Chapter Twenty-Six: The Ending is Beginning
Harry Potter was pacing furiously, still in the Quidditch uniform he'd worn so many hours ago. Up and down the room that looked uncannily like the Weasley's living room, back and forth. His gaze jetted around the room as he wiped at some of the grime on his face from—what? Quidditch or diving around the pitch dodging Bludgers or fighting Dean. No matter. What mattered was that he had to get to the Infirmary. He had to stop Dumbledore from sacrificing himself. Things weren't that desperate. Not even with Snape joining forces with Lucius as they suspected, not even with Fornier's Aurors and turncoat House Elves running loose in the castle.
No. There has to be another way. If only someone would let me out, then maybe I could stop him—
Harry slowed to a stop. Which is probably why he made sure I'm locked up . . .
The Headmaster had been planning this. But it was suicide! Harry's chest constricted and his already gritty eyes filled once again.
Vividly, he remembered the first time he'd come to Hogwarts. It was enough to find out that he'd had a life apart from the misery he'd known in the Muggle World. And then, to find out that not only was he a wizard, but an already-famous wizard. He hadn't known Albus Dumbledore very well then, but by the end of the year, he'd seen the pride in the wizard's eyes when he looked at Harry, and the love, and something else, some other emotion he hadn't ever been able to identify.
Even seeing Tom's vapor-self, feeling the cold horror of pure evil, and hearing that somehow, he would fight that thing hadn't truly shaken him. Albus Dumbledore's presence had made Harry feel secure. Indeed, so secure that Harry had always been hopeful during the following years, even when he'd encountered Tom's diary-self and a Basilisk, Sirius and his tragic story within a story, and the tasks of the Triwizard Tournament.
It wasn't until the end of Fourth Year, when Tom had plotted so expertly and lured Harry away from safety of Hogwarts that Harry's faith in Dumbledore's omnipotence had been severely shaken. But the events at the end of Fifth Year, after a long year of feeling abandoned by Dumbledore and the horrifying desire to attack his Headmaster, had only reinforced Harry's faith.
He'd been so desolate after Sirius' death that the fight had left him entirely. He had stood there, awaiting Tom's Killing Curse. But Professor Dumbledore had saved him. The Headmaster had fought Tom Wizard to Wizard, and had won easily. Tom had been forced to try to take Harry over in order to beat the older Wizard. It hadn't worked.
Harry had survived. After he had recovered, and after the long, bloody summer that followed, Harry had accepted the Prophecy and steeled himself for the fight. In essence, he always believed he would need to be as powerful as Dumbledore to beat Tom. He had studied hard, trained hard, but he wasn't ready yet.
"Harry?" Ron's voice called from a long distance.
Harry shook his head and moved away, his thoughts focused on the past.
All the preparation. All the fighting. All the surviving—six death attempts in one year. Why? Without the Headmaster there, what hope was there?
Hope . . .?
They called him the One, but he would never be enough.
"...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
It would always come down to Harry. His survival, his very existence showed the world that there was hope in the face of ultimate evil.
The Headmaster had known that—truthfully, he had known it from the beginning. That was the other emotion in his eyes, the one Harry could never quite read—hope. Dumbledore had always given Harry hope, and yet somehow, Harry had returned it.
Hope.
His role in this war—hope. And all of those things that had changed him from the eleven-year-old, Muggle-raised innocent that he had been—Draco's taunting, Tom's Diary, the Basilisk, Dementors, Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Cedric's death, Occlumency, Umbridge, Sirius' death, Procclumency, poisoning, Lucius, the Seven Deadly Slytherins, Fornier—it had all been preparation. Preparation for the final battle against Tom, against the anathema of Lord Voldemort.
In the end, just as Tom's attack on him as a baby had given him Lily's protection, the evil he had been exposed to had only made him stronger. Through it all, he had found love and hope, and determination to keep them both.
". . . forgotten what helping Potter has cost me . . ."
From somewhere far away, he heard Ron and Draco arguing.
"Your friends made the wrong choice—"
"Death or cooperation is not a choice!"
"Maybe not for a coward . . ."
Those two opposites, those two enemies. And yet, somehow they were both here, helping Harry. The Sorting Hat's song at the beginning of the year had spoken of just this thing: of the Houses uniting to fight Tom. He couldn't recall the words, but there had been the statement that if they didn't work together, they would die.
Had they worked together? Some of them had—the D.A., Draco, Tobias and Zimmy. And suddenly, he knew that they were part of the answer. His friends, his family. Ron, Draco, Hermione, Neville, Tobias . . . and Ginny. The Weasleys. Remus. Tonks.
They were in this with him, and that's where his hope—
"Dobby is so sorry. So very sorry!"
Harry whipped around to see the House Elf floating through the wall again.
"Why? What's happened?"
"Bad House Elves! Very bad House Elves. Attacking the Headmaster and Harry Potter's friends!"
"WHAT???!!" Harry's mind rushed through all the friends unaccounted for—were they dead? Injured?
"And the Manticore!"
"WHAT???!!!"
"Not the Manticore again," Draco said peevishly. "Can we please not do the Manticore again?"
"I thought it was dead . . ." Harry's brain leapt to the memory of his eventful trip to Hogwarts, when he had fought off a Manticore by calling up six poisonous serpents. At least two had bitten the beast, giving Harry the opportunity to slip away with the help of his Summoned Firebolt, which Draco had unfortunately been riding at the time. Draco had not been happy.
Harry dragged his mind to the present. "Dobby! Back up! Have the House Elves hurt anyone?"
"Not all House Elves are going bad," Dobby corrected anxiously. "Some is helping Professor Dumbledore get to the Infirmary. Some is keeping bad Master and bad Potions teacher away."
"I knew it!" Ron yelled, "Snape's with them, isn't he?"
"And where is the Manticore?" Harry thrust in.
"He is being on the Quidditch Pitch, calling your name," Dobby whispered, covering his eyes with his hands. "Dobby is so sorry, Mister Harry Potter, but you must be being running for your life! Death is everywhere!"
Harry clenched his wand tightly. "No. I'm not running. You have to get me out there! NOW!!!"
"Oh—no! It's not safe!!! And Dobby doesn't know how anyway!"
"Well, how else—" Harry cut himself off as a small tremor shook the castle, almost as if it were a beast preparing to rise to its feet.
"Bloody hell," whispered Ron, wand out, looking around nervously. Draco was standing two meters away, arms crossed. He, too, was watching the walls, from which a sound like a breathless sigh emanated.
Dobby floated closer to Harry. "That would be being the Headmaster Spell. Professor Dumbledore have been making it to the Infirmary." The House Elf's eyes swam with misty tears. "He's gone."
"No," Harry whispered. His heart clenched so tightly that he bent under the pain of it.
"Dobby will be going to find a way out of here for Mister Harry Potter," Dobby said in a quavering voice. "Dobby will return." Harry nodded and Dobby misted back through the wall. Silence reigned for a long moment.
"Hell in a hand basket, mate. A Manticore on the Quidditch Pitch? He had to do it," Ron concluded in a strained voice. "Maybe now we'll be able to get out."
Harry nodded. He still wasn't sure exactly how it worked, but Dobby had said that when a Headmaster . . . died, or at any point he deemed the castle in danger, he could choose to give his magic to the school. That explained the feeling he'd always had that Hogwarts was alive. Headmasters had made this sacrifice before.
Another tremor. A sigh from the floor beneath them. The boys all took an unconscious step back.
"All this talk of leaving is preposterous," Draco bit out. "We were put here for protection—for a reason."
Harry looked him dead in the eye. "I don't need protection, not anymore. I need to fight." He wanted to go on, to say something about destiny and all the sacrifices that others had made to get him here. It was suddenly obvious to him that he had been freed of his fear of Lucius, whether from exposure or sympathy or simple necessity in the light of what was to come. All these thoughts were in his mind, but words failed him and Harry simply turned away.
A sudden whisper of wind blew up between the boys in the room, picking up motes that sparkled and shone in the gathering dark. Wait—was it getting darker?
"Oi! What's tha'?"
"Headmaster's magic, dolt—pay attention," Draco snapped loudly over the loud wind, which was increasing in speed. Harry held his hands up in front of his watering eyes, trying to see the center of the room in case something unpleasant was appearing.
It shouldn't, but then—
With a sudden craaaaaaaaack, the wall behind Ron suddenly split open. Ron vaulted toward Harry and turned just in time to see the split widen.
The wind died away, sending its glittering dust deep into the new, gaping doorway, where it lit up a descending stone stairway before winking out altogether.
Harry smiled grimly. "Lumos." The tip of his wand sparked and he started forward, Ron immediately behind him.
"About bloody time," Ron said loudly.
"Where are you going?" Draco called after them sharply.
"Down," Harry called back over his shoulder. "You're welcome to come."
"That's just what we need," Ron groused. "Someone to baby-sit while we fight for our lives."
Draco snapped back something about his father, but by then, Harry and Ron had already made two turns in the cool, dark tunnel and couldn't be bothered to understand him. The glowing glitter had gone cascading down the steps, washing the rough-hewn stone walls that led to who-knows-where with a silvery glow.
By all that Harry knew about the architecture of the school, this tunnel couldn't exist. Its path led out beyond the stone wall of Hogwarts. "Where do you think we're heading?" Ron asked after they had traveled down for what they believed to be at least two floors.
"Not sure," Harry admitted, gripping his wand more tightly, "but probably where we're needed the most."
"Don't suppose this goes all the way to the Burrow then, does it?" Ron muttered and Harry felt a pang. He'd almost forgotten Mr. Weasley's predicament. He was being held a captive by Wormtail.
"Surely Fred and George have straightened things out there by now," Harry said positively. Hope. They had to keep hope. Even in the face of absolute chaos.
Harry paused. Ahead, the light of his wand showed the tunnel splitting three ways, with one path leading level to the right, one leading straight ahead and up, and the other bending down to the left. The glittering specks that had led and accompanied them this far was no help at all. They ended on the last stair below.
Ron swore loudly. "How can we be needed the most in three different places? Even if we split up, we couldn't cover them all."
"Giving up already?" Draco's cold voice sounded from behind. "I thought heroes were supposed to be tenacious as well bull-headed."
Ron snorted, then turned a derisive face toward the Slytherin. "Yeah, that's right. Take the coward's advantage: snipe at anyone who takes direct action."
"Direct action? You call running willy-nilly down a set of magical steps taking direct action? They could be leading anywhere!"
Harry blocked them out as they continued to bicker. The choice before him was a difficult one to make. Ostensibly, they could split up and each check out one path, to see where it led. Once upon a time, he might have jumped at the chance to fight alone. But he had changed. Now he intended to face Tom with as many of his friends as he could, though he needed to talk with Hermione before he could be sure of the plan budding in his mind.
Which way led to the Quidditch Pitch? Was he needed more there, to fight the Manticore (not that any of his spells had pierced its hide before) or at the Infirmary to take on the House Elves? He'd never fought House Elves before, and didn't relish the thought. What about the other students? What about the Aurors searching for him? Was Lucius harming anyone else in his frustrated quest to find Harry and Draco?
"The Infirmary is that way," Harry said abruptly. "Let's go left." He gave the other two a cursory glance and started down. Ron grunted in agreement before following. Neither of them mentioned that Hermione and Ginny had been sent with Tonks to the Infirmary, the same place where Dobby had said the House Elves had been attacking Dumbledore, but Harry's mind couldn't leave the possibilities alone.
"And am I allowed to come?" Draco called after them.
"Bugger off," Ron groused.
"Oh, all right. I promise not to get in the way of any male-bonding you Gryffindors feel the need to engage in. Kissing, fondling—whatever."
Harry had to smile, though the Slytherin had managed to hit a raw spot after that conversation they'd had upstairs.
Ron gestured toward Draco. "And you trust this—"
"Skip the unimaginative epithets for once, please," Draco interrupted, "Wouldn't want you to strain yourself."
"Yes," Harry said, "I do trust him." His eyes caught Draco's, where he caught a faint expression of pleasure. "Unless a Manticore shows up."
Draco harrumphed. "Even you were terrified of that thing, and you have the self- preservation instinct of a suicidal House Elf."
"He does not!" Ron said forcefully, "He's going to survive this and I'm going to make sure he does."
"You needn't say that as if it makes you some sort of a martyr. Have you honestly not noticed that for the past six years, the entirety of Hogwarts has been investing in this . . . Savior," Draco said with a slight nod in Harry's direction. "If he dies, there is no hope. By saving him, you're merely saving yourself."
Ron's mouth dropped open. "That's not why I'm doing it! He's my best friend, you slimy Halitoad! I don't care if he saves the whole bloomin' world or not—I just know he's not going to die trying to do it. Not while I'm around."
Draco raised his palms as if to say What am I supposed to do with that sort of logic?
Harry flushed uncomfortably, warmed through by Ron's loyalty. "We're all fighting on the same side now, that's what's important. It will never be more important than today."
Ron looked at him gravely. "You think this is it, then—I mean, the prophecy and all that?"
Harry nodded. He could feel it—the mechanisms of Fate wound tightly, waiting to be sprung. Emotions flitted through him—dread, excitement, determination—each one gaining strength by the second. Ginny. He wanted to see Ginny one more time, hold her and tell her how he felt.
"Harry," Ron said uncertainly, but Harry gestured for him to be still.
It was time. Everything he had been training for, everything he had suffered, everything he had hoped and feared . . . whatever it all meant . . . it was happening. He could feel it.
The ending was beginning—now
The word echoed in his brain like a gong. Now.
"We need to go." Harry looked at Ron.
"I'm with you," his friend returned firmly. Harry took a deep breath and turned to lead the way down, gripping his wand tightly. Ron and Draco followed.
"I must say," Draco said idly after a minute, his footfalls slow and deliberate, "even though I was expecting it, that was a perfectly ghastly specimen of Gryffindor male bonding. It's going to take weeks to get out of my head." Draco sighed. "Necessity does make for strange bedfellows."
"'Bedfellows?' What the ruddy hell are you talking about?"
And with that exchange, Ron and Draco returned to their bickering, only without the usual degree of malice.
They descended more quickly now. Finally, just as Harry was becoming irritated by the suspicion that the tunnel was leading them to the Great Hall instead of the Infirmary, the stairs ended—in a blank stone wall. A wind spun around the tunnel, picking up the strange, whirling specks and blowing them around the stone tunnel violently. The wall cracked open before them. Noises filled the space immediately, the murmur of voices and growing more distant, the sounds of yells and dueling. It sounded as if the battle were over.
He said softly to his friends, "Wait—" With a tap of his wand, he Disillusioned himself and Ron. Draco followed suit. "Follow me," Harry whispered. Outside, it had grown ominously quiet.
A suit of armor stood directly in front of them, and Harry crept around it cautiously. He was immediately assaulted by the recollection of hiding behind this armor while escaping the Infirmary to go rescue Charlie. He shook off the memory and looked toward the Infirmary doors. Harry gasped. Bodies littered the ground—mostly House Elves. But piled up lifelessly at one end of the hallway was a tangle of humans.
Three House Elves were busily checking them—there were at least five or six. No one else was in sight. Had Dumbledore made it to the Infirmary? He wasn't on the ground—he, nor Snape or Lucius. But—
Harry's breath stalled as he recognized Hermione's red shirt and Cho's blue Quidditch uniform.
He jumped forward and, from the sound of it, was only seconds behind Ron who was already cursing and slinging a Bludgeoning Spell—loudly—announcing their position to everyone.
Which is why there was an immediate volley of curses sent their way. Curses? House Elves didn't use wands, but apparently, they fought the same as Wizards. Harry focused his thoughts. The three Curses from ahead were expected. But from behind—he Sensed five more. No time to warn anyone.
Harry heard Draco grunt as he dove away and then everything slowed. There was no sound but Harry's own breathing. He Sensed eight jets of light streaming his way straight like arrows, red and angry. Shielding would announce his position—too dangerous. One jet of light ended near the ground, where Ron must have flung himself and put up a shield. The curses weren't all on target, but in any direction Harry went to avoid one curse, he would hit another. He could see the moves in his mind like a puzzle—the possible moves, the outcomes. Two more curses still coming and Harry was running out of time.
The first one was here. He would just have to—
Duck this one—
Dive right—
Roll—
Turn and jump that curse—
Leap—
Arch back—farther—and kick over . . . now!
Two more jets spun by. Harry dropped to one knee and took a breath. He couldn't see the others, but he could Sense them. Closing his eyes, Harry found Ron ahead, now Shielding behind him and firing on the three House Elves ahead. The Elves Apparated. Gone. Where the—
Then they were all there again, but on the other side of Ron—all firing in his direction. Damn!
"Behind you, Ron!"
But Draco had decided to enter the fray. From his position against the far wall, he spun curses at the Elves on the heels of theirs, trying to catch them off guard. They blocked the Reducto Curses and turned to fire in Draco's direction. Draco was already gone. He was fighting smarter than Ron, using his invisibility as a weapon.
As for Ron, Harry couldn't see him, but he thought he must have dodged the Curses. However concerned he was, he had his own problems to think about. Like Five House Elves trying to pick him off. He could tell they didn't really know where he was. They were spinning random curses across the room, most of them coming no closer than a meter to him. But they were smart and using each miss to figure out where he wasn't.
Could they be Sensing?
Suddenly, as if they had heard his thoughts, all the House Elves stopped and looked at each other. It was creepy, the way they just looked and seemed to know what to do. They ran forward, past Harry and started firing at the places Ron and Draco had just been. Perfect.
Harry aimed at their backs and spun what was supposed to be five Impedimentas. However, he only got three of them out before the whole group of House Elves turned on him again. And this time, they knew where he was.
All eight shot as one, and even with his Sensing, Harry barely managed to move quick enough to avoid them. He kept moving ahead—dodging and spinning. But some of the House Elves started throwing curses ahead. They were covering all the ground in the long, narrow hallway now.
Sensing around him, Harry could feel Ron checking the humans. Draco wasn't moving or using Magic. He must be injured now. Harry was on his own and running out of options.
He moved to the left, closer to the wall, and realized his mistake immediately. They knew he was there, and that he had less air to move in. Curses were shot high and low, front and back. Harry would dodge three, only to find number four directly at his head. He'd throw himself to the ground, and find two more aimed at his feet. So far he had managed to dodge them, but how long could he hold out?
His shoulder hit the wall as he twisted away from an Impedimenta Curse, slowing him that much more.
One jet of red shot over his head, one hit beside his right foot and then—the castle began to tremor again.
Yes! Harry thought as he threw himself back and over a Bludgeoning Curse, extending one hand down to the stone floor. If I can just—
But suddenly, he was falling back against a wall—a short, stone wall where there hadn't been one.
What??
All around him, walls were springing up from the floor, blocking the lower Curses and so quickly that Harry was disoriented, they were blocking the upper Curses as well. Harry lay back against one of the new walls, sucking in air, relieved momentarily. He could no longer see the House Elves at all. At the moment, his Sensing told him that they were all hanging back, probably trying to figure out what was going on.
Harry got to his feet quietly, and ducked when he found that his head topped the walls by a foot. He held still a moment, trying to focus. What he had seen made him break out in cold prickles all over. Walls now reached out from his position at right angles, intersecting with other walls in all directions . . . a maze. It was a maze, like the one in the Triwizard Tournament, only the walls were short. Harry could see over them, giving him an enormous advantage.
And, he reminded himself, these were made out of stone. But still, memories from that day flashed through his mind—the dimness and silence inside the towering hedges, the Blast-Ended Skrewt, the Sphinx, and what came the Triwizard Cup: terror and agony—the blood-baptized beginning of Tom's second bid for world domination.
Hate.
But there had been love, also. The Weasleys had been there that day, had stood up for him as his family when no one else would have bothered. Ron, Ginny and the rest of them. They'd been their afterward, in the Infirmary. Mrs. Weasley had held him as he could never remember being held before.
Love—before and after the hate.
That's what he needed to remember. Strengthened, Harry took in a deep breath. Even now, love was providing a barrier for him, a maze not for him to travel, but to protect him.
"Thank you, sir," Harry whispered, and a pained smile lit his face briefly.
Leaning back, waiting for the House Elves to decide their strategy, he felt in control of things for the first time in a long, long while.
The first thing the House Elves tried was a simple three-at-one-time plan. Harry picked them off easily. Then they tried climbing the walls and making their way inward. Harry put off attacking them just to give them time to feel secure. By the time four of them were tiptoeing along the thin, stone walls, he was aimed and ready. The four Petrified House Elves hit the floor in a series of thuds that echoed all along the hallway.
That left one. But a clipped, angry Curse from outside the maze followed by a cry and a thud told Harry that at last Draco had weighed in, obviously not too injured to participate.
Harry wasted no time. He ran through the maze, glad to see them disappearing back into the floor as he ran. By the time he reached the front of the maze, he could step over the walls and did so. As he reached the crush of bodies over by the wall, he could hear Ron's heavy breathing and see him lifting Hermione. Around him were lying Lupin, Cho, Dean, Tonks . . .
"Why didn't she use her blasted Portkey?" Ron choked out.
"Is she—" Harry's throat closed before he could finish the question. Hermione was lying, pale and still, in Ron's invisible arms.
"She's alive," Draco said beside them, making Harry jump and then breathe a sigh of relief.
"How do you . . ."
"She's breathing," Draco supplied in answer. "I'll get Madame Pomfrey."
Harry nodded, realizing for the first time that he was trembling. What if Hermione had been killed? He couldn't imagine it—wouldn't let himself think how he would feel, how he would deal with it. He satisfied himself with touching one of her limp hands and then turned to the others strewn around them—including Charlie and Professor Flitwick, who he hadn't noticed before. Harry knelt and looked at each of them in turn. None of them were dead—all unconscious except for Dean who was still Petrified. Harry's jaw tightened.
How had the House Elves gotten the best of them so easily? Harry shook his head, knowing the answer to that. If Dumbledore hadn't . . . if Hogwarts itself hadn't come to his rescue, the House Elves would have gotten him easily, too.
The good news was that they weren't killing machines, even if they were under someone else's control. The bad news was that this wasn't all of them. Harry stood up and counted the House Elf bodies. Eighteen. He'd seen at least thirty-five to forty House Elves down in the Kitchen at one time, and assumed there were many more. Where were the rest? Where were the "good" House Elves Dobby had mentioned?
A scream came from the Infirmary and Harry was on his feet instantly.
"Is that—is that Madame Pomfrey?" Ron asked, sounding as if he were struggling to with Hermione's limp form in his arms as well as respond to the new crisis.
"Quiet," Harry moved stealthily to the tall doors at the end of the hall. Just before he reached them, the doors flew open with a bang and Madame Pomfrey herself burst out.
"Do that again, boy, and I'll hex you into next week myself! Where are they? How many are injured?"
Harry, who jumped quickly to the side, heard Draco's protests as they went by.
"I wasn't trying to scare you, as I said. I'm Disillusioned because there are mad House Elves attacking students!" Draco huffed out as Harry followed along, deciding to stay quiet so that Madame Pomfrey wouldn't get another shock.
"Yes, yes—I'm not hard of hearing, you whelp! Now did you say that Harry is out here as well?"
"Yes, ma'am," Harry spoke up, cringing from a safe distance away.
Madame Pomfrey yelped and put a hand on her heart. "Don't tell me you're hiding from evil House Elves, too, Mister Potter!"
Harry un-Disillusioned himself sheepishly. "Well . . . they are evil. Look what they did!" He pointed to the bodies just around the corner.
Looking down the line of wounded, Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue and raised her wand. "Accio Omnis Rememdium Promalum!"
Draco, who had un-Disillusioned himself as well, gave Harry an alarmed look and then flattened himself against the wall. The Infirmary doors flew open once again, and a battery of equipment floated out. Harry saw bandages, hundreds of bottles, pans, towels and a large bed circling in the air before continuing on in a line with slow and mesmerizing bounces. He jumped as Madame Pomfrey shouted, "Don't just stand there—spell it down!"
Harry gave Hermione a last look before he scrambled to obey orders, joining Draco as he aimed with his wand and called down the items. They did well, only failing to catch two bottles and the bed, which hit the stone floor with a thud and promptly lost both its headboard and footboard. The bed was Harry's fault, because Madame Pomfrey had distracted him by calling out Remus' injuries, "Concussion, one broken rib and laceration on the left side." The bed nearly came down on Draco.
After making sure Draco wasn't interminably angry, Harry watched Madame Pomfrey's astonishing Healer Spellwork. He'd never seen her attack a room full of injured like this.
First, three bottles measured out dollops of potion and poured themselves into Lupin's Spelled-Open mouth. His body resettled itself more comfortably. The bed multiplied itself, and Lupin rose in the air to lie on the fifth bed, which was still scooting itself slowly until it rested against the wall.
By this time, Madame Pomfrey was moving over to Hermione.
"Can you help her, Madame—"
Her scream echoed around the castle corridors and Harry moved hastily to bop Ron over the head with his wand, rather hard, in order to un-Disillusion him.
"Ow! Sorry!" Ron said, grimacing.
Madame Pomfrey had one hand to her heart, and with the other, she cut off Ron's apology. "The next Disillusioned pup I find gets his goods handed to him on a platter. And I can do it, too!" She punctuated her declaration with a jab of her wand, sending small sparks out toward Harry, who jumped back a step or two. "Now, let me concentrate, you hooligans!
Ron wisely went silent.
"Slight concussion, one broken arm with contusions."
Ron groaned and tried to adjust Hermione so that her injured arm was supported. "Just put her down, you lummox!" Ron shook his head, and Madame Pomfrey lifted her wand.
"If the spell hits you instead of her, young man, you're running a risk, but all right," Madame Pomfrey said sternly, raising her wand. She quickly spelled the potions and moved away as they measured themselves and Hermione accepted them as meekly as if she had been awake.
While Madame Pomfrey spelled Tonks to diagnose her injuries, Draco walked over to Harry.
"Any idea where to next?" he asked as he glanced around nervously. "I don't relish the thought that my father could be on his way." Harry gave Draco a quick look. "It's not as if this were a quiet battle, you know."
Harry nodded, looking intently down the long hallway for the minutest hint that anyone was headed their way. "I just need to make sure everyone's all right. They're still very vulnerable like this. Oh." The Marauder's Map. Harry darted over to Remus, who was disturbingly pale but breathing well, and began searching the wizard's pockets gingerly for the map. Draco followed.
"I hate to bring this up—I really do, because I know how your mind works—but wasn't your girlfriend supposed to be with this lot?"
Harry, staring up at Draco, suddenly felt the world retreat away from him. Everything went quiet, and all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart and his own loud, suddenly harsh breathing.
Ron let out a garbled curse. "She's not here . . . Where is she?"
Harry stood slowly with the Marauder's Map in hand, intent on finding Ginny. "She's not here! I don't—I can't see her!"
A grinding noise began nearby. Harry sprinted to the suit of armor and saw what he thought to find—the tunnel had opened again. One of those other ways—could that be where Ginny was, shielded somehow? He spun around. Or had she been taken somewhere outside the castle? To Hell Manor? To him? Harry froze, horrified. Panic was edging its way in. But—no. She had to be here, somewhere. Harry started forward.
"Don't even think it, Potter," Draco said from behind him. He called back to Ron. "The tunnel's open again. You'd better get over here before he runs off on his own."
"I wasn't," Harry spat out, then ran back to Ron. "Ginny could be anywhere," he gestured helplessly. "We've got to find her!"
"I can't leave Hermione. She . . ." Ron looked up at Harry helplessly.
Harry nodded. He felt the same way—fractured, split in his worry. "How is she?"
"I dunno," Ron muttered.
"She's fine as fiddlesticks, Ronald Weasley, with all that in her. She should be waking up in . . . well, just about now," Madame Pomfrey said as she waved her wand and Spelled the correct potions for Tonks.
Harry and Ron watched Hermione's face intently. She lay in Ron's arms, limp and helpless-looking, long brown hair streaming over Ron's shoulder. There was a small bruise on her left cheek. Harry felt as taut as a highwire. Would it be too much to ask that these be the only of the injuries given to his friends today? Too much to ask that Ginny be found whole and unharmed?
The smallest of sighs escaped Hermione's lips. Her eyes flickered, then opened, showing confusion and pain in her brown eyes. Harry's heart squeezed tight as Hermione's gaze searched around until they finally focused on Ron's face above her.
"Hermione," Ron said in a shaky voice.
"I thought you'd never get here," she said softly. Then, with another sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned her head on his chest.
Harry and Ron exchanged guilty looks. "Sorry," Ron mumbled. "What happened? I thought Professor Lupin and Charlie were protecting you."
"I'm okay," Hermione said, looking up at him and placing a hand on his arm. "And they did their best, but the House Elves . . . I should have fought better, but I didn't think at first they were on the other side. It was horrible! And after all I tried to do for them! They just popped in and attacked—ouch," she blanched and lay back in Ron's arms again.
"What is it," Ron asked urgently.
"My arm," she whispered.
"I'm going to kill 'em," Ron muttered, looking slightly unnerved by his murderous desire.
"Steady, mate," Harry said in a low voice.
Ron nodded, but turned back to Hermione. "Who hurt you?"
"I don't even know. It was so confusing. By the time we got there, Professor Dumbledore had already gone into the Infirmary and Professor Snape—oh! Professor Snape was helping Lucius Malfoy," she looked up at Harry with wide eyes. Harry felt his body grow colder. "He was limping—Lucius was—and Professor Snape was helping him. Professor Lupin and Charlie ran forward to stop them, but suddenly, there were House Elves and Curses everywhere."
"Not all of them were attacking you, right?" Harry asked.
"No. I don't think . . . it seemed evenly divided between those who were attacking us and those who were defending us. But the ones who were helping started Apparating out. I don't know what happened. Is someone is controlling them? Is that why they did this?"
"Duffy might have had something to do with it. After all, the House Elves were on our side up until we started hearing about Duffy. Dobby kept saying weird things were happening. Maybe Duffy turned them against Hogwarts."
"Or Imperiused them," Ron added.
"House Elves can't be Imperiused," Draco put in from over by the wall. "That's one reason why they're put under such strict rule when they're attached to a family. All that power must be harnessed. The House Elves we just fought were free. There's no other way they could have attacked us."
"Oh," Hermione said in a miserable voice. "So when I encouraged them to take clothes with S.P.E.W., they just saw it as an opportunity to turn against Hogwarts?"
"It wasn't your fault, Hermione," Ron said with fervor. "You thought you were doing the right thing and Duffy or whoever-that-was decided to take advantage and make the freed Elves work for Voldemort."
Hermione rested her head against Ron's chest and sighed. Then abruptly, she turned concerned eyes on Harry. "Harry. Did Ginny find you?"
Harry's heart clenched. "No."
"She went back upstairs to help you. I couldn't stop her," Hermione's glance sharpened as she saw the Map. "She's not on there?" Harry shook his head. Hermione's eyes went wide. "Ron, put me down. I'm fine." But she yelped and grimaced as he lowered her down. "Except for my arm." She cradled it against her chest.
"Should be better in a moment, deary," Madame Pomfrey called over. "Glad you're up. Wear a sling for few hours and drink this every three." The sling came over of its own accord and wrapped around Hermione's arm and neck carefully. Hermione disentangled it from her hair. The Potion hurtled itself at them and Harry snatched it out of the air.
"Here," he handed it to her.
"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione called over, tucking the medicine into the pouch provided by her sling. She turned to Harry. "Could Ginny be hidden from the map somehow?"
"She must be. Where in the castle is hidden from the map?" he asked desperately.
"Oi," came a groan from one of the beds. "Am I ever glad we didn't have a House Elf." Charlie was stirring.
"They're mental, the whole lot of them," Ron walked over to his brother with a grin, a slow-moving Hermione tagging along. "How're you?"
"This is nothing." Charlie grinned slowly. "Right, Harry?"
Jittery as he was about Ginny, Harry forced a smile as he walked over to Charlie's other side. "Fresh as a daisy." Despite the fact that Charlie was ashen and his right leg was bloodied besides being turned at an odd angle, he had looked far worse when Harry had rescued him from Hell Manor a month or so before. "I'm beginning to think you've got a crush on Madame Pomfrey, as often as you're in here."
"If that ain't the pot callin' the kettle black, I don't know what is," Charlie chuckled. "After all, Poppy does have her Potter Emergency Medical Kit ready to go at all times. You do know that, right?"
"Does she?"
"Are you kidding? She's a bit cannier than you give her credit for."
"Reckon so."
"Ron, I had word from home." Charlie said, dropping the teasing from his voice.
"You did?"
"Yeah. Fred and George got Dad out all right. They got Wormtail good."
"And Dad's all right?"
"Yeah. Bill said the twinnies were brill. Disguised one of them as some sort of Muggle bad guy—Dark Vader or something like tha'."
"Darth Vader?" Harry said incredulously.
"That's it, yeah. Fred donned a helmet and some black leathers, did some sort of heavy breathing trick and convinced Wormtail it was Voldemort in his new, improved get-up. George tied himself up, pretended to be an injured captive and Wormtail let them both in. Then they kicked his scrawny ass and saved Dad. He was all proud about it. Said the twins were hauling Wormtail to the Ministry and then they'd be back here."
"Brilliant! I wish I could have seen tha'!" Ron said, squeezing Hermione happily.
"Yeah, well, I think Fred modified the helmet to include Omnioculars in the visor. It has instant replay. Who knew they'd turn out to be so damned clever?"
Harry smiled, relieved that Mr. Weasley was all right. "Not your mum, that's for sure."
"Harry, is that you?" came a groan from farther down the hall. Remus Lupin was trying to sit up in bed, holding one side of his ribs tightly. "Harry—what are you doing out of the . . ."
"What am I doing?" Harry was already by his side, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're injured, Remus—lie back."
The older man sighed and let his head fall back on the pillow. "I'll be all right in a minute. Listen, Harry, you shouldn't have left the room, but . . . I'm glad you did. House Elves—"
"Yes, I know. We're on our way downstairs to—"
"No! No, Harry—listen to me. McGonagall contacted me just before the House Elves attacked. Fornier is in the Gryffindor Common Room . . . attacking students—"
"What?" The room went dim in Harry's eyes for a moment. Could things get any worse? He shook his head. "I thought they Flooed everyone out."
"There wasn't time."
"Bloody hell," Charlie said, pushing up off his bed. "I didn't hear that—"
"You were already injured, Charlie," Remus reassured him.
"And don't you even think about getting out of that bed, Mr. Weasley!" Madame Pomfrey called out from where she bent over Dean. "Five more minutes at a minimum for that leg!" Ron and Hermione did their best to ease Charlie back down and reassure him.
Harry turned back to Lupin, his heart filled with dread. Shoving reason aside, he spoke the thing that he'd refused to contemplate. "What about Professor Dumbledore?"
Lupin laid his hand on Harry's arm. "It's too late, Harry. He's already given himself over to the school. There's no turning back."
Falling. His stomach felt like he was falling from a great height. "Where is he? Where's Dumbledore?"
"He should still be in the Infirmary, but—Harry!"
Something in Harry had snapped. He was running for the Infirmary, desperate to see the Headmaster. Ginny was gone and he needed a minute with Dumbledore. Just a minute. Dumbledore would know something.He would know this was the beginning of the end. He would tell Harry what to do.
Behind him, he heard Charlie calling out. "Harry, where are you—you've got to find Ginny!"
Ron and Hermione must have told him she was missing. "I know!" Harry yelled back. "I'll be right—"
Harry came to a dead halt and jerked back as the Infirmary doors slammed shut in front of him. He jumped forward and tried to force his hands in the crack, then tried Spelling them open—nothing worked. Breathing hard, blinking back the sudden wetness in his eyes, he stood, trying to gain control.
The others were speaking in low tones that echoed emptily in the corridor. Finally, Harry heard Hermione's and Ron's footsteps. The wall to his right opened to reveal a tunnel. Harry took a steadying breath.
"You all right, mate?" Ron asked quietly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. Hermione said nothing, just slid her hand inside Harry's arm and laid her head on his arm. Somehow, he did feel better. Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat.
"Harry," Hermione began in a careful tone, "we need to find Ginny."
Harry looked down at her. "We don't know where to look."
"Draco says . . . we should check the Chamber of Secrets."
"But why would—" He cut off as soon as the thought hit him.
"The Seven Deadly Slytherins," Draco said from behind, and Harry whipped around to face him. The paler boy's gaze slid away from Harry's. "Getting your girlfriend down there was one of the earliest plans they made."
Harry was instantly in Draco's face, his voice harsh with panic. "Down there? Why?"
"To bring back some bad memories. To make you so angry that you might be an easy target, the bonus, of course, being that it doesn't show up on any maps." Draco gave him a small smile. "I thought I had persuaded them that the idea was ludicrous, but well, with only Millicent left . . ." he gestured vaguely.
"They can't get down there," Harry ground out, his fists clenched.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm the only parseltongue left now that your mum is dead." Again, Harry saw Narcissa in his mind, partially changed to her snake Animagus, dead—a suicide from her own venomous fangs. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "I should have thought of them using the Chamber earlier."
"Of course," Hermione said. "The Chamber wouldn't have shown up on the Marauder's Map. She and Wormtail could have been hiding there all along."
Harry flicked his gaze back to Draco as a smile spread across the Slytherin's face.
"So they won't be able to get to the Chamber now. The dungeons, then. They'll take her to the dungeons."
Rage enflamed Harry. He pushed away from Hermione and Ron and leapt for the newly-opened tunnel. With lit wand in hand, he took the stairs two at a time. Footsteps pounded behind him—Ron, and it sounded like Hermione and Draco fighting as they ran.
Harry heaved up a whole flight of stairs before coming to a dead stop.
Ron, stopping beside him, breathed out, "If Ginny needs us in the dungeons, then why the bloody hell is this going up?"
Harry, who had just thought the same thing, didn't bother to answer, but took off down the way they came. If Hogwarts wasn't going to take him there, then he'd go another way. He thrust through Hermione and Draco on the stairs.
"And where do you think you're going?" Draco asked in a bored voice.
Harry ignored him, then cried out as the light from up ahead suddenly winked out.
"NO!" Harry charged forward until he reached the newly-made dead end. Backing up, he spun a red jet of light to bounce off the wall fruitlessly.
"Oi!" Ron yelped from behind. "That nearly got me."
Harry, glaring at the formidable stone wall ahead, bellowed his fury.
"Harry," Hermione began, "don't fight him. You're just wasting time."
Feeling suddenly light-headed, Harry sucked in a calming breath, turned and started to climb the stairs again. He pushed by Ron, who was watching him warily. "We'll find her," Harry muttered, "as soon as the damn school lets us."
He could heard Draco's footsteps from up ahead. The Slytherin hadn't even tried to go back down. As Harry neared the top, he tried to ignore Draco's direct gaze.
"Are you done with your little temper tan—"
He cut off as Harry's wand whipped around, aimed at his throat. Draco swallowed. "Obviously not."
Harry was seething. "Do you remember what they did to Tobias when they had him down there—just to make me angry? And now they have Ginny? I feel like someone is ripping me apart." Harry had to catch a breath before he could continue. "Is there anyone you care about enough to understand that?"
Draco had opened his mouth to speak, but froze in that position a long moment. His eyes were, for once, guileless and vaguely lost. "I don't know," he said, pausing, "there used to be." Harry felt a pale twinge of grief that disappeared into the maelstorm of churning emotion inside him. He lowered his wand and Draco fell back against the wall, muttering to himself. "I suppose we'll soon see."
Harry didn't answer, but continued climbing the stairs. Ron caught him up and flashed a wan smile.
"You know, mate, there's no need to hold back. I mean, if you've got the ferret up against the wall like that, you might as well make it worth the trouble."
"We're headed for the Gryffindor Common Room," Harry said brusquely. "There's no telling what we'll find."
"Check the map," Ron said abruptly. "Can't hurt."
Harry stared at the map, the tremble in his hand becoming more and more pronounced. Neville was alone in the Common Room and his name, written in elegant black script, was . . . fading.
"We're too late," Hermione said in a tearful voice as she stumbled into the empty Common Room. "This is . . ."
"There," Ron said hoarsely, pointing with a shaky hand. "McGonagall."
They were there in seconds, at the foot of the stairs where their Head of House lay sprawled—her face pale and dark, her blue eyes open but empty. Dried blood streamed from her nose and slightly open mouth.
Harry knelt, checking her pulse, more from stubbornness than hope. There was no pulse. Which explains why she didn't show up on the Marauder's Map. Harry clenched his jaw, trying to force sudden, breath-stealing fears for Ginny from his mind. Not dead like this. Please.
Beside him, Hermione sobbed until pale, stoic Ron gathered her up in his arms. Harry gazed down at his Head of House and marveled how much smaller, how much more helpless she looked now. Keeping his hand steady by a force of will, Harry reached out and gently closed her eyes. As he did, he thanked her for all that she had been to him—teacher, benefactor, mentor, and protector.
"Thank you," he breathed.
"Harry," Draco called out quietly behind them, gesturing toward the fireplace. Harry looked over to see a body almost completely obscured by the love seat. Firelight flickered across the pale flesh of an arm.
"No," Harry whispered, across the room in a flash, bending over Neville's bloody, crumpled body. Grief closed Harry's throat. His friend was lying on his front, cheek pressed against the carpet, eyes glossy, looking straight ahead at another body that had been hidden from their sight by the couch. One of Neville's arms was stretched out, wand clutched in his bloody hand.
"It's Fornier," Ron choked out as he stumbled forward to check the body. "Dead."
"Neville?" Hermione was there, crouching over him, touching his hand lightly. She glanced up at Harry, misery distilled in her eyes. "I should have been here."
"We," Harry corrected her hoarsely, unable to say more.
"Harry?" came Neville's whisper, just a breath of air.
"Neville?" He bent closer. Neville's eyes had focused and he was blinking slowly.
"Harry . . . 's that you?"
"Yes, Neville . . . it's me." Harry choked out; reaching down to help turn Neville over to a more comfortable position, but Hermione clutched his arm so tightly that he stopped. She pointed to Neville's side. Harry stared and a chilling cold washed over him.
Blood was soaking the carpet, difficult to see against its dark pattern, but horribly, unchangeably there—leaking from what must have been a mortal wound on Neville's abdomen. So much blood . . .
Ron, who had been moving closer, now froze in his tracks. Harry looked up at his friend and saw through watery eyes that Ron, too had seen the blood.
"Is he dying, Harry?"
Harry shook his head, wiped his eyes and bent over to look in Neville's face. "What?"
"Fornier."
"Yes—he's dead."
"I got him," Neville said weakly, his light eyes focusing on Harry for a moment. "He got me, and then McGonagall, but I . . . I got him."
Harry tried to take a deep breath. "I'm going to tell everyone what you did—the whole Wizarding World. No one's going to care a whit about me anymore. No, they'll all be talking about Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Took-Out-the-Traitor."
Neville breathed out a short laugh. Harry looked over at Hermione, who, with tears streaming down her face, was gently washing Neville's bloody hand clean with an Aqueous spell and a handkerchief she must have Transfigured from . . . something.
"You're going to win, Harry," Neville breathed out. "I know you are."
Harry nodded, unable to speak.
"Can I . . . can I . . . have my . . . wa . . .?"
"What?" Harry leaned down to see that Neville's eyes had gone soft again.
Ron came forward in a panic. "His wand! Hermione, give him his wand!"
Hermione scrambled around a moment, then placed it in his still blood-smeared hand. She wrapped her hands around his, holding the wand tight for him. "Here you go, Neville. Oh my god," she said, looking up at Harry helplessly.
Ron knelt behind her and placed a shaking hand on Neville's head. "'Bye Neville. Never forget you, mate."
Harry sent him an angry glance, which Ron returned with a bleak, pointed look at the Map on the floor beside them. Neville's name had disappeared.
"Neville?" Harry felt his heart clench with such an abrupt, painful spasm that he cried out. Shuddering sobs shook him, and tears rolled down his face, but he made no other sound. Neville was gone. Forcing himself to his feet, holding the Marauder's Map in a death grip, he walked away from where Ron and Hermione sat, desperately comforting each other.
Harry was angry. Where were the rest of the Gryffindors? He swiped at his eyes and searched the map. He could see no students except—Dean and Cho in the Infirmary and . . . Tobias in Dumbledore's office with Zimmy Twitchtie? The two were in no immediate danger, but someone should probably escort them to safety . . . wherever that was.
Forget it, they're safer right where they are, Harry thought, looking over at Neville.
Why hadn't Dumbledore sent Harry here first? Couldn't he have saved Neville and McGonagall and then fought the House Elves?
"Harry," Draco called from where he knelt by McGonagall. "She's been dead for quite some time. The attack most likely happened while we were locked up in the Room of Requirement." He paused, standing. "There was nothing we could have done."
Right, Harry told himself, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his tense neck muscles. Nothing I could have done here. Move on. Find something I can do something about.
It took a few tries to get Harry's pain-wracked brain to accept this way of thinking, being far more used to accepting piles of guilt. As a way of distracting himself, he walked to the windows ahead of him. From this vantage point, it was possible to see the Quidditch Pitch and—
Harry froze. The pitch was a mess, strewn with items left in the wake of what must have been a horrendous scramble to get the students inside safely after the attempts on Harry's life. But that wasn't what held his horrified gaze. Even from this distance, he had begun to feel the telltale chill in the air, the echo of his mother's scream . . .
Dementors. Dark, flowing masses of them—hundreds of them, exactly as they attacked at the Weasleys house. But now they were at Hogwarts, massing at the far side of the Quidditch Pitch, floating eerily in swirling circles. As if they were waiting for something, or someone.
And there was no one there to stop them—
No—Hagrid!
Hagrid was moving out from the castle, down the path leading to the pitch, waving his pink umbrella and bellowing something unintelligible. The Manticore Dobby had mentioned was nowhere to be found. As far as Harry could see, Hagrid was alone out there with the Dementors.
"Ron!" His friend was by his side in seconds, probably alarmed by the tone in Harry's voice. Draco arrived a moment later, drawing in a loud, gasping breath at the view.
"Bloody hell . . ." Ron whispered. "Why's Hagrid even going out there alone?"
Why weren't the Order members helping? Harry frantically looked over the map and blanched. The entrance to Hogwarts and the Grand Hall was full of Order members and teachers—all were battling the Aurors. Charlie had made good on his promise and was on the second floor leading Lupin and Tonks into the fray.
But no one was helping Hagrid. Did they even know the Dementors were there?
"Let's go!" Harry barked out and ran for the tunnel.
"Hermione, there's no more time for this," Ron was saying gently. "We're needed."
"Where to next?" Draco said in a tight voice that had none of his usual casual air.
"No idea." Harry followed the stairs down, willing them to lead him to Ginny.
"Harry," Ron called down as he caught them up, "I've been adding this up in my head, and it's not looking good. Renegade House Elves, evil Aurors who'd love to see you bite it, a scary scad of Dementors and Draco's dad wandering around arm-in-arm with the one person who's probably hated you most at Hogwarts."
Harry grunted.
"Well," Hermione's voice echoed down the stone corridor, "don't forget Umbridge."
"What?!" Ron stopped as Harry kept going. "Umbridge is here?"
"Ron! Of course not!" Hermione's voice sounded still a bit raw with emotion. "I only meant that I think Umbridge actually hated Harry more than Snape."
Ron heaved a relieved breath.
"Debatable," Draco spoke up as he walked beside Harry. "Dolores Umbridge's hatred paled in comparison to mine, once upon a time." The others grew quiet. Harry shot Draco a quick look. The Slytherin wasn't smiling. "I once looked up to Umbridge for that very reason—and saw her reluctance to cast that Cruciatus Curse on you as an intolerable bit of weakness. Remember that?"
"Course he does," Ron called down in irritation, "you were her stinking lap-ferret. What a bastard you were!"
Draco harrumphed.
Harry considered it a small victory that Ron used the past tense, and that the person who most likely hated him worst at Hogwarts was now fighting with him. That had to help the odds a bit.
"At least Neville took out Fornier. That helps," Ron said quietly. "Good old Neville." The group grew quiet; only the shuffling, scraping sound of footsteps remained.
Abruptly, the tunnel opened up after leading them down what seemed to be about two more floors. Easing around the corner of the exit, Harry saw the empty corridor of the Fourth Floor. Why had they been sent here? Ron moved out of the exit next, wand raised, gaze skipping lightly around the stone walls.
All was completely quiet.
"What are we doing here?" Harry muttered.
"See anything?" Hermione whispered to them.
"No," Harry said agitatedly. "There's no one here. Let's go!" He sprinted off down the hallway, with Ron just behind him. They were not fast enough to escape Draco's commentary. The Slytherin was sticking to a dignified trot just behind Hermione, who was still having trouble with her sore arm.
"Unbelievable," he exclaimed. "There's no one to rescue immediately and instead of being enormously relieved like any normal person, you take off in pursuit of something heroic and death-defying?"
"Draco," Hermione hissed just loudly enough for Harry to hear. "Neville just died because we didn't get there soon enough!"
Harry was pleased to hear Draco silenced. "There's a battle going on in the Great Hall and if those Dementors get any closer . . ." he let his sentence dangle, unable to even imagine how much damage that many of the soul-suckers could do. "We've got to help. Then we'll try to find Ginny."
Ron cursed and sped up, nearly catching Harry by the time they hit the stairs. He hoped the others could keep up. "So who's down there now?"
Harry tossed the map to Ron. "I see Moody, Charlie, Professor Haverlime, Madame Hooch . . ."
"No!"
Harry slammed to a halt in the middle third floor landing and watched in disbelief as the staircase below them continued to swivel up and away from the third floor.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Ron exploded.
Looking around, Harry saw that there was no other option. The stairs under him jerked. And jerked again—then started rolling upwards. Harry, crossing his arms and glowering at the castle, was carried up like a sack of potatoes and deposited up on the fourth floor among his watching friends.
"Fine," Harry bit out. He glared at the walls and bellowed. "I'll take the other stairs! And if they move as well, then I'll jump!"
Harry turned, grabbed the map from Ron and cut left, hitting his full-out stride as soon as he was on the straightaway.
"Harry!" Hermione called after him. "There's no point . . . come back!"
"HARRY!" Ron bellowed. "Wait—you—oh—"
Harry ignored them. He wasn't being unreasonable. He had to get downstairs to keep more people from getting killed by evil wizards. Why was Castle Dumbledore making it so difficult? The Aurors had them at least four to one. Why—
And that was when Harry discovered that House Elves don't show up on the Marauder's Map.
I should have noticed that before. The thought rang loudly through his mind as he dove under the first jet of red light. Then he was rolling, shooting off defensive spells and working to Sense the next Curses sent his way.
"Harry! You—oh shhhh—" Ron's voice cut off abruptly. Harry spun around to see his friend's tall form go flying backwards and managed to sling a lightning-quick Cushioning Charm his way.
Then Harry vaulted to the other side of the hall, skimmed under two Curses and took stock of his options as he went. There weren't many. Six House Elves were ahead of him, spread out defensively, leering, wearing large, evil grins that brought Kreacher to Harry's mind.
He was stunned—but just for a moment.
Then it was Draco's shouted Reductor Curse coming on the heels of Harry's own spell: "Serpentsortia Sextus!"
He had done this spell before—three times. Once against Lucius, in a desperate attempt to stave off death. It had worked. He had beaten Lucius, no matter what the wizard had done to him. Beaten him.
The second time, he'd used it against the Manticore, to get Draco and himself to safety, and the third, in his bid to bring Charlie to safety from Hell Manor during the intense fighting in the torture room. It had been a successful spell there, too. And here, it was no less spectacular.
One elongated shape sprang from his wand, hit the floor and blurred into six hissing serpentine shapes. Arching up to strike at the House Elves, fangs bared, they slid toward the small figures.
Then, Harry found out something else about House Elves, something even more surprising—they don't like snakes. At all.
Horror rooted them to the spot. And kept their hands, raised to send spells, out in trembling helplessness. Then they turned as one, and ran. The snakes, venomous and quite capable of doing them harm, gave chase.
Harry turned back to Ron, who was sprawled back, feebly trying to raise his head. "Oi, mate, what was that spell?"
Harry knelt behind him and lifted him under the shoulders. "Six Snakes Spell."
"Nice upgrade," Draco noted drily, who had, of course, "introduced" Harry to the basic spell years before during their duel.
Ron groaned as they stood, and accepted Hermione's gentle grafting of herself under one of his arms.
"That was pretty powerful, mate. I was trying to get up and that spell knocked me flat again."
Harry stared at Ron anew, noting the way his freckles stood out against his slightly greenish skin. The Fraterdom Singletus was already kicking in? "You mean, I drained magic from you to do it?"
"Yeah. I still feel a little funny," Ron admitted, holding his head.
Draco was looking back and forth between them sharply.
Harry grimaced and stalked off, scruffing one hand through his hair. Let Draco work it out himself. Harry hated that spell. He wanted to expend his own magic, use himself up if he had to, not everyone else!
"Let's go," snapped Harry, striding forward.
"Harry, wait," Hermione called after him, "just STOP!"
He halted and swung around angrily. "What is it?"
"There's a reason you can't get to the first floor," she began, "and—"
"Yeah, the bloody staircases are keeping me up here!"
"No," she said calmly, walking over to him, "the reason is that the castle—the Headmaster doesn't want you down there." She stopped beside him and looked at him with a straight gaze. "I know he's gone—Remus explained it—and there must be a reason he doesn't want you down there. Don't fight it."
Harry glanced over at Draco. "Is that what you think? That I should just lie down and let everyone die?"
Draco smiled thinly. "I think you should save your energy to fight your enemies, not your friends."
Harry stared.
"I think hell just froze over," Ron observed. "Ferret-face just gave you some good advice."
"Here's some more for you, Weasel-nose," Draco drawled, "kiss your girlfriend—she needs it."
Harry looked sharply at Hermione, who stared at Draco before sniffing haughtily.
"I don't need anyone to kiss me," she said, but ruined the effect by trying to cross her arms, which not only hurt but was made impossibly by her sling. "Ouch."
Ron walked over quickly and kissed her on the nose. He pulled her in closer, which cued Harry that it was time to go.
"Nice going," Harry threw out at Draco as he passed by going in the other direction, "now they'll be at it for hours."
Behind him, he could hear Hermione giggle softly and tearfully as Ron held and kissed her.
"Believe me," Draco said as he fell in beside Harry, "I'm already wishing I could take the words back. Gryffindor PDAs are among my least favorite types of torture. So," he said more brightly, "you're magically linked—you and the Weasel?"
Harry nodded tersely, stopping at the foot of the fourth floor stairs. Where was he supposed to go if he couldn't go downstairs? Ginny's name was still nowhere to be seen on the map. Damn.
"Please tell me that while we've been wasting time here out in the open—target practice for anyone who cares to take a shot at us," Draco pointed out with a casual wave to the open air around the staircase, "you've been developing a fabulous plan that will rid the castle of our enemies, the Dementors and the Manticore, save the students, subdue the House Elves and disembowel my father—twice."
"Er—not yet," Harry muttered, setting himself to studying the map again. Maybe there was something he missed . . .
Draco sighed. "Planning ahead isn't your strong suit."
There.
Harry felt his gaze lock on the map, at a name that had just appeared on the Ground Floor beside the name of Millicent Bulstrode.
"Ginny," Harry whispered. "No!"
Moving steadily, inexorably toward "Weasley, Ginny" were the names "Malfoy, Lucius" and "Snape, Severus".
As if in a dream, Harry lifted his handHe cast a nonverbal spell against the gray shield in his mind, knowing it would be stronger and knowing it might be missed by the others.
They were all around him now, but Harry couldn't hear them over the noise in his own head. He couldn't spare them even a glance to try to understand; his gaze was frozen in horror, watching Lucius and Snape draw closer and closer to Ginny in the dungeon.
What was she doing there? Why wasn't she attacking Millicent or running away? Why had her name been hidden until now?
"Harry," Hermione said, so close in his ear that he finally heard. "House Elves. They don't show up on the map. What if they could shield Ginny as well?"
Harry nodded once. That had to be it. So . . . when he got there, he'd be dealing with Snape, Lucius and the House Elves . . .
Fine.
Sensing that it was time to go, Harry thrust the map at Hermione, broke past the bodies in his way and sprinted for the railing. As soon as he reached the banister, screams broke out behind him. Harry didn't stop.
He used his momentum to vault over the railing and flew into the air, confounding the traitorous stairs that wouldn't take him to where he needed to go. He aimed his feet and windmilled his hands, trying to get in the right position to—
—drop on his approaching Firebolt, which he did with a bonejarring thud. Even with the extra strong Cushioning Charm, it stole his breath. And curiously enough, the screams weren't stopping . . .
"No! Ron, NO!"
Instantly, Harry whipped around and dove. He caught a glimpse of Hermione frozen in horror and Draco holding out his hand, yelling that he knew what Harry was doing. Ron wasn't there—he was a maroon and gold blur plummeting like a stone, arms stretched out toward Harry.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed.
Ron was nearly to the ground now, but Harry was already there, scooping up under him, accepting the weight as it dropped on him like a baby grand piano, then rolled off and hit the broom. At least Ron knew to hold on tight.
"Get up," Harry yelled. He could feel Ron maneuvering his weight on the broom. Harry scrunched forward, alternating between anger and fear. Finally, Ron settled behind him and grasped onto Harry.
"Thanks," he said breathlessly. "But next time you try to leave me like that, I'm killing you myself."
Harry had to smile. Until he saw the Curses coming at them from below.
"Hold on," he said, rolling right to avoid the green jets of light. Ron's fingers dug into Harry's arm with bruising force. Two Aurors had appeared down at the entrance to the stairwell.
"Harry! Get out of here!" Charlie yelled up to them as he flung curses at the Aurors, which they easily blocked. "Damn it! Hermione—"
What? Harry did a one-eighty and zipped up to the second floor. There was Draco flying after them, Hermione perched behind him on the broom, face buried in Draco's back.
Ron, also looking back, increased his grip on Harry, muttering a curse. Harry shouted it. He didn't want everyone following him! He didn't want everyone in danger.
"I'm going to rescue Ginny," he yelled to all of them as they left the stairwell behind. "Lucius and Snape are there!"
Draco pulled up beside him. "Yes! We know that! We've got the map!" He grabbed it from Hermione and waved it. "What were you going to do without that? And without your bodyguard, you imbecile?"
Harry looked straight ahead and sped up. He was heading to the West stairwell, then hooking it down to the dungeon. Ignoring Draco's continued attempts to berate him, Harry went even faster and found the next stairwell. He hooked down, swerved around the banister and kept going down—to the Dungeon.
"Shouldn't you slow down and, you know, strategize or something," Ron said in his ear.
"They have Ginny," he said by way of response, but did slow down. It was darker here. The shadows lengthened. Ron grabbed the broom around Harry and yanked it to a grinding stop. He jumped off, but held the broom tight as he looked up at Harry. Something in the intensity of his gaze helped Harry focus.
"We have to think this through, Harry. House Elves, Bulstrode, Lucius and Snape all guarding Ginny, and waiting for you to show up?" He shook his head. "You need a plan."
Harry forced himself to dismount. Something in him still wanted to kamikaze all the way to the dungeon and attack.
"At least Disillusion yourself and—maybe your broom, too. And I can be a decoy," Ron offered.
Harry had to admit the plan had merit.
Draco almost shot past them, but pulled back hard on his broom to stop breathlessly on the stairs. Hermione gratefully flopped off into Ron's arms and gave him an enormous hug. "You almost died, you enormous ox! What would I have done?" Then she pulled away and glared at Harry. "You almost made him die to protect you!"
Harry took a deep breath. "If you want to stay with me, stop lecturing—both of you." He included Draco in his glance. "I'm going to do what I have to do to get Ginny out of there." Harry hit his head with his wand and disappeared.
"You idiot!" Draco shouted. "This isn't the time to defy everyone and risk everything! That comes later! Now you've got help—you've got us."
Harry shifted on his feet restlessly. "Fine. Get Disillusioned. We'll take them on together."
In under a minute, they were Disillusioned and setting out again. This time, Harry and Draco on Disillusioned brooms, Ron and Hermione on foot. They had studied the map. No one had moved. Ginny was being held in the same exact room that Tobias had been held in—a safe room down the hall from the Slytherin Common Room.
There would be no advantage of surprise. They were waiting on Harry. However, they wouldn't expect Draco or Hermione to be accompanying him.
Slowly, Harry and Draco flew down the long, dark stairwell. Ron and Hermione had fallen back, trying to walk silently. Harry was Sensing forward as far as he could, and felt a stirring on the next landing.
He slowed and bumped gently against Draco, who stopped.
There were House Elves ahead, but they weren't guarding or even paying attention. From what Harry could tell, they were . . . asleep?
"House Elves—"
"I know," Draco interrupted quietly. "Asleep."
Harry stared at the spot he knew Draco to be hovering in. "How did you—"
"Oh," Draco said carelessly. "Did I not tell you that I can read your mind? Ever since you used Legilimency on me back in the Prefects bathroom, it's been sort of a buzz in my head. It was only recently I discovered what it was."
"And this buzz was me?"
"Exactly."
"How long?"
"Recently."
"How long?" Harry asked again, pressing his broom closer.
"Oh, all right," Draco said crossly. "I figured it out upstairs in the Gryffindor Common Room when all these nonsensically morose thoughts kept flooding me about Neville Longbottom of all people."
"You're saying you can . . ." read my mind? Harry finished in his thoughts.
Draco sighed. "Yes. I simply thought you should know. It might come in handy at some point."
I don't think I'll tell Ron about this, Harry thought in Draco's direction, to test him.
"Brilliant plan," Draco whispered under his breath.
Harrystared at Draco. Did it have to be you? Damn. Let's go.
Draco and Harry eased forward. Harry admitted to himself it was helpful to have someone able to follow his thoughts. But Legilimensing someone hadn't made him connected to someone before. Although, come to think of it, he'd only done it to Snape slightly, once. And what he'd done to Draco was force himself into his mind while the boy tried to remain open to it, and he'd seen much, much more than he'd wanted. Lucius is such a bastard. Harry shook his head and tried to focus. Ahead, the shadows did their best to hide the two House Elves there, snoring lightly side by side.
A trick?
"No," whispered Draco. "Someone did this to help you."
Who, Harry had no idea. They flew on and ever lower until they reached the cross section of hallways that marked the lowest level of the dungeons. To their right sat the door blocking them from Ginny.
"Any ideas?" Draco whispered.
Yeah. Ron opens the door and stands back. You and I blow in and Hermione covers us from the doorway.
"Not bad," Draco said, "but I go first." He wheeled around and, from the sound, rammed right into Ron who let out a soft grunt. Harry could Sense the slight tussle between them as Ron sought to land a good punch in return.
"Stop it!" Hermione whispered.
Harry quickly related the plan and in under a minute, they were all positioned. As he gave the slight tap on the wall that was to be the signal, he half-expected the door to stick fast. After all, Dumbledore hadn't seemed to want him down here. But Ron easily swung the door open and Harry felt a breeze as Draco flew inside.
He followed, hearing none of the explosions, Curses or shouts that he had expected. Once inside the door, he saw why. Ginny lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious. She was alone.
The map was . . . wrong? Damn House Elves. Harry Sensed no one in the room and flew to Ginny's side.
"Harry," Hermione hissed from the open doorway, "it's got to be a trap! Get her and get out!"
Harry only half-heard her. He was kneeling by Ginny, watching her tremble, seeing the blood on her bottom lip. She'd bitten through the skin. The Cruciatus. The room went dark around him. They'd used Crucio on Ginny . . .
"Potter. She's all right. The damage is fixable. Now get on your broom—"
"They used Crucio on her . . ." Harry mumbled in return, touching the long, red braid that was her standard for Quidditch, moving it away from her pale face. "Her skin is so cold." He was trembling as much as she. He had to stop, to rest his hands on the floor and take deep breaths. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to contain his growing rage.
"Bloody hell," Draco muttered. "Get over here, Weasel. Calm him down. Granger, get Ginny—I don't think he'll let me touch her."
Harry was shaking. Ron was beside him, silent.
"Weasley!" Draco barked out, then huffed out a breath. "Fine! You get the girl. Granger, you calm him down, or I'm warning you, he's going to blow."
Red. The world was red inside Harry's mind. He tried pulling up his shield, only to find it had bled crimson. The color of death, the color of revenge. Lucius had done this to Ginny—he knew it.
In fact, he wasn't even surprised when the wizard's voice cut into the room like a blade through parchment.
"Ah . . . we're all here."
Then the door slammed shut.