CHAPTER VIII: Caving In

"He's going to do something, sir; I know it! I can feel it!"

"Then let it come; now focus, Harry! Focus!"

Harry rolled just in time to dodge Dumbledore's leg-locking jinx, the sparks just clipping the edge of his robes. He immediately fired back with a counter, turning the floor into jelly beneath the headmaster's feet. The old man swivelled with inhuman speed, dancing just out of the area of effect.

"You have a great deal of power, my boy, but your patience is lacking. You must learn to temper your thoughts, reduce your focus to the here and now."

"Be here, in every second - I know, professor."

"Then show me."

Eager to do just that, Harry cast a Lumos bright enough to block out the sun. He threw the orb of light into the centre of the room, allowing it to explode in a flash of white. Wasting no time, Harry immediately charmed the underside of his shoes. Instantly he felt his strides become harder as his soles stuck to the floor.

He ran to the far wall, and straight up it, the extra stickiness of his shoes allowing him - with some difficulty - to run across the wall. He was already sideways by the time overcharged Lumos wore off, but Dumbledore was waiting for him. A quick 'Finite', aimed squarely as Harry's feet, sent the boy tumbling to the floor.

"A fine trick, Harry," Dumbledore applauded, "But not one to rely on, especially more than once."

"It did pretty well last time," Harry groaned. "I almost got you."

"Indeed, but it wasn't enough last time. It won't be enough today."

The headmaster raised his wand to cast his net spell, but Harry had beaten him to it.

"Imago Geminae!"

Harry sprinted from his spot on the floor to the headmaster's right. To Dumbledore's left, a copy of Harry ran in a perfect mirror image. The two Harry's began casting spell after spell, lighting up the room in unison. Unable to quickly discern which of the spell-casters was the real one, resorting to dodge the oncoming attack. Harry grinned as he realised that his trick had worked.

That triumph was short-lived, however. The magic required to power the clone was wearing on him quickly. The spell-fire subsided for a few seconds as Harry caught his breath, and the headmaster took his opportunity. Dumbledore quickly glanced at the clone across the room, before his eyes immediately turned to Harry – the real Harry - and resumed their duel in earnest. Realising the ruse was up, Harry hurriedly dispelled the mirror image.

"Excellent spell-casting, Harry, but next time you use that spell, be aware of your clothes."

"My clothes?"

The teenager quickly glanced down at his robes and realised his mistake, how Dumbledore was so quick to recognise which of them was the fake. His Gryffindor badge, planted over his heart on the left side. It must have been on the clone's opposite breast, on the wrong side. Of course, Dumbledore of all people would be the first to notice that kind of detail.

A disarming spell just missed Harry's wand, spurring the teenager back into action. Scrambling behind one of the Room of Requirement's great pillars, he gave himself but moments to think. Duelling Dumbledore to a standstill, as the headmaster had prescribed, had turned out to be a Herculean task. The old man was quick, craft and ruthless when on the other side of a wand. There was almost nothing Harry could do to stop him.

Almost, a voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione repeated in his head. Think! What do you have that he doesn't?

Youth, Harry answered himself. He may be smarter, but I'm faster and more agile. But how does that help me? I can't run from his spells.

But you can defend, the Hermione-like voice replied, if only for a little while.

It won't be enough, he argued… to himself. It won't ever be enough. It's not like I can shack up behind a shield and wait for him to tire himself out.

He tried to recall every spell that Dumbledore had taught him, all the small, useful tips and tricks he had been given over the past few weeks and came up blank. Amongst the spells flashing by his shoulder and the frantic panic of trying to outsmart a master-duellist, Harry's brain was quickly overwhelming itself.

Don't try and remember them all, Hermione's voice sounded, try and remember two. Just two.

Two spells. He could think of two measly spells. Confringo. Wingadium Leviosa. Easy enough. Now all he had to do was find a way to turn them into an answer.

Dumbledore, he was crafty, and fast and powerful, but every wizard needed to be able to see. He had already used Lumos the headmaster would know that trick already. Harry glanced around the room, trying to find a solution, the sounds of Dumbledore's spells colliding against the pillar, sending pulverised dust everywhe-

And just like that, Harry had his plan.

Peaking around the corning for only a moment, Harry lined up his wand with a far pillar and cast the blasting curse. The stone erupted into dust, caking the floor with rubble. The teen immediately rolled out of his cover, placing Dumbledore between him and shattered stone. A quick Wingardium and the dust was already on the move.

The cloud consumed Dumbledore's face, causing him to splutter and cough, and it smothered his eyes and mouth. For only a few milliseconds, he was defenceless.

Harry didn't hesitate for even a moment.

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell collided with Dumbledore's wand, sending it arcing into the air. With the skill of a trained seeker, Harry caught it in his free hand, holding it high like a trophy. He had done it. He had bested Albus Dumbledore.

If only in a practise duel, but still, a victory was a victory.

Quickly bringing himself back down to Earth, Harry hurried over the headmaster's side.

"Are you alright, sir?" he asked, quickly cast a cleaning chair on the aged headmaster's face, clearing away the rubble. The old man took a deep breath, blinking several times over.

"Yes, I should think so." He stood tall, his eyes searching for his wand. Once he found it, sitting in between Harry's fingers, his breath hitched ever so slightly. "I see. Very well."

He held out his outstretched hand, and Harry placed the wand in the headmaster's palm. The elder wizard grasped his fingers around the handle as if waiting for something to happen. He sighed, seemingly satisfied, and fixed Harry with a strange look.

"You are probably eager for news about Master Malfoy."

Harry blinked, straightening up.

"Yes, sir. I am."

"He has been to consult Professor Snape. Severus told me he was extremely anxious, lamenting about a Vanishing Cabinet on the seventh floor. It seems you and Miss Granger were absolutely correct in your assumptions."

The teen couldn't help the small warm glow that sparked in his chest at the headmaster's affirmations. He couldn't wait to tell Hermione the good news, to thank her profusely for helping him.

"Did he mention his next move?" Harry asked.

"Severus wasn't exactly clear. He is unsure if Draco even has a 'next move'. The boy is running out of options and fast."

"What can I do to help?"

"If you wish to do something useful," the headmaster continued, "then keep an eye on him. Severus and I only have so much time to spend watching over his whereabouts. If you are truly worried that Draco is planning to act on his mission, then that is the best thing you can do."

"Keep an eye on him," Harry repeated. "Got it. Thank you, sir."

The door to the Room of Requirement slid open, and the duelling room faded away, resorting an empty stone chamber. Harry bowed, as was tradition, and made to leave.

"And, Harry," Dumbledore added, stopping the boy in his tracks, "I highly suggest not intervening, or confronting the young Malfoy. We wouldn't want to exacerbate his desperation."

Harry nodded.

"Duly noted, Headmaster," he lied.


Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall at seven o'clock in the morning and sat there until eight. He didn't take any food, nor did he pour himself any water. He simply sat and stared at his empty plate until it was time to leave. He interacted with no one, he said nothing. This was his schedule, every day for the past three days. And every time, Harry was there to see it, silently observing him from afar.

He had hoped that watching Malfoy for long enough would provide a clue as to what he was planning, now that the vanishing cabinet had been taken out of commission. It didn't.

Come on, Harry urged, watching his target from the other side of the Great Hall. Do something. Anything.

How Harry yearned to go over there and pry the truth out of the blond ponce himself. But alas he had been instructed to wait, to observe for now, and only intervene if absolutely necessary. And so, he did. He obediently put his desire for justice aside, keeping his distance, as he was doing now. At least he had company, with Hermione sitting across from him and Ron beside him to keep him company. He could hardly complain. Well, actually, he could, because…

"Three days," Harry murmured, "and he's done nothing."

"Has he been to see Professor Snape?" Hermione asked as she worked her way through a bowl of cereal.

Harry nodded.

"He has indeed."

"And?"

"He knows he's done for," Harry recounted, remembering Snape's words in the headmaster's office. "He knows that he's running out of time. So, why hasn't he done anything? What could he possibly be waiting for?"

"Maybe he's waiting for Dumbledore to die? From his hand?"

"No, he wouldn't know about the curse."

"Maybe Professor Snape told him?"

"And risk it leaking back to Voldemort?"

Hermione frowned, remembering that Dumbledore's mere presence in Hogwarts was the only reason Voldemort had yet to make a move on the school. If any information came out about the headmaster's declining health, it would risk making the castle a target, along with every man, woman and child within.

"No, I see your point," she conceded. She went back to chewing her bottom lip ponderously.

"Besides," Harry continued, "if he simply waits for Dumbledore to die, he won't have fulfilled his vow. He needs to act, so why the hell isn't he?"

Hermione took the chance to peer over her shoulder, following Harry's gaze towards the Slytherin table. Her eyes caught platinum blonde and beneath it a solemn, ragged face, almost the same colour as his hair.

"He looks terrified," Hermione remarked, with the slightest hint of something resembling pity. She was certainly not wrong, however.

It looked like Draco hadn't slept in days, and yet there was still a nervous energy about him that refused to let him rest. He was a wreck, a fossil of his former, cockier self. A far cry from the Draco Malfoy that Harry knew.

"Serves him right," Ron's voice bluntly interjected. Their attention was torn away from Malfoy, Harry and Hermione glanced at their friend in surprise. Ron stared right back them. "Don't give me those looks. He's taken the Dark Mark. You said so yourself, Harry."

"He didn't take it willingly," Harry tried to point out as Hermione went back to observing the Slytherin in question.

"As far as you know."

A soft bark from above told him of Hedwig's arrival. The snowy white owl swooped down, landing elegantly beside his plate, a letter in her beak. Harry stroked the soft feathers on the back of her neck, taking the blank envelope and tearing it open. From the corner of his eye, he felt his owl staring a hole into him, and he obediently offered her a rash of bacon. Seemingly satisfied, the owl gobbled up the treat.

Tipping the contents of the letter onto the table, Harry was surprised to see a small, folded note fall onto his plate. He hesitantly unfolded it, relaxing when he saw the familiar scrawl of the headmaster's handwriting.

"What is it?" he heard Ron ask through a piece of toast.

"A time," Harry answered. Ten o'clock, to be precise. "I think Dumbledore has news."

"What do you think it's about?"

"Considering my next training day is tomorrow, something urgent, I think."

"Do you think it's about the… you-know-what's?" Hermione asked. Harry looked up at her, noticing how her hand was now gently stroking Hedwig's snowy feather. He couldn't quite describe the feeling of seeing someone like Hermione pay such kind attention to his familiar. Still, it was a warm, exciting one. He shook it off, repeating her question in his head.

"It could very well be." Harry stabbed a piece of scrambled egg lazily. "Not sure what I'm going to do if it is, though."

"Well," Ron, "it can't be worse than the bloody chamber of secrets, can it?"

"I've learned the hard way not to underestimate Riddle," Harry shrugged. "How's our target, by the way?"

Hermione began to lean around, casually gazing at each of the houses, before coming to Slytherin.

"Okay, don't panic," Hermione whispered, swivelling back towards them, "but he's looking our way." Harry and Ron both began to lean around her to get a better view, but Hermione's glare stopped them in their tracks. "Don't both look at once."

"He knows we've been staring, Hermione," Ron waved her off.

"Forgive me for at least trying to follow Professor Dumbledore's advice."

"Eh, Al's been wrong before."

Harry was about to agree before he replayed Ron's words in his head. He turned to the redhead by his side, his face morphing into a confused expression.

"'Al'?"

Ron nodded as if it were obvious.

"Albus."

"Why are you calling him 'Al'?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I thought since we're working with him…" Ron nodded again, gesturing his hand as if to present his finding. "Al."

"That's not an answer."

"I think that explains it perfectly," Ron dismissed, crossing his arms.

"Why 'Al'?" Harry asked. "Why not at least call him 'Albus'?"

"Al rolls off the tongue better," Ron explained.

"Like vomit," Hermione scoffed.

"What else are you going to do for your best bud, Al?" Harry teased. "Name your kid after him?"

"It's better than 'Professor Dumbledore' over here," he retorted, pointing this thumb in Hermione's direction.

"What? He is a professor," she insisted. "It's just a fact."

"It wastes time," Ron argued. "Imagine we're in a critical battle scenario. What would you rather have to shout out, 'Watch out, Professor Dumbledore!' or 'Watch out, Al!'"

"Why would you be telling Dumbledore to watch out?" Harry asked. "He's one of the best duellists in the world."

"That's not the point, and you know it."

"Boys!" Hermione hissed, ceasing their spat. "Can you please pay attention. You're meant to be keeping an eye on Malfoy."

This time it was Ron's turn to scoff.

"Come on, Hermione. It's only been, what, twenty seconds? It's not like he'll have up left in twenty se- oh, bollocks, he's gone."

Harry's head shot up.

"Wha-?" he gaped, his eyes quickly returning to their target. Malfoy's seat was empty. His eyes scoured the rest of the Great Hall for a blonde head, but the Slytherin was nowhere to be seen. "When did he leave?"

"I don't know," Ron said, equally as alarmed, "he just…"

"Useless," Hermione sighed, holding her head in her hands. "Both of you."

"We have to find him," Harry said resolutely, vaulting from his seat. "Come on."

He stormed out of the great hall, Hermione and Ron close on his tail. The trio emerged from the giant doorway, into the crowded hallways of the castle. Harry scanned the many faces in front of him, his eyes jumping from person to person. He felt an elbow dig into his side. He turned, only to see Hermione pointing down the opposite side of the hall. His eyes focused just in time to see a flash of blond rush past the corner.

Threading through the crowd, Harry raced after him.

"He can't have gone far," he said to himself.

"Unless he ran," Hermione offered.

"Or apparated," Ron added, to which Hermione predictably scoffed.

"You can't apparate inside Hogwarts, Ronald."

"Where does it say that?"

"Hogwarts: A His-"

"Hogwarts: A History, of course," Ron finished. "There's probably the cure for Dragon Pox in that bloody book, but no one's ever read far enough to find it."

"Well, I have, and it's not in there."

Ron gaped sarcastically.

"Is it not?"

"Both of you be quiet!" Harry hissed, ending their argument. "Right now!"

The pair had the decency to at least look sorry.

They followed the labyrinthine passages of the school, trying to trace Draco's steps. Eventually, however, the trail ran cold. The Slytherin had seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth. Any chance they had of catching him now was minimal. If he had the marauders map, then maybe, but he had left it in his case up in the dormitories.

"He's gone," Harry growled, stalking across the tiles. "He could be anywhere by now."

"We really shouldn't be doing this," he heard Hermione lament.

"Tell me something new, Hermione."

He was about to head off once again when he felt a small but firm hand and grab his arm.

"Harry, listen to me," Hermione insisted. "We should go."

"It's too late for that now, Hermione," Harry argued, staring her down.

"No, it's not," Hermione retorted, staring right back at him. "He doesn't know we know, not yet."

"He knows someone's on to him."

"But not us. If Draco realises that it's us that's after him, he'll obviously figure that Dumbledore knows too. And when he realises that, who knows what he'll do!"

"Not if I can convince him otherwise."

"You think you can change his mind?" Hermione gaped. "This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, isn't it?"

"Come on, Harry," Ron chimed in, "He's been on the dark path for years now."

"But he doesn't have to be," Harry insisted, "don't you see? If I could just make him see that he's done for, then I can-"

"I think he already knows," Hermione pointed out. "He looked like he was ready to sing his will. He knows he's out of time like you said. Why would hearing you repeat that fact change his mind?"

"I can at least try. I can duel bloody Albus Dumbledore to a standstill now. If it came down to it, I could stop him."

"So could Dumbledore, and yet he's done nothing. Maybe there's a reason for that."

"Yeah," Harry frowned, "like how there was a reason that he didn't tell me about the prophecy, or how he didn't bother to train me until only a few weeks ago, how he let my relatives keep me in-"

Memories of the inside of his cupboard, covered in dust and grime; the screaming and shouting from the other side; the dark, elevated only by thin strips of light in between tiny slats in the door; a singular shelf, meagre and small but still big enough to house his few possessions. Harry was glad that his throat closed up before he could continue before he could let slip the truth of the first eleven years of his life. They couldn't know. None of them could ever know. What would they think of him if they found out?

He spied the concerned faces of his friends, Hermione's caring gaze, Ron furrowed brow, and he realised that he already said too much.

"Look, it doesn't matter now. We need to find out where he's going, and we need to-"

"Harry," Hermione's voice, calm but firm, shot through him like an arrow, "This isn't just about Draco, is it?"

Her eyes bore into him like a river, carving into his resolve.

"It's nothing…" but he couldn't lie, not to Hermione, and now - as he poured over his thoughts - not even to himself.

He knew exactly why he wanted to stop Draco, he had known it all along. Because if Malfoy could be stopped, turned to the light, then maybe, just maybe… Dumbledore wouldn't have to die. He wouldn't have to say goodbye to the man he had come to know almost as a surrogate grandfather. His mentor, his guiding figure. By no means perfect, but he was there, all the same. He vouched for Harry, defended him, saved his life more than once. Even after everything the old man had been responsible for, he couldn't disregard all that the man had done for him.

He couldn't let a good man like Albus Dumbledore die. Too many good people had died for him. People he cared about, and who cared for him. His parents… Sirius…

But I can stop it, a small, persistent voice spoke out, I can prevent it this time. Maybe, if I'm good enough, I won't have to lose anyone else.

"No one else."

It came out as barely a whisper, but it rang like a choir, beckoning him to battle.

He gazed at his two best friends, still watching him, waiting patiently for his response. Even when they thought he was wrong, they were here, standing with him.

"I'm going after him. I'm going to my room, I'm going to get the map, and I'm going to find him."

But he didn't have to, because, as he turned the corner, a sudden pressure in the side of his neck told him exactly where Draco was.

"You're really not very good at sneaking around, are you Potter?" the Slytherin's familiar drawl sounded from an alcove to his right.

"And you're not very good at planning an ambush, Malfoy," Harry replied casually. Even out of the corner of his eye, he could see Draco's confidence turn to confusion, as he finally noticed Hermione and Ron with their wands raised in his direction. Harry grinned. "You really didn't think this through, did you?"

Knowing that it was too late to back out, the Malfoy heir doubled down, sticking his wand into Harry's neck.

"Why are you following me?"

"You know why."

"Prove it!"

"Okay," Harry shrugged, holding out his hand. "Give me your arm."

Draco scowled, his eyes widening.

"What are you talking about?"

Harry glared at him, pinning the Slytherin to the spot.

"Give. Me. Your. Arm."

Whether it was the barely contained anger in Harry's voice, the two wands pointing at his face, or the lack of sleep, Draco relented. He reluctantly began to reach out his forearm. Harry immediately grabbed it, pulling it towards him. Suddenly uprooted, Draco stumbled into Harry's grip, as the Gryffindor wrenched the limb behind Draco's back at an awkward angle. The Slytherin cried out, dropping his wand.

"God, you're dumb," Harry sighed tiredly, kicking away the lost wand. "Now let's see what you've been hiding."

Harry manoeuvred Draco's arm to the front of his body, pulling his sleeve up and revealing a darkened tattoo, detailing a skull and a snake, intertwined. He saw his friend's face flitter from shock to anger to disgust.

"Even for you, Malfoy," Ron scowled, "this is low."

"You'd know about low, wouldn't you, Weasley," Draco spat. "You too, Mudblood."

The only response we could pull from Hermione was a lazy laugh.

"Is it wise to insult your captors, Ferret?"

"You've got no power over me. Not compared to him."

"He," Harry growled, "is not here right now. We're all you've got. We know you've been tasked to kill Dumbledore, that you were behind the necklace and the poison and the vanishing cabinet. And we know that you're desperate. So how about, for once in your life, you shut up and listen? Because aside from us, and maybe Dumbledore, there isn't a single person in this castle that's willing to help you. And very few others beyond that."

Harry let go of his arm, allowing the Malfoy heir to readjust himself.

"And what are you offering, Potter?" Draco sneered, ever-defiant. "Salvation? Protection?"

"An opportunity," Harry replied resolutely, "to make the right choice. The next time Voldemort calls, don't go to him. Come with us. We can take to someone who can help you."

For the briefest moment, there was a flicker of something other than hatred in Draco's face. Harry could almost describe it as longing. It was extinguished as instantaneously as it appeared, and the classic Malfoy scowl returned in full force.

"Here's my offer, Potter. You stay out of my way, and I don't slaughter your friends like the swine they are."

"Better a swine with a wand than a rat without," Ron scoffed, jostling the willow instrument in his hand.

Draco looked extremely unamused. Realising that any potential fight would end very badly for him, he turned, crouched down and picked up his wand. He sheathed it inside his emerald-lined robes and tutted audibly.

"Any of you try to stop me, I will kill you."

Harry, remembering how he had successfully disarmed the great Albus Dumbledore only days before, couldn't help but smirk at the Slytherin's threat. If I had a penny for every time I've heard that one. Oh, wait. I probably do.

"Remember what I said, Draco. We can help you."

Harry couldn't tell if Draco failed to him, or he simply ignored what he had to say, as the blond took off down the corridor, in a pale imitation of Snape. The Gryffindor trio didn't stop watching until he had rounded the corner, disappearing into the lower levels of the castle. His footsteps mingled with the distant sound of schoolchildren, ultimately fading into the chaos.

"He's going to try something," Harry murmured. "I know it. Maybe even today. We can't let up on this."

"Harry," came Hermione's anxious voice a few seconds later, one they were sure Draco had gone, "I'm not sure this was a good idea."

"Neither am I," Harry shrugged.

"In fact, I think that was rather reckless."

"Oh definitely," Harry agreed, "but it's better than any other plan I had. If Dumbledore wants him alive, there has to be a reason." And as he turned back to Hermione, he realised that there may be one more little piece of truth that he had yet to mention. "Besides, as you said, he's terrified. I know what that feels like. I wouldn't be a very good person If I didn't try to help him."

The look he got from Hermione in the moments after made something in his chest sing, like a string on a cello pulled tight and plucked to a tune. All of sudden, any other words he might have had seemed frozen in his head. His mouth failed to work, even breathing seemed to be put on hold. He didn't know why a look from Hermione was all it took to mess with him on a molecular level, but at that moment it almost made sense.

Neither of the pair noticed Ron glancing between them, rolling his eyes as he made his way back to breakfast, eager to finish his toast.


Ten o'clock came swiftly, as Harry met with the gargoyle standing guard in front of Dumbledore's office. Whatever reason the headmaster had summoned him, Harry was ready. His confidence from beating his mentor in a duel the other day still had yet to deflate. His enthusiasm was only tempered by the nervous anticipation of waiting for when Draco inevitably made his move.

At least, if Malfoy did try anything today of all days, there would be someone in Hogwarts to combat him. He at least retained that small comfort, having entrusted his mission to the two people he trusted the most. If there was anyone who could handle the task, Hermione was one of them. And Ron was there too. It couldn't hurt to have backup.

The gargoyle opened, beckoning him in. He climbed the stairs, two at a time, knocking on the heavy wooden door once he had reached the top. He heard the familiar voice of the headmaster summoning him inside, and Harry entered the room, ready for whatever Dumbledore had to show him.

The aged professor was sitting at his desk, studying something - a book, Harry realised as he approached. He stood to attention in front of the headmaster's table.

"Good morning, sir."

The man in question looked up from his desk, from the book that he has been pouring over. It was Riddle's diary - the hole from the Basilisk fang was as fresh as the day Harry put it there.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Another training session, sir?" Harry asked, to which Dumbledore shook his head.

"Not today." He stood, beckoning Harry closer. The teen leaned it, and Dumbledore began whispering so that only Harry could hear. "What I am about to tell you must not reach beyond these walls."

So, it was about the Horcruxes then, just as Harry had suspected.

Dumbledore flourished his wand, and the low hum of ambient white noise subdued to a buzz, like they were submerged underwater, or in the middle an invisible cotton bud.

"You've found a Horcrux, then," Harry presumed. Dumbledore eyes twinkled

"Perceptive as ever, Harry," he smiled before his face shifted to grave authority. "Now, I must warn you. Tom has never been one to take the protection of his Horcruxes lightly. Where we go will likely be fraught with danger. I cannot guarantee what we may find, nor that we will survive it unscathed."

Harry stared on, unflinching.

"Where is it?"

"I've managed to narrow it down to a cave on the southern coast. Tom went there on a trip arranged by Wool's Orphanage. I believe he persuaded two other children to follow him into the depths of this cave, where he tormented them."

"That certainly sounds like him."

Dumbledore gave a particular stare, somewhere between scolding and agreement.

"Harry, this will likely be incredibly dangerous. Perhaps more so than anything you've faced before."

"That's saying something."

"It is," Dumbledore nodded tiredly. "It is indeed, but it's the truth. Perhaps if I knew what was inside that cave, I wouldn't be so remiss to say otherwise, but I don't. if you do not wish to accompany me, I would understand."

"No," Harry insisted. "If this really is as dangerous as you say, you're going to need my help."

The smile on Dumbledore's face returned in full force, and for a moment, the years fell away. The mischief and charm that Harry had come to know him for were there for anyone to see, absolutely fearless.

Harry was sure, as long as he had Dumbledore by his side, nothing could go wrong.


The Gryffindor common room was practically empty at this time of day. The only inhabitants, barely a few, were quietly working or chatting, barely above whispers to not disturb the atmosphere. Hermione Granger was one of them, currently absorbed in The Tales of Beedle the Bard - a book that Dumbledore has not-so-subtly hinted for her to read. From what she could tell, it was a book of fables, little cautionary tales for magical children. Why would Dumbledore of people instruct her to read this? Especially when she could be reading something far more valuable.

Or perhaps, Hermione pondered, there was something she was missing. Maybe Dumbledore trusted that she, of all people, could read between the lines of these stories.

She turned back to the front page, studying the dedication - made out to one Mr P and his son, who contributed to the book in their own way. IN the corner, faded by time, was Dumbledore's own writing. His first name, Albus, made out in careful, practised calligraphy. This was Dumbledore's personal copy, Hermione had deduced. Except, there was something wrong with his signature. Unlike in her Hogwarts acceptance letter, or her subsequent academic awards, Dumbledore had described his signature A nothing she had seen before.

It was a triangle, surrounding a circle, divided by a straight vertical line. Hermione had never once known the letter to be expressed like that. That was saying something, considering she had read some of the oldest, most archaic tomes in the library, where R's look like S's and the letter C barely existed. She had never seen this symbol in her life, and yet it called out to her. Why?

Her train of thought went right out of the window, as the portrait hole flew open. Hermione looked up just in time to see Harry hurry inside.

"How did it go?" she asked as he spotted her.

"No time to explain," he said hurriedly. "I'm meeting Dumbledore in the entrance hall in five minutes." He glanced around at the couple in the corner. They were packing up and beginning to leave, now that the peaceful mood had been shattered. Once they had left, Harry leaned in and whispered. "We're going off to find one of the you-know-whats."

Hermione's eyes widened, locking with his.

"Really?" she gasped. Harry nodded, a cheeky little smirk on his face. "Won't that be dangerous?"

"Probably," he shrugged, but his smile fell away as he recognised Hermione's concern, written plainly on her face. "I'll be fine, Hermione, I promise. I'll have Dumbledore with me."

Hermione felt her bottom lip slip between teeth, habitually chewing lightly.

"Wait here."

She stood from her seat, striding up the stairs, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the empty common room. A minute later, she returned, with a small bundle, wrapped in a blanket. "I made this especially for you."

The bundle was handed to Harry, who held it like it was made of glass. He unwrapped the blanket, revealing a small, glass vial of blue potion. Just below the lid, a cutting of lavender was taped to the surface. To top it all off, a bright red ribbon had been wrapped around the neck.

"Keep it close," she told him, wrapping his fingers around it, "just in case."

For several moments, he just stared at the bottle, the fluorescent blue of the calming draught glistening in the reflection of his glasses. Eventually, he cleared his throat, taking in a deep, shaky breath.

"Thank you, Hermione."

The girl nodded, her fingers moving to his arm, carefully running up and down the fabric of his jumper.

"How long has it been since the last one?" she asked as casually as she could.

"A week," Harry answered stiffly.

"That's good," Hermione reassured him. "That's really good, Harry."

The boy shrugged, trying a smirk.

"I hope so."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He was trying so desperately to remain composed. She almost wished he would just let it all out, but him being Harry, he would try and see it locked up inside for as long as he could. He wouldn't want her to worry. As if that would ever not happen.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

"Stay safe, please," she spoke into his chest. "I worry."

She felt a pleasant rumbling in his chest as he laughed, and smiled at the feeling of his hand, reaching up and stroking her hair.

"I know you do."

"I've half a mind to never let you go, Mr Potter," she admitted, drawing another soft chuckle.

"At least I'd be safe." They drew back, gazing at each other for a moment before Harry captured her hands in his. "Listen, Hermione, in my dormitory, there's my bottle of liquid luck. If Malfoy decides to act up, I want you and Ron to use it."

"What?" Hermione gaped at him. "No, Harry, you should take it."

"I won't need it," he tried to argue, only for Hermione to glare at him.

"You're going off to who-knows-where to find a- you know! You need it more than I do!"

"I don't know what Malfoy's planning to do," he insisted, his hands tightening around her's. "He's desperate, and he's agitated. That makes him dangerous. He could go after you, or Ron, or Ginny, or anyone I know. I need to know you're safe."

Infuriated, Hermione pulled her hands away, staring him down.

"How do you think I feel? Not being there to help you. What if…" Her eyes fell to the floor. "What if this time you don't come back?"

The feeling of a firm grip on her shoulders brought her attention straight back to Harry.

"Look at me," he demanded. At some point he had leaned down ever so slightly so that they were at eye-level, allowing his blazing green eyes to transfix her to the spot. "I'm coming back. That's a promise. I don't break promises."

The intensity in his eyes was like a bonfire; a raging, beautiful inferno that sent heat flushing across her cheeks. Instinct told her to look away, to find anything else to stare at other than him and yet she couldn't. She hardly noticed when, at some point, a hand had reached up and gently cupped her cheek - it must have happened while he was speaking - but it certainly didn't help matters.

Hermione knew what she needed to do, what her subconscious was screaming at her to do.

And so, she reached forward and planted a quick peck on the side of his face.

It was over as soon as it had begun, but the moment that her lips had touched the edge of Harry's cheek felt like it had lasted a lifetime. By the time she pulled back, his entire complexion had suddenly gone crimson, mirroring her own.

"For luck," she stuttered, the first excuse her brain was able to pluck from thin air.

Perhaps unable to do anything else, Harry nodded, his eyes wide, his lips parted in a minute O.

"F-For luck…" he eventually sounded through his nerves. "I feel pretty lucky now."

There was a second of shock from both of them, as they realised what Harry had said. The two could only gawk wide-eyed at each other, blushing up a storm. That is, until a giggle made its way up Hermione's throat, dammed in vain between her tight lips. With the sight of an utterly flustered, helpless Harry standing in front of her, she couldn't help it. She quickly dissolved into a giggling fit, unable to contain it any longer.

Harry continued to stare at her until it all became too much for him also. He sniggered, then he chuckled, then the floodgates blew open, and he cried out with hilarity.

The laughing eventually died down, leaving the two teens by themselves, in a deserted common room. Even though the temperature of the space had seemingly gone to normal - or at least that was how it felt to Hermione - there was still something between them. This hanging, unspoken thing that refused to be given a name. The two realised it as their eyes met once again, suddenly very aware that it was just the two of them.

Anything could happen. No one would know.

Dangerous thoughts, Granger, she told herself. Enough.

"You'd better be off," Hermione reminded him. She saw his eyes widen a fraction, suddenly remembering why he had come here in the first place.

"Yes, of course," he agreed reluctantly. He turned to leave, stopping slightly as if he had forgotten something. "Miss you."

"You're still here, Harry," she smiled, revelling in how his face glowed.

"Right," he said bashfully. His smile had turned adorably lop-sided, a hand had snaked up behind his head, absently scratching away.

He turned, pocketing the blue vial of potion in his pocket, hightailing out of the common room to meet with Dumbledore. Just in time to miss Hermione's wistful reply.

"Miss you too."


Undoubtedly a few minutes late, Harry came upon the entrance hall. Dumbledore, predictably, was already standing inside, a gentle, amused smile on his face. He didn't ask where Harry had been that had caused him to take since seven minutes as opposed to their agreed five. Then again, perhaps he already knew. Harry wasn't entirely sure that omniscience wasn't one of Dumbledore's many skills.

Wasting no more time, the two began the long trek to the edge of Hogsmeade, where they could then apparate to... well, wherever it was they were going.

Harry really didn't know. He didn't where he was going, or when he was coming back.

He might not even make it back.

That was always a reality whenever he went off on one of these adventures - he certainly didn't think he would really survive a battle with a basilisk, for instance. But this time, it felt all the more real. Dumbledore's presence, ironically, only served to reinforce the fact that this wasn't going be a walk in the park. This was real.

He might never see Hermione again.

Harry didn't know why that fact seemed to disturb him so, or why it was Hermione's face that came to him first. It was probably because she was the last person he had spoken to, Harry reasoned. Because he promised her, he would come back. He didn't want to have to break another promise, not to her. Especially not to her.

They reached the edge of the town, past Rosmerta's tavern, the barmaid in question giving them a short farewell as they apparated away.

A wall of salty air and rushing waves assaulted his sense as they touched down on solid ground. A thunderous, biting wind ruffled his hair as he looked out on a grey, violent world. Standing upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below him. He glanced over his shoulder. A towering cliff stood behind them, a sheer drop, black and faceless. A few large chunks of rock, such as the one upon which Harry and Dumbledore were standing, looked as though they had broken away from the cliff face at some point in the past. Waves, higher than him crashed against each other, in a never war against the elements.

No wonder Riddle was attracted to here of all places, Harry thought to himself. It almost made too much sense.

Keen not to waste any time, Dumbledore beckoned him and began making the treacherous journey to their destination. Harry followed, fingering the extra bottle that Hermione had given him, revelling in the small hike in confidence it gave him.


"Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I'll never, never again..."

"This will make it stop, Professor," Harry said, his voice cracking as he tipped the seventh glass of potion into Dumbledore's mouth.

Dumbledore began to cower as though invisible torturers surrounded him; his flailing hand almost knocked the refilled goblet from Harry's trembling hands as he moaned, "Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, please, it's my fault, hurt me instead..."

"Here, drink this, drink this, you'll be all right," said Harry desperately, and once again Dumbledore obeyed him, opening his mouth even as he kept his eyes tight shut and shook from head to foot. And now he fell forward, screaming again, hammering his fists upon the ground, while Harry filled the ninth goblet.

"Please, please, please, no... not that, not that, I'll do anything..."

"Just drink, Professor, just drink..."

Dumbledore drank like a child dying of thirst, but when he had finished, he yelled again as though his insides were on fire. "No more, please, no more..."

Harry scooped up a tenth goblet of potion and felt the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin. "We're nearly there, professor. Drink this, drink it..."

He supported Dumbledore's shoulders and again, Dumbledore drained the glass. Harry was on his feet once more, refilling the goblet as Dumbledore began to scream in more anguish than ever, "I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!"

The anguish in his voice tore Harry's heart in two. The pain, written all over the headmaster's face, spoke of the horrors he was seeing. Harry could only imagine what was going on inside Dumbledore's head, what fresh nightmare he was being subjected to.

"Drink this, Professor. Drink this..."

Harry offered the goblet with a shaking, clammy hand.

Dumbledore drank, and no sooner had he finished than he yelled, "KILL ME!"

"This - this one will!" gasped Harry, trying to reconcile the pain he was putting the headmaster through. Trying desperately to keep his breathing steading, to combat the creeping terror that was approaching out of the dark. "Just drink this... It'll be over... all over!"

He realised, as his words began to slur, and his breathing became laboured and shallow, that something was wrong. Very wrong. It was another attack. Now of all the times, of all the places. But he couldn't stop now, not when the headmaster needed him to carry on. Once the potion was drained, then he could remedy the attack.

He pushed aside the fear, forcing it down for only a moment, fighting every instinct in his body to finish the task. He put the goblet to the old wizard's lip and poured, trying to keep it steady.

Dumbledore gulped at the goblet, drained every last drop, and then, with a great, rattling gasp, rolled over onto his face.

"No!" shouted Harry, who had stood to refill the goblet again. Instead, he dropped the cup, flung himself down beside Dumbledore, and heaved him over onto his back. Dumbledore's glasses were askew, his mouth agape, his eyes closed. "No," said Harry, shaking Dumbledore, "no, you're not dead, you said it wasn't poison, wake up, wake up - Rennervate!" he cried, his wand pointing at Dumbledore's chest. There was a flash of red light, but nothing happened. "Rennervate - RENNERVATE!"

Nothing. The old man, pale and limp, didn't stir. He had killed him, Harry realised. It was by his hand that Harry had fed him the potion. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

Dumbledore's eyelids flickered; Harry's heart leapt, "Sir, are you - ?"

He fought against the trembling in his jaw, trying to form a sentence.

"Water…" he heard Dumbledore gasp. "Water..."

Harry grabbed the goblet from where it had been abandoned on the rock, twirling his wand.

"Aguamenti!" he cast, filling the cup with fresh water. He offered it to the headmaster's lips and poured. Nothing came out. The water was gone as soon as his eyes left it. "Aguamenti!" He tried again. As soon as the goblet was full, the water vanished. Harry threw it aside. This wasn't working. He had to do something. He couldn't think. He needed air; to get out this damn cave and get them to safety. He needed to run. Run! The dark! The dark was closing in! Dumbledore's rasping breath, echoing with his own. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't…

Harry's hands flew to his back pocket, taking out the vial of calming draught Hermione had gifted him.

In a moment of selfishness, he downed the potion. Instantly he felt his world inflate and calm. He took a deep breath, his thoughts falling into place like snowflakes falling onto freshly-cut grass. The scent of lavender filled his brain, and all was right.

He knew what he had to do. Dumbledore needed water, and he had a vial that used to be filled with calming draught, now empty and waiting to be filled. Harry waved his wand over the glass container, and water rushed into the empty vial. He waited a few seconds, testing if the liquid would vanish. To his relief, the water sat within the glass, barely moving, except to lazily roll around. The cave itself wasn't cursed then, only the goblet. That was good.

Harry climbed back towards the headmaster, lifting his head and pouring the water inside. This time, he saw the liquid rush between the old man's lips, seeping into his throat. Dumbledore drank eagerly.

The vial soon ran dry, but Harry was ready with another spell, filling the bottle back up in seconds, ready to quench Dumbledore's thirst. Hopefully, it wouldn't be long now before Dumbledore would be strong enough to get up and leave. He had fought through the worst of it, drinking the potion with admirable resolve. They had the Horcrux, they had beaten the test. All they had to do now was leave. Everything was going to be…

What little Harry victory had earned was shattered when he saw movement on the edge of the water.

Pale, bony hands were breaking the surface, followed by hollow, glass-eyed faces atop of skeletal bodies. Corpses, barely held together, approaching from all sides by the dozens. The Inferi, Harry deduced. The creatures he had been warned about. It was strange to see such fearsome creatures, one that contended with Harry's worst nightmares, and to know that the fear was there. But he wasn't scared.

The calming draught was working its magic, smothering the worst of Harry's primal instincts, leaving him in a zen-like state of pure concentration. His mind was meticulously picking apart the situation in front of him. Plans began to spring to his mind in the dozens. Blast them to bits. No, too many. Freeze the water. No, that wouldn't hold them long. Besides, wasn't there something that Dumbledore told him about these things? Something they were deathly afraid of?

Fire, Harry remembered. Fire is what will stop them. It'll need to be a lot. I had better get started, they're surprisingly fast for corpses.

He stood, resting on legs weakened from fear, but strengthened by courage.

Protect. Defend. Around us both. Keep them away.

He palmed his wand, summoning the strength to cast one last powerful spell. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs and shouted with everything he had:

"INCENDIO!"

Fire, unlike anything Harry had ever seen.

Bright orange, blinding and scorching. The Inferi fell away under a curtain of flames, rising and swirling like a tornado around the island. Steam rose and evaporated as the wall of fire touched the surface of the water, pushing the Inferi back. He could see the surface thrash away as limbs fought to sink further into the depths.

Harry didn't stop there. He couldn't stop, not when Dumbledore's life depended on it. His promise to Hermione, to come home safely, sat at the forefront of his mind. He would come back to her, and Ron, and everyone else. He had to keep pushing himself, further than he ever had.

The teenager pointed his wand to the entrance of the cave, folding the tornado into a tunnel. With one arm keeping the fire in line, he leaned down and hooked his arm around Dumbledore's shoulders with the other, grabbing the wand that had fallen on the floor beside him. Heaving the Dumbledore up onto his feet, Harry trudged towards the boat that sat on the bank. He lowered the headmaster's frail body into the seat, jumped in and pushed off.

The oar had been lost on the escape, but it mattered not. As long as Harry had a straight shot to the opposite shore, he could get them to safety.

Focusing his sights on the bank on the far side of the cave, he lowered his wand, keeping the shape of the tunnel in his mind. The flames remained, forming a direct path to the exit.

"Celerio!"

The boat shot forward, speeding through the water as if an engine had been fitted to the back. Harry breathed in and out, focusing on keeping the demand of two titanic spells from swallowing him up. It would only be for a moment more, just long enough to escape… Stars flitted across his vision. Darkness encroaching at the sides, despite the light of the fire illuminated all that he could see. He was losing consciousness. He had to breathe. He had to focus on the now. Just a little bit more.

Seconds later, the boat landed with a thud against the bank, and Harry wasted no time. He quickly dispelled the flames and the acceleration spell, suddenly feeling his youthful vitality return to him. He picked up the headmaster and pulled him ashore, rushing to the cave entrance, before the Inferi had a chance to catch up.


The middle of the dark High Street in Hogsmeade was greeted with Harry and Dumbledore's sudden arrival. For one horrible moment, Harry's imagination showed him more Inferi creeping towards him around the sides of shops, but he blinked and saw that nothing was stirring. All was still, the darkness complete but for a few street lamps and lit upper windows.

"We did it, Professor!" Harry whispered with difficulty; he suddenly realised that he had a searing stitch in his chest. "We did it! We got the Horcrux!"

Dumbledore staggered against him. For a moment, Harry thought that his inexpert Apparition had thrown Dumbledore off-balance; then he saw his face, paler and damper than ever in the distant light of a streetlamp.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"I've been better," said Dumbledore weakly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "That potion... was no health drink..."

And to Harry's horror, Dumbledore sank on to the ground.

"Sir - it's OK, Sir, you're going to be alright, don't worry-"

He looked around desperately for help, but there was nobody to be seen, and all he could think was that he must somehow get Dumbledore quickly to the hospital wing.

"We need to get you up to the school, Sir... Madam Pomfrey..."

Before Harry could make a move, however, he heard running footsteps. His heart leapt: somebody had seen, somebody knew they needed help - and looking around he saw Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street towards them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing-gown embroidered with dragons.

"I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn't think what to - but what's wrong with Albus?"

She came to a halt, panting, and stared down, wide-eyed, at Dumbledore.

"He's hurt," said Harry. "Madam Rosmerta, can he come into the Three Broomsticks while I go up to the school and get help for him?"

"The school? Don't you realise - haven't you seen -?"

"Seen what?" said Harry, not really listening to her, to busy with trying to support Dumbledore.

"What has happened?" asked Dumbledore. "Rosmerta, what's wrong?"

She pointed in the direction of Hogwarts, towards a bright orange light that shone light the evening sun. Dread flooded Harry at the sound of the words ... he turned and looked.

The castle was alight with flames. Smoke was billowing up into the sky, blocking out the stars.

"When did this happen?" asked Dumbledore, and his hand clenched painfully upon Harry's shoulder as he struggled to his feet.

"Must have been minutes ago, it wasn't there when I put the cat out, but when I got upstairs -"

"We need to return to the castle at once," said Dumbledore. "Rosmerta," and though he staggered a little, he seemed wholly in command of the situation, "we need transport - brooms-"

"I've got a couple behind the bar," she said, looking very frightened. "Shall I run and fetch -?"

"No, Harry can do it."

Harry raised his wand at once.

"Accio Rosmerta's brooms."

A second later they heard a loud bang as the front door of the pub burst open; two brooms had shot out into the street and were racing each other to Harry's side, where they stopped dead, quivering slightly, at waist height.

Madam Rosmerta was already tottering back towards her pub as Harry and Dumbledore kicked off from the ground and rose up into the air. As they sped towards the castle, Harry glanced sideways at Dumbledore, ready to grab him should he fall, but to his surprise, the old man had seemingly got his second wind, his long silver hair and beard flying behind him in the night air. He was still deathly pale and hunched over his broom, but he was far from dead. Which is more than could be said for Harry's friends.

How long had they been away? This must have been Draco's doing, but when? How long had the fire been burning? What had caused it? Was it an Incendio? An explosion? A Fiendfyre? Hermione! Ron! Had they been caught up in whatever the hell this was? He was the one who had told them to keep an eye on Malfoy, he had asked them to jeopardize their safety... was he about to lose someone else?

As they flew over the dark, twisting lane down which they had walked earlier, Harry heard, over the whistling of the night air in his ears, Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He thought he understood why as he felt his broom shudder for a moment when they flew over the boundary wall into the grounds. Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he had set around the castle so that they could enter at speed.

As they soared towards the entrance hall, Harry noticed a large crowd of students gathered on the grass, away from the source of the flames. A small sense of relief ran through him as he realised that at least the rest of the school was safely out of the way. They landed in the giant doorway, and immediately Harry went to Dumbledore's side.

"My office," he demanded, "Now!"

Harry, too overwhelmed to argue, obeyed. The two managed surprising speed as they trudged up the many flights of stairs, up to the Headmaster's tower. The managed to arrive in good time, and Harry shouted the password, carrying Dumbledore inside once the gargoyle slid away. The pair entered the office, and Harry deposited the aged wizard in his chair.

"The locket," Dumbledore prompted. Harry handed it over and watched as the Headmaster produced a key, unlocked a drawer in his desk and dropped the relic inside. "That should keep it contained for now. We can destroy it later."

"Do you think Draco's behind the fire?" Harry asked.

"I'm almost certain of it," Dumbledore nodded, his eyes dropping as if he were fighting to stay conscious. Harry had never seen the Headmaster so vulnerable. He was in no shape to fight anyone, let alone Malfoy. But Harry was and knew immediately what he had to do.

"I'm going to stop him," Harry announced, pulling out his wand and turned towards the door. However, a firm, bony grip on his arm kept him in place.

"Harry," Dumbledore rasped, staring him in the eye, "what did you say to him?"

A wave of guilt racked through Harry's body. He had last forgotten about his confrontation earlier that day. Back then, he had been riding the high of beating Dumbledore, so sure that he could figure out the young Malfoy, that he knew better than the Headmaster. How long he had been. How foolish, to think that he could just barge into the situation and take control.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry whispered, forcing himself to return eye contact. "This is all my fault."

"No," Dumbledore said as he shook his head, "Harry, it is mine. I've spent so many years keeping secrets from you. Things that you most certainly should have known. I thought that you wouldn't be ready to hear them, but now I realise you were ready for this war before I ever was." His good hand reached around and held Harry by the shoulder, squeezing as a grandparent would their favourite grandchild. "You are one of the finest wizards I've ever had the pleasure to teach, and I'm sorry, Harry. I'm deeply, truly sorry."

He sat back, taking in a deep breath, steadying himself against his chair.

"Go," he ordered, in a tone of voice that beggared no argument, "find Draco. I shall send for Severus, he'll know what to do."

Harry nodded.

"Yes, sir."

And with that, he turned and sprinted out of the Headmaster's office. Down the stairs, past the gargoyle, and through the corridor, Harry raced to where he had seen the fire. It couldn't have been a coincidence that the fire was raging where the potions labs were situated - it was presumably how Draco had been able to start it. Who knew what kind of damage a room full of potions could cause if it were set alight. Harry could only hope that no one was inside when it had been set alight.

Harry vaulted through the central courtyard, his wand ready and waiting just in case he met Draco along the way. As he was running, he almost ran headfirst into another person. He skidded to a halt just in time to catch sight of a head of long, red hair.

"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed. The girl in question, wide-eyed and panting, took one look at him and engulfed him in a hug.

"Harry!" she cried. "Where were you! Hermione's been worried sick! I thought you were caught in the fire!"

"I'm fine, Ginny," Harry hurriedly placated her, prying her arms off of him. "Listen, I think I know who started this-"

"Draco," she nodded. "Hermione told us that he was going to try something sooner or later."

Hermione, Harry remembered suddenly, as his heart jumped into his throat. He was about to ask when Ginny shushed him.

"She's fine," she said, "She was the first to find the fire. She even cast a barrier to keep it in the classroom. She's outside with the others."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"They needed a couple of people to do one last sweep of the castle, and since I'm one of the fastest, I offered."

"And risk running into Malfoy?"

"He's nowhere near here," she explained. "Ron, he got the Marauder's Map from your case, to keep an eye on Malfoy. As soon as the fire started, he went straight up to the second-floor corridor."

"The second floor?" Harry repeated. "But that's…"

That was where the Headmaster's office was.

Harry's eyes widened as he struggled to remember if the gargoyle had closed behind him. Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have…

A strange shape, pressing against the side of his robes, one that he hadn't noticed until now, finally caught his attention. He reached inside, fingering a thin sliver of wood. Begging against hope that it wasn't what he thought it was, Harry grabbed hold and lifted it out of his robes.

It was Dumbledore's wand. Dumbledore was in his office, right now, without his wand, defenceless.

How? Harry distinctly remembered giving the Headmaster's wand back to him. He could visualise it clearly. Unless… Harry thought back to the moment Dumbledore had grabbed his arm, stopping him from leaving, placing this other hand on Harry's shoulder. Dumbledore must have slipped it into his pocket when he wasn't paying attention.

He knew what was about to happen. He knew that he wouldn't need it.

Suddenly, Harry realised precisely what the purpose the fire had served. It was a distraction, nothing more. And Harry had fallen for it.

His heart thundering against his chest, Harry swivelled on the spot and began sprinting back up the corridor. Even as Ginny screamed after him, he kept on running, daring not to look back.

He pumped his arms and legs until he thought they might fall off. His lungs screamed out in pain, his blood pumping against his eardrums as his vision tunnelled in on where he needed to go. He had to save Dumbledore. This was all his fault. Running faster than he ever had in his life, Harry turned the corner of the second-floor corridor.

The gargoyle was still open. A flash of blonde rounded the corner of the stone staircase. Harry's heart stopped.

He sprinted down the corridor up the stairs as quietly as he could. Despite his panic, he knew he needed to have the element of surprise if he was to stop Draco. He carefully and skilfully jumped up the stairs three at a time, stopping at the open doorway. He glanced inside the office, his blood boiling as he registered the scene in front of him.

Draco Malfoy, standing tall and proud, held a pale, weakened Dumbledore at wand-point.

A deep-seated fury erupted in Harry's mind. A voice in his head whispered to him. He's going to kill Dumbledore. Stop him! Kill him! At least do something!

Harry raised his wand, ready to cast the spell that would incapacitate Draco when he caught a glimpse of Dumbledore. The old man's eyes flickered in his direction, straight at him for only a moment. But it was enough.

With one look, Dumbledore told him everything he needed to say.

Don't.

Harry's head screamed at him to ignore the Headmaster's order, to take matters into his own hands yet again. But his head, the voice that reminded him so much of Hermione, warned him that ignoring Dumbledore's orders was what caused this whole ordeal. He had to wait. He had to give Draco a chance...

So, Harry tucked himself into a corner, non-verbally casting a silencing charm on himself, and watched.

"I've got a job to do," Draco announced.

"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," said Dumbledore softly.

There was silence. Harry stood, staring at the two of them, waiting with bated breath. He had done this. This was his fault. If only he hadn't confronted Draco. If only he had just followed the Headmaster's orders.

And yet, nothing happened. Draco Malfoy did nothing but stare at Albus Dumbledore who, incredibly, smiled.

"You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year, and yet this may be the closest you've come. To be honest, I wonder whether your heart has been really in it…"

"It has been in it!" said Malfoy vehemently. "I've been working on this all year, and tonight -"

Somewhere in the depths of the castle below, Harry heard a muffled yell - merely a final call for any remaining students. Yet it was enough to make Malfoy flinch and glance over his shoulder in alarm. Dumbledore, in contrast, sat undisturbed, even with a wand aimed at his head.

"I see," said Dumbledore kindly, when Malfoy neither moved nor spoke. "You are afraid."

"I'm not afraid!" snarled Malfoy, though he still made no move to hurt Dumbledore. "It's you who should be scared!"

"But why? I don't think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe…"

Malfoy looked as though he was fighting down the urge to shout or to vomit. He gulped and took several deep breaths, glaring at Dumbledore, his wand pointing directly at the latter's heart.

"If you really knew that I was behind all those things, why didn't you stop me, then?" Malfoy demanded.

"I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders -"

"He hasn't been doing your orders, he promised my mother-"

"Of course that is what he would tell you, Draco, but-"

"He's a double-agent, you stupid old man, he isn't working for you, you just think he is!"

"We must agree to differ on that, Draco. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape -"

"Well, you're losing your grip, then!" sneered Malfoy. "He's been offering me plenty of help - wanting all the glory for himself - wanting a bit of the action - 'What are you doing? Did you do the necklace, that was stupid, it could have blown everything-'But I haven't told him about today. He's going to wake up tomorrow, and it'll all be over, and he won't be the Dark Lord's favourite any more, he'll be nothing compared to me, nothing!"

"Very gratifying," said Dumbledore mildly. "We all like appreciation for our own hard work, of course ... but you must understand that Lord Voldemort is not the appreciative type. He is using you, Draco. Surely you must see."

Malfoy's mouth contorted involuntarily, as though he had tasted something very bitter.

"Now, about tonight," Dumbledore went on, "I am a little puzzled about how it happened ... you knew that I had left the school? But of course," he answered his own question, "Rosmerta saw me leaving. How long has she been under the Imperius?"

"Took you long enough to figure out."

"Well, it has been a tiresome day, my boy. And, she tipped you off, how?"

Malfoy lifted a familiar, enchanted galleon into view.

"Confiscated a couple of these off the DA last year. I knew they'd come in useful one day," said Malfoy. "But she said you were just going for a drink, you'd be back …"

"Well, I certainly did have a drink ... and I came back ... after a fashion," mumbled Dumbledore. "So you decided to spring a trap for me?"

"Decided to set fire to the potions lab to distract the staff, get everyone out of the castle, then sneak up here," said Malfoy. "Snape said you went out to get something important, that you'd need to store it here immediately after you got back. I took my time, waited for you and Potter to come back, heard him say the password. I outsmarted you! Caught you unaware!"

"Well... yes and no…" said Dumbledore. "But am I to take it then that nobody has been harmed?"

'Someone might've,' said Malfoy. "Didn't check if anyone was in the room. Just knew I had to cause a big enough bang."

"And you just so happened to choose an empty classroom, after the final afternoon class. What a happy coincidence."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing, nothing, my boy. Now, considering how, in a few minutes the fire will be distinguished, and your ruse will be rumbled soon after, I believe there is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"My options!" said Malfoy loudly. "I'm standing here with a wand - I'm about to kill you -"

"My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."

"I haven't got any options!" said Malfoy, and he was suddenly as white as Dumbledore. "I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family! He's given me this one chance to make up for being found out, and if I don't do it…"

"Draco, no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived ... I can help you, Draco."

"No, you can't," said Malfoy, his wand hand shaking very badly indeed. "Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."

"We can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban ... when the time comes, we can protect him too. You still have a choice."

Malfoy stared at Dumbledore.

"But I got this far, didn't I?" he said slowly. "They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here... and you're in my power... I'm the one with the wand... you're at my mercy …"

"No," said Dumbledore quietly. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now. You're not a killer, Draco, and you are not your father. The moment you admit that to yourself, you will be free."

Malfoy did not speak. His mouth was open, his wand hand still trembling. Harry thought he saw it drop by a fraction -

But suddenly footsteps were thundering up the stairs, and a second later he felt his muscles seize up. Another spell and he was shoved into the corner of the staircase, disillusioned from sight.

A figure in black robes burst through the doorway, his wand readied. Paralysed, his eyes staring unblinkingly, Harry could only watch as Snape entered the room, finally answering Dumbledore's summon.

What is he doing? Harry screamed inside his head. Why now? I had this under control!

His black eyes scanned the scene, from Dumbledore slumped against his chair, to Draco, shaking in the middle of the room. Harry could see the faintest hint of a scowl curl his lips as he realised what the young Malfoy had come to do, anger that what he was about to do.

And then his eyes returned to the Headmaster, resignation written all over his face. He began to raise his wand, knowing what he had to do. Harry's heart leapt into his throat. This was it. It was happening now. He wasn't ready. There was so much he had to say, so little that he knew.

But above all, he didn't want to see another person he cared about die.

"Severus …"

The sound frightened Harry beyond anything he had experienced all evening. For the first time, Dumbledore was pleading. It was for show, of course. This was all part of the plan. The only person who didn't know that was preordained was Draco himself. Still, it hurt to hear his mentor so desperate, even if it was a facade. He didn't want to remember the Headmaster in this way - weak, pale, begging.

Snape said nothing, but walked forwards and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and regret etched in the harsh lines of his face.

"Severus... please..."

Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.

"Avada Kedavra!"

It was over in less than a second. To Harry, however, watching the life leave Dumbledore's eyes felt like it took a thousand years.

His mentor's body collapsed, finally at peace. And Harry screamed into silence.