Chapter 72 – On the Eve of Battle

Lord Voldemort stood and surveyed the scene before him, carefully noting the position of everything in the clearing while attempting to determine if anything was out of place from the last time he had been there. Of course, it had been more than half a century, but he had an excellent memory for details, one that he had used many times in the past to his great advantage.

He peered out into the landscape, noting the placement of each rock and whatever possessions his late and unlamented relations had left outside the hovel, his gaze sliding to the structure itself. The shack was old and decrepit, the wood aged and etched with the scars of the elements. And paint which may have once decorated its exterior had long given up the ghost and returned to the dust from whence it came. And even the grounds looked old and tired—gnarled trees competed with low, coarse shrubs for sunlight and whatever water was available. It was a depressing place, really, and it was obviously far below what he merited as the heir to one of the greatest wizards in the history of the world.

But as he considered the shack and its environs, impatience welled up in the back of his mind. He was close—oh so close—to finally achieving his ultimate goal and obtaining domination over Wizarding Britain. And of course that would just be the beginning. One of Voldemort's power and intelligence could not be content with dominating one corner of the world; no, he had much more grandiose plans than that.

And that was why his task that day was so very frustrating; he should be planning those final events which would bring down Dumbledore and the Ministry once and for all, not checking on his most guarded and dangerous secret. But there was nothing to be done for the matter—he had no choice it appeared, but to ensure that his soul containers had not been tampered with, as he had begun to fear.

Carefully, knowing that the traps he had laid out were fatal to anyone, including himself, he began to traverse the ground between the point of his entrance and the entrance to the small hovel the Gaunts had called their home. In the back of his mind he was thinking of the events which had led to his return to this place. It had begun the previous week, though he had not truly made the connection at the time. But a careful reexamination of that night had led him to believe that he had actually felt Nagini—or perhaps more specifically the soul shard he had hidden within her—die. It was nothing specific that he could point to, nothing more in fact than a general malaise which had come over him at some point during the night, which had made his mood rather darker than it normally was.

Though he could not explain it at the time, he somehow had felt… less than he had before, and after the discovery of his beloved familiar, he had been able to puzzle the matter out. He had somehow felt his horcrux dying.

He could not fathom who had killed Nagini, though when he found out, that person would be visited with bloody vengeance so terrible that it would be spoken of in whispers generations hence. But once he had understood why he had felt as he had, he had focused once again on making his ultimate rule a reality. The fact that his base of operations had been discovered was irrelevant—they were on the cusp of an event so important, that all thoughts of hiding must forever after be banished in favor of the power he would finally hold.

Thus, he was prepared to allow it to go when he understood what had happened—it was a matter to be dealt with once he had achieved dominance and had more time to leisurely hunt down the perpetrator. Had it not happened again, he would even now be moving his plans forward himself, rather than entrusting their disposition to Bellatrix, trustworthy though she was. But the previous morning, he had once again felt that indescribable feeling of loss, and then that very morning he had felt it again. It was nothing specific and it might not even be noticeable to one less self-aware than Voldemort, but the fact that it had happened multiple times was troubling, though it had not affected him to any great degree. And it was then that he decided that he must act.

Of course, two of his horcruxes were beyond his reach at the moment—the diadem in Hogwarts and the cup which was sitting in the Lestrange vault in Gringotts. Once Dumbledore was dead and the goblins brought to their knees, both of those would become accessible.

Thus, he was left with checking on those which were left. The diary had, of course, been destroyed by the detestable brat Potter, though Lucius had had a hand in that fiasco of course. That he had ultimately forgiven Lucius for that showed his esteem for the other man. And he had to admit that if he had stressed the importance of the item, rather than just stating that it was an artifact that he needed to protect, Lucius would not have used it in such a trivial matter. Bellatrix was competent and enthusiastic, but she lacked the subtle touch that Lucius had always excelled at. He was very much missed.

And then there was Nagini…

Lord Voldemort turned his thoughts away from the tragedy of his familiar's death, knowing that the situation demanded his complete concentration. He had navigated the safe path and was even now approaching the door to his final horcrux. This one was the difficult one—Dumbledore was very intelligent and if he ever guessed Voldemort's secret, then he might very well think to check the home of the last heirs of Slytherin for one of his soul containers, which necessitated these protective measures. The locket—which he had already verified that morning to be in the cave where he left it—had never required such elaborate protections, as the cave was hidden, protected by blood wards, the nasty potion he had left, not to mention the legion of inferi who awaited those foolish enough to touch the water.

When he reached the door, Voldemort stopped and studied it for a moment. It appeared like it had not been tampered with, but though he was certain of his memory, he would not be assured that the ring was still within and protected within the cocoon of his traps until he verified for himself. Smirking to himself—even Dumbledore would have found the protection on the door to be almost impossible to break—he stepped up to the door.

"Open to me, heir of Slytherin, Lord of the earth!" he commanded in parseltongue.

For a moment, the door to the shack glowed a bright red, before the light dissipated and the door swung open.

Voldemort stepped into the room, taking in the small living area and the rooms beyond. The living area was littered with a few broken chairs, a table which appeared to be propped up by a rough-hew log on one side, a rickety sofa, sagging in the middle and seemingly about to collapse, not to mention the few possessions left behind when they had finally been sent to Azkaban. But they were all battered and dirty as the rest of the hut, and their best days were decades behind them. As he had been when he had first visited the place years ago, he was disgusted by the squalor in which his ancestors had lived. The remaining blood of Slytherin had fallen low in the centuries before his arrival, a pitiful remnant of a once powerful and glorious heritage.

And it would become again—had become again—he reminded himself firmly as he stepped into the room. He had been born specifically to rescue the Slytherin line and return it to the glory of its origins. Of course, the line would end with him, but as he would live forever and reign supreme over everything, it mattered not that he did not have an heir. What need had an immortal man for heirs? Of course, he was only immortal as long as his soul containers remained intact…

The thought brought him back to the present and he knelt at a certain spot almost halfway across the floor, and carefully lifted up the floorboards. There, in the hole, just as he had left it, lay a small box, about two inches square. Putting the floorboard, he repeated his password to render the protections inert, and once that was done, he carefully and reverently raised the box from its location and opened it.

There, shining in the dim light, lay the last heirloom of Slytherin which had still been in the possession of the Gaunts—the ring of Slytherin.

"It is safe, Nagini," Voldemort said.

And then he remembered that his faithful familiar was no longer by his side, and he sat back on the floor, his thoughts filled with sorrow, mixed with promised vengeance to be visited upon her killer.

Forcing himself away from such thoughts again, Voldemort stared at the ring in the box. It had not been disturbed after all. This meant that if his experiences the previous day and that morning had been the destruction of two of his horcruxes, then it had to have been the diadem and the cup which had been destroyed. The diadem was a possibility—he knew it had been a risk to hide it under Dumbledore's nose, but he had thought that the old man would not believe him capable of such audacity. That or he trusted that the hidden room he had found would remain hidden, and the diadem remain undisturbed.

As for the cup, well, it was possible that the goblins had discovered it in Bellatrix's vault and had arranged for its destruction.

"If they have, I will lay waste to them," Voldemort promised himself with a hint of a snarl. "There will not be one goblin left alive to make a profit once I am done with them. Their day of reckoning will be soon."

In that vein, there was much to be done, and sitting in a derelict old shack would not accomplish his goals. With great care, Voldemort closed the lid to the box and laid the box back in the hole. He looked down at it for a moment before he once uttered the trigger words to once again protect it behind his enchantments.

"Protect my soul, heir of Slytherin."

The box once again glowed red, and Voldemort replaced the floorboards, ensuring that they would not be discovered at a casual glance. He stood and looked around the room. The charms that he had laid were still in effect—the shack had not suffered any further damage from the elements, and no dust had accumulated on the floor. Satisfied with his handiwork, he once again exited the shack and reset the protection on the hovel's door, before making his way back out to the edge of the clearing.

As he carefully moved back out to the exit from which he could apparate, he rolled the problem of the horcruxes in his mind. Though he had started with six, two were now destroyed, and it was possible that two more were now no more. With only a third of his protections potentially available to him, it was clear that perhaps they were no longer sufficient.

The resource he had used to create them had not been specific in how many could be created, but not knowing the effect it would have on him, he had been careful not to create too many. But perhaps it was now time to take a chance and create more. His research suggested that further horcruxes would refuse to take hold if he had reached his maximum, and he did not think that anything more dire than that would occur.

He would have to think about it, he decided as he moved to apparate away. The situation had changed. It was now potentially worth the risk to create more.

To say that the girls were unhappy by the fact that they had not been allowed to attend the strategy meeting with Harry was an understatement. Fleur was an of age witch, and as such, her presence might have been acceptable. But it had taken place with the Auror leaders and the heads of both countries, and therefore was not open to anyone who wished to attend. Hermione was in the same position as Harry and as it had taken an extraordinary situation to justify his presence, doing the same with the girls was almost impossible. So Dumbledore had asked them to stay away, knowing with a certainty that Harry would relate everything that happened to them anyway.

And relate it he did, that very night after he left the meeting. They were sitting in the common room in an out of the way corner, most Gryffindors having retired to the dorms already. Harry sat on a chair which had been pulled close to the sofa on which the girls sat, so that he could speak to them directly, rather than sitting between them and having to turn his head and address them one at a time. His loves were strong women, Harry though fondly, and he knew that they would insist upon knowing all, and having some part in the plan which would have such a large impact in his own personal life.

But even when he was explaining what had been decided and what his role in events would be, Harry knew that Hermione and Fleur would not like it. They were both very protective of him, and he knew that his being involved in the assault against Voldemort without their involvement would incite their protests. And he was not wrong.

When he finished his explanation, he waited for their responses, and in that he was not disappointed. But though they protested their exclusion, Harry could tell that their hearts were not in it. And he was proven correct, as their responses petered out much more quickly than he would have imagined for such fiery young women.

"Fleur, Hermione," he said, turning a smile on each of them in turn, "I don't think we have any choice in this matter. This is serious business—we will be provoking a pitched battle with the intent of defeating Voldemort. The only reason I'm going at all is because of the prophecy. This will not be like the Department of Mysteries—you will not be able to follow me there. I'm sorry, but I don't think you're invited."

This last was said with a light tone, but Harry could see that it did nothing to lighten the mood. But though he could see the arguments almost bubbling to the surface of their thoughts, Fleur took the lead in responding, and her remarks were conciliatory.

"We know that, Harry. But that doesn't stop us from worrying about you."

Harry smiled. "I know you worry, and I love you for it. But in this instance you can't protect me—Sirius and Dumbledore will have to do the job for you."

"My father better be involved too, if he knows what's good for him," Fleur muttered.

Laughing delightedly, Harry leaned forward and captured her lips in a brief kiss. "I'm sure he'll take your threat to heart." Harry paused and looked at both girls. "I know you want to be there for me, but this is one instance where you will have to give way."

"We know," Hermione replied with a sigh. "But we don't have to like it."

Harry grinned at her. "I'm sure you wouldn't like it, even if you had to."

With a swat on the shoulder, Hermione leaned forward and initiated the kiss between them. When she settled back into her seat, Harry addressed them again.

"Besides, I believe that you have something else which will occupy you when I'm giving Voldemort a good bollocking. As Dumbledore and Sirius will both be absent from the school, McGonagall will once again be in charge, and she will need the club members more than ever to keep the school under control and make sure nothing happens."

"Shouldn't you be boxing Voldemort in at that time?" asked Fleur with some suspicion.

"That's the general plan," Harry agreed. "But you can never tell with Voldemort, right? And some of his forces will be out terrorizing the countryside when we hit him. There's no telling what they will do when they find out about the attack. And there's also no telling what Voldemort's supporters in the school will do if they find out that something is up."

For a moment, Harry thought back to the sense of foreboding that he had experienced during the meeting, but he was not able to get any further sense of where it had come from. Inasmuch as a plan of this nature could ever cover all possibilities, he thought that the plan was very well thought out and had the potential to be very successful. Something still nagged from the back of his mind, but he could not figure it out.

Regardless, it would do no good to bring it up with the girls at this point. It was likely nothing more than jitters which preceded events of this magnitude. If all went well, Harry would finally be free of Voldemort, and he was nervous that everything should go right. It was time to start a life with these two wonderful ladies, without the specter of Voldemort hanging over his head.

"So we're to patrol as we usually do?" asked Hermione.

"Yes," Harry replied. "You should not have any issues, but we should be careful anyway."

Hermione began to chew on her lip as her eyes went unfocused, a clear sign that she was now focused on the problem. "We'll have to keep most of the students confined to their common rooms."

"Wouldn't the main hall be better?" asked Harry.

"Not unless you want everyone to know that you're not here," was the reply. She turned her attention back to Harry. "I assume that this attack will happen late at night?"

Harry nodded. "I think that's the general plan. Under the cover of darkness, and late, when Voldemort's forces will be at their least alert."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem," Fleur interjected. "Everyone will be in their dorms after curfew anyway. We'll keep the club members in our meeting late, and start patrolling the corridors once curfew falls."

"You'll have to get Dumbledore to tell Roger personally," said Hermione as an aside. "He probably won't like it."

Fleur sniffed with some disdain. "I don't particularly care what Mr. Davies likes and what he doesn't like. He'll just have to do what he's told."

Grinning, Harry affected a nonchalance and said, "I've heard he's not really very good at doing what he's told."

"Then we'll just have to use a sticking charm to his bed to keep him out of trouble."

All three laughed at the thought, and Harry shook his head. "Poor Roger. He's the Head Boy, and he's really had his powers curtailed this year. It's got to be hard."

"It's good that it's being drilled into his hard head," Fleur replied. "He's not nearly as special as he thinks he is."

"Everyone will know that something's up when the club members don't go back to the dorms for curfew," Hermione stated, returning the conversation to its original subject.

"By that time it won't matter," said Harry. "They'll be back in the dorms and safely out of trouble's way. We'll send word as soon as everything with Voldemort is finished so that you can stand down. I doubt anything can get past the wards anyway, so you should have a quiet night."

"Famous last words," Hermione mumbled, before she turned back to Harry and looked at him with an expression of affection, though it was laced with a certain severity. "You will be careful, right Harry?"

Harry allowed his best injured expression to come over his face. "Hey, it's me, isn't it? I'll be as careful as I always am."

His joke was not appreciated by either of the girls. "That's precisely what we're afraid of," was Fleur's dry reply.

Deciding that the discussion was complete and that it was time for some serious snuggling, Harry left his chair and sat down between Fleur and Hermione, persuading each to lay a head on his shoulder. "Dumbledore will be controlling everything as much as he can, and believe me, I'll be stuck to his side like glue. And Sirius, Remus, Jean-Sebastian, Tonks, and a whole bunch of others will also be there.

"Trust me—I have no desire to strike out on my own, especially when it comes to Voldemort. I'm pretty sure he could kick my arse without even sweating it, and I really don't want to give him the chance."

"Well that's a change," Hermione replied, with a little poke to his side.

"Hey, I've got two wonderful reasons now to keep my arse intact. I will be careful—I promise you."

"You better, buster," Fleur said before she settled further into his side with a sigh.

They stayed that way for some time, long after those remaining in the common room had sought their beds for the night. And Harry allowed himself to drift, rather than think about anything particular. There would be time enough for that later; for now, he simply wanted to enjoy the presence of the two girls, without thoughts of what was to come intruding.

Draco Malfoy was tired. No, he was tired and fed up.

As his time spent in the Dark Lord's lair lengthened, so did Draco's disgust with the state of affairs, and though he would have liked nothing more than to put those around him in their places, he held his tongue, knowing that it would do no good.

What the problem was, of course, was that no one around him paid him the proper amount of deference he knew he deserved as the scion and last remaining member of one of the most influential houses in Britain. The foreign wizards, ignorant lot as they were, paid him no mind, clearly not recognizing or understanding how the name "Malfoy" was to be feared and respected. And those who were British born were little better, looking on him as they did with not a jot of deference in their manners or their words. It was insulting and it was wrong, and Draco was not about to stand for it.

Even Crabbe and Goyle had not shown their proper deference to his station. In truth, they were much too stupid to even have a rudimentary understanding of really anything, but in the past they could always be counted on to provide companionship of a sort. They had always allowed him to direct their activities, as they should. But recently, with their removal from Hogwarts and their inclusion in with the Dark Lord's regular forces, they had taken to shunning him, as though he was to blame for their removal from Hogwarts. As if it they had not managed that themselves, with their taking matters into their own hands and attacking Potter in the halls, when he had told them to leave him alone.

They were too stupid and far down the social scale to associate with him anyway, Draco decided. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

But to make matters even worse, his mother had been confirmed to have fled from the Dark Lord, leaving as a thief in the night, and taking up with her Muggle-loving sister. Draco could never forgive his mother for her betrayal; she should be here, supporting the Dark Lord and reminding those in residence of just exactly what the Malfoys stood for. But she was instead hiding away with the traitors of the Ministry, along with her equally traitorous sister. Draco would remember her actions—as far as he was concerned, he was an orphan. He would not forget it when the time came for her to account for her deeds.

And as for Bellatrix… Draco shuddered at the thought of the madwoman. She was completely insane, Draco was certain, and for days after her failure to bring her sister back to face the Dark Lord, she had been beyond furious. Unfortunately, it had shown in her even greater level of vindictiveness for the next several days of training. Though he had been healed regularly when she had become somewhat more than… enthusiastic with her punishments, Draco could still feel the stiffness in some ways.

Many times over the past days, Draco brooded over the unfairness. But one thing kept him going—the mere thought of the screams of a certain Mudblood as she felt his wrath for her deeds, was enough to send his pulse quickening in anticipation. And she would pay—of that he was determined.

In fact, they would all pay, Draco decided. Everyone who slighted or laughed at him would be singing a different tune. Once the Ministry was in the Dark Lord's control, his father's fortune would be returned to him, and he would take his place at the head of society, and as the Dark Lord's right hand man. Then the world would be as it should be.

It was late and Draco was in his quarters. He looked distastefully about the small, drab room. His closet at Malfoy Manor was larger than this tiny room, and the furnishings would not even have been fit for their house-elves, not that Draco even knew where the vermin slept. But as the manor was magnificent in every way, he could not imagine that the elves slept in anything less than luxury, little though they deserved any of it.

The sky had darkened and the night was rapidly falling. There was little to be seen outside in any case—a more desolate place Draco could not imagine, and what little time he had spent outside had not been enjoyable in any case.

Draco had just dressed himself in his clothes for the evening, when the door to his room opened and the Dark Lord walked in.

Immediately standing, Draco gazed at the Dark Lord, wondering at his appearance; since he had been in residence at the manor, the Dark Lord had never deigned to make an appearance in his personal rooms.

When an unsmiling Bellatrix followed him into the room, Draco became a little worried. What could have happened that would have prompted them both to join him in his room?

"Are you ready, Draco?" the Dark Lord asked.

For a moment Draco wondered to what he was referring, and then he stopped and caught his breath.

"I am, my lord," he replied with fervor hoping that his conjecture was true.

"Good," the Dark Lord said, and though he remained impassive, Draco thought that he was pleased. "You know the plan, do you not?"

At Draco's eager nod, the Dark Lord gazed at him for a long moment. He then nodded and spoke softly, saying, "You know the plan. Stick to it, and all will be well. Remember that your part is essential—succeed, and you will have everything you ever wished.

"But know this," the Dark Lord said as he stepped forward, a hard and dangerous glare on his face, "the fires of hell will be nothing to what I will do to you if you fail."

Blanching, Draco could do nothing but nod furiously, as his tongue almost seemed stuck to the top of his mouth.

The Dark Lord glared at him for a moment, before his expression softened, and he became almost genial instead.

"But I am certain you will succeed. Just stick to the plan, Draco, and your Mudblood will be yours to do with as you wish. Her offenses against you are such that your revenge will be very sweet indeed."

"It will, my lord," Draco forced out from between dry lips.

"Very well," the Dark Lord said. "We will call for you when the time comes. It will be very soon. Be ready."

The Dark Lord walked from the room, followed by his ever-faithful servant. All at once Draco sagged and he flopped onto the bed, feeling almost boneless. The Dark Lord was intimidating, that Draco had always known. But in that moment he had almost been able to see his own death in the man's eyes, and that unnerved him as much as he had ever been in his life. For a moment Draco actually toyed with the idea of trying to get away, of running and never looking back.

But then reason reasserted itself. Once he had completed the task the Dark Lord had given him, he would be exalted above all others. He had been promised everything he had ever wanted, and he was not foolish enough to turn his back on all that.

Besides, the thought of the Mudblood's screams filled his ears, and he could almost hear them. She would pay. They all would.

The next evening, Harry allowed the club to leave a little early, though he did keep the leadership of the club behind to speak to them more particularly about what was to come the following night. The club had been told in general terms that Dumbledore would be away from the school and that they would be called on once again to patrol the corridors of the school, but nothing beyond that. The leadership would not be told much more, but Harry did want to make sure that everyone understood their responsibilities.

Of course, the duties and patrol schedule and responsibility were not the only things on the minds of those who had stayed behind. As Harry could have predicted in advance, they were more focused on what was happening, a concern which was voiced almost immediately once their discussion had wound down.

"What's going on, Harry?" Daphne voiced for the club members. "If you're not going to be here and we're patrolling the halls, that means that something big is going down."

"I can't tell you a lot," Harry replied. He then stated over the rising protests, "You're right that something is about to happen, but I've been given strict orders not to speak of it."

"But you've almost certainly told Hermione and Fleur," Ron groused.

"The powers that be know that we'd get it out of him anyway," Hermione said with a certain smugness evident in her manner.

Ron's eyes narrowed and he appeared to be on the verge of an outburst when one of the twins interrupted.

"Can we assume that you'll be away trying to take care of a certain… problem?"

"I can't confirm anything," Harry emphasized. "What I can tell you is that yes, it does have to do with Voldemort, and yes, I will be with Dumbledore. With any luck, tomorrow night will see the end of the dark tosser, and we can all get on with our lives."

Widened eyes and exclamations of shock met Harry's statement, and many more questions erupted around him. But Harry held firm—it was better that the true nature of their plans were kept from the club, and he would certainly not touch on the prophecy, regardless of whether it had been disseminated the night before to all the leaders of the Britain and France.

"Why do you get all the luck?"

Harry glared at his friend, and Ron seemed to immediately recognize his error.

"Sorry, Harry, I wasn't thinking. I know you would like nothing better than to get out of your fame and the stuff that goes with it, but you're always in the thick of things, you know? It's hard not knowing anything."

"I know, Ron," Harry replied. "It's also tough being in the thick of things. I hope that I'm left alone to just live my life after Voldemort's gone. At the very least, I'll be happy not to be in his cross hairs any more."

"Cross hairs?" Ron said in puzzlement. From the expressions on most of the other Purebloods in the group, Harry realized that he had used a Muggle term that most of them would not understand.

"I'll explain later," he said, not wanting to get into it at that time. "Let's just say that I don't really enjoy being his focus, and I'll be happy when he's not in a position to bother me any more.

"But that's what this is all about. We want Voldemort gone, and Dumbledore has come up with a plan to see that he is defeated before he can continue doing damage. The part that all of you must play," he said, spearing the group with a stern glare, "is to make sure that Hogwarts is protected while Dumbledore is gone. You've all been trained, and I think you've all come a long way since we started the club. And we work together as a cohesive unit. I'm proud of you all, and I ask you to do this. Hopefully, it will be the last time.

Those still in attendance looked at each other, and Harry could see the determination in their faces. It heartened him—he knew that he was leaving the school in good hands, and that it would be protected to the best of their abilities.

Once again it was Daphne who spoke up for the rest of the group. "Then that's what we'll do," she said simply. "Do you expect anything, or is this just a precaution?"

"There's no telling what will happen," Harry said with a shrug. "Dumbledore says the wards are strong enough to withstand an all-out assault for quite some time. To be honest, I think I'm more concerned about internal threats, than outside ones."

"Nott and his crew," Tracey responded. "Don't worry about them—we'll shove stunners up their arses if we need to."

Harry grinned. "Though I'd prefer not to conjure up such mental images, I'll leave their chastisement in your capable hands."

They all laughed, breaking the tension to a certain extent.

"Then I think we're ready to go," said Harry when the laughter died down. "Stay alert and make sure you investigate anything which seems out of the ordinary. I wouldn't expect anything major to happen—Voldemort has left Hogwarts alone since his return, and there's no reason to suspect that he'll know that Dumbledore will be away tomorrow. Do what we've done before, and everything should be fine."

And with that, the meeting broke up and they left the Room of Requirement to return to the dorms. While he walked in the company of the other Gryffindor club members, Harry noted that they all appeared to be rather subdued, though that was not precisely a surprise, given what they had discussed that evening, not to mention what was to come the following day.

But there were certain irrepressible members of their company who were not about to allow that particular state of affairs to continue.

"You sure do have the gift, Harrikins," one of the twins spoke up.

"You really had them all eating out of the palms of your hands," piped up the other.

"My hero!" they exclaimed in unison, before they fell to their knees and began to prostrate themselves in front of him.

Though his first instinct was to be embarrassed by their behavior, Harry decided to play along. He smiled at them in a mock arrogant way, and put his hands over their heads, as though blessing them.

"Thank you," he said through suppressed laughter. "It is truly heartening when the little people show the respect I deserve. When I am your king, I shall remember you."

Then with a wink, he sidestepped them and continued walking toward the common room, to the echoing laughter of his friends.

"Methinks our little Harrikins is getting a big head, George," the voice of one of the twins floated up behind him.

"Maybe we should tone the joking down," agreed Fred. "He's starting to take this stuff seriously."

"Nope, I'm Harry!" Harry called back to them. "I would never want to be Sirius!"

Several groans met his joke, but Harry only grinned as he walked.

"Don't quit your day job, Harry," Fred said as he caught up. "You stick to saving people and defeating dark lords and leave the joking to us."

"What he said," interjected George as he walked up.

Harry did not reply. As he walked back to the dorms, he thought about the good friends in his life and the fact that he was so lucky to have them. He needed all the good friends he could find in what was to come.

"It will happen tonight, Severus."

The potions master grunted, but he said nothing in response, and atypically, his demeanor was not his usual arrogance, or distaste for that of his company. Albus attributed it to the uncertainty of the coming evening's events. In the past, Severus had been in control of what the Dark Lord learned and how he was handled, but tonight that would all end and his cover would likely be broken. He had to be feeling the uncertainty as much as any of them, as he had as much to lose.

"I will, of course, be away from the school and part of the force which assaults Voldemort in his lair. While I am gone, Professor McGonagall will set up a command center in the Great Hall. It would be prudent if you were also there, so that you may assist if something should happen."

"I had thought the Dark Lord was to be cornered and killed once and for all," Severus replied with a frown.

"That is the general plan," Albus agreed. "But though we have tried to plan for every contingency, there is no telling what will happen. It should not be needed, but I would prefer that your expertise with respect to the Dark Lord was available, should something happen."

Severus gave a short nod. "Very well."

"Good. Now, all the students should be in their dorms by the time we leave, but I would like you to keep an eye on things before that time. You know as well as I do that there are Voldemort supporters and children of Voldemort supporters among them. They should not be able to cause any trouble, but we will need to be watchful. Until we actually leave, everything will appear as if it was a normal night. No one should be any wiser until tomorrow morning."

"Then I will leave you," Severus replied. And with that he stood and departed from the office.

It was later that evening when Jean-Sebastian and Amelia gathered in Albus's office. To say that there were jitters would be a massive understatement—everyone who was in the know about the upcoming activities showed a nervousness that was not unexpected.

Amelia was as calm and collected as ever, but there was a tightness around her eyes which was not normally present. If the assault on Voldemort's stronghold was not successful, then it was she who would still need to deal with the Dark Lord, but this time without any of Severus's information. It could potentially lead to the fall of the Ministry, and would be disastrous for her in particular.

Jean-Sebastian was much more difficult to read. Though he was almost certainly concerned—his own investment in Voldemort's defeat was significant, after all—he was as calm as Amelia seemed to be. Of course, in Jean-Sebastian's case, if the night went poorly, he could always retreat to France, though the man was intelligent enough to know that France would almost certainly not be a place of safety, should Voldemort take over Britain. But at least he had something to fall back on, something which those native to Britain did not.

"I assume that you had some men question Narcissa Malfoy?" Albus prompted at one point in the conversation.

Making a face, Amelia replied, "I did. But Mrs. Malfoy was never a Death Eater, and was never privy to the Dark Lord's plans as her husband was and her sister is."

"Was she able to tell you anything at all?" Jean-Sebastian asked.

"For the most part, she just confirmed what Snape told us about the manor and its protections. She did also say that activity at the manor had ramped up in the few days before she had left, which also supports the theory that Voldemort is gearing up for a major offensive."

"And what is to be done with her specifically?" Albus asked. "Surely there is enough evidence to put her on trial as an accessory if nothing else."

"Perhaps," Amelia conceded with a light frown. "But at the end of the day, I'm not certain it's worth it. Under Veritaserum she told us that she had never known the scope of what her husband was capable of, though she had certainly known that his hands were not clean. She had no particular knowledge, however, and if she had known, she would have been repulsed. What she would have done with that knowledge is mere conjecture, of course.

"She is a believer in Pureblood supremacy—or perhaps it's more accurate to say that she was a firm believer, but now her faith has been shaken. The knowledge of the depravity her husband had descended to in the pursuit of supremacy has shaken her badly. Andromeda is doing some good there as well. She did, incidentally, confirm that Draco is there, but she has no hope for him. He seems to have turned out exactly like his father, but without most of Lucius's talents."

"So Professor Snape has always contended," Albus said with a hint of sadness.

There were instances where a young man could be shown the error of his ways and redeemed, and as an educator, Albus naturally felt that the effort should be made to reach such children so that they might reach their potential. Unfortunately, there were also instances where that was not possible, and young Draco Malfoy was one of those instances. It was a pity—if Draco could have been redeemed, it would have been a powerful blow against the Pureblood bloc, influential as his family name was in those circles.

But now was not the time to think of such things. Turning to the matter at hand, Albus asked, "Is everything prepared?"

"As prepared as it can be," said Amelia. "The goblins report that their wardstones were laid with no indication that Voldemort's forces were aware they were there. Shacklebolt has some warders who will throw up anti-apparition wards just before the assault begins. They will not last for long, unfortunately—likely no more than a few hours. But for that time at least, it should prevent any Death Eaters from fleeing by portkey or apparition."

"I doubt the whole thing will take anywhere close to that amount of time," Jean-Sebastian spoke up.

"One would hope," Amelia acknowledged. "But if they manage to hole themselves up, it might be difficult to root them out."

"By that time, they'll be too busy to try their portkeys," Albus replied. "If necessary, there are other tricks we can use to persuade them out. Failing that, it might be better to simply destroy the manor he's using to prevent him and anyone else from escaping."

Amelia looked at him sharply. "There are only a few methods which will ensure the destruction of the building and everyone in it."

"I know," Albus nodded. "Some are distasteful, I agree wholeheartedly. But would it not be better to resort to fiendfyre, for instance, rather than to risk Voldemort's escape?"

"Fiendfyre leaves no traces, Albus," Amelia said. "We would never know for certain that the Dark Lord is dead if we used it."

"I was not suggesting we use fiendfyre specifically, Amelia," Albus replied evenly. "I was merely using it as an example. At some point, we may need to decide to what lengths we are willing to go in order to defeat Voldemort. You both know my thoughts on the matter."

Silence descended upon the office as the Minister and the ambassador thought of the import of his words. They were both practical people, who were both interested in the common good, and the common good, Albus reflected, very much included the defeat of Voldemort. There were many things—distasteful things—that he had been required to do in order to defeat Voldemort. More so, in fact, than what had been required of him when he was fighting against Grindlewald, when he had been largely uninvolved until very late in that conflict.

As always, the thought of Gellert caused sadness to well up from within. For those few short weeks of their acquaintance, Gellert had filled a void that Albus had not ever known existed. He had been confidante and friend, and perhaps the only person who Albus had ever felt understood him, and their connection had been a balm to his troubled soul. The knowledge that it had been nothing more than a feigned friendship and that Gellert had only intended to use him to achieve his goals did nothing to blunt the loss, many years past though it had been.

"Then we had best make certain that we provoke him to respond," the Minister replied. "We don't want to have to fall back on such uncertain measures." The Minister then turned an even gaze on Albus. "Is Mr. Potter ready for this?"

"It would not be certain that he would be ready even if he had years of training," replied Albus, returning her look with one of his own. "It is certainly not my intention to have Harry face Voldemort alone. I will be with him, and Sirius will be close at hand as well. We both have Harry's best interests at heart, and we will do whatever it takes to ensure his safety."

"I think we can rely on Harry to do what is necessary," Jean-Sebastian interjected. "Rarely have I seen someone so determined and mature above his years." Jean-Sebastian smiled briefly at the thought of the young man. "We may not always agree with his actions, and sometimes he might give us more grey hair than we would wish, but I can assure you that Harry will not back down from Voldemort. He's intent upon seeing him defeated."

Amelia sighed and leaned back in her chair tiredly. "Though I think I may have gone around the twist in actually hoping that a confrontation between a fifteen year-old novice wizard and the greatest Dark Lord of the age occurs, I find that I cannot deny it. If he does confront you, and Mr. Potter can somehow bring about his defeat, then it would make things much easier. I don't think that I need to tell you both the troubles we would face should we not be able to verify Voldemort's defeat."

After that bit of levity, Amelia became businesslike yet again. "I've already told Shacklebolt this, but you must inform me the moment something happens. I will be waiting at the Ministry for news of what happens tonight."

With an easy air, Albus promised her that they would, thinking fondly that Amelia, though she had now been the Minister for over a month, was still thinking very much like a Director. She had taken control of the Ministry admirably it was true. But it had also taken some doing to persuade her that she should not be anywhere on hand when Voldemort's lair was assaulted that night. In fact, she and Arthur Weasley would be guarded at different locations so that if something truly went wrong, there would be a greater chance that the government could continue to function. Not that there would be much left to defend should their entire Auror force—and a sizeable portion of France's Aurors—be defeated that night.

With that, the Minister bid them good luck and she Flooed back to the Ministry, leaving the two men alone in the Headmaster's office.

Later that evening, the club was in the Room of Requirement, preparing for the night's disposition and Harry's departure. The room was a hive of activity, though everyone seemed subdued in the face of what they all suspected—Harry still had not given out any specific details—was to occur that night. By his watch, curfew had fallen only a few moments before, so the halls should be empty of any students. This would, of course, be verified by the first patrols of the club, while Hermione and Fleur, along with one other patrol, would join McGonagall and the other teachers in the Great Hall.

The prefects—or at least those who had been on duty that night—had been excused from their rounds, as had the Head Boy and Girl. Harry had no idea what their reaction had been, as Dumbledore had not seen fit to share that with him, but if he knew Roger at all, he knew that the boy would not have taken it very well. By now, however, it was a matter of indifference to Harry. He had other things to worry about.

As he was to be away and not participating in the night's activities, Harry had largely left the running of the club meeting to Hermione and Fleur. They were very capable and would be in charge that evening. He knew they would do him proud.

Harry watched the club as they listened to Fleur's final instructions, and not for the first time he felt a measure of pride. The club members ranged from the ages of twelve up to eighteen, and they were all students not yet graduated. And yet, in the space of approximately six months, they had formed a cohesive unit which was able to take on the duty of protecting the entire school. Harry could not be prouder of them than he was at that moment.

And in that, Hermione and Fleur had proved correct, he was forced to reflect. He had initially been hesitant to have anything to do with the club—or perhaps more precisely, he had not wanted anything to do with leading the club, not feeling like he was in any way suited to taking on such a role. But he had been pleasantly surprised to learn that not only was he good at it, but he had also enjoyed the instructing, scheduling, creating of tournaments, and all the other minutia that went along with it. He wasn't sure that this meant anything in the long term, but it had been an eye opening experience for him.

As Fleur's instructions to the club wound down, Harry stood and indicated that he wanted to speak. His betrothed gave him a smile and a kiss on the cheek as she passed him to take her own seat. Harry stood in front of the club and gazed down at all of them, feeling the pride in their accomplishments once again well up within him.

"Thank you all," he started quietly. "You have all persevered, and practiced and done us all proud. Today, I think that we can state with a surety, that at least within the confines of the defense club, all the houses of Hogwarts stand together in a common purpose. Maybe some day the rest of the school will take note and follow our example."

Murmurs of agreement echoed through the room, but most of the club members sat quietly waiting for him to continued speaking.

"And because you have all taken this so very seriously, I cannot imagine leaving the school in better hands. As you all know, I will be away from the school tonight in the company of the Headmaster, and that is why you have been called on to once again protect the school in his absence. Remember what you have been taught, and remember to continue to pass anything you come across back to Hermione and Fleur in the command center.

"But above all, remember that regardless of what happens, that you can rely on each other. Once this is all over and Voldemort is finally defeated, Butterbeers are on me at the Three Broomsticks."

A cheer rose up from the club members, and they started to chant his name. Harry, though embarrassed smiled down at them all and motioned for silence once again.

"Now, let's go and protect the school. All the houses together, let's do this!"

And with that the club members rose to their feet and began to go about their business. The patrols gathered together and began to fan out to their designated areas, while those who were to be stationed in the Great Hall—including the younger members—departed to make their way down their destinations. Soon, Harry found himself alone with Fleur and Hermione, who had stayed behind to give him a more intimate farewell.

As the words they wanted to speak had already been spoken, there was nothing left to do, but to kiss his loves and bid them good bye, which he did, though he admitted that he held each of them for longer than he had meant to. He was reluctant to be parted from them, though he knew it was necessary, and hoped would be for only a short duration.

"Be careful, Harry," Hermione said as she pulled away from him. "If you don't come back intact I'll bring you back and hex you all the way to hell and back."

"And I'll be right beside her," Fleur said with a smile. Both girls were trying to hold back the tears that Harry knew were threatening to flow, and he smiled at them both.

"If it's in my power, I'll be back. Now get going—both of you. Let's get this done so that we can look forward to the rest of our lives."

With a final kiss and a smile, both girls were gone, leaving Harry by himself. Not losing any time, Harry took up a pack he had brought with him and exited the Room of Requirement, heading off to the Headmaster's office, rather than following the girls down toward the Great Hall.

The gargoyle must have been told to expect him, as he did not even need to say anything to get it to move aside to allow him entrance. He rode the stairs up to the top and stepped into Dumbledore's office, noting nostalgically that he had done this many times this year. Hopefully, the next time he had to do it, the circumstances would not be as grave as they were at that moment.

Everyone was assembled there already, waiting for the word to go. As he entered Jean-Sebastian smiled at him, and Sirius nodded and slapped him on the back. In another corner, Samuel Grant stood, watching the others with keen eyes and curious looks. Samuel had been a surprise—once the rituals had been completed, it had been thought that he would return to Egypt and the society to report his findings. He had refused, however, stating that as great events were afoot, that he would stay behind, and observe and help as he was able. He had not specifically stated so, but Harry thought it was understood that he was the society's agent, set to report back to the others of the council of the results of what happened that night. It was equally clearly understood that his report would include recommendations of what needed to be done should they be defeated that night. Samuel would not be accompanying them that evening—instead he would join McGonagall in the command center when everyone else had left. But Harry felt a little better at his presence, knowing that one more wand would be present should something happen.

"Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore said, gesturing at an empty chair in front of his desk. "It will be some time yet before we are to depart."

That was the one thing that Harry had hated—they would actually be in the school for some time yet, as the attack was not due to start until some time after midnight. He had misled the club to a certain extent, though he knew that it would in the long run make no difference to their duties.

The next few hours were long, as the anticipated departure was not to arrive with any swiftness, likely because he was anticipating it so much. Harry was reminded of a proverb which suggested that an anticipated event was a long time in coming, but even remembering that was not enough to soothe his fretting.

"Calm down, Harry," Sirius said at one point, noting Harry's fidgeting.

Harry turned a disgusted glare on his godfather. "This waiting really stinks."

"That it does," Sirius agreed with a complacent smile. "Luckily, I spent time in the Aurors and participated in more than a few stakeouts. And sitting in Azkaban for twelve years will teach a person patience if nothing else will."

"It will be time to go soon, Harry," said the Headmaster, looking at the clock on the wall. "Have patience."

It did not come with any great swiftness, but finally the waiting was over and Dumbledore rose, signaling that it was time to leave. Harry stood with the others, but before they left, he was again affixed with a stern expression from the Headmaster.

"I know we have been over this many times, Harry, but I must again impress upon you the importance of staying with Sirius and me. We will be responsible for your safety. You will confront Voldemort, but you will do so only with our direct support. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Harry replied with a nod.

Satisfied, Dumbledore uncoiled a length of string about three feet long. "Now, everyone please grasp this string, as it is the portkey which will take us to the staging area outside Voldemort's lair. Remember to be alert for anything. And may Merlin be with us this night."

With that, Dumbledore touched the string with his wand, and Harry felt the pull behind his navel which indicated the activation of a portkey. As they were sucked away into the vortex, Harry steeled himself for what was to come. Voldemort would be defeated that night. He would make sure of it.

Updated 07/21/2014