought to be running – the Death Eaters behind him would have heard the explosion, they would be closing in – but he couldn't just keep running, not when he knew, he knew that his little sister was here somewhere. He couldn't just run and leave her behind.

And then, suddenly, Harry remembered the conversation he had had with Snape months ago, at the end of the summer; their first lesson together after the holidays. Snape had told him that Voldemort knew about the mind link; that he was occluding him – that he could occlude him from anything he didn't want Harry to see – that if Harry did see anything that it was because…

"…no matter the content, you must assume it is an attempt to manipulate you. Do not respond to anything that you see…"

Snape's warning from months before.

"Grace?" he called out, again, refusing to believe it. Refusing to believe he had been that stupid.

Grace was here, he knew she was.

Even if it had been a trap, even if Voldemort had wanted him to see it – the vision – it still would have had to be real.

"Grace, it's Harry!"

Utter silence greeted him.

And then, there was a snicker.

Harry turned, sharply, in the direction of it; the Death Eater who stepped out from the shadows at the back of the room.

Then another, from the other side.

"The Dark Lord always knows," one of the Death Eaters said, laughingly, to the other.

The other nodded in agreement, as they advanced upon him, and Harry gripped his wand tight – eyes darting around the room – searching for any sign of her, so he could grab her and run. But they'd obviously moved her, and Voldemort wasn't even here, so she must be with him.

"I want to know where my sister is."

His voice came out strained – belying the terror within him, as his chest constricted, making it difficult, even, to breathe – and he shook his head, while the Death Eaters he faced made low grumbles of laughter.

"I know you've got her."

"It is time you learned the difference –" a voice spoke from the doorway and when Harry turned, the Death Eater there was unmasked, and he recognised the face of Draco's father from the Prophet articles he and Malachi had read; "- between life and dreams, Mr Potter."

Harry swallowed, as Lucius Malfoy stepped into the room; another Death Eater was on his heels. And another.

Which meant that Mr Black had fallen, for sure, if they were all now coming to the Lab. The Lab where, Harry realised, they had been trying to lure him to all along.

And if Grace wasn't here – if it had really been a lie, a fabrication that had somehow been sent to him through their minds – then Mr Black had died for nothing…

His scar burned, making him flinch, and he felt an excitement course through him; an excitement that he was sure was not his own. And it could only be one other person's, then, and Voldemort was obviously in there, in his head, and watching this in glee as his followers encroached upon him, ready to deliver Harry up to their Master.

Harry could feel each and every one of his hairs on end as he stood there completely surrounded; more Death Eaters beginning to filter into the room, this time from the gap in the floor that he had just emerged through, himself.

He'd played right into Voldemort's hands; Voldemort had lured him, him and Mr Black – believing him to be Grace's father – there, under the guise of kidnapping Grace and Harry had fallen for it and they were both as good as dead – if not already - now.

The excitement that was not his own was totally at war with the terror that he felt, as he realised it, what had happened – what he had done – and his scar was on fire and –

"It was almost too easy, Harry Potter."

The cold, high voice from his nightmares suddenly spoke up from behind him and Harry spun around.

Voldemort was here.

Grace wasn't there; but Voldemort was.

That white, drawn face, the red, slit-pupiled eyes boring into his and a slow, sinister smile on his lips as he regarded Harry where he stood – before him, utterly at his mercy.

"Where is Regulus?"

The question was not for him.

"We are still in pursuit of him, My Lord."

Harry felt a tinge of relief – a tiny one, considering his own circumstances right now – at the confirmation that Mr Black had evaded them, so far.

"Come for his precious child, did he, then, Potter?"

Harry's hands shook as he gripped his wand tight – not that it would help, he had no chance! – but he wouldn't just die without fighting.

"No need for you to be around to see it. And I quite have nothing more to say to you," Voldemort said, softly, as the scarlet eyes glinted dangerously.

Harry started to raise his wand – to the howls of laughter of those around him – when, suddenly, the doors on either side of the room burst open and the windows smashed, and people were flooding into the Lab and the room came alive with flashes of light and roars of incantations, and the circle that had been around upon him broke, as the Death Eaters were suddenly distracted by the appearance of the intruders.

A jet of green light – an almost desperate cry of 'Avada Kedavra' from Voldemort's lips – hurtling in his direction had Harry dive to the ground for cover.

There was Remus and Tonks and his mum and others and more than those whom he recognised from the summer that had come for him then.

And it was obviously more than just the Order who had come, that night, but the Ministry's Aurors, too.

And Harry dodged and ducked, as a jet of purple light flew by him – not meant for him, maybe, but it came hurtling in his direction all the same – and he scrambled along the ground, taking cover from the ferocious spells being flung back and forth overhead.

He was suddenly seized by the collar, and a rough voice spoke in his ear as he was pinned to the ground; "You're not going anywhere, Potter."

Harry didn't recognise the voice, only the threat within it, and he was only glad it was not Voldemort, and he felt the whoosh of a spell pass by inches from his head as he was yanked upwards.

Harry caught sight of Remus duelling one of them a few feet away, and another was fighting three at once, and Tonks was engaged with another and they were so fast, so ferocious with their spells that their movements were blurs. And none noticed that he had been caught and that Voldemort – who floored two opponents, almost concurrently, and with unbelievable ease with two jets of green, lethal light – was advancing upon him once more, lips drawn back in a snarl.

And Harry was sure this was the end, as he scuffled against the Death Eater who held him, in a vain attempt to free himself.

Though, suddenly, Voldemort froze, eyes going beyond him, and Harry turned his head to look and Dumbledore was standing there in the doorway.

A spell was fired forth with almost laziness, slicing through the air faster than any Harry had ever seen, in Voldemort's direction and a physical shield was suddenly conjured up, the jet of light colliding with it in a blast of sparkling lights.

Harry kicked his legs back, fighting harder for freedom, when he felt the Death Eater who held him loosen his grip, ever so slightly, just as taken in by the sight of the beginnings of Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel – but it was just as futile as before.

Until, that is, his captor was suddenly struck by a bolt of orange light – the distractions of the duel and Harry's scuffling allowing it – and dropped to the ground.

"Harry!"

His mum had him by the arms, eyes looking over him, frantically.

"Mum!" Harry burst out, as his mum tugged him back down to take cover, just in time to dodge another spell whiz on by; "Mum, I think – I thought –"

Before he could say anything, before he could tell her that he had thought Grace was here – that she might, maybe, be there, despite his increasing doubts – the bench behind them exploded as a deflected spell hit it and his mum's arms were around him, pushing him down and sheltering him from the debris.

There was a thud – someone landing on the ground behind them - and then his mum's arms were gone and there was a flash of light and when he looked up his mum was deflecting a spell from the Death Eater who had come down upon them, their wands flashing as they duelled – his mum advancing towards the attacker, pushing him back and away from Harry, spell after spell firing forth until they were out of sight.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, keeping himself low as he attempted to run, to move, to get away from where the Death Eaters and Voldemort knew that he was. He caught sight of Voldemort and Dumbledore towards the back of the Lab, now, Dumbledore having pushed him back.

A long, thin flame hurtled from the tip of the Headmaster's wand, wrapping itself around Voldemort as it reached him before it transfigured into a thick, hissing serpent that released him and turned Dumbledore's way.

Harry hurried from the cover of the bench opposite, passing by Tonks and the Death Eater she was duelling, a burst of flame firing towards her that she deflected, sending it flying in Harry's direction and he threw himself up onto the nearest bench on his arms and knees to avoid it.

"Harry –" Remus had backed up, though he was still engaged in vicious combat with one of the Death Eaters as he spoke, quickly; "- you need to get out of –"

Remus was suddenly struck square on the chest with a jet of blue light and he flew backwards – he seemed to be flying on, forever – until he collided with the shelves at the entrance to the Lab and crumbled to the ground.

Harry's jaw dropped, as he stared at the limp form of his uncle on the ground.

He made to go to him, to run towards him, when a flash of green light whizzed on by, inches from his arm, hitting the bench beside him and making it burst into flames and he whipped around, catching sight of Voldemort's taunting smirk in Dumbledore's direction.

The two of them continued to engage one another – magic like Harry had never seen before as spell after spell fired back and forth – while casting out spells, almost carelessly, at stray Death Eaters and Order Members and Aurors, respectively, between engagement with one another and bringing them down and Harry stared in horror at the litter of bodies – some who were surely lost forever – and had he really been the one to have done this, to have fallen for this; to have drawn all these people into this bloodbath?

Harry stumbled towards Remus – keeping low and darting and dodging the spells that continued to fly through the air – who still hadn't risen, feeling stupid and then sick and then numb, as he reached him and shook him; "Uncle Remus."

He was still breathing.

Maybe the others were, too.

Before Harry could do anything more, before the guilt could utterly cripple him, he was suddenly seized from behind, a hand clamping firmly over his mouth, and he was dragged, roughly, through the doorway from the room.

Harry fought and grabbled with the arm that was wrapped tight around him, trying to scream, trying to escape, trying to tell someone that he was gotten – that they had him – when he heard a familiar, furious voice in his ear.

"Enough."

Snape.

It was Snape.

Harry went almost limp in his arms, allowing Snape to drag him down the corridor, faster and faster, almost in a daze at what had happened, before they came to the exit and the door burst open, he and Snape stumbling out onto the grounds.

Snape released the bear hold he had upon him, then, but he kept a tight hold of his arm as they hurried up the grass – moving further and further away from the Lab – and Harry gasped out; "Grace. I thought…I thought he had Grace."

Snape's grip tightened; "She is safe."

"How do you know? How can you be sure?" Harry burst out.

"Because I know where she is and she's not here."

"We…we can't just leave everyone back there," Harry said, looking back in the direction of the Lab, of the Foundation – they were almost at the gates, now, where the boundaries of the anti-apparition charms ended – though he knew, logically, that there was nothing he or, even, Snape could do; "Remus and Mum and Mr Black, they're all in there –"

"You'd be hard-pressed to name anyone not within that build –"

There was a sudden, deafening 'BOOM' and the ground shook and the whole damn world seemed to reverberate around them and he and Snape were thrown to the ground, a blast of orange light washing over them and blinding him and, then, utter silence.

Harry rolled over onto his back, looking back in the direction of the Foundation.

The whole West side of the building had cracks all up the side of it and the East – the side from which they had just run – and the Lab – it teetered on the foundations before all of it slowly crumbled to rubble.

Snape stood, slowly, as if in a daze, jaw slackening at the sight as he took a step towards it.

Harry could only stare.

And then the reality of it hit; "MUM!"

Harry lunged forward to his feet, desperately, throwing himself in a sprint back towards the building – trying to – but he didn't get far before Snape's arms were suddenly tight around him, holding him back tight against his chest, as Harry cried out; "Mum!"

"Harry!"

"Mum!"

His cries were a mix of screams and of sobs and he scuffled, frantically with Snape, needing to go to her, to make sure she was alright. And his Uncle Remus. And Mr Black. And he sobbed, calling out for his mum and he felt Snape's grip tightening upon him, pinning him back against him and his voice in his ear but Harry didn't know or care what it was he was saying.

And then Snape's voice stopped talking and he straightened but he didn't let up his grip, still holding him tight, and then a cold, high voice spoke off to his side.

"Ah. Grief, Potter, is this? What a pity. Only you need have died this night."

Harry raised his eyes from the rubble in the distance to Voldemort, who now stood before them, eyes glinting, and he cast a satisfied smile in Snape's direction; "Excellent work, Severus."

Harry felt Snape's grip tighten, impossibly, further.

He vaguely wondered what Snape was going to do but he couldn't muster up the energy, the sentiment even to care what happened to him, to either of them, now as the grief came over him and he tried to tell himself, futilely, that if Voldemort were standing here, if he had survived – and some others had, too, Harry could see figures trickling out from the building, from the rubble in the distance, too far for him to make out who any of them were though some began to flee from the grounds and he could see the swirl of Death Eater robes as they made their escape beyond the boundaries – he told himself that his mum could have too, and Remus and Malachi's dad.

"Don't worry, child; your grief shall end. You have been a thorn in my side long enough –" Voldemort lifted his wand.

But he turned, suddenly, with a snarl as a spell hurtled through the air towards him that he only just mustered up a physical shield in time to protect himself – striking it with a 'gong' that sounded out through the night.

"Dumbledore."

"It's over, Tom," Dumbledore stated, as figures began running in through the gates – more Aurors, Harry realised.

Voldemort's eyes glinted as he tilted his chin upwards, almost as if in a challenge, and then he lifted his arms – both of them – before flinging them downwards and there was a gust and a chill and then he was suddenly gone.

For a moment, Harry thought he had fled.

And then, suddenly, his scar burst open and he knew this was it; he was dead. He was dying; it was agony beyond imagination, beyond endurance, and he tried to scream, to cry out, but it was all in his mind and he could see and feel nothing past the excruciation of it, but he heard his own voice, a creature not himself forming the words;

"Kill me now, Dumbledore…"

Everything within him screamed for Dumbledore to do as it said; to kill him, to end this pain, this agony…

"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy…"

It didn't matter now, anyway. Not if his mum was gone. And Remus. He would be with them, then. Death was nothing compared to this; if it could only be over…

His heart filled with guilt and grief and longing and love; and as it swelled within him the pain was suddenly gone, lifting from him.

It took a second for everything to come back to him; for him to come back to himself.

There were voices and lights and Voldemort was gone, he realised, and Aurors were running on by them, onto the grounds, and he heard theirs voices - 'Did you see him actually fly?' - and he vaguely wondered how Voldemort had managed to evade them, to escape, but his mind was hazy and he knew that he was grieving for something, before the pain had come, and that everything was all wrong.

Harry was still held tight back against Snape's chest and Dumbledore's face was inches from his own.

"Harry. Are you alright?"

Harry stared back at him, for a second, before his eyes went by him, in the direction of the fallen Foundation, to the Aurors who had come rounding up the stray Death Eaters who had survived but hadn't yet fled, to the others, the Order members, and Harry could see that his mum wasn't among them, that she was still inside.

Harry could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

But then, no, that wasn't his heart he was hearing.

It was Snape's, where Harry was pressed back against him.

This was it.

This was the beginning of the long-promised war.

And Harry was quite sure that he, that none of them, were ever going to be quite alright ever again.