Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Harmony Version by bt1995

by Pratyay

Format: Novel Chapters: 21 Word Count: 151,309 Status: COMPLETED Rating: 15 Warnings: Contains profanity, Mild violence, Scenes of a mild sexual nature Genres: Drama, Horror/Dark, Mystery, Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Young Adult Characters: Harry, Ron, Hermione https:/harrypotterfanfiction

3. HBP PART 3

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Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - Reworked (Harmony version) (Part 2 of 2) by bt1995

Format: Novel Chapters: 5 Word Count: 29,258 Status: COMPLETED

Rating: 15 Warnings: Contains profanity, Mild violence, Scenes of a mild sexual nature

Genres: Drama, General, Horror/Dark, Humor, Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst Characters: Harry, Hermione Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Ginny/Dean, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Ron/Lavender, Ron/Luna

First Published: 12/18/2019 Last Chapter: 12/19/2019 Last Updated: 04/21/2020

Summary:

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, reworked to feature a Harry/Hermione pairing. Also have Deathly Hallows written which will be uploaded in due course. Other than the pairing, the plot is very similar.

I have not looked to change the story, and the characters remain (hopefully) faithful to the books. With both HBP and DH, I have called on material from the books and the films, intertwining them when necessary. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I have enjoyed (re)writing them. Much of the text is JK Rowling's initial work, and even in HBP, it is surprising just how much a Harry/Hermione relationship gets hinted at - even though ultimately it does not prove to be the case. I do think Hermione's character was harshly treated in both of the final two books though, and hopefully this goes some way to righting that!

This is Part 2.

Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Update - Jan 7th: Deathly Hallows, in its entirety, is now up and published here: /viewstory.php? psid=340227

Chapter 1: 1: Chapter Twenty-Six – The Cave [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Harry could smell salt and hear rushing waves; a chilly breeze ruffled his hair as he looked out at moon-lit sea and star-strewn sky. He was standing upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below him. He glanced ahead. A towering cliff stood in front of them, maybe 50 metres away, 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. It was a bleak, harsh view, the sea and the rock unrelieved by any tree or sweep of grass or sand.

"You can take off your cloak, Harry. What do you think?" asked Dumbledore. He might have been asking Harry's opinion on whether it was a good site for a picnic.

"They brought the kids from the orphanage here?" asked Harry over the wind. He could not imagine a less cozy spot for a day trip.

"Not here, precisely," said Dumbledore. "There is a village of sorts about halfway along the cliffs. I believe the orphans were taken there for a little sea air and a view of the waves. No, I think it was only ever Tom Riddle and his youthful victims who visited this spot. No Muggle could reach this rock unless they were uncommonly good mountaineers, and boats cannot approach the cliffs, the waters around them are too dangerous. I imagine that Riddle climbed down; magic would have served better than ropes. And he brought two small children with him, probably for the pleasure of terrorising them. I think the journey alone would have done it, don't you?"

Harry looked up at the cliff again and felt goosebumps.

"But his final destination — and ours — lies a little farther on. Come."

Dumbledore beckoned Harry to the very edge of the rock where a series of jagged niches made footholds leading down to boulders that lay half-submerged in water and closer to the cliff. It was a treacherous descent and Dumbledore, hampered slightly by his withered hand, moved slowly. The lower rocks were slippery with seawater. Harry could feel flecks of cold salt spray hitting his face. It allowed them a slightly better vantage point, however.

"Lumos. You see?" said Dumbledore. Harry saw a fissure in the cliff into which dark water was swirling. "I hope you do not mind getting a little wet?" And then Harry felt Dumbledore's arm on his as they twisted and turned and then landed, right inside the fissure.

They had landed in water, around waist high. The fissure had opened into a tunnel that Harry could tell would be filled with water at high tide. The slimy walls were barely three feet apart and glimmered like wet tar in the passing light of Dumbledore's wand. A little way in, the passageway curved to the left, and Harry saw that it extended far into the cliff.

He followed Dumbledore, treading on through the water, every so often losing his footing on the slimy rocks underneath. Eventually, the water levelled out, until Dumbledore stepped up into the entrance of what appeared to be large cave.

"Yes, this is the place," said Dumbledore, examine the walls.

"How can you tell?" Harry spoke in a whisper.

"It has known magic," said Dumbledore simply.

Harry could not tell whether the shivers he was experiencing were due to his spine-deep coldness or to the same awareness of enchantments. He watched as Dumbledore continued to revolve on the spot, evidently concentrating on things Harry could not see.

"This is merely the antechamber, the entrance hall," said Dumbledore after a moment or two. "We need to penetrate the inner place… Now it is Lord Voldemort's obstacles that stand in our way, rather than those nature made…"

Dumbledore approached the wall of the cave and caressed it with his blackened fingertips, murmuring words in a strange tongue that Harry did not understand. Twice Dumbledore walked right around the cave, touching as much of the rough rock as he could, occasionally pausing, running his fingers backward and forward over a particular spot, until finally he stopped, his hand pressed flat against the wall.

"Here," he said. "We go on through here. The entrance is concealed."

Harry did not ask how Dumbledore knew. He had never seen a wizard work things out like this, simply by looking and touching; but Harry had long since learned that bangs and smoke were more often the marks of ineptitude than expertise. Dumbledore stepped back from the cave wall and pointed his wand at the rock. For a moment, an arched outline appeared there, blazing white as though there was a powerful light behind the crack.

"You've d-done it!" said Harry through chattering teeth, but before the words had left his lips the outline had gone, leaving the rock as bare and solid as ever. Dumbledore looked around.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I forgot," he said; he now pointed his wand at Harry and at once, Harry's clothes were as warm and dry as if they had been hanging in front of a blazing fire.

"Thank you," said Harry gratefully, but Dumbledore had already turned his attention back to the solid cave wall. He did not try any more magic, but simply stood there staring at it intently, as though something extremely interesting was written on it. Harry stayed quite still; he did not want to break Dumbledore's concentration. Then, after two solid minutes, Dumbledore said quietly, "Oh, surely not. So crude."

"What is it, Professor?"

"I rather think," said Dumbledore, putting his uninjured hand inside his robes and drawing out a short silver knife of the kind Harry used to chop potion ingredients, "that we are required to make payment to pass."

"Payment?" said Harry. "You've got to give the door something?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Blood, if I am not much mistaken."

"Blood?"

"I said it was crude," said Dumbledore, who sounded disdainful, even disappointed, as though Voldemort had fallen short of higher standards Dumbledore expected. "The idea, as I am sure you will have gathered, is that your enemy must weaken him — or herself to enter. Once again, Lord Voldemort fails to grasp that there are much more terrible things than physical injury."

"Yeah, but still, if you can avoid it…" said Harry, who had experienced enough pain not to be keen for more.

"Sometimes, however, it is unavoidable," said Dumbledore, shaking back the sleeve of his robes and exposing the forearm of his injured hand.

"Professor!" protested Harry, hurrying forward as Dumbledore raised his knife. "I'll do it, I'm –"

He did not know what he was going to say – younger, fitter? But Dumbledore merely smiled. There was a flash of silver, and a spurt of scarlet; the rock face was peppered with dark, glistening drops.

"You are very kind, Harry," said Dumbledore, now passing the tip of his wand over the deep cut he had made in his own arm, so that it healed instantly, just as Snape had healed Malfoy's wound, "But your blood is worth more than mine. Ah, that seems to have done the trick, doesn't it?"

The blazing silver outline of an arch had appeared in the wall once more, and this time it did not fade away: The blood-spattered rock within it simply vanished, leaving an opening into what seemed total darkness.

"After me, I think," said Dumbledore, and he walked through the archway with Harry on his heels, lighting his own wand hastily as he went. An eerie sight met their eyes: They were standing on the edge of a black lake, of which Harry could not make out the distant banks, in a cavern so high that the ceiling too was out of sight. A misty greenish light shone far away in what looked like the middle of the lake; it was reflected in the completely still water below. The greenish glow and the light from the two wands were the only things that broke the otherwise velvety blackness, though their rays did not penetrate as far as Harry would have expected. The darkness was somehow denser than normal darkness.

"Let us walk," said Dumbledore quietly. "Be very careful not to step into the water. Stay close to me."

He set off around the edge of the lake, and Harry followed close behind him. Their footsteps made echoing, slapping sounds on the narrow rim of rock that surrounded the water. On and on they walked, but the view did not vary: on one side of them, the rough cavern wall, on the other, the boundless expanse of smooth, glassy blackness, in the very middle of which was that mysterious greenish glow. Harry found the place and the silence oppressive, unnerving.

"Professor?" he said finally. "Do you think the Horcrux is here?"

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore. "Yes, I'm sure it is. The question is, how do we get to it?"

"We couldn't…we couldn't just try a Summoning Charm?" Harry said, sure that it was a stupid suggestion. But he was much keener than he was prepared to admit on getting out of this place as soon as possible.

"Certainly we could," said Dumbledore, stopping so suddenly that Harry almost walked into him. "Why don't you do it?"

"Me? Oh…okay…" Harry had not expected this, but cleared his throat and said loudly, wand aloft, "Accio Horcrux!"

With a noise like an explosion, something very large and pale erupted out of the dark water some twenty feet away; before Harry could see what it was, it had vanished again with a crashing splash that made great, deep ripples on the mirrored surface.

Harry leapt backward in shock and hit the wall; his heart was still thundering as he turned to Dumbledore. "What was that?"

"Something, I think, that is ready to respond should we attempt to seize the Horcrux."

Harry looked back at the water. The surface of the lake was once more shining black glass: The ripples had vanished unnaturally fast; Harry's heart, however, was still pounding.

"Did you think that would happen, sir?"

"I thought something would happen if we made an obvious attempt to get our hands on the Horcrux. That was a very good idea, Harry; much the simplest way of finding out what we are facing."

"But we don't know what the thing was," said Harry, looking at the sinisterly smooth water.

"What the things are, you mean," said Dumbledore. "I doubt very much that there is only one of them. Shall we walk on?"

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Do you think we're going to have to go into the lake?"

"Into it? Only if we are very unfortunate."

"You don't think the Horcrux is at the bottom?"

"Oh no…I think the Horcrux is in the middle." And Dumbledore pointed toward the misty green light in the centre of the lake.

"So we're going to have to cross the lake to get to it?"

"Yes, I think so." Harry did not say anything. His thoughts were all of water monsters, of giant serpents, of demons, kelpies, and sprites…

"Aha," said Dumbledore, and he stopped again; this time, Harry really did walk into him; for a moment he toppled on the edge of the dark water, and Dumbledore's uninjured hand closed tightly around his upper arm, pulling him back. "So sorry, Harry, I should have given warning. Stand back against the wall, please; I think I have found the place."

Harry had no idea what Dumbledore meant; this patch of dark bank was exactly like every other bit as far as he could tell, but Dumbledore seemed to have detected something special about it. This time he was running his hand, not over the rocky wall, but through the thin air, as though expecting to find and grip something invisible.

"Oho," said Dumbledore happily, seconds later. His hand had closed in midair upon something Harry could not see. Dumbledore moved closer to the water; Harry watched nervously as the tips of Dumbledore's buckled shoes found the utmost edge of the rock rim. Keeping his hand clenched in midair, Dumbledore raised his wand with the other and tapped his fist with the point.

Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Dumbledore's clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain, which began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from the depths of the black water. Harry gasped as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat broke the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floated, with barely a ripple, toward the place on the bank where Harry and Dumbledore stood.

"How did you know that was there?" Harry asked in astonishment.

"Magic always leaves traces," said Dumbledore, as the boat hit the bank with a gentle bump, "sometimes very distinctive traces. I taught Tom Riddle. I know his style."

"Is…is this boat safe?"

"Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it in case he ever wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux."

"So the things in the water won't do anything to us if we cross in Voldemort's boat?" "I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realise we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed us to raise the boat."

"But why have they let us?" asked Harry, who could not shake off the vision of tentacles rising out of the dark water the moment they were out of sight of the bank.

"Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find the boat," said Dumbledore. "I think he would have been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether he was right."

Harry looked down into the boat. It really was very small. "It doesn't look like it was built for two people. Will it hold both of us? Will we be too heavy together?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but about the amount of magical power that crossed his lake. I rather think an enchantment will have been placed upon this boat so that only one wizard at a time will be able to sail in it."

"But then —?"

"I do not think you will count, Harry: You are underage and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it unlikely that your powers will register compared to mine."

These words did nothing to raise Harry's morale; perhaps Dumbledore knew it, for he added, "Voldemort's mistake, Harry, Voldemort's mistake…Age is foolish and forgetful when it underestimates youth… Now, you first this time, and be careful not to touch the water."

Dumbledore stood aside and Harry climbed carefully into the boat. Dumbledore stepped in too, coiling the chain onto the floor. They were crammed in together; Harry could not comfortably sit, but crouched, his knees jutting over the edge of the boat, which began to move at once.

There was no sound other than the silken rustle of the boat's prow cleaving the water; it moved without their help, as though an invisible rope was pulling it onward toward the light in the centre. Soon they could no longer see the walls of the cavern; they might have been at sea except that there were no waves.

Harry looked down and saw the reflected gold of his wand light sparkling and glittering on the black water as they passed. The boat was carving deep ripples upon the glassy surface, grooves in the dark mirror… And then Harry saw it, marble white, floating inches below the surface.

"Professor!" he said, and his startled voice echoed loudly over the silent water.

"Harry?"

"I think I saw a hand in the water — a human hand!"

"Yes, I am sure you did," said Dumbledore calmly. Harry stared down into the water, looking for the vanished hand, and a sick feeling rose in his throat.

"So that thing that jumped out of the water —?"

But Harry had his answer before Dumbledore could reply; the wand light had slid over a fresh patch of water and showed him, this time, a dead man lying face-up inches beneath the surface, his open eyes misted as though with cobwebs, his hair and his robes swirling around him like smoke.

"There are bodies in here!" said Harry, and his voice sounded much higher than usual and most unlike his own.

"Yes," said Dumbledore placidly, "but we do not need to worry about them at the moment."

"At the moment?" Harry repeated, tearing his gaze from the water to look at Dumbledore.

"Not while they are merely drifting peacefully below us," said Dumbledore. "There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. But once again he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."

Harry said nothing; he did not want to argue, but he found the idea that there were bodies floating around them and beneath them horrible and, what was more, he did not believe that they were not dangerous.

"But one of them jumped," he said, trying to make his voice as level and calm as Dumbledore's. "When I tried to summon the Horcrux, a body leapt out of the lake."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I am sure that once we take the Horcrux, we shall find them less peaceable. However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness, they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise. Fire, Harry," Dumbledore added with a smile, in response to Harry's bewildered expression.

"Oh…right…" said Harry quickly. He turned his head to look at the greenish glow toward which the boat was still inexorably sailing. He could not pretend now that he was not scared. The great black lake, teeming with the dead…It seemed hours and hours ago that he had met Professor Trelawney, that he had given Ron and Hermione Felix Felicis… He suddenly wished he had said a better goodbye to them… Told Hermione he loved her.

"Nearly there," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

Sure enough, the greenish light seemed to be growing larger at last, and within a few seconds, the boat had come to a halt, bumping gently into something that Harry could not see at first, but when he raised his illuminated wand he saw that they had reached a small island of crystal- like rock.

"Careful not to touch the water," said Dumbledore again as Harry climbed out of the boat.

The island was smaller than Dumbledore's office, an expanse of crystals on which stood nothing but the source of that greenish light, which looked much brighter when viewed close up. Harry squinted at it; at first, he thought it was a lamp of some kind, but then he saw that the light was coming from a stone basin rather like the Pensieve, which was set on top of a pedestal.

Dumbledore approached the basin and Harry followed. Side by side, they looked down into it. The basin was full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow.

"What is it?" asked Harry quietly.

"I am not sure," said Dumbledore. "Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, however."

Dumbledore pushed back the sleeve of his robe over his blackened hand, and stretched out the tips of his burned fingers toward the surface of the potion.

"Sir, no, don't touch —!"

"I cannot touch," said Dumbledore, smiling faintly. "See? I cannot approach any nearer than this. You try."

Staring, Harry put his hand into the basin and attempted to touch the potion. He met an invisible barrier that prevented him coming within an inch of it. No matter how hard he pushed, his fingers encountered nothing but what seemed to be solid and flexible air.

"Out of the way, please, Harry," said Dumbledore. He raised his wand and made complicated movements over the surface of the potion, murmuring soundlessly. Nothing happened, except perhaps that the potion glowed a little brighter. Harry remained silent while Dumbledore worked, but after a while Dumbledore withdrew his wand, and Harry felt it was safe to talk again.

"You think the Horcrux is in there, sir?"

"Oh yes." Dumbledore peered more closely into the basin. Harry saw his face reflected, upside down, in the smooth surface of the green potion. "But how to reach it? This potion cannot be penetrated by hand, Vanished, parted, scooped up, or siphoned away, nor can it be transfigured, charmed, or otherwise made to change its nature."

Almost absentmindedly, Dumbledore raised his wand again, twirled it once in midair, and then caught the crystal goblet that he had conjured out of nowhere.

"I can only conclude that this potion is supposed to be drunk."

"What?" said Harry. "No!"

"Yes, I think so: Only by drinking it can I empty the basin and see what lies in its depths."

"But what if — what if it kills you?"

"Oh, I doubt that it would work like that," said Dumbledore easily. "Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island."

Harry couldn't believe it. Was this more of Dumbledore's insane determination to see good in everyone? "Sir," said Harry, trying to keep his voice reasonable, "sir, this is Voldemort we're —"

"I'm sorry, Harry; I should have said, he would not want to immediately kill the person who reached this island," Dumbledore corrected himself. "He would want to keep them alive long enough to find out how they managed to penetrate so far through his defences and, most importantly of all, why they were so intent upon emptying the basin. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes."

Harry made to speak again, but this time Dumbledore raised his hand for silence, frowning slightly at the emerald liquid, evidently thinking hard.

"Undoubtedly," he said, finally, "this potion must act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. It might paralyse me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way. This being the case, Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. Do you understand?"

Their eyes met over the basin, each pale face lit with that strange, green light. Harry did not speak. Was this why he had been invited along – so that he could force-feed Dumbledore a potion that might cause him unendurable pain?

"You remember," said Dumbledore, "the conditions on which I brought you with me?"

Harry hesitated, looking into the blue eyes that had turned green in the reflected light of the basin. "But what if —?"

"You swore, did you not, to follow any command I gave you?"

"Yes, but —"

"I warned you, did I not, that there might be danger?"

"Yes," said Harry, "but —"

"Well, then," said Dumbledore, shaking back his sleeves once more and raising the empty goblet, "you have my orders."

"Why can't I drink the potion instead?" asked Harry desperately.

"Because I am much older, much cleverer, and much less valuable," said Dumbledore. "Once and for all, Harry, do I have your word that you will do all in your power to make me keep drinking?"

"Couldn't —?"

"Do I have it?"

"But —"

"Your word, Harry."

"I — all right, but —"

Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. For a split second, Harry hoped that he would not be able to touch the potion with the goblet, but the crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had; when the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth.

"Your good health, Harry."

And he drained the goblet. Harry watched, terrified, his hands gripping the rim of the basin so hard that his fingertips were numb. "Professor?" he said anxiously, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass. "How do you feel?" Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. Harry wondered whether he was in pain. Dumbledore plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once more. In silence, Dumbledore drank three gobletsful of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy.

"Professor Dumbledore?" said Harry, his voice strained. "Can you hear me?"

Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as though he was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady.

"Professor, can you hear me?" he repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern. Dumbledore panted and then spoke in a voice Harry did not recognise, for he had never heard Dumbledore frightened like this.

"I don't want…Don't make me…" Harry stared into the whitened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles, and did not know what to do. "…want to stop…" moaned Dumbledore.

"You…you can't stop, Professor," said Harry. "You've got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here…"

Hating himself, repulsed by what he was doing, Harry forced the goblet back toward Dumbledore's mouth and tipped it, so that Dumbledore drank the remainder of the potion inside.

"No…" he groaned, as Harry lowered the goblet back into the basin and refilled it for him. "I don't want to…I don't want to…Let me go…"

"It's all right, Professor," said Harry, his hand shaking. "Its all right, I'm here —"

"Make it stop, make it stop," moaned Dumbledore.

"Yes…yes, this'll make it stop," lied Harry. He tipped the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore's open mouth. Dumbledore screamed; the noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water.

"It's all right, Professor, it's all right!" said Harry loudly, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly scoop up the sixth gobletful of potion; the basin was now half empty. "Nothing's happening to you, you're safe, it isn't real, I swear it isn't real — take this, now, take this…"

And obediently, Dumbledore drank, as though it was an antidote Harry offered him, but upon draining the goblet, he sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably. "Make it stop."

"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, while Harry filled the ninth goblet.

"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. "Don't hurt them, please… hurt me instead. No more, please, no more…"

Harry, holding in tears, scooped up a tenth gobletful 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; then 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!"

"Drink this, Professor. Drink this…"

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

"This — this one will!" gasped Harry. "Just drink this…It'll be over…all over!"

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 into the basin, 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 Dumbledores chest; there was a flash of red light but nothing happened. "Rennervate — sir — please —"

Dumbledore's eyelids flickered; Harry's heart lept.

"Sir, are you —?"

"Water," croaked Dumbledore.

"Water," panted Harry. "Yes —"

He leapt to his feet and seized the goblet he had dropped in the basin; he barely registered the golden locket lying curled beneath it. "Aguamenti!" he shouted, jabbing the goblet with his wand. The goblet filled with clear water; Harry dropped to his knees beside Dumbledore, raised his head, and brought the glass to his lips — but it was empty. Dumbledore groaned and began to pant.

"But I had some — wait — Aguamenti!" said Harry again, pointing his wand at the goblet. Once more, for a second, clear water gleamed within it, but as he approached Dumbledore's mouth, the water vanished again.

"Sir, I'm trying, I'm trying!" said Harry desperately, but he did not think that Dumbledore could hear him; he had rolled onto his side and was drawing great, rattling breaths that sounded agonising. "Aguamenti — Aguamenti — AGUAMENTI!"

The goblet filled and emptied once more. And now Dumbledores breathing was fading. His brain whirling in panic, Harry knew, instinctively, the only way left to get water, because Voldemort had planned it so…

He flung himself over to the edge of the rock and plunged the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water that did not vanish. "Sir — here!" Harry yelled, and lunging forward, he tipped the water clumsily over Dumbledore's face.

It was the best he could do, for the icy feeling on his arm not holding the cup was not the lingering chill of the water. A slimy white hand had gripped his wrist, and the creature to whom it belonged was pulling him, slowly, backward across the rock. The surface of the lake was no longer mirror-smooth; it was churning, and everywhere Harry looked, white heads and hands were emerging from the dark water, men and women and children with sunken, sightless eyes were moving toward the rock: an army of the dead rising from the black water.

"Petrificus Totalus!" yelled Harry, struggling to cling to the smooth, soaked surface of the island as he pointed his wand at the Inferius that had his arm. It released him, falling backward into the water with a splash; he scrambled to his feet, but many more Inferi were already climbing onto the rock, their bony hands clawing at its slippery surface, their blank, frosted eyes upon him, trailing waterlogged rags, sunken faces leering.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry bellowed again, backing away as he swiped his wand through the air; six or seven of them crumpled, but more were coming toward him. "Impedimenta! Incarcerous!"

A few of them stumbled, one or two of them bound in ropes, but those climbing onto the rock behind them merely stepped over or on the fallen bodies. Still slashing at the air with his wand, Harry yelled, "Sectumsempra! SECTUMSEMPRA!"

But though gashes appeared in their sodden rags and their icy skin, they had no blood to spill: they walked on, unfeeling, their shrunken hands outstretched toward him, and as he backed away still farther, he felt arms enclose him from behind, thin, fleshy. arms cold as death, and his feet left the ground as they lifted him and began to carry him, slowly and surely, back to the water. He thought of Dumbledore, he thought of his parents, of Sirius; he thought of the Weasleys, of Ron and finally, Hermione. Of her smile. Her nagging. How she always chewed on the end of her quill and bit her lip when she was concentrating. Of every detail of her face and her body that he had imprinted in his mind. Then he thought of the words he'd not said to her when he left. The words he'd never get to say to her. He kicked out, making contact with a skull which seemed to crack, but it was to no avail. He knew there would be no release, that he would be drowned, and become one more dead guardian of a fragment of Voldemort's shattered soul.

But then, through the darkness, fire erupted; crimson and gold, a ring of fire that surrounded the rock so that the Inferi holding Harry so tightly stumbled and faltered; they did not dare pass through the flames to get to the water. They dropped Harry; he hit the ground, slipped on the rock, and fell, grazing his arms, then scrambled back up, raising his wand and staring around.

Dumbledore was on his feet again, pale as any of the surrounding Inferi, but taller than any too, the fire dancing in his eyes; his wand was raised like a torch and from its tip emanated the flames, like a vast lasso, encircling them all with warmth. The Inferi bumped into each other, attempting, blindly, to escape the fire in which they were enclosed…

Dumbledore scooped the locket from the bottom of the stone basin and stowed it inside his robes. Wordlessly, he gestured to Harry to come to his side. Distracted by the flames, the Inferi seemed unaware that their quarry was leaving as Dumbledore led Harry back to the boat, the ring of fire moving with them, around them, the bewildered Inferi accompanying them to the waters edge, where they slipped gratefully back into their dark waters.

Harry, who was shaking all over, thought for a moment that Dumbledore might not be able to climb into the boat; he staggered a little as he attempted it; all his efforts seemed to be going into maintaining the ring of protective flame around them. Harry seized him and helped him back to his seat. Once they were both safely jammed inside again, the boat began to move back across the black water, away from the rock, still encircled by that ring of fire, and it seemed that the Inferi swarming below them did not dare resurface.

"Sir," panted Harry, "sir, I forgot — about fire — they were coming at me and I panicked –"

"Quite understandable," murmured Dumbledore. Harry was alarmed to hear how faint his voice was.

They reached the bank with a little bump and Harry leapt out, then turned quickly to help Dumbledore. The moment that Dumbledore reached the bank he let his wand hand fall; the ring of fire vanished, but the Inferi did not emerge again from the water. The little boat sank into the water once more; clanking and tinkling, its chain slithered back into the lake too. Dumbledore gave a great sigh and leaned against the cavern wall.

"I am weak…" he said. "Don't worry, sir," said Harry at once, anxious about Dumbledore's extreme pallor and by his air of exhaustion.

"Don't worry, I'll get us back…Lean on me, sir…" And pulling Dumbledore's uninjured arm around his shoulders, Harry guided his headmaster back around the lake, bearing most of his weight.

"The protection was… after all… well-designed," said Dumbledore faintly. "One alone could not have done it…You did well, very well, Harry…"

"Don't talk now," said Harry, fearing how slurred Dumbledore's voice had become, how much his feet dragged. "Save your energy, sir…We'll soon be out of here…"

The archway will have sealed again…My knife…" ' "There's no need, I got cut on the rock," said Harry firmly. "Just tell me where…"

"Here…"

Harry wiped his grazed forearm upon the stone: having received its tribute of blood, the archway reopened instantly. They crossed the outer cave, and Harry helped Dumbledore back into the icy seawater that filled the crevice in the cliff.

"It's going to be all right, sir," Harry said over and over again, more worried by Dumbledore's silence than he had been by his weakened voice. "We're nearly there…I can apparate us both back…Don't worry…"

"I am not worried, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. "I am with you."

Chapter 2: 2: Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Lightning-Struck Tower [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Once back under the starry sky, Harry heaved Dumbledore on to the top of the nearest boulder and then to his feet. Sodden and shivering, Dumbledore's weight still upon him, Harry concentrated harder than he had ever done upon his destination: Hogsmeade. Closing his eyes, gripping Dumbledore's arm as tightly as he could, he stepped forwards into that feeling of horrible compression.

He knew it had worked before he opened his eyes: the smell of salt, the sea breeze had gone. He and Dumbledore were shivering and dripping in the middle of the dark High Street in Hogsmeade. 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 street lamp.

"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 okay, sir, you're going to be all right, 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…"

"No," said Dumbledore. "It is… Professor Snape whom I need… but I do not think… I can walk very far just yet…"

"Right – sir, listen – I'm going to knock on a door, find a place you can stay – then I can run and get Madam –"

"Severus," said Dumbledore clearly. "I need Severus…"

"All right then, Snape – but I'm going to have to leave you for a moment so I can –"

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?"

"You can't go up there alone! Don't you realise – haven't you seen –?"

"If you help me support him," said Harry, not listening to her, "I think we can get him inside–"

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

"The — the Dark Mark, Albus." And she pointed into the sky, in the direction of Hogwarts.

Dread flooded Harry at the sound of the words… he turned and looked. There it was, hanging in the sky above the school: the blazing green skull with a serpent tongue, the mark Death Eaters left behind whenever they had entered a building… wherever they had murdered… Harry's heart was pounding even more now. Ginny. Ron. Hermione.

"When did it appear?" 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.

"Rosmerta, please send a message to the Ministry," said Dumbledore, as he mounted the broom nearest him. "It might be that nobody within Hogwarts has yet realised anything is wrong… Harry, put on your cloak."

Harry pulled his cloak out of his pocket and threw it over himself before mounting his broom; 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 the sight of the Dark Mark seemed to have acted upon Dumbledore like a stimulant: he was bent low over his broom, his eyes fixed upon the Mark, his long silver hair and beard flying behind him in the night air.

And Harry, too, looked ahead at the skull, and fear swelled inside him like a venomous bubble, compressing his lungs, driving all other discomfort from his mind… How long had they been away? Had Hermione, Ron and Ginny's luck run out by now?

Was it one of them who had caused the Mark to be set over the school, or was it Neville, or Luna, or some other member of the D.A? And if it was… he was the one who had told them to patrol the corridors, he had asked them to leave the safety of their beds…would he be responsible, again, for the death of a friend?

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 himself had set around the castle, so that they could enter at speed.

The Dark Mark was glittering directly above the Astronomy Tower, the highest of the castle. Did that mean the death had occurred there? Dumbledore had already crossed the crenellated ramparts and was dismounting; Harry landed next to him seconds later and looked around. The ramparts were deserted. The door to the spiral staircase that led back into the castle was closed. There was no sign of a struggle, of a fight to the death, of a body.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked Dumbledore, looking up at the green skull with its serpent's tongue glinting evilly above them. "Is it the real Mark? Has someone definitely been – Professor?"

In the dim green glow from the Mark, Harry saw Dumbledore clutching at his chest with his blackened hand.

"Go and wake Severus," said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. "Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else and do not remove your cloak. I shall wait here."

"But–"

"You swore to obey me, Harry – go!"

Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard running footsteps on the other side. He looked around at Dumbledore, who gestured to him to retreat. Harry backed away, drawing his wand as he did so.

The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted: "Expelliarmus!"

Harry's body became instantly rigid and immobile, and he felt himself fall back against the Tower wall, propped like an unsteady statue, unable to move or speak. He could not understand how it had happened – Expelliarmus was not a freezing charm –

Then, by the light of the Mark, he saw Dumbledore's wand flying in an arc over the edge of the ramparts and understood… Dumbledore had wordlessly immobilised Harry, and the second he had taken to perform the spell had cost him the chance of defending himself.

Standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no sign of panic or distress.

He merely looked across at his disarmer and said, "Good evening, Draco."

Malfoy stepped forwards, glancing around quickly to check that he and Dumbledore were alone. His eyes fell upon the second broom.

"Who else is here?"

"A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?"

Harry saw Malfoy's pale eyes shift back to Dumbledore in the greenish glare of the Mark.

"No," he said. "I've got back-up. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight."

"Well, well," said Dumbledore, as though Malfoy was showing him an ambitious homework project. "Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?"

"Yeah," said Malfoy, who was panting. "Right under your nose and you never realised!"

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "Yet…forgive me…where are they now? You seem unsupported."

"They met some of your guard. They're having a fight down below. They won't be long… I came on ahead. I – I've got a job to do."

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

There was silence. Harry stood imprisoned within his own invisible, paralysed body, staring at the two of them, his ears straining to hear sounds of the Death Eaters' distant fight, and in front of him, Draco Malfoy did nothing but stare at Albus Dumbledore who, incredibly, smiled.

"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."

"How do you know?" said Malfoy at once.

He seemed to realise how childish the words had sounded; Harry saw him flush in the Mark's greenish light.

"You don't know what I'm capable of," said Malfoy more forcefully, "you don't know what I've done!"

"Oh, yes, I do," said Dumbledore mildly. "You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts… so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it…"

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

Somewhere in the depths of the castle below Harry heard a muffled yell. Malfoy stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

"Somebody is putting up a good fight," said Dumbledore conversationally. "But you were saying…yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible…how did you do it?"

But Malfoy said nothing: he was still listening to whatever was happening below and seemed almost as paralysed as Harry was.

"Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone," suggested Dumbledore. "What if your backup has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realised, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight, too. And after all, you don't really need help… I have no wand at the moment… I cannot defend myself."

Malfoy merely stared at him.

"I see," said Dumbledore kindly, when Malfoy neither moved nor spoke. "You are afraid to act until they join you."

"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… so tell me, while we wait for your friends… how did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it."

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. Then, as though he could not help himself, he said, "I had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one's used for years. The one Montague got lost in last year."

"Aaaah." Dumbledore's sigh was half a groan. He closed his eyes for a moment. "That was clever… there is a sister, I take it?"

"The other's in Borgin and Burkes," said Malfoy, "and they make a passage between them. Montague told me that when he was stuck in the Hogwarts one, he was trapped in limbo but sometimes he could hear what was going on at school, and sometimes what was going on in the shop, as if the Cabinet was traveling between them, but he couldn't make anyone hear him…in the end he managed to Apparate out, even though he'd never passed his test. He nearly died doing it. Everyone thought it was a really good story, but I was the only one who realised what it meant — even Borgin didn't know — I was the one who realised there could be a way into Hogwarts through the Cabinets if I fixed the broken one."

"Very good," murmured Dumbledore. "So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you…a clever plan, a very clever plan…and, as you say, right under my nose…"

"Yeah," said Malfoy who, bizarrely, seemed to draw courage and comfort from Dumbledore's praise. "Yeah, it was!"

"But there were times," Dumbledore went on, "weren't there, when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the Cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands… poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink…"

"Yeah, well, you still didn't realise who was behind that stuff, did you?" sneered Malfoy, as Dumbledore slid a little down the ramparts, the strength in his legs apparently fading, and Harry struggled fruitlessly, mutely, against the enchantment binding him.

"As a matter of fact, I did," said Dumbledore. "I was sure it was you."

"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 what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement, he's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over.

"Very gratifying," said Dumbledore mildly. "We all like appreciation for our own hard work, of course…but you must have had an accomplice, all the same…someone in Hogsmeade, someone who was able to slip Katie the – aaaah" Dumbledore closed his eyes again and nodded, as though he was about to fall asleep. "…of course…Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?"

"Got there at last, have you?" Malfoy taunted.

There was another yell from below, rather louder than the last. Malfoy looked nervously over his shoulder again, then back at Dumbledore, who went on, "So poor Rosmerta was forced to lurk in her own bathroom and pass that necklace to any Hogwarts student who entered the room unaccompanied? And the poisoned mead…well, naturally, Rosmerta was able to poison it for you before she sent the bottle to Slughorn, believing that it was to be my Christmas present… yes, very neat… very neat… poor Mr. Filch would not, of course, think to check a bottle of Rosmerta's…tell me, how have you been communicating with Rosmerta? I thought we had all methods of communication in and out of the school monitored."

"Enchanted coins," said Malfoy, as though he was compelled to keep talking, though his wand hand was shaking badly. "I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages–"

"Isn't that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore's Army used last year?" asked Dumbledore. His voice was light and conversational, but Harry saw him slip an inch lower down the wall as he said it.

"Yeah, I got the idea from them," said Malfoy, with a twisted smile. "I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger, as well, I heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognising potions…"

I'll fucking kill him. I'm going to fucking kill you, Malfoy.

"Please do not use that offensive word in front of me," said Dumbledore.

Malfoy gave a harsh laugh. "You care about me saying 'Mudblood' when I'm about to kill you? Or is it just because she's Potter's girlfriend? She'll be the first to get it."

Harry felt like he was going to explode but his internal struggles would not break the spell Dumbledore had cast upon him.

"Yes, I do care, Draco," said Dumbledore, and Harry saw his feet slide a little on the floor as he struggled to remain upright. "But as for being about to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now. We are quite alone. I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted…"

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, she tipped you off using your ingenious coins, I'm sure…"

"That's right," 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?"

"We decided to put the Dark Mark over the Tower and get you to hurry up here, to see who'd been killed," said Malfoy. "And it worked!"

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

"Someone's dead," said Malfoy and his voice seemed to go up an octave as he said it. "One of your people…I don't know who, it was dark…I stepped over the body…I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your lot got in the way…"

"Yes, they do that," said Dumbledore. There was a bang and shouts from below, louder than ever; it sounded as though people were fighting on the actual spiral staircase that led to where Dumbledore, Malfoy and Harry stood, and Harry's heart thundered unheard in his invisible chest…someone was dead…Malfoy had stepped over the body…but who was it?

"There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."

"My options!" said Malfoy loudly, but the quiver in his voice was clear. "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 have done it when you first disarmed 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!"

"I appreciate the difficulty of your position," said Dumbledore. "Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realised that I suspected you."

Malfoy winced at the sound of the name.

"I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you," continued Dumbledore. "But now at last we can speak plainly to each other…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."

"Come over to the right side, Draco, and 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…come over to the right side, Draco…you are not a killer…"

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, Draco," said Dumbledore quietly. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."

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 Malfoy was buffeted out of the way as four people in black robes burst through the door on to the ramparts. Still paralysed, his eyes staring unblinkingly, Harry gazed in terror upon four strangers: it seemed the Death Eaters had won the fight below.

A lumpy-looking man with an odd lopsided leer gave a wheezy giggle. "Dumbledore cornered!" he said, and he turned to a stocky little woman who looked as though she could be his sister and who was grinning eagerly. "Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!"

"Good evening, Amycus," said Dumbledore calmly, as though welcoming the man to a tea party. "And you've brought Alecto too…charming…"

The woman gave an angry little titter. "Think your little jokes'll help you on your death bed, then?" she jeered.

"Jokes? No, no, these are manners," replied Dumbledore.

"Do it," said the stranger standing nearest to Harry, a big, rangy man with matted grey hair and whiskers, whose black Death Eater's robes looked uncomfortably tight. He had a voice like none that Harry had ever heard: a rasping bark of a voice. Harry could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat and, unmistakeably, of blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails.

"Is that you, Fenrir?" asked Dumbledore.

"That's right," rasped the other. "Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?"

"No, I cannot say that I am…"

Fenrir Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely.

"But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore."

"Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual… you have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"

"That's right," said Greyback. "Shocks you, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?"

"Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little," said Dumbledore. "And, yes, I am a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live…"

"I didn't," breathed Malfoy. He was not looking at Greyback; he did not seem to want to even glance at him. "I didn't know he was going to come –"

"I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," rasped Greyback. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out…delicious, delicious…"

And he raised a yellow fingernail and picked at his front teeth, leering at Dumbledore. "I could do you for afters, Dumbledore…"

"No," said another, female Death Eater sharply, and Harry recognised the voice instantly as Bellatrix Lestrange strolled into the room.

"Look what we have here," Bellatrix waltzed up behind Malfoy, placing a kiss on the back of his head. "Well done, Draco. Well done!"

"Good evening Bellatrix," said Dumbledore.

"I'd love to chat, Albus, but I'm afraid we're all on a bit of a tight schedule. Do it," she hissed at Malfoy.

"He doesn't have the stomach," Greyback growled. "Let me finish him in my own way."

"No!" Bellatrix said, sharper this time. "The Dark Lord was clear it is to be the boy. This is your moment, Draco… dooooo it."

Malfoy was showing less resolution than ever. He looked terrified as he stared into Dumbledore's face, which was even paler, and rather lower than usual, as he had slid so far down the rampart wall.

"Go on, Draco. Now!"

At that precise moment, the door to the ramparts burst open once more and there stood Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his black eyes swept the scene, from Dumbledore slumped against the wall, to the five Death Eaters, including the enraged werewolf, and Malfoy.

"We've got a problem, Snape," said the Death Eater who had not yet spoke, who had a brutal face and whose eyes and wand were fixed alike upon Dumbledore, "the boy doesn't seem able –"

But somebody else had spoken Snape's name, quite softly. "Severus…"

The sound frightened Harry beyond anything he had experienced all evening. For the first time, Dumbledore was pleading. Snape said nothing, but walked forwards and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. The four Death Eaters and Bellatrix fell back without a word. Even the werewolf seemed cowed. Snape gazed for a moment at Dumbledore, and there was revulsion and hatred etched in the harsh lines of his face.

"Severus…please…"

Without a word, Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. There was a deathly pause.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light shot from the end of Snape's wand and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest. Harry's scream of horror never left him; silent and unmoving, he was forced to watch as Dumbledore was blasted into the air: for a split second he seemed to hang suspended beneath the shining skull, and then he fell slowly backwards, like a great rag doll, over the battlements and out of sight.

Chapter 3: 3: Chapter Twenty-Eight – The Flight Of The Prince [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Harry felt as though he too were hurtling through space; it had not happened… It could not have happened…

"Out of here, quickly," said Snape.

He seized Malfoy by the scruff of the neck and forced him through the door ahead of the rest; Greyback and the squat brother and sister followed, the latter both panting excitedly. Bellatrix cackling as she charged out ahead.

As they vanished through the door, Harry realised he could move again. What was now holding him paralysed against the wall was not magic, but horror and shock. He threw the invisibility cloak aside as the brutal-faced Death Eater, last to leave the tower top, was disappearing through the door.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The Death Eater buckled as though hit in the back with something solid and fell to the ground, rigid as a waxwork, but he had barely hit the floor when Harry was clambering over him and running down the darkened staircase.

Terror tore at Harry's heart…He had to get to Dumbledore and he had to catch Snape…Somehow the two things were linked…He could reverse what had happened if he had them both together… Dumbledore could not have died…

He leapt the last ten steps of the spiral staircase and stopped where he landed, his wand raised. The dimly lit corridor was full of dust; half the ceiling seemed to have fallen in; and a battle was raging before him, but even as he attempted to make out who was fighting whom, he heard the hated voice shout, "It's over, time to go!" and saw Snape disappearing around the corner at the far end of the corridor; he and Malfoy seemed to have forced their way through the fight unscathed.

Harry charged after them, a jet of green light flying towards him as he did so; he ducked and ran, headfirst, into the fight. His feet met something squashy and slippery on the floor and he stumbled: there were two bodies lying there, lying facedown in a pool of blood, but there was no time to investigate.

Harry now saw red hair flying like flames in front of him: Ginny was locked in combat with the lumpy Death Eater, Amycus, who was throwing hex after hex at her while she dodged them: Amycus was giggling, enjoying the sport: "Crucio! Crucio! – you can't dance forever, pretty –"

"Impedimenta!" yelled Harry. His jinx hit Amycus in the chest: he gave a piglike squeal of pain, was lifted off his feet and slammed into the opposite wall, slid down it, and fell out of sight behind Ron, Professor McGonagall, and Lupin, each of whom was battling a separate Death Eater. Beyond them, Harry saw Tonks fighting an enormous blonde wizard who was sending curses flying in all directions, so that they ricocheted off the walls around them, cracking stone, shattering the nearest window. He looked around frantically, but there was no sign of Hermione –

"Harry, where did you come from?" Ginny cried, but there was no time to answer her. He put his head down and sprinted forward, narrowly avoiding a blast that erupted over his head, showering them all in bits of stone. Snape must not escape, he must catch up with Snape –

"Take that!" shouted Professor McGonagall, and Harry glimpsed the female Death Eater, Alecto, sprinting away down the corridor with her arms over her head, her brother right behind her. He launched himself after them but his foot caught on something, and next moment he was lying across someone's legs. Looking around, he saw Neville's pale, round face flat against the floor.

"Neville?"

"M'all right," muttered Neville, who was clutching his stomach, "Harry…Snape 'n' Malfoy…ran past…"

Harry didn't answer. At once, he was on his feet. He fired a hex which hit the enormous blonde Death Eater. He wheeled around, staggering and then pounded away after the brother and sister.

Harry skidded around the corner, his trainers slippery with blood; Snape had an immense head start. Was it possible that he had already entered the cabinet in the Room of Requirement, or had the Order made steps to secure it, to prevent the Death Eaters retreating that way? He could hear nothing but his own pounding feet, his own hammering heart as he sprinted along the next empty corridor, but then spotted a bloody footprint that showed at least one of the fleeing Death Eaters was heading toward the front doors – perhaps the Room of Requirement was indeed blocked.

He charged around another corner and a curse flew past him; he dived behind a suit of armour that exploded. He saw the brother and sister running down the marble staircase ahead and aimed jinxes at them, but merely hit several bewigged witches in a portrait on the landing, who ran screeching into neighbouring paintings. As he leapt the wreckage of armour, Harry heard more shouts and screams; other people within the castle seemed to have awoken… And then, somewhere in the distance, there was a huge bang and the sound of falling rubble, followed by Bellatrix's animalistic laughing.

He pelted toward a shortcut, hoping to overtake the brother and sister and close in on Snape and Malfoy, who must surely have reached the grounds by now. Remembering to leap the vanishing step halfway down the concealed staircase, he burst through a tapestry at the bottom and out into a corridor where a number of bewildered and pyjama-clad Hufflepuffs stood.

"Harry! We heard a noise, and someone said something about the Dark Mark —" began Ernie Macmillan.

"Out of the way!" yelled Harry, knocking two boys aside as he sprinted toward the landing and down the remainder of the marble staircase. The oak front doors had been blasted open, there were smears of blood on the flagstones, and several terrified students stood huddled against the walls, one or two still cowering with their arms over their faces. The giant Gryffindor hourglass had been hit by a curse, and the rubies within were still falling, with a loud rattle, onto the flagstones below.

He flew across the entrance hall and out into the dark grounds. He could just make out five figures racing across the lawn, heading for the gates beyond which they could disapparate – by the looks of them, the enormous blonde death eater, Greyback, Bellatrix and, some way ahead of them, Snape and Malfoy…

The cold night air ripped at Harry's lungs as he tore after them; he saw a flash of light in the distance that momentarily silhouetted his quarry. He did not know what it was but continued to run, not yet near enough to get a good aim with a curse – Another flash, shouts, retaliatory jets of light, and Harry understood: Hagrid had emerged from his cabin and was trying to stop the Death Eaters escaping, and though every breath seemed to shred his lungs and the stitch in his chest was like fire, Harry sped up as an unbidden voice in his head said: not Hagrid…not Hagrid too…

Something caught Harry hard in the small of the back and he fell forward, his face smacking the ground, blood pouring out of both nostrils: He knew, even as he rolled over, his wand ready, that the brother and sister he had overtaken using his shortcut were closing in behind him…

"Impedimenta!" he yelled as he rolled over again, crouching close to the dark ground, and miraculously his jinx hit one of them, who stumbled and fell, tripping up the other; Harry leapt to his feet and sprinted on after Snape.

And now he saw the vast outline of Hagrid, illuminated by the light of the crescent moon revealed suddenly behind clouds; the blond Death Eater was aiming curse after curse at the gamekeeper; but Hagrid's immense strength and the toughened skin he had inherited from his giantess mother seemed to be protecting him. Snape and Malfoy, however, were still running; they would soon be beyond the gates, able to disapparate –

Harry tore past Hagrid and his opponent, took aim at Snape's back, and yelled, "Stupefy!"

He missed; the jet of red light soared past Snape's head; Snape shouted, "Run, Draco!"and turned. Twenty yards apart, he and Harry looked at each other before raising their wands simultaneously.

"Cruc —"

But Snape parried the curse, knocking Harry backward off his feet before he could complete it; Harry rolled over and scrambled back up again as Bellatrix cackled behind him, "Incendio!"

Harry heard an explosive bang and a dancing orange light spilled over all of them: Hagrid's house was on fire.

"Fang's in there, yer evil —!" Hagrid bellowed.

"Cruc —" yelled Harry for the second time, aiming for the figure ahead illuminated in the dancing firelight, but Snape blocked the spell again. Harry could see him sneering.

"No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter!" he shouted over the rushing of the flames, Hagrid's yells, and the wild yelping of the trapped Fang.

"You haven't got the nerve or the ability —"

"Incarc —"Harry roared, but Snape deflected the spell with an almost lazy flick of his arm.

"Fight back!" Harry screamed at him. "Fight back, you coward —"

"Coward, did you call me, Potter?" shouted Snape. "Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one, what would you call him, I wonder?"

"Stupe –"

"Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!" sneered Snape, deflecting the curse once more.

"Now come!" he shouted at the huge Death Eater behind Harry. "It is time to be gone, before the Ministry turns up –"

"Impedi –"

But before he could finish this jinx, excruciating pain hit Harry; he keeled over in the grass. Someone was screaming, he would surely die of this agony, Snape was going to torture him to death or madness –

"No!" roared Snape's voice and the pain stopped as suddenly as it had started; Harry lay curled on the dark grass, clutching his wand and panting; somewhere overhead Snape was shouting,

"Have you forgotten our orders? Potter belongs to the Dark Lord – we are to leave him! Go! Go!"

And Harry felt the ground shudder under his face as the brother and sister and the enormous Death Eater obeyed, running toward the gates.

Harry uttered an inarticulate yell of rage: In that instant, he cared not whether he lived or died. Pushing himself to his feet again, he staggered blindly toward Snape, the man he now hated as much as he hated Voldemort himself –

"Sectum–"

Snape flicked his wand and the curse was repelled yet again; but Harry was mere feet away now and he could see Snape's face clearly at last: He was no longer sneering or jeering; the blazing flames showed a face full of rage. Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought: Levi–

"No, Potter!" screamed Snape. There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand. He could hear Hagrid yelling and Fang howling as Snape closed in and looked down on him where he lay, wandless and defenceless just as Dumbledore had been. Snape's pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore.

"You dare use my own spells against me, Potter?"

Harry stared.

"Yes… I'm the Half Blood Prince." Harry reached for his wand, but Snape hexed it away. "And you'd turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? I don't think so…no!"

"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward –"

"DON'T –" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them – "CALL ME A COWARD!"

And he slashed at the air: Harry felt a white-hot, whiplike something hit him across the face and was slammed backward into the ground. Spots of light burst in front of his eyes and for a moment all the breath seemed to have gone from his body, then he heard a rush of wings above him and something enormous obscured the stars. Buckbeak had flown at Snape, who staggered backward as the razor-sharp claws slashed at him. As Harry raised himself into a sitting position, his head still swimming from its last contact with the ground, he saw Snape running as hard as he could, the enormous beast flapping behind him and screeching as Harry had never heard him screech –

Harry struggled to his feet, looking around groggily for his wand, hoping to give chase again, but even as his fingers fumbled in the grass, discarding twigs, he knew it would be too late, and sure enough, by the time he had located his wand, he turned only to see the hippogriff circling the gates. Snape had managed to disapparate just beyond the school's boundaries.

"Hagrid," muttered Harry, still dazed, looking around. "HAGRID?"

He stumbled toward the burning house as an enormous figure emerged from out of the flames carrying Fang on his back. With a cry of thankfulness, Harry sank to his knees; he was shaking in every limb, his body ached all over, and his breath came in painful stabs.

"Yeh all righ', Harry? Yeh all righ'? Speak ter me, Harry…"

Hagrid's huge, hairy face was swimming above Harry, blocking out the stars. Harry could smell burnt wood and dog hair; he put out a hand and felt Fang's reassuringly warm and alive body quivering beside him.

"I'm all right," panted Harry. "Are you?"

"'Course I am…take more'n that ter finish me." Hagrid put his hands under Harry's arms and raised him up with such force that Harry's feet momentarily left the ground before Hagrid set him upright again. He could see blood trickling down Hagrid's cheek from a deep cut under one eye, which was swelling rapidly.

"We should put out your house," said Harry, "the charm's 'Aguamenti'…"

"Knew it was summat like that," mumbled Hagrid, and he raised a smouldering pink, flowery umbrella and said, "Aguamenti!"

A jet of water flew out of the umbrella tip. Harry raised his wand arm, which felt like lead, and murmured "Aguamenti" too: Together, he and Hagrid poured water on the house until the last flame was extinguished.

"S'not too bad," said Hagrid hopefully a few minutes later, looking at the smoking wreck. "Nothin Dumbledore won' be able to put righ'…"

Harry felt a searing pain in his stomach at the sound of the name. In the silence and the stillness, horror rose inside him. "Hagrid…"

"I was bindin' up a couple o' bowtruckle legs when I heard 'em coming," said Hagrid sadly, still staring at his wrecked cabin. "They'll bin burnt ter twigs, poor little things…"

"Hagrid…"

"But what happened, Harry? I jus' saw them Death Eaters runnin down from the castle, but what the ruddy hell was Snape doin' with 'em? Where's he – was he chasin' them?"

"He…" Harry cleared his throat; it was dry from panic and the smoke. "Hagrid, he killed…"

"Killed?" said Hagrid loudly, staring down at Harry. "Snape killed? What're yeh on abou' Harry?"

"Dumbledore," said Harry. "Snape killed…Dumbledore."

Hagrid simply looked at him, the little of his face that could be seen completely blank, uncomprehending.

"Dumbledore wha, Harry?"

"He's dead. Snape killed him…"

"Don' say that," said Hagrid roughly. "Snape kill Dumbledore — don' be stupid, Harry. Wha's made yeh say tha'?"

"I saw it happen."

"Yeh couldn' have."

"I saw it, Hagrid."

Hagrid shook his head; his expression was disbelieving but sympathetic, and Harry knew that Hagrid thought he had sustained a blow to the head, that he was confused, perhaps by the aftereffects of a jinx…

"No… No, couldn' have."

Harry did not attempt to argue or explain. He was still shaking uncontrollably. Hagrid would find out soon enough, too soon…As they directed their steps back toward the castle, Harry saw that many of its windows were lit now. He could imagine, clearly, the scenes inside as people moved from room to room, telling each other that Death Eaters had got in, that the Mark was shining over Hogwarts, that somebody must have been killed…

The oak front doors stood open ahead of them, light flooding out onto the drive and the lawn. Slowly, uncertainly, dressing-gowned people were creeping down the steps, looking around nervously for some sign of the Death Eaters who had fled into the night. Harry's eyes, however, were fixed upon the ground at the foot of the tallest tower. He imagined that he could see a black, huddled mass lying in the grass there, though he was really too far away to see anything of the sort. Even as he stared wordlessly at the place where he thought Dumbledore's body must lie, however, he saw people beginning to move toward it.

"What're they all lookin' at?" said Hagrid, as he and Harry approached the castle front, Fang keeping as close as he could to their ankles. "Wha's that lyin' on the grass?" Hagrid added sharply, heading now toward the foot of the Astronomy Tower, where a small crowd was congregating. "See it, Harry? Right at the foot of the tower? Under where the Mark…Blimey…yeh don' think someone got thrown –?"

Hagrid fell silent, the thought apparently too horrible to express aloud. Harry walked alongside him, feeling the aches and pains in his face and his legs where the various hexes of the last half-hour had hit him, though in an oddly detached way, as though somebody near him was suffering them. What was real and inescapable was the awful pressing feeling in his chest…

He and Hagrid moved, dreamlike, through the murmuring crowd to the very front, where the dumbstruck students and teachers had left a gap.

Harry heard Hagrid's moan of pain and shock, but he did not stop; he walked slowly forward until he reached the place where Dumbledore lay and crouched down beside him. He had known there was no hope from the moment that the full body-bind curse Dumbledore had placed upon him lifted, known that it could have happened only because its caster was dead, but there was still no preparation for seeing him here, spread-eagled, broken: the greatest wizard Harry had ever, or would ever, meet.

Dumbledore's eyes were closed; but for the strange angle of his arms and legs, he might have been sleeping. Harry reached out, straightened the half-moon spectacles upon the crooked nose, and wiped a trickle of blood from the mouth with his own sleeve. Then he gazed down at the wise old face and tried to absorb the enormous and incomprehensible truth: that never again would Dumbledore speak to him, never again could he help…

The crowd murmured behind Harry. After what seemed like a long time, he became aware that he was kneeling upon something hard and looked down. The locket they had managed to steal so many hours before had fallen out of Dumbledore's pocket. It had opened, perhaps due to the force with which it hit the ground. And although he could not feel more shock or horror or sadness than he felt already, Harry knew, as he picked it up, that there was something wrong…

He turned the locket over in his hands. This was neither as large as the locket he remembered seeing in the Pensieve, nor were there any markings upon it, no sign of the ornate S that was supposed to be Slytherins mark. Moreover, there was nothing inside but for a scrap of folded parchment wedged tightly into the place where a portrait should have been.

Automatically, without really thinking about what he was doing, Harry pulled out the fragment of parchment, opened it, and read by the light of the many wands that had now been lit behind him:

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.

I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B

Harry neither knew nor cared what the message meant. Only one thing mattered; this was not a Horcrux. Dumbledore had weakened himself by drinking that terrible potion for nothing. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as Fang began to howl.

Chapter 4: 4: Chapter Twenty-Nine – The Phoenix Lament [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

"C 'mere, Harry…"

"No."

"Yeh can' stay here, Harry…Come on, now…"

"No!"

He did not want to leave Dumbledore's side, he did not want to move anywhere. Hagrid's hand on his shoulder was trembling. Then another voice said, "Harry, come on."

A much smaller and warmer hand had wrapped around his wrist and was pulling him upward. He obeyed its pressure without really thinking about it. Only as he walked blindly back through the crowd did he realise that it was Ginny who was leading him back into the castle. Incomprehensible voices battered him, sobs and shouts and wails stabbed the night, but Harry and Ginny walked on, back up the steps into the entrance hall. Faces swam on the edges of Harry's vision, people were peering at him, whispering, wondering, and Gryffindor rubies glistened on the floor like drops of blood as they made their way toward the marble staircase.

"We're going to the hospital wing," said Ginny.

"I'm not hurt," said Harry.

"It's McGonagall's orders," said Ginny. "Everyone's up there, Ron, Lupin –"

"Hermione?" Harry said in a panic, fear stirring in his chest. "Ginny, where's Hermione?"

"She's there," said Ginny, but there was a shake to her voice.

"Ginny?" he tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but knew he'd failed.

"She's okay, Harry. I – She got knocked out, but she's okay. She wanted to come to find you, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let her leave."

Harry sped up. Ginny just about keeping in his wake.

"Ginny, who else is dead?" he asked breathlessly as they passed a demolished corridor.

"Don't worry, none of us."

"But the Dark Mark – Malfoy said he stepped over a body –"

"He stepped over Bill, but it's all right, he's alive." There was something in her voice again, however, that Harry knew boded ill.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure…he's a – a bit of a mess, that's all. Greyback attacked him. Madam Pomfrey says he won't – won't look the same anymore… We don't really know what the aftereffects will be – I mean, Greyback being a werewolf, but not transformed at the time."

"But the others…There were other bodies on the ground…"

"Neville and Professor Flitwick are both hurt, but Madam Pomfrey says they'll be all right. And a Death Eater's dead, he got hit by a killing curse that huge one was firing off everywhere – Harry, if we hadn't had your Felix potion, I think we'd all have been killed, but everything seemed to just miss us –"

They had reached the hospital wing. Harry flung the doors open. Neville was lying, apparently asleep, in a bed near the door. Ron, Luna, Tonks and Lupin were gathered around a bed near the far end of the ward, but it was Hermione to whom he ran to. She was perched on the end of the bed just in front of the group, a bandage on her head. She stood when she saw him and within seconds she was encased in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, returning his embrace in equal measure.

"Harry –" her voice was shaking, her body trembling.

"Shh, shh. I – I'm fine… Are you okay?"

"I – I'm alright… Oh, Harry…"

He held her tighter. Looking over her shoulder, he saw an unrecognisable face lying on Bill's pillow, so badly slashed and ripped that he looked grotesque. Madam Pomfrey was dabbing at his wounds with some harsh-smelling green ointment. Harry remembered how Snape had mended Malfoy's Sectumsempra wounds so easily with his wand.

"Harry –" Hermione murmured into his shoulder, and he felt her legs begin to quiver.

"C'mon," he walked over to the bed next to Bill's, sitting down with her as she leant against him. "Can't you fix them with a charm or something?" he asked Madam Pomfrey, looking at Bill.

"No charm will work on these," said Madam Pomfrey. "I've tried everything I know, but there is no cure for werewolf bites."

"But he wasn't bitten at the full moon," said Ron, who was gazing down into his brother's face as though he could somehow force him to mend just by staring. "Greyback hadn't transformed, so surely Bill won't be a — a real —?"

He looked uncertainly at Lupin.

"No, I don't think that Bill will be a true werewolf," said Lupin, "but that does not mean that there won't be some contamination. Those are cursed wounds. They are unlikely ever to heal fully, and – and Bill might have some wolfish characteristics from now on."

"Dumbledore might know something that'd work, though," Ron said. "Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore's orders, Dumbledore owes him, he can't leave him in this state –"

"Ron… Dumbledore's dead," said Ginny, tears in her eyes.

"What!?" Lupin looked wildly from Ginny to Harry, as though hoping the latter might contradict her, but when Harry did not, Lupin collapsed into a chair beside Bill's bed, his hands over his face. "No… No!"

Harry had never seen Lupin lose control before; he felt as though he was intruding upon something private, indecent. He turned away and caught Ron's eye instead, exchanging in silence a look that confirmed what Ginny had said. Hermione grasped at Harry's sleeve.

"How?" whispered Tonks.

"Snape killed him," said Harry. "I – I was there, I saw it. We arrived back on the Astronomy Tower because that's where the Mark was… Dumbledore was weak, but I think he realised it was a trap when we heard footsteps running up the stairs. He immobilised me, I couldn't do anything, I was under the invisibility cloak – and then Malfoy came through the door and disarmed him –" Ron groaned. Luna's mouth trembled. "– more Death Eaters arrived – and then Snape – and Snape did it. Avada Ked–." Harry couldn't go on.

Madam Pomfrey burst into tears. Nobody paid her any attention except Ginny, who whispered, "Shush! Listen!" Gulping, Madam Pomfrey pressed her fingers to her mouth, her eyes wide.

Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before, that the music was inside him, not without: it was his own grief turned magically to song that echoed across the grounds and through the castle windows.

How long they all stayed there, listening, he did not know, nor why it seemed to ease their pain a little to listen to the sound of their mourning, but it felt like a long time later that the hospital door opened again and Professor McGonagall entered the ward. Like all the rest, she bore marks of the recent battle: There were grazes on her face and her robes were ripped.

"Molly and Arthur are on their way," she said, and the spell of the music was broken. Everyone roused themselves as though coming out of trances, turning again to look at Bill, or else to rub their own eyes and shake their heads.

"Harry, what happened? According to Hagrid you were with Professor Dumbledore when he – when it happened. He says Professor Snape was involved in some –"

"Snape killed Dumbledore," said Harry bluntly. Hermione tightened her grip on his arm.

McGonagall stared at him for a moment, then swayed alarmingly; Madam Pomfrey, who seemed to have pulled herself together, ran forward, conjuring a chair from thin air, which she pushed under the Transfiguration teacher.

"Snape," repeated McGonagall faintly, falling into the chair. "We all wondered…but he trusted… always…Snape…I can't believe it…"

"Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens," said Lupin, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. "We always knew that."

"But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!" whispered Tonks. "I always thought Dumbledore must know something about Snape that we didn't…"

"He always hinted that he had an ironclad reason for trusting Snape," muttered Professor McGonagall, now dabbing at the corners of her leaking eyes with a tartan-edged handkerchief. "I mean…with Snape's history… of course people were bound to wonder…but Dumbledore told me explicitly that Snape's repentance was absolutely genuine – Wouldn't hear a word against him!"

"I'd love to know what Snape told him to convince him," said Tonks.

"I know," said Harry, and they all turned to look at him. "Snape passed Voldemort the information that made Voldemort hunt down my mum and dad. Then Snape told Dumbledore he hadn't realised what he was doing, he was really sorry he'd done it, sorry that they were dead."

They all stared at him.

"And Dumbledore believed that?" said Lupin incredulously. "Dumbledore believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape hated James…"

"And he didn't think my mother was worth a damn either," said Harry, "because she was muggleborn…" – he squeezed Hermione's hand – "'Mudblood,' he called her…"

Nobody asked how Harry knew this. All of them seemed to be lost in horrified shock, trying to digest the monstrous truth of what had happened.

"This is all my fault," said Professor McGonagall suddenly. She looked disoriented, twisting her wet handkerchief in her hands. "My fault. I sent Filius to fetch Snape tonight, I actually sent for him to come and help us! If I hadn't alerted Snape to what was going on, he might never have joined forces with the Death Eaters. I don't think he knew they were there before Filius told him, I don't think he knew they were coming."

"It isn't your fault, Minerva," said Lupin firmly. "We all wanted more help, we were glad to think Snape was on his way…"

"So when he arrived at the fight, he joined in on the Death Eaters' side?" asked Harry, who wanted every detail of Snape's duplicity and infamy, feverishly collecting more reasons to hate him, to swear vengeance.

"I don't know exactly how it happened," said Professor McGonagall distractedly. "It's all so confusing… Albus had told us that he would be leaving the school for a few hours and that we were to patrol the corridors just in case… Remus, Bill, and Nymphadora were to join us… and so we patrolled. All seemed quiet. Every secret passageway out of the school was covered. We knew nobody could fly in. There were powerful enchantments on every entrance into the castle. I still don't know how the Death Eaters can possibly have entered…"

"I do," said Harry, and he explained, briefly, about the pair of Vanishing Cabinets and the magical pathway they formed.

Almost against his will he glanced to Ron, who looked devastated. Next to him, Hermione let out a shaky, rattling breath, and he felt her tears against his neck.

"I messed up, Harry," said Ron bleakly. "We did what you told us. We checked the Marauder's Map and we couldn't see Malfoy on it, so we thought he must be in the Room of Requirement, so me, Ginny, and Neville went to keep watch on it… but Malfoy got past us."

"He came out of the room about an hour after we started keeping watch," said Ginny. "He was on his own, clutching that awful shrivelled arm."

"His Hand of Glory," said Ron. "Gives light only to the holder, remember?"

"Anyway," Ginny went on, "he must have been checking whether the coast was clear to let the Death Eaters out, because the moment he saw us he threw something into the air and it all went pitch-black –"

"– Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," said Ron bitterly. "Fred and George's."

"We tried everything, Lumos, Incendio," said Ginny. "All we could do was grope our way out of the corridor again, and we could hear people rushing past us. Obviously Malfoy could see because of that hand and was guiding them, but we didn't dare use any curses or anything in case we hit each other, and by the time we'd reached a corridor that was light, they'd gone."

"Luckily," said Lupin hoarsely, "Ron, Ginny, and Neville ran into us and told us what had happened. We found the Death Eaters in minutes, heading to the Astronomy Tower. Malfoy

obviously hadn't expected more people to be on the watch. A fight broke out, they scattered and we gave chase. One of them, Gibbon, broke away and headed up the tower stairs –"

"To set off the Mark?" asked Harry.

"He must have done, yes, they must have arranged that before they left the Room of Requirement," said Lupin. "But I don't think Gibbon liked the idea of waiting up there alone for Dumbledore, because he came running back downstairs to rejoin the fight and was hit by a killing curse that just missed me."

"So if Ron was watching the Room of Requirement with Ginny and Neville," said Harry, turning to look at Hermione, who sat herself upright "were you –?"

"Outside S-Snape's office, yes," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with tears, her hands in his on their laps, "with Luna. We h-hung around for ages and nothing happened. We didn't know what was going on upstairs, Ron had the map. It was nearly midnight when Professor Flitwick came. He was shouting about Death Eaters in the castle, I don't think he really noticed us, he just burst into Snape's office and we heard him saying that Snape had to go back with him and help and then we heard a thump and Snape came out and he saw us and – and –"

"What?" Harry urged her, squeezing her hand once more in encouragement.

"I was so stupid, Harry!" said Hermione in a high-pitched whisper. "He said Professor Flitwick had collapsed and that we should go and take care of him while he – while he went to help fight the Death Eaters –"

She lowered her face in shame and continued to talk into her fingers, so that her voice was muffled. "We went into his office to see if we could help Professor Flitwick and found him unconscious… then we heard fighting and I – I realised, and we went after him b–but…"

"Bellatrix Lestrange fired a blasting curse at us," Luna said, interrupting Hermione, who had now fallen back into Harry's shoulder, his arm protectively around her. "Hermione put up a shield, so quickly, Harry," – he pulled Hermione in closer – "it blocked it but the curse hit the ceiling."

"I heard it," Harry said. "Well, I heard an explosion. And Bellatrix…"

"Luna, you saved her," Ron said. "If you hadn't have been there to drag her back…" he trailed off, his eyes catching Harry's.

"I – if I'd have just realised sooner–" Hermione stuttered.

Harry gulped and kissed Hermione on the top of her head. He'd come so close to losing her. If not for Luna's reactions…

"It's not your fault, Hermione," said Lupin firmly. "Had you not obeyed Snape and got out of the way, he probably would have killed you both anyway."

Harry tightened his grip on Hermione's hand, making small circles on her soft skin with the pad of his thumb, remembering what Malfoy had said on the tower.

She'll be the first to get it.

But he pushed on, determined to know everything that had happened.

"So, after Snape left the dungeons, then he came upstairs," said Harry, who was watching Snape running up the marble staircase in his mind's eye, his black robes billowing behind him as ever, pulling his wand from under his cloak as he ascended, "and he found the place where you were all fighting…"

"We were in trouble, we were losing," said Tonks in a low voice. "Gibbon was down, but the rest of the Death Eaters seemed ready to fight to the death. Neville had been hurt, Bill had been savaged by Greyback…It was all dark…curses flying everywhere…The Malfoy boy had vanished, he must have slipped past, up the stairs…then more of them ran after him, but one of them blocked the stair behind them with some kind of curse…Neville ran at it and got thrown up into the air —"

"None of us could break through," said Ron, "and that massive Death Eater was still firing off jinxes all over the place, they were bouncing off the walls and barely missing us…"

"And then Snape was there," said Tonks, "and then he wasn't –"

"I saw him running toward us, but that huge Death Eaters jinx just missed me right afterward and I ducked and lost track of things," said Ginny

"I saw him run straight through the cursed barrier as though it wasn't there," said Lupin. "I tried to follow him, but was thrown back just like Neville…"

"He must have known a spell we didn't," whispered McGonagall. "After all — he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher…I just assumed that he was in a hurry to chase after the Death Eaters who'd escaped up to the tower…"

"He was," said Harry savagely, "but to help them, not to stop them…and I'll bet you had to have a Dark Mark to get through that barrier – so what happened when he came back down?"

"Well, the big Death Eater had just fired off a hex that caused half the ceiling to fall in, and also broke the curse blocking the stairs," said Lupin. "We all ran forward – those of us who were still standing anyway – and then Snape and the boy emerged out of the dust – obviously, none of us attacked them –"

"He shouted, 'It's over,'" said Harry. "He'd done what he'd meant to do."

They all fell silent. Fawkes's lament was still echoing over the dark grounds outside. As the music reverberated upon the air, unbidden, unwelcome thoughts slunk into Harry's mind…Had they taken Dumbledore's body from the foot of the tower yet? What would happen to it next? Where would it rest? He put both arms around Hermione now, leaning into her just as she was leaning on him. He could feel the small cold lump of the fake Horcrux in his pocket.

The doors of the hospital wing burst open, making them all jump; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were striding up the ward, Fleur just behind them, her beautiful face terrified.

"Molly – Arthur –" said Professor McGonagall, jumping up and hurrying to greet them. "I am so sorry –"

"Bill," whispered Mrs. Weasley, darting past Professor McGonagall as she caught sight of Bill's mangled face.

"Oh, Bill!" Lupin and Tonks had got up hastily and retreated so that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could get nearer to the bed. Mrs. Weasley bent over her son and pressed her lips to his bloody forehead.

"You said Greyback attacked him?" Mr. Weasley asked Professor McGonagall distractedly.

"But he hadn't transformed? So what does that mean? What will happen to Bill?"

"We don't yet know," said Professor McGonagall, looking helplessly at Lupin.

"There will probably be some contamination, Arthur," said Lupin. "It is an odd case, possibly unique…We don't know what his behaviour might be like when he awakens…"

Mrs. Weasley took the nasty-smelling ointment from Madam Pomfrey and began dabbing at Bill's wounds.

"And Dumbledore…" said Mr. Weasley. "Minerva, is it true…Is he really…?"

As Professor McGonagall nodded, Harry saw Ginny; her slightly narrowed eyes were fixed upon Fleur, who was gazing down at Bill with a frozen expression on her face.

"Dumbledore gone," whispered Mr. Weasley, but Mrs. Weasley had eyes only for her eldest son; she began to sob, tears falling onto Bill's mutilated face. "Of course, it doesn't matter how he looks… It's not r-really important…but he was a very handsome little b-boy…always very handsome… and he was g-going to be married!"

"And what do you mean by zat?" said Fleur suddenly and loudly. "What do you mean, 'he was going zo be married?'"

Mrs. Weasley raised her tear-stained face, looking startled. "Well — only that —"

"You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me anymore?" demanded Fleur. "You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?"

"No, that's not what I –"

"Because 'e will!" said Fleur, drawing herself up to her full height and throwing back her long mane of silver hair. "It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!"

"Well, yes, I'm sure," said Mrs. Weasley, "but I thought perhaps — given how— how he—"

"You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per'aps, you hoped?" said Fleur, her nostrils flaring. "What do I care how he looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! And I shall do zat!" she added fiercely, pushing Mrs. Weasley aside and snatching the ointment from her.

Mrs. Weasley fell back against her husband and watched Fleur mopping up Bill's wounds with a most curious expression upon her face. Nobody said anything; Harry did not dare move. Like everybody else, he was waiting for the explosion.

"Our Great-Auntie Muriel," said Mrs. Weasley after a long pause, "has a very beautiful tiara — goblin-made — which I am sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She is very fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with your hair."

"Thank you," said Fleur stiffly. "I am sure zat will be lovely."

And then, Harry did not quite see how it happened, both women were crying and hugging each other. Completely bewildered, wondering whether the world had gone mad, he turned around: Ron and Ginny looked as stunned as he felt. Hermione had sat up again, tears still in her eyes, but a look of shock on her face, too.

"You see!" said a strained voice. Tonks was glaring at Lupin. "She still wants to marry him, even though he's been bitten! She doesn't care!

"It's different," said Lupin, barely moving his lips and looking suddenly tense. "Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely –"

"But I don't care either, I don't care!" said Tonks, seizing the front of Lupin's robes and shaking them. "I've told you a million times…"

And the meaning of Tonks's Patronus and her mouse-coloured hair, and the reason she had come running to find Dumbledore when she had heard a rumour someone had been attacked by Greyback, all suddenly became clear to Harry; it had not been Sirius that Tonks had fallen in love with after all.

"And I've told you a million times," said Lupin, refusing to meet her eyes, staring at the floor, "that I am too old for you, too poor… too dangerous…"

"I've said all along you're being ridiculous on this, Remus," said Mrs. Weasley over Fleur's shoulder as she patted her on the back.

"I am not being ridiculous," said Lupin steadily. "Tonks deserves somebody young and whole."

"But she wants you," said Mr. Weasley, with a small smile. "After all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so." He gestured sadly at his son, lying between them.

"This… is not the moment to discuss it," said Lupin, avoiding everybody's eyes as he looked around distractedly. "Dumbledore is dead…"

"Albus would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world," said Professor McGonagall curtly, and Harry was sure he saw her eyes flicker to himself and Hermione just as the hospital doors opened again and Hagrid walked in. The little of his face that was not obscured by hair or beard was soaking and swollen; he was shaking with tears, a vast, spotted handkerchief in his hand.

"I've…I've done it, Professor," he choked. "M-moved him. Professor Sprout's got the kids back in bed. Professor Flitwick's lyin down, but he says he'll be all righ' in a jiffy, an' Professor Slughorn says the Ministry's bin informed."

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall, standing up at once and turning to look at the group around Bill's bed.

"I shall have to see the Ministry when they get here. Hagrid, please tell the Heads of Houses — Slughorn can represent Slytherin — that I want to see them in my office forthwith. I would like you to join us too."

As Hagrid nodded, turned, and shuffled out of the room again, she looked down at Harry. "Before I meet them I would like a quick word with you, Harry. If you'll come with me…."

Harry stood up. Hermione clutching onto his sleeve. "I'll be right back," he whispered, leaning down and kissing her gently. "Try to get some rest."

With a quick "see you in a bit," to Ron and Ginny, he followed Professor McGonagall back down the ward. The corridors outside were deserted and the only sound was the distant phoenix song. It was several minutes before Harry became aware that they were not heading for Professor McGonagall's office, but for Dumbledore's, and another few seconds before he realised that of course, she had been deputy headmistress… Apparently she was now headmistress… so the room behind the gargoyle was now hers.

In silence they ascended the moving spiral staircase and entered the circular office. He did not know what he had expected: that the room would be draped in black, perhaps, or even that Dumbledore's body might be lying there. In fact, it looked almost exactly as it had done when he and Dumbledore had left it mere hours previously: the silver instruments whirring and puffing on their spindle-legged tables, Gryffindor's sword in its glass case gleaming in the

moonlight, the Sorting Hat on a shelf behind the desk, though Fawkes's perch stood empty, he was still crying his lament to the grounds. And a new portrait had joined the ranks of the past headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts: Dumbledore was slumbering in a golden frame over the desk, his half-moon spectacles perched upon his crooked nose, looking peaceful and untroubled.

After glancing once at this portrait, Professor McGonagall made an odd movement as though steeling herself, then rounded the desk to look at Harry, her face taut and lined.

"Harry," she said, "I would like to know what you and Professor Dumbledore were doing this evening when you left the school."

"I can't tell you that, Professor," said Harry. He had expected the question and had his answer ready. It had been here, in this very room, that Dumbledore had told him that he was to confide the contents of their lessons to nobody but Ron and Hermione.

"Harry, it might be important," said Professor McGonagall.

"It is," said Harry, "very, but he didn't want me to tell anyone."

Professor McGonagall glared at him. "Potter" — Harry registered the renewed use of his surname – "in the light of Professor Dumbledore's death, I think you must see that the situation has changed somewhat –"

"I don't think so," said Harry, shrugging. "Professor Dumbledore never told me to stop following his orders if he died."

"But –"

"There's one thing you should know before the Ministry gets here though. Madam Rosmerta's under the Imperius Curse, she was helping Malfoy and the Death Eaters, that's how the necklace and the poisoned mead –"

"Rosmerta?" said Professor McGonagall incredulously, but before she could go on, there was a knock on the door behind them and Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Slughorn traipsed into the room, followed by Hagrid, who was still weeping copiously, his huge frame trembling with grief.

"Snape!" ejaculated Slughorn, who looked the most shaken, pale and sweating. "Snape! I taught him! I thought I knew him!"

But before any of them could respond to this, a sharp voice spoke from high on the wall: A sallow-faced wizard with a short black fringe had just walked back into his empty canvas.

"Minerva, the Minister will be here within minutes, he has just disapparated from the Ministry."

"Thank you, Everard," said Professor McGonagall, and she turned quickly to her teachers.

"I want to talk about what happens to Hogwarts before he gets here," she said quickly. "Personally, I am not convinced that the school should reopen next year. The death of the headmaster at the hands of one of our colleagues is a terrible stain upon Hogwarts's history. It is horrible."

"I am sure Dumbledore would have wanted the school to remain open," said Professor Sprout. "I feel that if a single pupil wants to come, then the school ought to remain open for that pupil."

"But will we have a single pupil after this?" said Slughorn, now dabbing his sweating brow with a silken handkerchief. "Parents will want to keep their children at home and I can't say I blame them. Personally, I don't think we're in more danger at Hogwarts than we are anywhere else, but you can't expect mothers to think like that. They'll want to keep their families together, it's only natural."

"I agree," said Professor McGonagall. "And in any case, it is not true to say that Dumbledore never envisaged a situation in which Hogwarts might close. When the Chamber of Secrets reopened he considered the closure of the school – and I must say that Professor Dumbledore's murder is more disturbing to me than the idea of Slytherin's monster living undetected in the bowels of the castle…"

"We must consult the governors," said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice; he had a large bruise on his forehead but seemed otherwise unscathed by his collapse in Snape's office. "We must follow the established procedures. A decision should not be made hastily."

"Hagrid, you haven't said anything," said Professor McGonagall. "What are your views, ought Hogwarts to remain open?"

Hagrid, who had been weeping silently into his large, spotted handkerchief throughout this conversation, now raised puffy red eyes and croaked, "I dunno, Professor… that's fer the Heads of House an the headmistress ter decide…"

"Albus always valued your views," said Professor McGonagall kindly, "and so do I."

"Well, I'm stayin," said Hagrid, fat tears still leaking out of the corners of his eyes and trickling down into his tangled beard. "It's me home, it's bin me home since I was thirteen. An' if there's kids who wan' me ter teach 'em, I'll do it. But… I dunno… Hogwarts without Dumbledore…" He gulped and disappeared behind his handkerchief once more, and there was silence.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall, glancing out of the window at the grounds, checking to see whether the Minister was yet approaching, "then I must agree with Filius that the right thing to do is to consult the governors, who will make the final decision. Now, as to getting students home… there is an argument for doing it sooner rather than later. We could arrange for the Hogwarts Express to come tomorrow if necessary –"

"What about Dumbledore's funeral?" said Harry, speaking at last.

"Well…" said Professor McGonagall, losing a little of her briskness as her voice shook. "I – I know that it was Dumbledore's wish to be laid to rest here, at Hogwarts –"

"Then that's what'll happen, isn't it?" said Harry fiercely.

"If the Ministry thinks it appropriate," said Professor McGonagall. "No other headmaster or headmistress has ever been —"

"No other headmaster or headmistress ever gave more to this school," growled Hagrid.

"Hogwarts should be Dumbledore's final resting place," said Professor Flitwick.

"Absolutely," said Professor Sprout.

"And in that case," said Harry, "you shouldn't send the students home until the funeral's over. They'll want to say –"

The last word caught in his throat, but Professor Sprout completed the sentence for him.

"Goodbye."

"Well said," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "Well said indeed! Our students should pay tribute, it is fitting. We can arrange transport home afterward."

"Seconded," barked Professor Sprout.

"I suppose… yes…" said Slughorn in a rather agitated voice, while Hagrid let out a strangled sob of assent.

"He's coming," said Professor McGonagall suddenly, gazing down into the grounds. "The Minister… and by the looks of it, he's brought a delegation…"

"Can I leave, Professor?" said Harry at once. He had no desire at all to see, or be interrogated by, Rufus Scrimgeour tonight.

"You may," said Professor McGonagall. "And quickly."

She strode toward the door and held it open for him. He sped down the spiral staircase and off along the deserted corridor; he had left his invisibility cloak at the top of the Astronomy Tower, but it did not matter; there was nobody in the corridors to see him pass, not even Filch, Mrs. Norris, or Peeves. He did not meet another soul until he turned into the passage leading to the Gryffindor common room.

"Is it true?" whispered the Fat Lady as he approached her. "It is really true? Dumbledore –"

"Yes," said Harry. She let out a wail and, without waiting for the password, swung forward to admit him.

As Harry had suspected it would be, the common room was jam-packed. The room fell silent as he climbed through the portrait hole. He saw Dean and Seamus sitting in a group nearby: this meant that the dormitory must be empty, or nearly so. Without speaking to anybody, without making eye contact at all, Harry walked straight across the room and through the door to the boys' dormitories.

He grabbed a towel and headed straight for a shower, ripping his filthy clothes off as he went. Ten minutes later he emerged, and he had just finished getting dressed when Ron entered the room. Harry sat down on his four-poster and, for a moment, they simply stared at each other.

"Hermione's asleep," Ron offered eventually. "Took a potion. She wanted to stay up for you… but Madam Pomfrey insisted."

Harry nodded.

"I'm gonna go back anyway. I – I don't want her to be alone tonight."

Even as he said it, Harry knew it was as much for his sake as Hermione's that he wanted to be there with her. Ron probably figured that too, but he said nothing as he took a seat on his own bed.

"They're talking about closing the school," said Harry.

"Lupin said they would."

There was a pause.

"So?" said Ron in a very low voice, as though he thought the furniture might be listening in. "Did you find one? A – a Horcrux?"

Harry looked back up, then shook his head. All that had taken place around that black lake seemed like an old nightmare now; had it really happened, and only hours ago?

"You didn't get it?" said Ron, looking crestfallen. "It wasn't there?"

"No," said Harry. "Someone had already taken it and left a fake in its place."

"Already taken –?"

Wordlessly, Harry pulled the fake locket from his pocket, opened it, and passed it to Ron. The full story could wait… It did not matter tonight…nothing mattered except the end, the end of their pointless adventure, the end of Dumbledore's life…

"R.A.B," whispered Ron, handing the locket back to Harry, "but who was that?"

"Dunno," said Harry, shoving himself up off the bed. He felt no curiosity at all about R.A.B. He doubted that he would ever feel curious again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeh… see you."

Ginny, Luna, Lupin and Tonks had gone when he reached the hospital wing, while Mr and Mrs Weasley were also nowhere to be seen. Neville was still asleep. Fleur sat next to Bill's bed, holding his hands in hers and whispering quietly to her fiancé's sleeping form. She looked up as Harry approached, offering him a tearful half-smile before retuning her gaze to Bill.

Harry said nothing, instead walking over to Hermione's bed. She was asleep on her side, the moonlight casting her beautiful features with a kind of blue-grey tinge. She looked peaceful, as if the potion had relieved her of the nightmares which surely he would have to endure that night.

Without caring about the rollocking he would inevitably receive off Madam Pomfrey, he kicked off his shoes and climbed onto Hermione's bed, positioning himself so he was facing her. He caressed her cheek with his finger, brushing it against her lips before placing a gentle kiss there. She stirred slightly, but did not wake. From behind her, he was sure he heard Fleur sniff slightly, but he paid it little mind.

"I love you," he whispered, remembering back in the cave, when all the words he wished he'd said had come flooding to the forefront of his mind. And he remembered what Dumbledore had said, about love being the greatest weapon of them all. "I love you, Hermione."

But as he lay there, staring into Hermione's sleeping face, he became aware that the grounds were now silent. Fawkes had stopped singing. And he knew, without knowing how he knew it, that the phoenix had gone, had left Hogwarts for good, just as Dumbledore had left the school, had left the world… had left Harry.

Chapter 5: 5: Chapter Thirty – The White Tomb [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

All lessons were suspended, all examinations postponed. Some students were hurried away from Hogwarts by their parents over the next couple of days — the Patil twins were gone before

breakfast on the morning following Dumbledore's death and Zacharias Smith was escorted from the castle by his haughty-looking father. Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, refused point- blank to accompany his mother home; they had a shouting match in the Entrance Hall which was resolved when she agreed that he could remain behind for the funeral. She had difficulty in finding a bed in Hogsmeade, Seamus told Harry and Ron, for wizards and witches were pouring into the village, preparing to pay their last respects to Dumbledore.

Some excitement was caused among the younger students, who had never seen it before, when a powder-blue carriage the size of a house, pulled by a dozen giant winged palominos, came soaring out of the sky in the late afternoon before the funeral and landed on the edge of the Forest. Harry watched from a window as a gigantic and handsome olive-skinned, black-haired woman descended the carriage steps and threw herself into the waiting Hagrid's arms. Meanwhile a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister for Magic himself, was being accommodated within the castle. Harry was diligently avoiding contact with any of them; he was sure that, sooner or later, he would be asked again to account for Dumbledore's last excursion from Hogwarts.

Hermione had been discharged from the hospital wing the day after Dumbledore had died. As expected, Madam Pomfrey had not been happy when she awoke to find Harry lying alongside Hermione but, given the circumstances, she had relented, and had even allowed him to stay until Hermione was given the all clear to leave.

Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny were spending all of their time together. The beautiful weather seemed to mock them; Harry could imagine how it would have been if Dumbledore had not died, and they had simply had this time together in peace.

Neville – who had left Madam Pomfrey's care the day after Hermione – and Luna often joined them too. Once again, it was the six of them who had battled the Death Eaters. Battled Voldemort, one way or the other.

They visited the hospital wing twice a day. Bill remained under Madam Pomfrey's care. His scars were as bad as ever; in truth, he now bore a distinct resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody, though thankfully with both eyes and legs, but in personality he seemed just the same as ever. All that appeared to have changed was that he now had a great liking for very rare steaks.

"…so eet ees lucky 'e is marrying me," said Fleur happily, plumping up Bill's pillows, "because ze British overcook their meat, I 'ave always said this."

"I suppose I'm just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry her," sighed Ginny later that evening, as she, Harry, Hermione and Ron sat beside an open window in the Gryffindor common room, looking out over the grounds.

"She's nice," said Harry. "Ugly, though," he added hastily, as Hermione raised her eyebrows over the copy of the Evening Prophet she was reading.

"Well, I suppose if Mum can stand it, I can," Ginny said.

"Anyone else we know died?" Ron asked Hermione.

She winced at the forced toughness in his voice. "No," she said reprovingly, folding up the newspaper. "They're still looking for Snape, but no sign…"

"Of course there isn't," said Harry, who became angry every time this subject cropped up. "They won't find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as they've never managed to do that in all this time…"

Ginny stood at that point. Neville had walked – well, limped, as despite Madam Pomfrey's work his leg was still badly bruised from being flung a good twenty feet into a wall – through the portrait hole. He struggled to get up the stairs using his crutch, and Ginny, who had been spending plenty of time with Neville, had taken to helping him.

"See you guys later," she said. Ron's eyes narrowed as she headed towards Neville. Harry gave a sideways glance to Hermione, who smiled back knowingly. Then, she closed the small gap between them and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Harry," she said quietly, almost apprehensively, as she pulled back.

"Yeah?"

"I – I found something this morning, in the library…"

"R.A.B?" Harry said, sitting up straight.

He did not feel the way he had so often felt before, excited, curious, burning to get to the bottom of a mystery; he simply knew that the task of discovering the truth about the real Horcrux had to be completed before he could move a little further along the dark and winding path stretching ahead of him, the path that he and Dumbledore had set out upon together, and which he now knew he would have to journey alone. There might still be as many as four Horcruxes out there somewhere and each would need to be found and eliminated before there was even a possibility that Voldemort could be killed. He kept reciting their names to himself, as

though by listing them he could bring them within reach: the locket.., the cup…the snake… something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…the locket…the cup…the snake…something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…

This mantra seemed to pulse through Harry's mind as he fell asleep at night, and his dreams were thick with cups, lockets and mysterious objects that he could not quite reach, though Dumbledore helpfully offered Harry a rope ladder that turned to snakes the moment he began to climb…

He had shown Hermione the note inside the locket the morning after Dumbledore's death, and although she had not immediately recognised the initials as belonging to some obscure wizard about whom she had been reading, she had since been rushing off to the library more often than was strictly necessary for somebody who had no homework to do.

"No," she said sadly, "I've been trying, Harry, but I haven't found anything… there are a couple of reasonably well-known wizards with those initials – Rosalind Antigone Bungs… Rupert 'Axebanger' Brookstanton… but they don't seem to fit at all. Judging by that note, the person who stole the Horcrux knew Voldemort, and I can't find a shred of evidence that Bungs or Axebanger ever had anything to do with him… no, actually, it's about… well, Snape."

She looked nervous even saying the name again.

"What about him?" asked Harry heavily, slumping back into his chair.

"Well, it's just that I was sort of right about the Half-Blood Prince business," she said tentatively.

"How do you think I feel about that now?"

"No – no – oh, Harry, I didn't mean that!" she said hastily, looking around to check that they were not being overheard, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "It's just that I was right about Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see, she… she was Snape's mother."

"I thought she wasn't much of a looker," said Ron. Hermione ignored him.

"I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she'd given birth to a –"

"– murderer," spat Harry.

"Well… yes," said Hermione. "So…I was sort of right. Snape must have been proud of being 'half a Prince', you see? Tobias Snape was a muggle from what it said in the Prophet."

"Yeah, that fits," said Harry. "He'd play up the pure-blood side so he could get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them… he's just like Voldemort. Pure-blood mother, muggle father… ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the dark arts, gave himself an impressive new name – Lord Voldemort – the Half-Blood Prince – how could Dumbledore have missed–?"

He broke off, looking out of the window. He could not stop himself dwelling upon Dumbledore's inexcusable trust in Snape…but as Hermione had just inadvertently reminded him, he, Harry, had been taken in just the same…in spite of the increasing nastiness of those scribbled spells, he had refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him so much…

Helped him… it was an almost unendurable thought, now…

Hermione must've sensed his line of thought, because she leaned back in, wrapping his arm in both of hers and laying her head on his shoulder. She knew it helped, to have her so close.

"I still don't get why he didn't turn you in for using that book," said Ron. "He must've known where you were getting it all from."

"He knew," said Harry bitterly. "He knew when I used Sectumsempra. He didn't really need Legilimency… he might even have known before then, with Slughom talking about how brilliant I was at Potions… shouldn't have left his old book in the bottom of that cupboard, should he?"

"But why didn't he turn you in?"

"I don't think he wanted to associate himself with that book," said Hermione, sitting up again, though still with her arms holding one of Harry's. "I don't think Dumbledore would have liked it very much if he'd have known. And even if Snape pretended it hadn't been his, Slughorn would've recognised his writing. Anyway, the book was left in Snape's old classroom, and I bet Dumbledore knew his mother was called Prince."

"I should've shown the book to Dumbledore," said Harry. "All that time he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and I had proof Snape was, too –"

"'Evil' is a strong word," said Hermione quietly.

"You were the one who kept telling me the book was dangerous!"

"I'm trying to say, Harry, that you're putting too much blame on yourself. I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humour, but I would never have guessed he was a killer…"

"None of us could've guessed Snape would… you know," said Ron.

"And," Hermione added, before Harry could interject. "You didn't have any idea it was Snape's. Or you wouldn't have been using it."

Silence fell between them, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but Harry was sure that they, like him, were thinking about the following morning, when Dumbledore's body would be laid to rest. Harry had never attended a funeral before; there had been no body to bury when Sirius had died. He did not know what to expect and was a little worried about what he might see, about how he would feel. He wondered whether Dumbledore's death would be more real to him once the funeral was over. Though he had moments when the horrible fact of it threatened to overwhelm him, there were blank stretches of numbness where, despite the fact that nobody was talking about anything else in the whole castle, he still found it difficult to believe that Dumbledore had really gone. Admittedly he had not, as he had with Sirius, looked desperately for some kind of loophole, some way that Dumbledore would come back…he felt in his pocket for the cold chain of the fake Horcrux, which he now carried with him everywhere, not as a talisman, but as a reminder of what it had cost and what remained still to do.

Eventually, Hermione stretched beside him. Since her release from the hospital wing, she had been sleeping in Harry's bed. He didn't know if Professor McGonagall was aware of it, but if she was, she hadn't stopped them. They both needed the comfort, and nights were the worst. Often, Harry would wake up from his nightmares, frantically thrashing around, but at least she was there, enclosed behind the curtains of his four-poster bed with him, to share the pain. They held each other; shook together; cried together.

He didn't know if the others had heard them – if they had, they hadn't mentioned. None of Ron, Neville, Seamus or Dean seemed to care Hermione was in there. She would go up before them and get changed, and then draw the curtains tightly around Harry's four-poster to give them all privacy.

"I'm going to go up," she said. Ginny was still over on the other side of the common room with Neville, and Seamus and Dean were off in one of the corners. "Coming?"

"Yeh…" said Harry, standing and looking over the common room. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be seeing it many more times. "Can you give us a minute?" He asked Ron.

"Yeh… sure mate. Think I'll be a little while anyway," answered Ron, who was staring out at the grounds.

Harry took Hermione's hand and they silently made their way upstairs, Hermione heading for a shower while Harry dug around in his trunk for some clean pyjamas. She came back out ten minutes later, her slightly damp hair tied up in a bow and a towel wrapped tightly around her small frame, and the familiar scent he now knew to be Honeysuckle emanating from her. He couldn't help the smile that crept up his face, which only deepened when she blushed. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her – all of her – already, but he knew he'd never get tired of it.

"Oi… stop staring," she said, clicking her fingers, but her anger didn't meet her eyes.

"Sorry," Harry said, moving in close to her. She was still radiating heat from the shower. "It's just… You're pretty irresistible, y'know that?"

Hermione laughed. Her first genuine laugh in what felt like years, and it did for him. He bowed his head slightly and his lips moved to meet hers in tandem. It was a soft, sweet kiss. His favourite kind, he found. The type he could savour and which seemed to go on forever.

The nightmares, thankfully, did not come that night.

Harry rose early to pack the next day; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving a few hours after the funeral. Downstairs he found the mood in the Great Hall subdued. Everybody was wearing their dress robes and no one seemed very hungry. Professor McGonagall had left the throne-like chair in the middle of the staff table empty. Hagrid's chair was deserted too: Harry thought that perhaps he had not been able to face breakfast; but Snape's place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour. Harry avoided his yellowish eyes as they scanned the Hall; Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that Scrimgeour was looking for him. Among Scrimgeour's entourage Harry spotted the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses of Percy Weasley. Ron gave no sign that he was aware of Percy, apart from stabbing pieces of kipper with unwonted venom.

Over at the Slytherin table, Crabbe and Goyle were muttering together. Hulking boys though they were, they looked oddly lonely without the tall, pale figure of Malfoy between them, bossing them around. Harry had not spared Malfoy much thought. His animosity was all for Snape, but he had not forgotten the fear in Malfoy's voice on that Tower top, nor the fact that he had lowered his wand before the other Death Eaters arrived. Harry did not believe that Malfoy would have killed Dumbledore. He despised Malfoy still for his infatuation with the dark arts and what he'd said about Hermione, but now the tiniest drop of pity mingled with his dislike. Where, Harry wondered, was Malfoy now, and what was Voldemort making him do under threat of killing him and his parents?

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a gentle nudge in the ribs from Hermione. Professor McGonagall had risen to her feet and the mournful hum in the Hall died away at once.

"It is nearly time," she said. "Please follow your Heads of House out into the grounds. Gryffindors, after me."

They filed out from behind their benches in near silence. Harry glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent long emerald-green robes embroidered with silver. He had never seen Professor Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuffs, looking so clean; there was not a single patch on her hat, and when they reached the Entrance Hall, they found Madam Pince standing beside Filch, she in a thick black veil that fell to her knees, he in an ancient black suit and tie reeking of mothbails.

They were heading, as Harry saw when he stepped out on to the stone steps from the front doors, towards the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed his face as they followed Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the centre of them: there was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer's day.

An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the chairs: shabby and smart, old and young. Most Harry did not recognise, but there were a few that he did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, her hair miraculously returned to vividest pink, Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin. Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two-and-a-half chairs on her own, Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, Arabella Figg, Harry's Squib neighbour, the hairy bass player from the wizarding group the Weird Sisters, Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus, Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley, and some people whom Harry merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog's Head and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially in the gleaming air.

Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny filed into seats at the end of a row beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the birdsong was louder by far. The crowd continued to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Harry watched as Luna helped Neville towards them, before Ginny rose and assisted him sitting down. They alone of all the D.A. had responded to Hermione's summons the night that Dumbledore had died, and Harry knew why: they were the ones who had missed the D.A. most… probably the ones who had checked their coins regularly in the hope that there would be another meeting.

Cornelius Fudge walked past them towards the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; Harry next recognised Rita Skeeter, who, he was infuriated to see,

had a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hand; and then, with a worse jolt of fury, Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toad-like face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-coloured curls. At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who was standing like a sentinel near the water's edge, she gave a start and scurried hastily into a seat a good distance away.

The staff were seated at last. Harry could see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified in the front row with Professor McGonagall. He wondered whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that Dumbledore was dead. But then he heard music – strange, otherworldly music – and he forgot his dislike of the Ministry in looking around for the source of it. He was not the only one: many heads were turning, searching, a little alarmed.

"In there," whispered Hermione in Harry's ear.

And he saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface, reminding him horribly of the Inferi; a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language he did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music made the hair on Harry's neck stand up and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and of despair. As he looked down into the wild faces of the singers he had the feeling that they, at least, were sorry for Dumbledore's passing. Then Hermione nudged him again and he looked round.

Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Harry knew to be Dumbledore's body. A sharp pain rose in Harry's throat at this sight: for a moment, the strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore's body was so close seemed to take all warmth from the day. Ron looked white and shocked. Tears were falling thick and fast into both Ginny and Hermione's laps. He squeezed Hermione's hand tighter, determined to fight back his own tears.

They could not see clearly what was happening at the front. Hagrid seemed to have placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that drew scandalised looks from some, including, Harry saw, Dolores Umbridge… but Harry knew that Dumbledore would not have cared. He tried to make a friendly gesture to Hagrid as he passed, but Hagrid's eyes were so swollen it was a wonder he could see where he was going. Harry glanced at the back row to which Hagrid was heading and realised what was guiding him, for there, dressed in a jacket and trousers each the size of a small marquee, was the giant Grawp, his great ugly boulder-like head bowed, docile, almost human. Hagrid sat down next to his half-brother and Grawp patted Hagrid hard on the head, so that his chair legs sank into the ground. Harry had a wonderful momentary urge to laugh. But then the music stopped and he turned to face the front again.

A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore's body. Harry could not hear what he was saying. Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of beads. "Nobility of spirit"… "intellectual contribution"… "greatness of heart"…it did not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore as Harry had known him.

He suddenly remembered Dumbledore's idea of a few words: "nitwit", "oddment", "blubber" and "tweak", and again, had to suppress a grin… what was the matter with him?

There was a soft splashing noise to his left and he saw that the merpeople had broken the surface to listen, too. He remembered Dumbledore crouching at the water's edge two years ago, very close to where Harry now sat, and conversing in Mermish with the Merchieftainess. Harry wondered where Dumbledore had learned Mermish. There was so much he had never asked him, so much he should have said…

And then, without warning, it swept over him, the dreadful truth, more completely and undeniably than it had until now. Dumbledore was dead, gone…he clutched the cold locket in his hand so tightly that it hurt, but he could not prevent hot tears spilling from his eyes: he looked away from Hermione and the others and stared out over the lake, towards the Forest, as the little man in black droned on…there was movement among the trees. The centaurs had come to pay their respects, too. They did not move into the open but Harry saw them standing quite still, half-hidden in shadow, watching the wizards, their bows hanging at their sides. And Harry remembered his first nightmarish trip into the Forest, the first time he had ever encountered the thing that was then Voldemort, and how he had faced him, and how he and Dumbledore had discussed fighting a losing battle not long thereafter. It was important, Dumbledore said, to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated…

And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather, and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one: that the shelter of a parent's arms meant that nothing could hurt him. There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died and he was more alone than he had ever been before. The little man in black had stopped speaking at last and resumed his seat. Harry waited for somebody else to get to their feet; he expected speeches, probably from the Minister, but nobody moved.

Then several people screamed. Bright, white flames had erupted around Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it lay: higher and higher they rose, obscuring the body. White smoke spiralled into the air and made strange shapes: Harry thought, for one heart-stopping moment, that he saw a phoenix fly joyfully into the blue, but next second the fire had vanished. In its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the table on which he had rested.

There were a few more cries of shock as a shower of arrows soared through the air, but they fell far short of the crowd. It was, Harry knew, the centaurs' tribute: he saw them turn tail and disappear back into the cool trees. Likewise the merpeople sank slowly back into the green water and were lost from view.

Eventually, the buzz of conversation grew louder around them and people began to get to their feet.

Ginny helped Neville up. Luna and Ron stood too. Harry stayed sitting, until Hermione – her face glazed with tears – placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. He turned to her; she had a blazen look on her face, like the day he'd kissed her after Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup. As if she was expecting what he might try and say at some point that day. He grasped her hand tighter as they stood together, moving to join Ron and the others in heading back up to the castle.

"Harry!"

He turned. Rufus Scrimgeour was limping rapidly towards him around the bank, leaning on his walking stick.

"I've been hoping to have a word…do you mind if I walk a little way with you?"

Scrimgeour gave Harry and Hermione a must unconvincing smile.

"No," said Harry indifferently. Hermione looked tentatively between Scrimgeour and Harry.

"It's alright," Harry said. "I'll see you up at the castle."

Hermione didn't look convinced, but – after placing a deliberately slow kiss on Harry's lips and giving him a meaningful look – she left to catch up with Ron and the others.

"Harry, this was a dreadful tragedy," said Scrimgeour quietly, "I cannot tell you how appalled I was to hear of it. Dumbledore was a very great wizard. We had our disagreements, as you know, but no one knows better than I –"

"What do you want?" asked Harry flatly. Scrimgeour looked annoyed but, as before, hastily modified his expression to one of sorrowful understanding.

"You are, of course, devastated," he said. "I know that you were very close to Dumbledore. I think you may have been his favourite ever pupil. The bond between the two of you –"

"What do you want, Minister?" Harry repeated, coming to a halt. Scrimgeour stopped too, leaned on his stick and stared at Harry, his expression shrewd now.

"The word is that you were with him when he left the school the night that he died."

"Whose word?" said Harry.

"Somebody stupefied a Death Eater on top of the tower after Dumbledore died. There were also two broomsticks up there. The Ministry can add two and two, Harry."

"Glad to hear it," said Harry. "Well, where I went with Dumbledore and what we did is my business. He didn't want people to know."

"Such loyalty is admirable, of course," said Scrimgeour, who seemed to be restraining his irritation with difficulty, "but Dumbledore is gone, Harry. He's gone"

"He will only be gone from the school when none here are loyal to him," said Harry, smiling in spite of himself. \

"My dear boy…even Dumbledore cannot return from the –"

"I'm not saying he can. You wouldn't understand. But I've got nothing to tell you."

Scrimgeour hesitated, then said, in what was evidently supposed to be a tone of delicacy, "The Ministry can offer you all sorts of protection, you know, Harry. I would be delighted to place a couple of my Aurors at your service –" Harry laughed.

"Voldemort wants to kill me himself and Aurors won't stop him. So thanks for the offer, but no thanks."

"So," said Scrimgeour, his voice cold now, "the request I made of you at Christmas –"

"Oh yeah…the one where I tell the world what a great job you're doing in exchange for – "

"– for raising everyone's morale!" snapped Scrimgeour. Harry considered him for a moment.

"Released Stan Shunpike yet?"

Scrimgeour turned a nasty purple colour highly reminiscent of Uncle Vernon.

"I see you are –"

"Dumbledore's man through and through," said Harry. "That's right."

Scrimgeour glared at him for another moment, then turned and limped away without another word. Harry could see Percy and the rest of the Ministry delegation waiting for him, casting nervous glances at the sobbing Hagrid and Grawp. Harry turned and walked slowly on.

"What did Scrimgeour want?" Hermione said when he caught up with her and Ron.

"Same as he wanted at Christmas," shrugged Harry, taking her hand. "Wanted me to give him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry's new poster boy."

Ron seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he said loudly.

"Look, let me go back and hit Percy!"

"No," Hermione said firmly, grabbing his arm.

"It'll make me feel better!"

Harry laughed. Even Hermione grinned a little.

They headed up towards Gryffindor Tower. They got changed and brought their trunks down into the common room, knowing that House Elves would magically ensure they were waiting for them at Hogsmede Station.

Harry's breath shook. He knew what he needed to do next. He turned to Ron and Hermione.

"I need to go back to the tower…"

Ron looked at him in surprise, but Hermione understood.

"Your cloak?"

Harry nodded, he still hadn't gone back up to collect it. It had been too painful. But this was his last chance.

The three of them made their way to the Astronomy Tower, up the stairs and onto the ramparts. To where it had happened. To where Dumbledore had died.

There it was. The rail in which Dumbledore had been sent over. Harry walked straight past where he knew his cloak was. Where he'd been immobilised, unable to prevent what had happened, unable to do anything until it was far too late.

He stood there for a little while, looking out across the grounds. The late afternoon sun shimmering off the lake.

He felt, rather than saw, Hermione come up beside him.

"I can't bear the idea that we might never come back." she said softly. "How can Hogwarts close?"

"I'm not coming back even if it does reopen," said Harry. He turned. Ron was sat on one of the raised platforms, looking at him sadly.

"I knew you'd say that," Hermione said, as he looked back to her.

"I've got to finish whatever Dumbledore started. I don't know where that'll lead me. I know I want to go to Godric's Hollow. It just – just feels right, you know? After that, I'm not sure. But I can let you and Ron know –"

To his shock, Hermione laughed.

"Oh, Harry. You know I admire your courage. But sometimes, you can be really thick."

Harry did a double-take. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"You don't really think you're going to be able to find all of those Horcruxes on your own, do you?" Hermione continued.

Harry gulped. It was now or never. He needed to do this.

"Hermione – I – We. You can't – We have to stop this."

"Don't," Hermione shot at him, her humour gone. "Don't you dare try that, Harry Potter."

She had that steely look, and he knew that his protests were going to be pointless. Knew that she would win. But he had to try.

"Hermione… What if – if that had been your funeral. If it was my fault – I couldn't –"

"What? So you think if you cut me out, Voldemort will just leave me alone. Let me come back to school and get on with my life?"

"You'd be safe –"

"Safe?" She bit back. "None of us are safe, Harry. Not now. Not until we beat him."

She grabbed his hand tightly, turning him to face her.

"I love you," she said firmly. "That won't ever change."

"Hermione…"

"And you need me," she said. "You need us."

Harry looked at Ron, who was returning his gaze with full commitment to Hermione's words.

"She's right, you prat."

"Of course I'm right," Hermione said. "You're not doing this alone, Harry."

"We'll go with you, wherever you're going," Ron added.

"You said to us once before," Hermione said quietly, "that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"

And any argument he had dissolved as she kissed him.

"Ahem!" Ron coughed loudly.

"Oh yeh," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, smirking. "Snogging to a minimum."

Deciding it was – at that point at least – pointless to argue, Harry finally gave up.

"You're brilliant. You're both brilliant."

Hermione blushed. Ron gave a slight smile.

"Before we do anything, though, you have to come around to my mum and dad's house."

"Why?"

"Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?"

Harry looked at him, startled; the idea that anything as normal as a wedding could still exist seemed incredible and yet wonderful.

"Yeah, we shouldn't miss that," he said finally.

His free hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, his other resting with Hermione's on top of the rail as they looked out across the lake.

In spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.

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