Interlude IX

With a bone-deep sigh, Harry dropped his face into his hands and rubbed at his eyes, certain that if he had to stare at the cheerful mural on the wall for a moment longer he'd lose his mind entirely.

People bustled around him, the visitors' tearoom filled almost to bursting.

He pushed his fingers up against his temples, forcing himself to at least try and work out the chain of events that had taken place.

He could still hear the shouts of battle from outside Dumbledore's office, could still see and smell the mess that had greeted him when the Aurors and Order had arrived and he'd left.

He could still feel the terror that had so consumed him as he'd bent over Ron and Hermione's forms, cursing his lack of healing knowledge and trying to understand the advice the portraits had been shouting at him.

At some point, he had used the coin in his pocket to send out a message to the DA, warning them to barricade themselves in their common rooms. He thought that had taken place after he'd managed to follow Dilys Derwent's advice for long enough to put both Ron and Hermione into an enchanted sleep.

Was that before Fawkes had vanished, before the portraits had started slipping away to their other frames?

He couldn't be quite sure. Much like the chaos that had overtaken Hogwarts, his thoughts were too confused for him to even begin making heads or tails from them.

It was all just far too much to take in; the death and destruction that had swept in from nowhere, the sudden incapacitation of his closest friends and the madness that followed.

And Dumbledore's corpse, resting in a half-sitting position, surrounded by bodies in the ruined corridor.

And now he was waiting, waiting until someone would tell him whether it was only Dumbledore he had lost, waiting to hear if Dilys' advice had been enough to save Ron and Hermione's lives or if…

He shook his head, not willing to face the entirety of that terrifying thought, not willing to contemplate it.

Dumbledore was bad enough. Hell, Dumbledore's death was something he'd never thought would happen.

Dumbledore was bad enough, but if anyone else he cared about were to have gone as well...

The clock on the wall claimed that only two hours previously Harry had been sitting in Dumbledore's office with Ron and Hermione, discussing the future. It felt more like several days had passed.

"Hey."

"Hey," Harry said, lifting his head.

Sirius was standing there with a steaming cup of tea in each hand.

"Did you hear anything from the rest of the Order?" Harry asked, gratefully accepting a cup.

"Yeah," Sirius grimaced, taking the empty chair beside Harry. "It's pretty miraculous, to be honest. Kingsley's in the hospital, Tonks and Hagrid too, but they'll all be alright. McGonagall's fine, she's taking care of-of things at Hogwarts."

Sirius' voice trembled for an instant. He took a sip and shook his head before continuing in a bracing tone.

"She said she managed to lead those Death Eaters on a chase before taking them down. She was lucky. It sounds like not all of the other teachers were."

"Who else?" Harry asked, his voice coming out in a strange whisper.

"She didn't say."

Sirius leaned slightly closer to Harry, his free hand stretching out to rest on Harry's shoulder.

"Have you heard anything about Ron and Hermione?"

Unshed tears pricked at the corners of Harry's eyes, that terrible fear rearing itself like a cresting wave, just waiting to sweep him away.

"Nothing. The Healers...they looked very worried. I don't know-I tried to do what I could, but I've never spent time on healing spells-"

His voice broke and he looked away, wiping at his eyes.

Sirius said nothing, just continued to sit there with Harry, clasping his shoulder and providing comfort with his very presence.

After a few minutes, Harry met Sirius's eyes again.

Looking into them, Harry could see how deeply the attack and Dumbledore's death had affected his godfather. His face looked calm, even with the small twitch on his chin, but his eyes betrayed the truth.

They were filled with pain, pain and a horrifically uncharacteristic fear.

"Dumbledore's gone, Harry," Sirius said. "But the fight's not over. He left us more than enough to go on. Hell, he did most of the work. We've just got to finish it. We've got to finish the bastard."

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts," Harry said. "I can't, Sirius. I can't do it. Dumbledore-he thought they were coming for me. He told me-he told me that the Death Eaters were probably there for me. If I'm there, the school's a target. And Voldemort-one way or another, this isn't over until he's dead, or I am."

Sirius's fingers tightened painfully, his face contorting for a moment into an agonized mask.

"You're not going to die," he promised.

"Voldemort won't stop until I do. Unless we can kill him first."

"Then that's what we'll have to do. That's what we'll do. You're not dying on me. We're going to finish this fucking thing."

Slowly, Harry nodded, his terror being replaced by a cold determination.

Letting out a small pained cry, Draco continued to apply the ointment to his thigh, the cold stickiness of it shockingly agonizing against his burned skin.

It had already been four days since the attack on Hogwarts, and his burns still looked as bad as when he'd first received them. The pain wasn't quite as bad, except when he touched them, but the appearance was nothing short of horrific.

From his knee up to his shoulder, his entire right side was coated with them, terrifying streaks of red and black, the skin looking like it would slough off at a touch, the pus-filled blisters wobbling with his every motion.

Based on what he knew about Fiendfyre, they would soon cease to hurt him, but they would never look much better than they currently did.

Frankly, it had been insane for his aunt to cast the spell, especially since she hadn't even made a token attempt at controlling it. True, it had allowed them to escape, given that the Aurors were too busy trying to fight the cursed flames to try and capture them.

It had saved them, but it had come damn near killing them too.

He shivered, remembering how those monstrous creatures had formed themselves out of the fire and launched, some of them running right towards him.

They'd been on the Hogwarts grounds by then, having somehow managed to get ahead of the Aurors. The night had been lit up with spells flying all around them, his thoughts a confused mess of terror and hope and a desperate, urgent need to keep running as fast as he could.

And then Bellatrix had set the darkness ablaze.

He'd managed to get out of the way, when that fiery chimaera had launched itself at him, even if the heat from it had burned his side.

He'd gotten away, but Gibbon and Greyback hadn't been so lucky.

He could still hear their tortured screams if he closed his eyes, could still feel the excruciating agony that flared up when the chimaera had brushed past him.

He honestly didn't know how he'd continued to run after that. It had been the worst pain he'd ever experienced, except when Ginny had put him under the Cruciatus.

And yet, with the choice of staying and getting burned to a crisp or running, he'd managed to run.

Not everyone had. Both Rookwood and Rowle had been on the other side of the Fiendfyre, and Avery, Selwyn, Pyrites, and Runcorn hadn't made their way out of Hogwarts.

Mulciber, Travers, Amycus Carrow, and almost all of the werewolves hadn't either, but they were dead.

The others, though, were already on their way to Azkaban, if they weren't there already.

And at the Death Eater headquarters, everyone continued on like normal. Maybe not quite like normal, given that they probably weren't usually spending so much time healing and recuperating, but there was definitely a feeling of celebration in the air.

With a wince and a muttered curse, Draco continued to apply the ointment.

He hadn't thought too much about what life would be like after Dumbledore was killed. He'd been far too concerned with wondering whether or not he would survive.

If he had, though, he'd have imagined himself at least being given some level of respect. After all, even if he hadn't been the one to have killed Dumbledore, he still had been the one to actually gain them entry to Hogwarts.

And yet, none of them seemed to care. Oh, there'd been a few half-hearted compliments, a few awkward pats on the back, but none of the actual honour he really deserved.

It was certainly irksome, even annoying. For months, he'd been sneaking down to the Chamber of Secrets whenever he could get away with it, painstakingly working on the enchantments for hours on end, all the while with the spectre of his possibly getting caught hanging over his head.

And the reward for all of his work was to be ignored.

On the other hand, with Ginny and his aunt ignoring him, Draco was starting to relax a little. When they'd first arrived back at the Death Eaters headquarters, he'd been on edge, spending every moment waiting for Ginny to attack him.

She hadn't. If anything, it seemed like she'd forgotten about him.

It was slightly irksome, to be perfectly honest, seeing Ginny chatting casually to Theo and knowing that if he so much as tried to talk to her he'd soon regret it, but Draco was content enough to be ignored.

It was certainly better than the alternatives.

'Unless she's in such a good mood that she'll forget about treating me like shit.'

Snorting, Draco pulled the bandages around his side, his laughter choking off as the pain struck at the touch.

"Fucking hell," he muttered.

"Aaaaw. Is little Draco hurting?"

Draco spun around, his side shrieking in protest at the sudden movement, his heart hammering and nerves twisting at the sound of her voice.

Ginny was standing right beside the door, her eyes glittering with cold malice, a bright smirk tugging at her lips.

As always, the sight of her stirred up that stupid, absurd desire in him, that wanton need that would get him killed if he dared act on it.

"Uh-hi," he spluttered, hating the blush he felt spreading across his face.

Her smile grew until she looked quite deranged and then, without warning, she slashed her wand forward.

Draco was entirely unprepared. Her Bludgeoning Hex smashed him just above the sternum, flinging him through the air.

He smashed into the wall and fell to the floor, one confused corner of his mind grateful that his room had a thick carpet.

The rest of his thoughts were blotted out by terror, and by the sheer agony that had flooded him when his burned side had hit the wall.

At least one of the blisters had popped; he could feel the disgustingly warm pus leaking out of it and staining through his bandages.

Before he had managed to do anything other than flop onto his back, Ginny was there, straddling him with her knees pinning his thighs in place.

He was screaming wordlessly, the burning agony overshadowing all else, the terrible torment he was experiencing simply too much to bear without giving voice.

Ginny waved her wand, casting what was obviously a Silencing Charm. He continued to scream, but nothing emerged from his mouth.

"You didn't kill Dumbledore," she said, speaking in a childish sing-song tone, "and now I own you!"

He ignored her, continuing his soundless wail, shaking as much as he could and trying to force her off of him.

His head rocked to the side as she slapped him.

And then, blissfully, she rose, giving him a kick in his unburned left thigh as she did.

He just lay there, relishing the surcease of torment now that she was no longer pushing against his burned flesh.

"You've got another few days rest," she said, "until those burns aren't hurting you. You're just too easy like this. Don't fucking try to run or anything, I'll have to hunt you down if you do. Heal up quick, Draco, because I'm going to have a lot of fun with you."

With a last kick to his thigh, Ginny walked out of the room.

'It was definitely better when she was ignoring me,' Draco thought, the despair washing over him hurting worse than the pain of her ministrations. 'Fuck me, it was far better.'

Colin stared at his wand through a shimmering veil of despair, feeling worse than he could ever remember.

It had been eating at him since that night a week previous, the guilt and despair and impotent rage.

Today, however, had been Dumbledore's funeral, and that had just made everything worse.

All those speeches, all the tears, all that heavy emotion in the air.

Dumbledore was dead, and it was, in part, thanks to Colin.

He couldn't entirely be blamed, he knew. He'd been under the Imperius and totally surrounded by Death Eaters and other students who were likewise controlled.

But he could have fought back. He could have at least tried to throw her curse off, he could have tried to retake control of his body.

He could have tried, and he hadn't.

He hadn't even tried, because it was Ginny who had cursed him.

As if the thought of her name had summoned it, the fit came upon him.

He began to shake, his fingers splaying out as the tremors seized his hands.

As he fell back into his bed, a cloud of inky darkness fell over his vision, the sound of her chuckles reverberating through his mind.

He could see monsters lurking in that blackness, all fangs and claws and hulking, brutish forms. Behind them, as if from a great distance, he could see a shining figure with blood-red hair, her face a picture of joy.

A terrible fear gripped him, his heart pounding so hard he was sure it would burst.

And then it was over, vanishing as suddenly as it had begun.

Still shaking, Colin sat back up and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He'd been having fits like that for over a year now, but they were definitely coming more often now. At first, he'd only had them once a week or so.

Now, he was lucky if a few hours went past without one of them.

He knew exactly what had caused them, exactly what had brought them on.

It was Ginny. It had been her who had Obliviated him over and over after testing who knows what on him.

It had been her who had used him as a human guinea pig.

It had been her who had featured prominently in his nightmares for the last year, nightmares which had all too often left him waking up with a confused, terrified erection.

Just a week ago, it had been her who had once again messed around in his mind.

And he hadn't even tried to fight.

There was something about her, something that made it so even though he hated and feared her with every fibre of his being, he couldn't fight back.

The fits weren't the only scars she'd left him with. It had been getting worse lately, but ever since she'd messed with his head, he'd been far more forgetful and anxious, on edge all the time with his mind feeling like a sieve.

If only Snape hadn't...vanished.

Nasty as the former potions professor had been, he'd at least realized that something was wrong. Colin was sure that if Snape hadn't disappeared, he'd probably have been more useful than Madam Pomfrey had been.

All she'd done was give him some mental exercises and advise him to go to St Mungo's.

Well, he hadn't gone. Maybe he should have, but he hadn't.

And slowly but surely, he'd begun inching his way toward madness.

Hed changed over the last year, he knew it. His near-constant nightmares made it so that he was tired all the time, which only exacerbated his bad mood and forgetfulness.

In his first few years at Hogwarts, he'd never needed to consult his timetable as often as he now did, he'd never simply forgotten about homework (even if he'd claimed he had).

He'd never been as grumpy all the time, never been twitchy and irritable.

He'd been happy.

And with just a few badly cast spells, Ginny had stolen that happiness from him.

The few tears in his eyes turned into a torrent, flooding down his cheeks and dripping off the tip of his chin.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that this should happen to him. It wasn't fair that Ginny's meddling with his mind could have stopped him from fighting her.

It wasn't fair that he still dreamed about her, and that those dreams were not always bad.

He figured it was because he'd had a crush on her when she'd Obliviated him and done whatever damage she had, but the cause didn't matter.

All that mattered was that a part of him still loved her as fervently as when he thought she'd been his best friend.

Even though he knew it had all been fake, even though he knew that she hated people like him, that she'd killed Luna and her own brothers, even so, that part of him remained.

It was probably partially thanks to that stupid part of him that he hadn't tried to fight her off, that he'd stood there gaping like an idiot when she cursed him.

If only he wasn't so weak.

His tears were dripping onto his wand.

Grimacing, he lifted it, holding it so that the point was aimed at his chest.

'Avada Kedavra,' he thought. 'Just two words, and it'll all be over. I won't have to worry about her anymore, I won't have to think about anything.'

But he couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it to his parents and Dennis, couldn't do it to his friends, few though they were.

He couldn't do it.

With a soft, choked sob, he dropped the wand and let his face fall into his hands.

'If I ever see her again,' he thought, 'I hope she kills me. Because I won't be able to stop her if she tries to make me do something again.'

"So this is it, then? The new headquarters?"

"Yeah. And you'll be glad to know that there's no umbrella stand here."

"And it's got a much better view," Tonks replied, waving an arm to take in the scenery around the cottage.

The cottage they were in was on a grassy clifftop, with the soft sounds of the ocean permeating from far below. A few trees dotted the area, their branches waving lazily in the breeze.

The cottage itself was much more welcoming than Grimmauld Place had been. It was decorated similarly, true, and the musty smell of a house long left empty still hung in the air, but Sirius felt far more comfortable there.

'Don't have as many bad memories associated with this place,' he thought.

Of course, that was mostly because he'd barely spent any time there. The last time he could recall his family going there was the summer after his second year at Hogwarts.

Still, pleasant though the place might have been, he would have vastly preferred somewhere with no association to his family.

Unfortunately, they didn't really have that option.

With Dumbledore's death, everyone who had been told the Secret of their previous headquarters immediately became a Secret Keeper. Since the Weasley girl had been told the Secret, the Death Eaters presumably knew it too.

With Grimmauld Place compromised, this cottage was the next best thing. It was isolated, in the middle of nowhere in Wales, and thanks to his family's penchant for paranoia, it, along with the entire area surrounding it, was coated in as many protective enchantments as possible.

It had a brand new Fidelius too, with Moody as the Secret Keeper.

It was as safe as anything could be.

'As safe as Hogwarts was meant to be,' he thought with a grimace.

"What's the plan, Sirius?" Tonks asked softly, her hair a mousy shade of brown. "Without Dumbledore... what's the plan?"

'We kill Voldemort's snake and then him. That's the plan.'

But that would have been a vastly unhelpful thing to say. Hell, Sirius had no idea how on earth they'd possibly manage that.

"Moody's leading us now," he said. "But I think it'll be much of what we were doing before. Getting as many people as possible involved, trying to get the average witch and wizard willing to fight."

"People are scared," Tonks said with a tremor in her voice that Sirius had never heard before. "Dumbledore was...he was the only one we could see facing off against You-Know-Who. Without him-people are scared. Mum's talking about going to France, and she's not the only one. There's already been a bunch of Aurors heading to the continent, and you can be damn sure a lot of regular folks will follow.."

"We'll make do," Sirius quickly, "you weren't with us last time, Tonks. Even when things are grimmest, there are still people willing to fight."

"They'll be going after the Ministry next," she said. "And there's not that many of us left. What are we gonna do?"

Sirius shook his head, hoping that Moody had some answer to that.

For he had none.

Cursing, Ron tossed the Daily Prophet aside, his innards squirming with hot guilt.

"I'm such a fucking twat," he whispered, his hands clenching so tightly that he could feel his nails cutting into his palms. "Merlin, I'm an idiot."

"Ron, don't-"

"Don't what?" He snapped, cutting Harry off in the middle of what he was saying. "Don't say the truth? Don't feel bad for getting Dumbledore killed by my own fucking sister? Don't what, Harry?!"

"Beating yourself up helps no-one," Harry hissed, reddening slightly. "Yes, you both fucked up, but now-"

"Can you honestly tell me that you're not pissed at us?" He demanded, propping himself up in the stupid hospital bed. "That you don't think-"

"Of course I am! But I get that you messed up and didn't mean for him to die because of it!"

"It's our fault-"

"So what, you're just going to hide away and-"

The curtains around his bed flew open, Harry's diatribe ending as a Medi-Witch poked her head in.

"Sorry, dears," she said, "but could you keep it down, please? It's disturbing the other patients."

Looking sheepish, Harry sat back down with a muttered apology.

"Sorry," Ron said. "Are you sure we can't put a Silencing Charm up?"

Her smile didn't falter, even though she looked quite annoyed at the question.

"It's still against hospital policy," she said, "Same as this morning. We don't want-"

"Anyone calling for help and not being heard," Ron finished with a sigh. "Yeah. Sorry, we'll be quiet."

"Please do. Otherwise, your permission for extra visiting hours will have to be revoked."

"You can't change the past," Harry said softly, once the curtain had closed again. "Now, all you can do is focus on the future, and on not repeating your mistakes."

Ron nodded, a thick lump sticking in his throat.

"I-we just didn't think," he whispered. "We've been talking about it for months, how we'll-we'll kill her for what she's done. And when we heard that she was there…"

He broke off, that lump in his throat preventing him from speaking.

"We just need to move forward," Harry said bracingly, "it's looking like Hermione's gonna be released near the end of next week, only a few days after you."

"And then…"

Harry shrugged, not quite managing to keep his nerves off of his face.

"Hogwarts isn't opening again this year. Not really surprising, with Slughorn and Lennox dead and Flitwick still in that coma. But next year-I'm not going back."

"What a shocker. But what's the plan?"

"I'll let you know if I can figure one out. Otherwise...otherwise, we're just waiting for an opportunity to present itself. But this won't be over until Voldemort's dead."

"What's with the Order? What're they planning?"

Harry looked down for a moment, seeming to steel himself.

"It's not good," he finally said. "They haven't really figured out anything. Sirius is pushing to be more on the offensive, but Moody... he wants to wait and see what the Death Eaters are up to before we really attack. But we're not really doing anything, and a lot of people are...I don't know, getting cold feet without Dumbledore. Kingsley's still been running those defence seminars, but he says far fewer people are coming. It just seems like there are far fewer people willing to fight, especially since, honestly, we don't really know what we're doing."

A thick silence fell on them, the room seeming to become colder in response to Harry's gloomy speech.

"I don't know," Harry said, "All I know is, we've got to kill Voldemort to finish this."

Ron shook his head, not willing to contradict his friend.

The war might end with Voldemort's death, but no matter what, he and Hermione wouldn't rest until Ginny was dead.

"The Ministry is now our highest priority," he said, not turning his eyes from the flickering flames before him. "Yaxley, you have assured me time and time again that Thicknesse will soon be ours."

"He will, my lord," Yaxley babbled, the fear evident in his trembling voice. "Another few days, and-"

"I grow weary of your promises, Yaxley. I have been patient until now, but even my patience runs thin. I have no wish to see you until you have taken Thicknesse."

"I-I will-"

"Leave me. Send Weasley in."

Stammering his thanks, Yaxley bowed and departed the room.

"Soon, Nagini," Lord Voldemort hissed, idly reaching down and stroking his snake's head. "Soon, if he has not succeeded, you may have him."

Of course, Lord Voldemort knew that successfully placing Thicknesse under the Imperius was not so simple. He could not quite blame Yaxley for having taken so long.

He knew that it was better for the job to be done slowly and carefully, for great care and caution to be applied.

And yet, he wanted the Ministry to be his. Now that Dumbledore was dead, they were the only thing standing in his way.

Perhaps more importantly, it was underneath the Ministry of Magic that the Hall of Prophecies was located, and it was only there that he could possibly learn what it was that had given the Potter brat the impossible ability to survive.

Unless, of course, they managed to capture the boy, in which case he would be able to study him to his heart's content.

Even so, he was hesitant to act without knowing the full contents of the prophecy. He had used his half-knowledge once before, and that had only led to disaster.

The prophecy would hold the answers, he knew.

The door to his study opened, the flames dancing in the sudden gust.

He turned his head to watch as his most successful servant approached.

Truly, it was remarkable what his horcrux had achieved with her.

Somehow, he had entirely changed her from the naive, innocent little girl she had been into the merciless killer who now stood before him.

Bloodthirstiness such as she showed always required watching, of course. There was always the possibility that she would turn on him. Still, her dedication was more toward him than to the cause as a whole. In fact, he doubted that any of his other servants even approached her level of zealous faithfulness.

Nevertheless, she should never have received his diary in the first place.

It was fitting, therefore, that Lucius' true punishment came at her hands.

She bowed deeply when she drew within reaching distance, holding it for a moment before straightening and returning to her awed gaze of him.

In her eyes, he could see that fanatical loyalty, tinged with hints of desire. She would die for him, he knew, if he was to give the word. She would kill her own family for him.

It was rather refreshing to have such a servant.

"You have taken possession of Draco, have you not?"

"I-I have, my lord."

"As was your promised due," he said, favouring her with a smile. "And yet, I wish for you to keep him alive."

"My lord?"

"Draco's punishment is not merely his," he said, "but it is Lucius' as well. That punishment would be entirely meaningless if Lucius is not aware. You will keep him alive at least until we have freed our companions from Azkaban. After that, well…he is yours to do with what you wish."

Grinning, looking like a normal teenager who had been told an amusing tale, she nodded.

"The time to release our brethren from captivity draws nearer," he said. "I believe you will be suitable to join me for that endeavour."

"Thank you," she whispered breathlessly, "my lord."

"It will not be long until the Ministry has fallen to us. After that, someone will have to...interview your family for Potter's whereabouts. Continue to prove yourself, and you will be the one to do so."

Ignoring her much-repeated expressions of gratitude, he dismissed her, turning back to the fire with his thoughts once more returning to the prophecy.