The Prince-Who-Lived
Chapter Forty-five
Mounting the thestrals was a bit of an adventure as to four of those present they were completely invisible. Salvador was less then pleased at the prospect, but Harry was rather enthused. Alan helped him onto a thestral, and then found that Luna was helping Ginny, and Neville had gotten a stubborn Blaise up. Alan turned to Salvador and raised his eyebrow. Salvador huffed.
"Fine. Where is one?" He crossed his arms over his bare chest; his robes back on after he'd scourgified the back where it had picked up some blood from his shirt. Alan walked over to another thestral and patted its neck, letting Salvador approach on his own. When he'd found it and worked his hands up to it's back, Alan gave him a bit of a boost so he could fumble slightly into finding out where to hold on. After a moment of struggling, and looking rather panicked, Salvador closed his eyes and fisted his hands in the creature's mane.
"Right, let me know when we're starting, and when we're down. I'm just not going to open my eyes again."
Alan smirked. "You play Quidditch just fine."
"I have a broom. I can see my broom."
"Harry and Ginny are perfectly fine." Alan jibed.
"They're Gryffindors. They're supposed to be enjoying this."
Alan let Salvador go and pulled himself onto his own thestral, enjoying the silky coat beneath his hands. Luna had hopped onto hers sidesaddle, and Neville pulled himself up, fitting his legs behind its wings and gently running his hands through the mane. Everyone was looking at Alan, except for Salvador, relaxed against his thestral's mane. Waiting for him to get them on their way. Alan huffed, and thought about what he needed to ask.
"Please take us to the Ministry of Magic in London. The …" Alan looked at Harry.
"Visitor's entrance, I suppose." Harry offered. "Mum took me through there once. I think I remember how to get in."
"So do I." Blaise clarified.
They smiled at each other, and then Alan's thestral raised its head from the shirt on the ground, and then took a few steps forward. When it swept it's wings out, Alan nearly lost his balance, and then it seemed to leap into the air. The change was so sudden, Alan yelped, and grabbed on, clenching his knees and fisting his hands in its mane just to stay on. Salvador swore; Harry whooped happily and Ginny shrieked. Alan could commiserate; it was fucking startling!
They crested the forest and moved into the sky, the sun bright and low on the horizon, though it was still hours from sunset. Alan was less than pleased with the timing, but as they kept moving, he didn't look up. The wind was beating at his face due to the unprecedented speed the thestrals maintained. He hadn't known they could move this fast. The slipstream was plucking at his grip and clothes, while the creature was hardly beating its wings at all. Behind him, the other thestrals were arrayed, following his as it led them onwards. The ground streamed below them, the countryside beautiful and green and moving onward at a rapid pace.
Time passed without much change, the sun moved down the sky an indeterminable portion, the land streaming beneath them over fields, forests, and houses. Alan only knew they'd been flying for a very long time when his face throbbed with pain again. Alan bit at his lip, and felt the shield he'd placed buckle. For a terrifying moment, he considered dropping it, letting Voldemort in, reassuring him he was coming and checking on his godfather …
His body jolted abruptly, and Alan clutched tightly to his mount, his mind reacting and slamming the barrier back in place. No! He would never do that; never allow him in. He was almost there. Voldemort would wait, probably all night. He couldn't expect Alan to pull off the impossible with any sort of finesse, not as a student. He would wait … someone behind him shrieked, and Alan, hearing it stop, presumed they had just been startled as he had been at the tilt down.
The change hurtled them to towards the blessedly deserted pavement; the street came up below them, and Alan sighed, bracing himself as the thestral landed surprisingly softly, coming down like it had just floated in the air. Alan looked around cautiously, drawing his wand and studying the surroundings, unwilling to get down until he felt safe … they did not need to be ambushed, although such an act would admittedly be difficult in daylight.
The others landed around him, and, seeing his intensity, looked cautiously around as well but there was nothing there, and nobody to see. Alan finally licked his lips, and breathed carefully.
"I … nobody's seeing anyone?" Alan hesitantly asked. He didn't like this one bit. There was a general negative murmur, and Alan finally, cautiously slipped off his thestral, walking over towards the only thing that really stood out in the street: a vandalized phone booth. He doubted there was anything special about the dumpster, really, despite the thestrals interest in it. The others followed him down, and Blaise immediately trotted up beside him.
"The phone booth is the way in."
"How do they work?" Alan asked quietly.
Blaise eyed him. "You're not going in alone, Alan."
"No, but I need to go down alone. If they stationed anyone in the atrium, I have to go alone, Blaise. I know a heating spell; if Harry's necklace warms, someone was down there. I'll call on the mirror if there's no one. How do I go down?"
"And how will we help you if we're stuck up here?" Blaise hissed.
Alan glared at him in return. "I'll let the necklace cool down when I'm out of the atrium; I'll make it very cold if there's others left in the atrium I could see. You can come down then, and follow after me. Do you guys know where the Department of Mysteries is?"
"Yes." Neville answered immediately. "I've never been inside, though. I'm blind as to how to get around." Harry nodded carefully as well.
Alan closed his eyes. It couldn't be helped. "Then you'll have to blunder around. Go down and wait in the hall after the necklace has cooled. When I want you to try and get in -which I'll do if I either see Voldemort or start feeling lost, so stop whining- I'll make the necklace heat again. If I'm in danger, I'll break it, and you charge, all right? Please, unless you can think of something better."
Salvador and Blaise both muttered irritably under their breath, but they acquiesced. Alan nodded sternly, and turned back to Blaise expectantly.
"You have to go in and dial six two four four two on the phone. The lady will ask you your name and your purpose; you get a badge, and then it takes you down into the atrium. And then you'll either call us down, or you'll be in deep shit, so I'm not talking you further through it, got it?" Blaise glared, and Alan nodded weakly. He looked around at his companions, trying to find a bit of the calm he'd had before, and then stepped into the phone booth, punching in the numbers quickly and waiting. A cool, female voice announced, "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."
Alan shifted awkwardly. "Alan Prince … risking my life." He offered.
"Thank you." The cool voice replied. "Please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."
A small badge slid out of the slot where change was usually sent, and Alan pulled it out, curious. It read, 'Alan Prince, Mortally Adventurous'
Alan couldn't help but snort. Cute.
"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the atrium."
Alan wondered if anyone would be there. He'd forgotten the contingency of potentially getting arrested. He'd just have to come up with something in that case. They were supposed to be more understanding than Death Eaters...
The floor of the phone booth shuddered, and Alan glanced around in mild panic as it descended below the pavement. As it grew pitch dark, Alan closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them again when his lids turned red. The light widened up from around his ankles to pour through as the booth descended into the middle of a deserted atrium. The light was fairly dim, and there were gilded fireplaces set in each of the dark walls. Straight ahead was a large golden fountain of a witch, a wizard, a centaur, a goblin and a house elf, all looking mildly ridiculous as the water poured from various orifices. The booth stopped, and the door opened; Alan shrunk back in the booth, and glanced around. As expected, several smudges of air were arrayed around the room, tucked between fireplaces, and he suspected at least two more were near the far walls. All together, there were at least six Death Eaters.
Quickly, Alan heated his necklace, eying the room. He wasn't sure he wanted his friends to go against them. Finally, however, Alan determined they could outwait him, and he stepped cautiously from the booth, his wand half out of its holster on his arm. The two Death Eaters nearest stalked closer and rid themselves of their invisibility. Alan reacted as though he hadn't known they were there but had expected a sudden appearance: he stiffened and drew his wand clearly, tracking between the two and backing up slowly. On his left, the Death Eater laughed.
"I'm so glad you came, Alan Prince. We've been waiting."
Alan grasped the locket in his left hand, and forced himself to stop backing up. "Where's my Godfather?" He asked steadily, glaring at the one who'd spoken and watching the other out of the corner of his eye.
"Let me have the locket, first, and hand over your wand, please. Let's be friendly, shall we?"
Alan merely raised his eyebrow, working the ring between his fingers and gently emphasizing it. "I don't need a wand to activate this. If you're as good as your word, I won't cast a single spell – I won't need to. What's the point in taking my wand?" Alan slipped the wood back into its holster and smiled most reasonably at the Death Eater. Chuckles came from around them, and the Death Eater bowed shallowly.
"I suppose you are right. If you would follow me, then?"
His back itching, Alan followed, looking nervously around the room without having to fake it. He'd never been here before, after all. Curiosity won out, but he wouldn't remember much of the room after they'd left; he was too damn scared. He watched most of the smears detach and begin to follow them; it seemed that there'd be less Death Eaters to meet his friends than he'd expected. Good. An even fight wasn't on his mind right then. Alan wondered if any of his friends could kill. Would they leave with more people seeing thestrals than they'd arrived with?
His distraction cost him. The man behind him grabbed his right arm right around the wrist, and twisted it behind his back. Alan gasped, and then felt a wand press into his throat. Alan feared his bluff would fail then and there, but the first man made a quick noise, and the pressure halted, the grip maintained almost painfully. The first man smiled.
"So sorry, but we have to be careful. Relax the wand; you'll hurt the boy. He's not fighting. If you'll just come into the lift with us …" He bowed shallowly again, indicating the open golden grill in front of them. Without much choice, Alan allowed the man to walk him in, and then stand at the back wall. The first man followed, one of the invisible men slipping in as well and standing near the front. The button labelled nine was pushed, and the lift lowered, rattling and clanging. Alan remained quietly in the man's grip on the trip down, waiting patiently for the lift to stop. He needed his wand to affect the necklace … every minute without was another to wait for backup, unless the Order proved far more effective than he thought. Someone should be getting the message, surely … God, Velorian. Couldn't he have waited to kill Lucius? It was a struggle to control his imminent panic.
The lift clanged to a stop, and the cool female voice announced, "Department of Mysteries" The invisible Death Eater and the first stepped out almost simultaneously. The invisible sentry hurried down the hall, and the first did his mocking bow again. Alan tugged hard on the hand holding him and he was let go immediately. The choreography would be scarier if Alan hadn't seen the reason for it. They hadn't wanted him running into the invisible one, so they held him and once the reason was gone, they could laugh at him and pretend they thought he was just a child, oblivious to their prancing.
Alan took advantage of his freedom to rub his right hand on his throat, discretely moving his wand out and cooling the necklace to an uncomfortable temperature. He dropped his hand without lingering, and glared at the two men.
"Well?" He growled. "Get on with it."
The two Death Eaters looked at each other and moved down the hall, the first clearly expecting Alan to follow between them. It left him standing there in a staring contest with the second for several long moments, Alan purposefully playing for time. Finally, the first man looked back and huffed.
"Please, come along. We won't be hurting you."
Alan muttered, "Yet," under his breath, and sullenly stalked after the first man, leaving the other behind. Up ahead, Alan spotted a ward that he paused before crossing. Behind him, a loud clanging started up, disappearing behind the ward. Alan's heart raced; he hoped like Hell that wasn't his friends. However, neither Death Eater appeared worried about the lift; in fact, they urged him to keep walking, seemingly trying to prevent him from looking back. What, was he ruining the ambience or something by being uncooperative?
As he thought it, Alan realized that might be the case. When he'd seen Voldemort's welcome party in the Graveyard, it was at most twenty men, not counting the recent busts from Azkaban. Upstairs he'd had six of them – possibly one quarter of his most loyal unless he'd invited recruits and presuming everyone was here. It was a vague hope that he was bringing the men down, allowing Harry and the others free reign in the atrium, even if they'd lose precious time worrying about an attack that wasn't there. It was just as vague a hope that he didn't have his full court here. Alan stopped dallying as he continued to walk towards the black door at the far end of the hall. This was getting more and more complicated.
Alan felt a bit like he was being escorted around some mockery of a ball, as the black door was held open for him once more. The invisible party had apparently already gone through and Alan couldn't find him as he looked around the black room. Unmarked black doors were set in the encircling wall, and the blue flames were the only colour. The two Death Eaters appeared to be conversing at the door as three smears streamed past them, gathering about behind him. Alan scanned the room, focusing on the doors all around, and he jumped when the door behind them shut. It didn't help when the walls began to rotate.
"Where are we?" Alan asked quietly. His voice shook slightly with nerves; this was so damn dangerous …
"The Department of Mysteries, of course." The first Death Eater answered. He sounded very amused. Let him.
Alan watched the flames slow, and settle into position. There was no telling what door they had come in, or what door would lead to where they needed to go. None of the Death Eaters were worried, though, so Alan waited patiently. As expected, the first man took the lead.
"The Death Chamber." He announced. A door swung open, and he turned to smile at Alan, the smears moving out and through the open door into the dimly lit room beyond. There appeared to be a fire burning somewhere inside, as waves of golden light flickered. "Shall we?" The man asked.
Alan blinked, and then nodded shallowly, bile bitter in his mouth. Lying to himself would do nothing: he was so scared. Alan let his left hand clutch the locket again, and he walked carefully to the door and through.
Inside, it was an amphitheatre, stone risers leading down to a pit in the middle, a dais with a stone arch. Fires burned in each corner where the last riser rested, roaring in pillars reaching several feet into the air. Along the top wall, there was a quick count of about eight Death Eaters, a few of which Alan suspected were those from above. If they'd just joined ranks, then maybe he was putting on a show. Maybe these were all his men, and it wouldn't be so hard … as hard as it might be if he had more.
Then again, the others could be out doing more damage in another location. Alan prayed the locket was important enough that wasn't the case.
Alan returned his attention to the pit and his mouth dried. Regulus was standing next to the arch, swaying slightly in place but he looked clean and together. Alan regarded the man holding him carefully, taking in the two Death Eaters halfway up the stairs on either side, and then the pale form reclined negligently in a likely conjured, ornate throne-like chair.
Voldemort.
He was playing with something small and shiny, turning it over and over in his hands. Alan didn't know what it was, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know either.
He jumped when the door thumped shut behind him. Soft laughter rippled through the Death Eaters all along the walls, and Alan glanced at them under his brows. Behind him, one Death Eater placed himself against the door. The other, the first one to speak, grabbed Alan's arm.
"Come, please. Our Lord awaits."
Alan hoped he wasn't included in that 'our', but wasn't about to argue at the moment. Reluctantly, Alan allowed him to lead him down the steps to the floor. Once they were level, the Death Eater released Alan's arms and bowed deeply, kneeling and touching his forehead to the floor. Alan looked up stubbornly, staring defiantly at Voldemort. Nothing would make him debase himself like that. Looking shortly at Regulus, Alan's chest clenched: he looked completely unaware of his surroundings. Regret shot through him, and Alan startled again when Voldemort spoke.
"Thank you, my loyal. Stand back." He negligently waved a long, white hand at the stairs behind Alan, and then Voldemort sat up straight and smiled at his 'guest'. "Alan Prince, I am so very pleased you decided to join us this evening."
Alan smiled thinly. "I thank you for inviting me." He quipped back. A shiver ran down his back.
"It was my pleasure. I hope it wasn't too difficult for you to get away to meet me here. It is such a glorious place, one of the greatest of the Ministry: the Department of Mysteries. Do you realize the amount of information and lore that is stored and locked away here?" Voldemort offered. "The relics of the past, the powers deemed unfit, or dangerous. Take this veil." Voldemort patted the stone arch, and Alan saw that the black fabric hung within was a part of the arch, not another prop of Voldemort's. It rustled on it's own as though stirred by a faint breeze, uncaring of people around it. The black fabric was moulded some, tattered, but Alan could hear a faint whispering, as though someone stood just on the other side. He was fairly confident there was no one there, but wouldn't put it past Voldemort. He felt a strong urge to rip the fabric aside and expose the trick, but something pressed against his chest and he stopped abruptly, looking down.
Voldemort was wearing a very fine pair of what Alan could only really call silk slippers, his foot presently pressed against Alan's chest, stopping him. He shivered; abruptly realizing he'd walked up to the dais and had been about to mount it when Voldemort stopped him. Alan looked up and met the red eyes, feeling cold. Voldemort smiled thinly, dragging his foot down Alan chest before placing it on the floor. Alan stubbornly did not flinch.
"A fascinating power, isn't it?" He murmured. "Entrancing to those who can hear the voices, who are unaware of the power it wields. People have passed through that veil; nothing has ever come out."
Alan felt another, stronger shiver. He did not like being that close to Voldemort or the veil, but wasn't sure if he should back up or not. Voldemort leaned forward, and Alan stepped quickly back two steps without thinking about it. Cold sweat ran down his back, and Alan felt his arms tremble. He looked for Voldemort's wand and was almost surprised he didn't find it in his hands. He'd felt certain he was to be cursed, but there was no reason for it. Maybe it was a reaction from last year …
Voldemort laughed quietly, smiling widely as he sat back in his chair. "I'm sorry." He offered, sounding like he meant nothing of the sort. "I didn't mean to scare you." He was watching Alan like he'd just done something interesting, and Alan didn't like it. He didn't like his situation at all, but he needed to know when he wanted Harry and the others to try and get in and it wasn't yet that moment. He needed to secure Regulus so that he wasn't in danger.
"Enough games." Alan said, startling himself with how hoarse he sounded. "I'm here for my Godfather, and I'll leave without casting a single spell if you'll let him go."
Voldemort smiled indulgently. "I have every intention of holding up my end of the bargain this evening. However, this little trip into the Department of Mysteries gave me another thing to think about. Do you know anything about the Department of Mysteries, Alan?"
Alan glared at him. "I've never had the inclination to wonder, no." He hadn't even known it existed.
Voldemort smiled again. "Inside of here is a room lined with baubles that contain every prophecy ever spoken. Inside, one was labelled with my name. A prophecy I only know part of – I suspect you may know that part as well. After all, your father carried the words to me."
Alan felt cold. He hadn't ever considered that what he knew was only part of a whole. It had been suspect, sure, but certainly never important. This could change everything. Alan raised his hand nervously and cast the spell, heating the necklace back up, and continuing the motion through his hair as a nervous gesture not at all out of place. He didn't want to be alone down here if this proved volatile. Hopefully they wouldn't just burst through the doors, Gryffindor-esque.
Voldemort smiled again. "Step closer, Alan, and we'll both see just how important this prophecy might be."
Alan damned his curiosity and stepped back up to the edge of the dais, stiffening when Voldemort cast a spell and isolated them from the rest of the room. The Dark Lord grinned. "No need for eavesdroppers. This is just between us." Either he was not at all disturbed by the portent, or masking it damn well because Alan could feel sweat already trickling down his back.
He let the sphere fall and shatter on the floor just to the side, between them. Out of the mist came the figure of Sybil Trelawney, draped in shawls with large, round glasses, a stricken look on her face as she croaked out the prophecy.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
Alan looked up to Voldemort and let the words repeat themselves in his mind. Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. Intentionally, Alan let his lips quirk up. "Well, that wasn't the least bit surprising."
Voldemort was sitting back in his chair a dark look on his face. At Alan's quip, he, too, smiled thinly. "No, I suppose it wasn't." He regarded Alan carefully, and in a strange show, asked, "I don't suppose you'll tell me what you think you know that I don't?"
Alan huffed. "I doubt I would if I did know, but I'm willing to say that I am as clueless about that as you are." Alan spread his hands carefully, "Although there is the factor that I was raised American by a bunch of nutcases with delusions and half-baked ideas coming out their asses, I still suspect you know more than I do and have for a long time. Americans aren't the only innovators; Dark magic is supposedly just as creative." Alan carefully smiled. "After all, you're pushing seventy, aren't you? I'm barely fifteen."
"And yet you succeeded in the Triwizard Tournament on your own merit." Voldemort murmured. "Barely fourteen, and you were entered and chosen over the seventh years in your school."
"I did not enter my name." Alan returned.
"Of course not; I did. I wanted to see what kind of child you were, but was only half-expecting you to be chosen. I wanted to know if you were no weakling. If you weren't good enough to succeed over students your senior, you were no threat, and yet …" He waved his hand negligently. "And yet you not only were chosen, you won. You defeated the dragon, braved the water, and navigated the maze, reaching the portkey I'd set up and bringing me what I needed to finish the ritual. You are an amazing boy, Alan." Alan would have called his expression a pout on a lesser man, but Dark Lords do not pout. "Why will you not join me?"
"Because I refuse to be a servant." Alan returned easily, lightly; almost flippantly as though it were obvious.
"You would not be my servant; you would be my heir. You would have power second only to me; you could command my armies. You have drawn so many powerful students to yourself in school ever so subtly; you rule Slytherin better than Lucius' son ever could. You have even charmed astray children groomed to serve me, bringing them to your side with ease, a side persecuted by the others and still they follow you. You are the epitome of our bloodline, and yet …" Voldemort smiled bitterly. "You are much like me. I never would have accepted the offer of even second to but one when I was your age. Very well." Voldemort waved his hand and brought the silencing ward down. "The deal, Alan. My necklace, your Godfather in one piece, though a little worn. He did betray me, after all, but I suppose he has paid enough. And I promise, if you hold up your end you will walk out together, untouched, to return to Dumbledore."
Alan held the necklace carefully in his hand, and sighed lightly. "Move him off the dais, first." He was too damn close to that veil, now that he looked. Too damn close to Voldemort.
"I believe I have the position of power, Alan." Voldemort growled.
Alan looked back up at him. "If I remove the portkey from the string, will you move him off the dais?"
Voldemort nodded, lips tight but smiling slightly. Alan felt so charmed he was amusing him. Alan reached back to unclip the necklace, watching the Death Eater from the corner of his eye. When he slowed his hands on working the clasp, Voldemort impatiently waved the Death Eater off, tugging his sluggish captive. Alan let the necklace pool around the locket that he kept in hand, pulling the ring off and letting it fall. Alan looked up at Voldemort defiantly, hoping, praying; please let him not notice the fake quickly. Alan opened his mouth, and Voldemort's face tightened. Alan continued anyways.
"Let him go." Alan ordered, then added quickly, "Please."
Voldemort raised his wand, "Accio necklace."
Alan barely realized what he'd done, barely acknowledged how many things could happen, when he was jerked painfully by the throat, the two chains he was still wearing cutting into his skin before breaking, one after the other. Alan almost felt relief as they broke; he simply let the locket go to fly into Voldemort's hand and turned to blast the Death Eater holding Regulus in the face. Regulus stumbled, off balance, and Alan saw the door in the corner of his eye burst open, spells flying around the room from the students. Alan made to go to Regulus when something hot and painful slammed into his side and threw him across the room into the risers. Something cracked in his side, 'a rib', and then Alan looked up at a furious Voldemort, who, while angry, did not look surprised.
Please, God, let Geoffrey come soon. His second necklace was a watchkey Geoffrey had bought him after the Graveyard, having heard Alan describe Harry's and deciding that it would really help. With the necklace leaving Alan's person, Geoffrey's would heat unbearably. The adults had to be coming soon, if they could only survive.
Another door broke open; someone screamed, and fires flared, but Alan was staring fearfully back at the gleaming red eyes of Voldemort. He was waiting; Alan didn't know why. Cautiously, Alan banished his second wand to Regulus, praying he'd pick it up and help. Voldemort's eyes tracked as though he knew Alan was casting but apparently didn't care enough to stop him yet. Well enough.
"I see you brought friends."
"How stupid do I look?" Alan jibed. "I couldn't trust you to keep your word, and well enough that I didn't."
Voldemort shook his head. "I would have let you walk out, Alan, provided the necklace had been real. This," Voldemort let it dangle, and then dissolved the conjuration, "was not. Where is the locket?"
Alan thought long and hard as to whether he should omit the truth, or tell all. "Last I knew, it was with Dumbledore. I couldn't very well get it out of him with him gone from the school, chased out by Umbitch. Had everyone not been gone, I could have asked him for it, or asked after him, but there was no one."
"Purposefully." Voldemort returned thoughtfully. "Velorian has finally proved useful, after dithering for so long. Bellatrix longed to see him again, and I suspected he'd prove feisty in case she stirred him up, proved Lucius a liar. Busying the Ministry with such an international mess would clear out the Ministry most effectively."
Alan's mind raced. Voldemort had sacrificed Lucius on purpose? He wouldn't have. He must have underestimated Velorian's lethality. And was that … Bellatrix … God.
"Bellatrix is a sick bitch, isn't she?" Alan offered, shifting and trying to see if he could get up. The Death Eaters were effectively trapping his friends against the walls, leaving him lost in the bottom, alone against Voldemort. Outmatched.
"She most certainly enjoys it," Voldemort smiled. "She greatly appreciated getting to know the Longbottom boy." He looked up the risers and smiled again. "Perhaps I'll let her keep him if he survives, hm?"
Alan saw his eyes move, heard the words and acted. Voldemort had overestimated how close he should risk getting to Alan, and Alan's feet – dressed in heavy army boots, not slippers – slammed into his gut as Alan ignored his screaming rib and kicked the Dark Lord away. Voldemort fell, revealing Regulus weakly duelling his captor and barely holding the upper hand. Alan sent a blasting curse the Death Eater's direction, and then turned to find Voldemort already standing farther back, his wand up to curse Alan. Alan dodged, and sent four spells in rapid succession back, getting around Voldemort's side, and then racing up the stairs. Up ahead of him, Luna was waving her fire whip elegantly, like a ribbon dance save for the burns she left on her flabbergasted opponent. Alan paused, and then ran sideways, stepping up onto a riser and running down the length of the room, turning momentarily to send another two curses that Voldemort had to dodge. Voldemort cast back; Alan jumped down two risers and stumbled, getting his feet tangled in the mixed levels and wasting time, time Voldemort used to curse him and Alan never felt it when he landed on the risers below as his senses exploded in pain.
A high scream woke him, and Alan blinked for several long moments before he could look up and recognize Regulus' wan face.
"Alan, get to your feet. We have to keep moving."
Alan blinked up at him, wondering what had happened to Voldemort, and then he stared listlessly as Regulus turned to send a spell behind himself, slashing deep into a Death Eater's chest, and sending them backwards over another riser.
"Alan, move!"
Alan got up stiffly, and paused when he looked around the room. He wasn't seeing Voldemort, but he was seeing several Death Eaters laid about the floor; small and few, too few, fights still tracing the edges. Where had everyone gone? They must've left the room.
"Voldemort?" Alan asked thickly, standing shakily as he followed Regulus' urging. He slowly began to think again, finding it interesting that Regulus, whom he had come to save, was urging him to leave, not the other way around. The pain faded with each step, until he could think clearly again. Regulus' words were helping.
"He was knocked off the risers himself after cursing you, and Harry just descended on him like a nightmare. They started trading spells, and I think they disappeared into another room. I can't really remember-" Regulus cut off as the door ahead burst apart, getting ready to fight before he recognized the man emerging.
Alan had never felt so glad to see James Potter in his life, but the man came in and immediately found the nearest fight, descending upon the hapless Death Eater and stunning him, leaving Ginny to gape and then scream,
"Auror Potter, Harry's back in the room we came from with the brains! He chased Voldemort in there!"
Alan felt like his heart had stopped, and he left Regulus without thinking, racing along the riser even as James yelled in shock. The door Ginny had indicated had slammed shut, but Alan sent three curses at it, over-powered blasting curses, and it opened in a shower of debris. Alan was abruptly inside, and nearly tripped over a writhing brain, tentacles of bright memory questing for his ankles. At the far end, two brains were hovering outside a barrier and Harry was screaming on the floor. Alan thanked everything he knew for Harry's auror books, and cast,
"Proctis Penalto!"
The bolt shattered the shield and stabbed into Voldemort's back. The spell ended; Harry gasped for breath, and Voldemort turned around to face Alan. Alan didn't let him catch his breath. Purple flew from his wand, as he stopped himself from casting the killing curse. Harry was too close right then. He hadn't wanted to use it before, but enough was enough. He would kill for his friend.
Voldemort stepped aside from the dark cutting curse, and smiled thinly at Alan. His smile died when James burst through the door, farther back but still there. James' gaze found his son, and Voldemort smiled thinly once more.
"When you said you couldn't get anyone, I hadn't thought you lied."
"I didn't." Alan bit out. "You summoned them yourself, moron."
Voldemort looked at him querulously, but Alan had had enough. He was tired; he cast again, out loud, too tired to think.
"Sectumsempra, reducto, reducto, dulce moxibor!"
Voldemort dodged the three spells, and then blinked rapidly away from the sudden popping blasts of stinging sparks. He screamed when Harry's spell struck from behind, cutting deep into his back and then another hitting below his arm, nearly severing it. Voldemort turned and Harry shielded, the spell pressing down on the barrier and then throwing him back into the wall. Harry hit with a dull thud, and slumped down the wall. James leapt forward and threw Voldemort into the wall in turn. He turned to Alan,
"Get Harry and the others out! We'll hold them off as we can! Run!"
Alan didn't need telling twice. A powerful summoning spell brought Harry's limp form over to him, and Alan quickly attempted an ennervate. Harry gasped, and looked up at Alan dimly.
"Harry, we have to get out. Where are the others?"
Harry fumbled and got out his mirror, holding it in one hand as Alan levered him up and out the door. Harry coughed, and called, "Blaise, Get out. Back to the atrium, now!" Harry pocketed it immediately thereafter, and nodded to Alan. Alan quickly pointed his wand towards the middle of the amphitheatre, casting the fireworks spell, making the Order members there look around for the cause. Hopefully they'd notice the kids were leaving. He then hauled Harry with him to the door he'd come in himself, passing a Death Eater holding his head and muttering, curled against the wall, his robes damp. Another was unconscious or dead on the ground, and Alan stepped over him to haul Harry through to the black room, where Blaise was duelling with another Death Eater. Alan, sick and tired of this, negligently used the cutting curse again, not really aiming.
He stared a moment longer when the Death Eater's head split from his shoulders.
Blaise choked, and Harry stared absently at the scene. He looked back up to Alan, and murmured, "Oops?"
Alan shrugged. "I'm ... a little too numb right now." Blaise nodded in turn, and Alan looked around absently. "Where is everyone?"
Blaise shrugged awkwardly. "Scattered. I last saw Neville chasing Bellatrix out of here; Ginny had cornered someone in the room full of sparkling lights, and Luna had joined her. Salvador killed one of them himself and chased another out of the room. Um, sparklies …" Blaise turned to eye the doors.
Alan finally looked again and found them to be marked with flames, each a different shape or colour. Blaise finally choose a red X and pushed it open, wand ready. He found Luna and Ginny inside, watching them warily in turn. Ginny choked, and ran up to Blaise, clutching him desperately.
"Blaise, this is horrible! I hope they all get caught, but I am so not going after them again. I hate killing! I hate it, especially with it being an accident! The idiot ducked, and …" She didn't sound broken, just upset, but Alan didn't have time for it.
"Ginny, we need to leave. Have either of you seen Salvador?"
Ginny shook her head, but Luna walked to a door and stuck her head through, shouting, "Salvador! Time to go!"
She stepped back and shrugged, walking up to Alan and smiling at his tightly confused expression. Blaise had pulled Ginny back, so that he could face the room, and Alan waited, watching the door and wondering what was going through Luna's head when Salvador suddenly rolled out and roared the incantation of something, creating a blazing light that shortly disappeared. Someone screamed in agony, and then Salvador kicked the door fiercely shut. He saw Alan and them and looked around quickly.
"What now, Alan?"
"Retreat. The Order is here, so we just need to get out and they can leave on their own."
"The Dark Lord?" Salvador asked. Everyone looked at him.
"Last I saw, James was duelling him. He told me to leave. I trust him to hold his own; we have to leave. I won't get you killed. Let's go."
Nobody argued, and Alan walked into the room and huffed. "Where's the exit?" He asked, noting that the doors slowly swung shut and the room started spinning. Feeling dizzy enough, Alan closed his eyes to wait for the flames to stop, listening as Harry weakly answered,
"It's the green circle, right?" Harry craned his neck to look over at Blaise where he was supporting Ginny. Blaise shrugged, but Salvador grunted in what sounded like an affirmative. Alan suspected the fight hadn't been exactly been pleasant for him. Regret gnawed at his stomach, but Alan forcibly pushed it aside, and opened his eyes to find the doors stopped, everyone apparently waiting on him. He looked for the green circle, and then spun with everyone else when a door behind them slammed open. They all turned, raising wands, spells on tongues, when Alan shouted,
"Halt! Regulus?" He called. The dark haired man looked up, and then waved his companions through.
"Alan, get out. We need to go; Moody's holding Voldemort with Geoffrey. I think the Death Eaters are pretty much down, but we need to hurry."
Harry made a choked sound, and stood abruptly on his own. Alan glanced between them, and bit his lip. Behind Regulus was Sirius, supporting a limp James. Behind them was a shock of red hair, scanning the corridor warily. She came through last, and the door shut, but the room didn't spin.
"Here's the way out." Luna called, drawing everyone's eyes. "Oh, look. Alan, we've got company. It's Dumbledore."
Alan felt swamped with relief. He didn't care that he didn't trust the old man: Dumbledore could handle Voldemort. God, he wouldn't get his friends killed after all. Around him, the others sighed as well, and Alan felt a little more strength in his limbs.
"We need to get out anyways. Regulus, we came on thestrals. Can they carry more than one person?"
Harry and Sirius both answered yes, and Alan nodded. "Salvador, go with Blaise and Ginny. Where was Voldemort last?" He turned to look at Sirius, walking over to grab James' other arm. He was almost the same height as Sirius so between them they held James fairly easily. Alan ignored his own trembling legs and helped move to the door, just as Dumbledore came through. He looked immediately at Alan and Alan saw him relax in the remotest sense, almost imperceptibly.
Sirius answered to Dumbledore. "Voldemort was back in the Death Chamber; I'm not sure how well Moody and Geoffrey will be doing."
Dumbledore nodded, and addressed Alan. "Your thestrals are still outside. Take them back to Hogwarts, all of you who can. There is no reason to remain at risk." He turned to Harry. "Neville is waiting at the Fountain of Magical Brethren. He waits to leave with the rest of you."
They all nodded, and moved down the hallway as quickly as they could, leaving behind the Department of Mysteries. Alan almost laughed at the motley group they made. He knew he'd collapse in a near dead faint when he stopped running on his high, and Harry was probably the same. James was unconscious, and Ginny was fighting back tears. Lily kept to the back, but she looked fairly fresh, if not very pissed off. Salvador was angrier than Alan had seen him in a long time, and he didn't even know how Regulus was conscious, either. Luna seemed the least disturbed of them all, but Alan noticed her gravitating around Regulus. He approved; he'd need somebody to catch him when he inevitably collapsed.
The lifts couldn't take them all at once, so they split in two. Alan took the one with Sirius, James, Regulus and Luna while the others went together in their own. They rode in silence, save for James groaning at the noise. Alan swallowed the desire to cry in relief. He hadn't gotten anyone killed yet. Thank God. Thank God.
At the top, Alan stumbled out, his legs beginning to ache to collapse, but Luna braced him until he could stand again. As he stood, the other lift arrived and opened. Harry immediately staggered out, his arm braced on Ginny's shoulders but as soon as he looked over and found Neville, he stood on his own and shouted, "Neville!"
The figure seated on the lip of the fountain stood up carefully, but didn't move towards them immediately. Alan shrugged and urged Sirius to move towards the exit: he wanted out of here, and he wanted to pass out. He couldn't do either until he was back at Hogwarts. That meant walking. Everyone just followed him, as they had done to come here. The weight of the expectation was suffocating.
Neville approached them as they came over, and immediately grabbed Harry's shoulders, pulling him against him in an almost-hug, and then supporting him. "Harry, you're passing out."
"Just about." Harry agreed. "What happened?"
Neville shrugged casually, and then stepped aside, waving his hand to the other side of the fountain. Laid out on the floor, Bellatrix stared blindly at the ceiling in death. Blood pooled slightly beneath her head, marking the edge of her mouth as well. Alan was only mildly surprised he felt nothing. The deaths meant nothing to him anymore. He might react some come tomorrow, when he wasn't riding a high, but right now it didn't matter.
"Nice." Alan drawled carelessly. "The thestrals are waiting, and I'm in pain. I'd rather have this all over, thanks. That means leaving. Regulus, Merlin, Mary and Mordred, find someone and lean on their shoulder before you collapse. Lily's free. Harry, you too. We need to get out of this damn place and get back to the thestrals we left at the visitor's entrance."
Strangely, everyone listened, and they did get back up the entrance to where the thestrals waited, the night finally dark. That was a little more difficult. Harry blinked upon getting up there and then rubbed his eyes as he stepped out of the way. Ginny didn't take it well; she curled against Blaise and started sobbing hysterically. Blaise seemed to be in shock, as he didn't really react either, and just stared blankly before offering, "Alan, those are ugly as sin."
"Strangely enough, they're mostly an indication we just did sin, you moron." Salvador snapped. "But they're our ride back. Everyone who's fainting needs to ride with someone who isn't."
Alan nodded dizzily. "I kinda gathered. Sirius, you can take James, I presume. Luna's with me, Neville with Harry … I presume Ginny will want to stay with Blaise." Alan wavered as he looked between Salvador and Lily. "Lily, please would you go with Regulus, unless you'd rather be with your husband. That's between you and Sirius, I suppose. Sal, you're fine on your own?"
Regulus was nodding carefully, waiting for the decision and leaning on a thestral. Salvador huffed at Alan, staring slightly. Alan presumed he looked stricken. He wasn't making much effort to look like some cold Slytherin right now, but he hurt and his Godfather was hurt. He was feeling too damn much. The pain was reminding him of the graveyard, and he really just wanted to curl up and nurse his wounds, but there seemed little choice. He just hoped Luna could actually help him stay on if he passed out. Nobody seemed to doubt the arrangements, though, and everybody else was pulling each other onto the thestrals everyone could now see. Luna blinked warmly up at Alan, and Alan smiled weakly back before hauling himself onto the thestral he'd chosen. Luna got up easily and pressed against his back, a warm presence as Alan draped himself over the thestral's back.
"I've got you, Alan. Just go ahead and relax."
Alan smiled back at her, and let his eyes close as Sirius told the thestral where to go, holding onto his brother. The thestrals leapt into the air, following Sirius, and Alan just let his eyes slide shut, hands fisted in the thestral's mane, Luna's arm around his waist.
A/C: Yeah. Distracted. Can you blame here? Here is your late Christmas and New Year's. If I had more time outside work, I'd put up the second chapter too but I suppose it can wait. Enjoy? You gotta love the DoM. It's just so damn wonderful, easy and useful, isn't it?
Fire & Napalm