AN: It's not quite over. And remember: HEA, HEA

Borgin and Burkes couldn't have been more deserted when Ron Weasley jumped out of its resident vanishing cabinet. It was after midnight in the middle of the week, and he arrived landing heavily on both feet, slamming the door behind him. There had been a crackling snap like electricity as he broke through the protective ward meant to keep anyone in the shop from getting into the cabinet. Breaking through from the other side was easier, but it was still noisy and left his clothes smoking.

As far as Ron could tell, it hadn't raised any alarms. He waited, watching the ceiling in the near dark, listening for footsteps overhead. Nothing.

He spied a blue and white china vase, and deliberately walked into the table it was perched on hard enough to set it rocking, teetering, and then smashing onto the floor. That did it. A great round of swearing broke out upstairs, a shuffling of feet and the sound of a wand scraping against the walls as Borgin armed himself and came down the stairs. Ron made as if he was trying to undo the padlock on the front door, and this was how Borgin found him when all of the lights illuminated at once.

"What in bloody blazes are you doing in here?" Borgins said.

"Is this Diagon Alley?" Ron asked. "They said I'd come out in London, on Diagon Alley. But it doesn't look right."

"Who said? And what'd ya come out of?"

Ron glanced around the room. "That," he said brightly, pointing at the cabinet. "It goes to Hogwarts. Didn't you know?"

"Of course I know," Borgin snapped. It was then that he noticed the broken vase. He shrieked.

"Oh, sorry about that," Ron said. "Shall I mend it for you?"

"Stay back," Borgin demanded. "I'll have you for breaking and entering. That's what I'll do."

"That'd be bold of you, bringing Aurors in here. Please, sir. I meant no harm. My brothers run a shop close by, you see. They're having the shop's anniversary bash tomorrow - maybe you noticed the adverts - but our headmaster wouldn't give me leave to come, it being dark times and all. But how could stay away, with this cabinet standing by so perfectly - "

"Quiet," Borgin snapped. "I can't think at this hour and I need to get it right."

He stood aside, muttering to himself. "No Aurors in here. No, no. The cabinet - it works, properly, definitely. Got to tell the - the others. But - "

He creaked his neck around to look at Ron more closely. "Who did you say you were again?"

"Weasley. Ron Weasley, sir. My brothers run the joke shop on - "

His eyes narrowed. "Yes, yes, Weasley. That would make your father Arthur Weasley. Works for the Ministry seizing valuable antiques from old families, taking them off the market."

Ron puffed his chest out. "Only when there's Dark Magic involved."

"Of course there's -. " Borgin cut himself off. "Unluckily for you, Mr. Weasley, I've a grudge against a government agency competing with my commerce. For that alone, I'd be turning you in."

Ron grabbed at the frail old man, taking him by the arm with both hands. "Please, sir. Just let me go to my brothers. They'll pay for what got smashed. No need to involve the authorities."

He let Borgin shake him loose. "I won't be turning you over to the authorities, boy. Though by the end, you'll wish you'd begged me to. Now don't move."

Ron was wondering how long he could plausibly be held by old Borgin, even at wand-point, before it was clear he was faking when Corban Yaxley came snapping, apparating into the shop, bleary-eyed and cross as always.

Borgin waved his arms, ranting and cursing as he told Yaxley how Ron arrived, what he'd broken, and what Ron's father did for a living.

"Weasley?" Yaxley said. "You run with Potter and the Granger girl."

"I did," Ron said. "But we've fallen out."

Yaxley folded his arms, suspicious. "Just like that? And now you appear here, in this cabinet, at this moment?"

"It's not that simple," Ron said. "Look here." He reached into his pocket to produce a photograph of himself and Pansy taken at the wedding. "That's my girl, Pansy Parkinson. You know, of THE Parkinsons. She and Potter can't stand each other, and she's far prettier than he is, so he and I have hardly spoken in months."

"Parkinson," Yaxley repeated. He interrogated Ron further, Ron claiming all the while that everything he knew about the cabinet he learned from the twins, repeatedly asking to be let go to get to their event.

"Enough," Yaxley said at last. "You're coming with me, Weasley. And we'll take the cabinet with us this time, Borgin."

"But my brothers - "

"Are no concern of mine," Yaxley said, rounding on Ron, his face twisting into a grin, "or of our Dark Lord's. Now, surrender your wand."

Ron blinked his blue eyes. "What for? I'm under-aged. I wouldn't dare do magic out of school."

Yaxley sneered. "Yes, you appear most law-abiding. Now hand over your wand!" He stood in front of the cabinet, his palm open, waiting, vibrating with impatience.

Ron paused for one beat, then two before dashing toward the back of the shop, knocking old Borgin onto his tailbone and into Yaxley's path as he went. The game couldn't be too straightforward. Even a pawn can move diagonally when the situation is right, and Ron was not ready to hand himself over just yet.

Yaxley snarled with rage, giving chase, stumbling over Borgin and out the back door. In the street, Ron was making for exactly where he said he was going, to Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. As he followed, rounding the corner out of Knockturn and into Diagon Alley, Yaxley was smitten with an impulse to make things easy for himself. He could stupefy the boy and drag him back to Malfoy Manor along with the cabinet, which would take most of the rest of the night, or he could kill him, right here in the street, leaving his body for his oversized family to weep over, and still get a good night's sleep before work tomorrow.

He was already raising his wand when something hit him from behind, striking him hard but with a soft thud, as if he'd been clobbered by a tremendous handbag. The blow sent him sprawling on the pavement. Ahead of him, he could barely make out the boy's trainers pounding against the cobblestones, then pausing as if to look back. Yaxley clenched his wand and succeeded in getting off a leg locker hex. Ron fell where he stood in his moment of hesitation. He was still immobile as Yaxley caught up to him, swearing in disgust, making his preparations to bring both Ron and the cabinet to Malfoy Manor.

Lucius Malfoy stood on the rug in his own bedchamber, like a servant waiting to be scolded. In his bed lay the Dark Lord, looking from Lucius's vantage as if he was half mummified in gauze bandages. He was lying on his back against Narcissa's pillows, one hand stroking a massive green snake, perhaps unaware of the rattle in his breath.

It was a difficult scene to look on, and Lucius let his eyes wander to a new piece of furniture in the room he had known so well. It was a tall, narrow cabinet made of dark wood and black metal. It must have arrived during the night.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord began. "My heart aches for you and the misfortunes that have befallen your ancient and honorable house."

Lucius bowed. "Thank you, my Lord."

The Dark Lord was pushing against the pillows, rising to sit on the bed. "At long last, the time has come for us to restore your former glory. Don't you agree?"

Lucius was not able to conceal his shudder. Why couldn't the Dark Lod stop meddling with them? He wanted nothing more than to hold onto what he hadn't already lost. But what he said was, "Thank you, my Lord."

The Dark Lord sat supported by the snake coiling higher and higher around him with each word. "Your liberty, your home, your son, your wife - we will bind them all together again, as in the beginning. You and I - we will remove those who have come between you and your family. Severus Snape and a filthy mudblood witch with whom Draco is currently infatuated must be eliminated. Once Narcissa and Draco are free of these influences, the Malfoys will be reconciled, the house will trust you to protect its heir once more, and all will fall back under your command. Son, wife, house."

There was still a dangerous, unspoken condition to these promises. Lucius sensed it like a toxic cloud fading his complexion to a sickly grey. This offer, he knew, was another suicide mission. He had nothing to lose in saying so. "My Lord, I cannot defeat Severus Snape in a duel. He has become too powerful."

"Lucius, Lucius," the Dark Lord crooned, placing a cold hand on Lucius's shoulder. "There is no need to fear. I have not asked you to duel Snape. In fact, I will relish disposing of him myself."

He laid his bandaged arm on the snake's back. "Your task is to bring me the girl, Draco's witch. Bringing her alive is most interesting, but dead will do as well. There is but one difficulty in your task and it lies in the sequence of events. It will delight you to learn that Draco must not be harmed, not while the witch lives. I will entrust you with a grave secret, Lucius. Due to some minor but irksome magic cast by the witch, there are attacks on Draco which vex me as well. This will remain the case until she is dead."

Lucius eyed the bandaged arm.

The Dark Lord nodded. "Yes, isn't it beautiful, Lucius, the trust between us? I know I can trust you not to use this secret to disturb me. You, out of fatherly love," he fought not to sneer as he said the words, "would not attack your son. Even if Draco risks himself to protect the witch, you will find a way to spare him, destroy her, and then bring him back here."

"And," Lucius stammered, "and my Lord will - will - "

"Will take care of Snape and send your wife back, yes." He was rising out of the snake's coils, onto his feet. Lucius took an involuntary step back. "Yes, and from the exalted seat of this splendid estate and family, our new order will roll forth."

The Dark Lord laid his good hand on the cabinet. "This simple device forms a passage to Hogwarts. Your Draco secured it for us himself. On the other side lie our enemies. I will send you through the cabinet first. Once you are there, take out the witch. When you have her, signal through the cabinet for me to make my triumphant return to my old school."

Lucius still frowned. "Forgive me, my Lord, but Dumbledore, is he not - ?"

The Dark Lord chuckled. "You fear the headmaster? No need of that. The cabinet did not arrive here alone. No, it came with intelligence borne by a little red fool."

He turned toward the door. "Wormtail, bring him."

Pettigrew had been right outside the door, an ear pressed to the keyhole listening. He appeared now, shoving Ron Weasley before him. For the first time Ron could remember, Lucius Malfoy looked at him without sneering.

But Lucius was not what concerned Ron now. Harry had told Ron that, if he was brought before the Dark Lord, he must hold his head high and face him defiantly, looking right into his burning red eyes.

"It's a bold thing to do and it will make you feel brave even if you're not," Harry had said.

However, in the presence of the Dark Lord himself, the advice was impossible. Ron was almost grateful when Pettigrew forced him to his knees and pushed his head down.

"Blood-traitor," the Dark Lord addressed him, "my servants tell me you have news of Hogwarts."

"A bit," Ron said.

"A bit goes in a horse's mouth to drive the whole animal. Now speak," the Dark Lord ordered. "What can you tell me of your headmaster?"

"They've already told you what I said, haven't they?"

Pettigrew kicked him in the back of his knee, knocking Ron forward, onto his hands. "Speak when you're called upon. Repeat it."

"Dumbledore is injured, in his hand," Ron said, glancing toward the Dark Lord's own injury. "It's a curse, black and creeping. He's in bed all day long now. Snape's been trying to treat it but he hasn't been good for much since Malfoy's mum came over."

Lucius sighed at his feet.

"You see, Lucius," the Dark Lord grinned. "Now that the headmaster is weak, we find ourselves arrived at the very best time for you to lead us into battle."

Even though Ron hadn't managed to look him in the face, he did muster the courage to challenge the Dark Lord's plans but uttering a single scoffing breath of laughter.

In his usual state of haughty disdain, the Dark Lord might have ignored it. But today, he snarled. "Wormtail," and on his signal, Pettigrew kicked Ron in the stomach, sending him falling from his knees to lying supine on the floor.

Ron groaned, but was angry enough to say, "Good thing for Hogwarts you're too scared to go there yourself."

Pettigrew grabbed Ron by the scruff of his jacket, jerking his face upward, holding it to the tip of the wand the Dark Lord pointed at him. "You think you can goad me with schoolyard taunts into stepping into your Hogwarts trap? Oh, no. I won't be following Lucius until he's cleared the room around our sister cabinet. I was going to send him with a crushing, leveling curse but using you, Mr. Weasley, as his human shield will do far better."

Pettigrew kicked Ron's flank, sending him rolling onto his side, curling into a heap on the rug. He was winding up to kick him again when his trousers came down just as the back of his jacket was pulled up over his head. Blinded, hobbled, and yelling in alarm, Wormtail staggered and tripped over an ottoman.

"Up, Lucius," the Dark Lord commanded, ignoring his other bumbling servant. "Prepare yourself, your wand, your hostage. Go to Hogwarts and hold him until you can kill the witch. Slaughter him, slaughter all of them but Draco if you must in order to destroy her. Then summon me to finish the rest."

Ron rocked on the floor over, moaning over his bruises. And as he was hefted to his feet, his hand slipped into his pocket, finding a large, dull coin there, and pressing hard on its engraving.

In his office, during his noon hour break, Albus Dumbledore was meeting with Harry Potter, sharing a lunch of hearty stew and fresh crusty bread, trying to distract Harry from his impulse to leave school and go searching for Ron Weasley. It was a distraction doomed to failure. Dumbledore knew it for sure when the enchanted galleon in his pocket began to burn hot.

He stood up with a jolt, bread crumbs tumbling from his beard. "Harry," he said, slamming one hand on the top of his desk. "It's time. Ron is calling."

"What? Now?"

"Yes. You know what it means. We have less than half an hour before he arrives here in the castle with Death Eaters."

Harry sprang to his feet, ready to sprint to the Room of Hidden Things to fight his terrifying enemy once again.

"Yes, go, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Go, but not alone. On your way, get the Malfoys. I'll gather the Order."

Harry was obedient but not happy about being asked to make a detour to the school's newly revived married quarters. At least, he reasoned, he was sent during lunchtime, not at an hour connected to - well, bedtime. He rapped on the door, loud and hard, stepping back to scan the length of the corridor, looking toward the door to the Room of Hidden Things. He waited - and waited a little more.

Finally, Draco answered the door. Harry pretended not to notice Draco was still in the act of pulling a long-sleeved black t-shirt over his hips as he came into view, but the distinctive fitted white trousers demanded an inquiry. "Malfoy, you're not off to play quidditch right now, are you? 'Cause it'll have to wait - "

"Oh, is that Harry?" Hermione was peeking around the door, only her head, one shoulder, and one arm visible - enough for Harry to be able to tell she was dressed in a thick green jumper, the top half of the quidditch uniform Malfoy was wearing from the waist down.

Harry stood stunned.

Draco twitched into action first, using two fingers against her forehead to shove Hermione into hiding behind the door.

"Harry," she called from behind it anyway. "Is there news?"

"Will you get dressed? You're traumatizing Potter, coming to the door like that," Draco hissed at her, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

The sound of giggling trailed away.

Draco was fighting back a grin as he turned back to Harry asking, "Come on, Potter, what is it already?"

Harry shook his head as if clearing away a bad spell. "It's Ron," he said. "He's sent a signal to Dumbledore through the galleon. Come to the room with me - erm, as soon as you're ready."

Within fifteen minutes of Dumbledore receiving the signal, everyone involved in the plan was gathered in front of the vanishing cabinet on the seventh floor: Harry, the Malfoys, Dumbledore, Kingsley, Tonks and her Aurors, Remus looking ragged after a full moon, Professors McGonagall and Snape, and one risky last minute addition, Narcissa Malfoy.

As a show of her good faith, Narcissa left her wand with Ann Granger and came armed only with Snape's satchel, prepared to act as a healer. Snape hadn't wanted her to come so soon after her injury, but she insisted, agreeing to let him wrap her up in a Disillusionment spell for her own protection from her former comrades and to keep Draco from being distracted by her presence. She stood quiet, unnoticed against the rear wall of the room.

The high heap of abandoned goods which had once been spread throughout the entire space still occupied most of the room. As the wizards waited in the quiet for Ron to arrive, they could hear the pile still shifting and settling, like something alive.

The nearest things to the cabinet itself were Tonks and the Aurors, their wands drawn. And even though the room was dead quiet, she still called "Shh!" when the rolling magic began. Gradually, as if advancing from somewhere far away, a sound washed over the room, like the rush and groan of water past the timbers of a wooden ship being borne up and then down on the surge of a tide.

"That's it," Draco said, in a whisper heard by all of them.

The handle in the cabinet door was turning, clicking. As soon as the clasp was clear of its housing, the two tall thin figures, tightly linked together, burst through the cabinet door meant for only one. With a tumbling thud they appeared in the room, shuffling and struggling against each other, the arm of the rear person clamped around the throat of the fore one.

Ron was the person held captive 'round his neck, and the person holding him, his wand jabbing sharply into the underside of his hostage's chin, his hold so tight Ron's face was bright red, was Lucius Malfoy.

Draco announced their arrival, morose, disbelieving. "Dad?"

Lucius's eyes flicked in Draco's direction for just a moment before he shouted, "Don't come any closer," to the Aurors closing in on him. "This boy's blood means less than nothing to me, and I will spill it freely - "

"Father, don't," Draco said.

"No, I'm right here," Harry said at the same time, stepping forward, his wand at his side but not pointed at anyone. "It's me your filthy master wants, not Ron. Take me to Voldemort. This has nothing to do with Ron."

"Get back, Potter," Lucius spat. "Have a shred of modesty for once. It's not you, it's Granger he wants today. I will spare this boy's life only in exchange for the Granger girl's."

Draco and Harry met in front of where Hermione was standing, shoulder to shoulder, barricading her. Harry let Draco say it. "Absolutely not."

Lucius tightened his hold on Ron's throat. "Then Weasley dies."

"It's alright," Hermione said in a cool level voice from between Draco and Harry. "Stand aside. I'll go with him."

"No," the boys said in unison. Even Ron, his fingers pulling hard on Lucius's arm, was shaking his head no.

"Dad, stop it. If you don't want Potter, then take me. Or take both of us," Draco said.

Lucius thrashed his head from side to side in a vehement refusal. "Stop it, Draco. You know it won't work that way. I need the witch who cast the - I need the witch. Stand aside."

Hermione took Draco's arm in her hands, peering around him, still willing to surrender herself but waiting, trusting as he negotiated with his father.

"Dad, stop," Draco said. "Whatever he's promised you in return for Hermione, it's a lie."

"Don't you think I know that?" Lucius shouted back at him. "After all these years, how could I fail to understand that? But I am desolate, Draco. Defeated. I live a life so miserable the half-truths in his lies are still the best, the only hope I have. Please Draco, for our family, our line, give me the witch. Don't make me hurt this boy."

Draco shook his head, tears forming in his eyes, his voice cracking as he said, "Listen, Father. This witch is our family. Hermione is my wife. She is your best and only hope for our family - for yourself, Dad."

Lucius clenched his jaw, speaking through gritted teeth. "No, you don't understand, my boy. Nothing compares to the Dark Lord. You don't know how great and terrible he can be - "

"I do, Dad. And with the help of my wife, my teachers, mother and - " he paused, "my friends, I have resisted him. I refused to give him Hermione's name when he demanded I reveal it at Christmas. And perhaps you were there with him when he summoned me through the Dark Mark and I did not come."

Lucius stood holding Ron, panting into his ear, remembering the chaos in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor the morning Draco did not appear when called.

Draco went on. "We were told we wouldn't survive if we refused his call. But look at me, Father. Here I am. Here is my wife. Trust in us, not some sick and evil monster too cowardly to even step through that cabinet to face Potter himself."

Lucius did not slacken his hold on Ron, even as his own eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "It's not just Potter. The headmaster is here too isn't he?"

"I am," Dumbledore said, appearing without any other sound at Lucius's side. "Hello, Lucius," he smiled. "Let the boy go. Let him go and stay here with us, under our protection."

Lucius scoffed. "And then what? Live on in hiding, with nothing?"

"Dad," Draco said, "Live on with me."

Lucius panned his gaze over the people assembled there. Narcissa stood still wrapped in Snape's spell, holding her breath, shaking with fear for her family. She could not tell whether Lucius saw her through her spell or not. Whatever he saw in the faces surrounding him, it moved him to smirk.

In a single, fluid motion, he shoved Ron to the floor, spun in something like a pirouette toward the cabinet, and dived inside it.

A gasp went through the room.

Tonks swore. "That was it? He got away?"

She was moving to step up into the cabinet herself, when Remus caught her around the waist, leaning over her shoulder to say, "Dora, wait. Listen."

There was the roll and rise that always came with a passage through the cabinet, but this time, instead of abating back into silence, the rise seemed to build, not a gentle tide but a mounting wave, the cabinet's magic escalating to a low rumble, growing to the deafening groan of huge iron ship tossed by the sea, grating against bedrock.

Something else, something massive, was coming through the cabinet.

There was a howl and a flash of sickly green as Lucius Malfoy returned, collapsing outside the cabinet, onto the floor in a heap of brocade, tooled leather, black silk, and dirty white gauze.

He scrambled to his feet, shouting. "Here he is, Potter, Professor." But as the pile of fabric on the floor began to stir, Lucius's air of triumph turned to terror. He fled toward the exit. "Come, Draco, run! Get her out!"

From the pile of bandages and black robes, arms and legs and a hairless head was rising. Lucius had brought back the Dark Lord himself. There was much here for him to face. Dumbledore was not bedridden. Potter was not afraid. And Draco - Draco and his wife might just have something to hope for.

Disoriented and speechless with rage, Voldemort was drawing himself up to stand in front of the cabinet, looking over his shoulder, through its door for Pettigrew or Yaxley or anyone else who had seen Lucius snatch him from the Malfoy bedchamber - someone to guard or rescue him.

No one was coming.

Teeth bared, the Dark Lord glared past the wands leveled at him, searching for Lucius.

"You dare," he hissed at him. Without using words or a wand, he hurled a curse at him, green like an execution. A shriek rang out as the curse engulfed Lucius's body, not in his own voice but in Narcissa's. She appeared behind Snape, against the wall, following Snape as he lunged for Lucius's falling body, catching him in his arms. She dropped to her knees beside them, feeling her pockets for the wand she'd left behind.

Helpless, terrified she was pleading, "Severus, help him. Please, help us!"

While Voldemort was consumed with exacting revenge on the senior Malfoys, Dumbledore took Harry by the wrist before reeling around to speak to Hermione. "Now!" was all he had to say to explain everything to her.

She was ready but Draco was in shock, gaping at the sight of his father laid out on the floor as Snape and his mother worked over his stiff, motionless body.

Hermione took her husband by both arms. "Draco. Draco, stay with me, my darling. Our charm - we need it now."

He wrenched himself out of his grief, letting Hermione lead him as they took each other but their left forearms. As the Dark Lord was raising his wand to finish the mass murder of Snape and of Draco's parents, Draco and Hermione simultaneously bent to kiss the charms they'd cast in the flesh of one another's arms.

The same blue-white light that always enveloped them at these moments appeared again. In the beginning, these had been lines of light; at their wedding, they had been lightning bolts; and today they were the source of a blinding white flash that didn't end. The light stayed, permeating everything, burning, blinding, purifying.

In its glare, Harry's body collapsed. With his hand already on his arm, Dumbledore pulled him in, holding him as he screamed and writhed, feeling the Dark Lord's anguish as his frayed soul was torn away from the young Malfoys' matrimonial bond. Raw and tattered with pain and rage, he felt himself falling away, sinking fast enough to steal his breath, his life.

Just when Harry wasn't sure he could bear it any longer, there were new hands and arms around him. When he couldn't see, Ron had followed the sound of Harry's voice, and had come crawling across the floor, calling his name until his hands closed around his ankles.

Someone else was there too, with long, thin gnarled hands like willow branches. Harry knew for certain it was Professor McGonagall when he heard her voice.

"Come back, dear boy, come back to us."

In a moment more, the light was fading, and as it went, Harry's cries grew quiet. When he could see again, he found himself in a nest of loving arms, exhausted but alive and well.

One voice still screamed: the Dark Lord's.

"Up, Harry," Dumbledore said.

The arms that had held him set Harry on his feet. Dumbledore led him to where Tom Riddle lay agonizing on the floor. As they went, Harry surveyed the room. No one seemed hurt. Mr. Malfoy had been hurt before the light came but he was now gone. Madam Malfoy and Snape must have whisked him away to the hospital wing - either that or they'd tipped him out the window.

Draco and Hermione were still there but they didn't seem aware of anyone else. They stood gripping each other by their left arms, their eyes closed, foreheads pressed together as Hermione spoke into Draco's face, telling him he couldn't follow his parents just yet - not until the end.

On the floor, the Dark Lord lay betrayed and abandoned by his followers, senseless and wounded.

"He's pathetic," Harry said, his voice still breathless.

"Yet incredibly dangerous and growing more so by the minute. Do not allow him to recover, Harry. Weakened as he is, you may now send him out of his physical form," Dumbledore said.

Harry staggered. "You mean, kill him? With a killing curse?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "With his soul split into horcruxes, he cannot yet be killed. But he can be scattered, broken up, blown away, giving us more of the time we will need to seek out his hiding places."

Harry nodded. "So no matter what I do right now, it's not over."

Dumbledore nodded. "It's not over. But we now have hope that someday, it may be. Now Harry, the incantation you seek is 'Insubstatum.'"

Silence fell as Harry lifted his wand. Draco and Hermione opened their eyes. Remus closed an arm around Tonks's shoulders. Everyone braced themselves in their own ways.

"Insubstatum!"

The Dark Lord's grey complexion grew ashier still, lifting and flaking along its surface, sifting against itself like ash and sand. The dusty mass rose, twisting and swirling into a vortex the size of a man before blowing up and into the pile of ruined, rejected, hidden things

Silence had nearly returned to the room when Harry spun around and blasted the vanishing cabinet to splinters.

It was Draco who led the cheer.