Chapter Twenty-Seven: The One, part II
When next Harry opened his eyes—quickly, as though someone had shouted his name— he was bewildered by what he saw. Above him, a low, rough stone ceiling hung with greenish-glass lamps. Beside him, an elaborate, carved mantle with an anemic fire burning. It looked familiar, but Harry's head was too clouded to understand the meaning of it.
He sat up and shook his head, surprised to find that he was able to move, but unable to remember why that was surprising. Looking around, he saw a huddled figure next to the wall on his right. That figure was wound head to foot in ropes, but was still, as though asleep.
Harry got to his feet and moved toward the figure a few meters before it hit him in a rush. That was Wormtail—tied up and knocked out. Snape! Snape must have done it, the bloody, traitorous, evil henchman of Voldemort—Tom.
A section of wall at the end of the Common Room suddenly slid back, and Harry jerked his wrist to free his wand. Professor Snape was striding in the room, black robes billowing behind. Harry's heart sank—his wand was gone.
With a dive, he placed himself behind a collection of high-backed chairs and tried to erect his mental barrier.
"Ah, you are awake—and cognizant, I see. Some wizards are befuddled for hours after a bewitched sleep. Feel more like taking on the Dark Lord now?"
Harry could not reconcile the man's light, almost cheery (well, for him) tone with what had just happened back at the Ministry. He'd attacked Fred and George, tied Harry up and tortured them—
"Are you holding my little performance against me? Harry, surely you understand by now that I walk a razor's edge with the Dark Lord, on either side of which is the abyss of distrust and torture that I once fell into and do not care to repeat." He was walking to the side of the chairs, Harry noted, putting him at a strategic advantage.
"Tom was NOT IN THAT ROOM!" Harry found himself nearly shouting, and tried to pull his rage back. "You cannot excuse yourself this time."
There was an ominous silence, during which Harry closed his eyes and focused on the shield in his mind. If he could just focus enough—
"Perhaps we should revisit our troubled past, before we can move on properly." Snape started walking, Harry Sensed, pacing back and forth from beyond the barrier of chairs. "Do you think that my life began when you walked into Hogwarts? Far from it. I have worked for more years than you have been alive to get the Dark Lord to trust me, and one of the only things that kept the Dark Lord trusting me were the many and varied memories I had of humiliating you, insulting you and hindering your schoolwork any way I could." Harry's eyes popped open. "I have already explained that I was working for both sides, and having been instructed by Albus to be sure you were not spoiled and having been instructed by the Dark Lord to treat you as an anathema whose very being injured my lord, I had no choice."
"But the Dark Lord wasn't even alive when I entered Hogwarts," Harry protested.
"Not true. Shall we define our terms? He was alive, but not in his body—yet. Albus was sure, partly because of the Prophecy, that the Dark Lord would return to power. Therefore, I behaved in a manner consistent with my Death Eater status. And when the Dark Lord was reborn, an event based on your capture, humiliation and torture, he was very, shall we say, interested to see memories of you. I had to edit the memories of Albus, which was painful enough, but I managed to be able to share many of our encounters with him, all of which gave him great joy. I would venture to say that had I not had such an arsenal of memories to share, the Dark Lord would have entertained fatal doubts regarding my loyalty."
Harry licked his lips nervously. To know that Tom had seen all of those memories was . . . humiliating.
"Ah, but you miss the genius of the plan entirely. My memories are saturated in doubt of your abilities and show you in a most incompetent light possible. Therefore, Tom has always underestimated you, and, no doubt, because of his own arrogance, will continue to do so." Harry nodded, breathing a bit easier. "Now that you understand my situation, let me clarify that no—I would not jeopardize the trust of the Dark Lord by trusting the feeble minds of Weasley children to keep my secret—if the Dark Lord gets hold of them, which he undoubtedly will."
"Then, where's my wand?" The final test.
"In my pocket. I took your wand to prevent you from lashing out at me. Simple self-preservation, which I know is a foreign concept to you, but one I find most beneficial." He gave a slight smile and produced Harry's wand. Harry gladly walked around the chairs to take it. He stepped back feeling much better.
"Harry." Snape fixed a direct gaze on him. "I am taking you to the Dark Lord tonight, but not to hand you over helplessly. It is time for you to face him, and if you are who the Prophecy states, then you will do the thing you need to do and you will prevail. I was set in place in order to help you all I could once you are there, as I did when you were captured by Lucius Malfoy. There are two plans in place, and I will do all I can to ready you for them. I do not know what I will be able to do for you, but when the opportunity arises, I will do it. You can trust me."
Harry was taken by a sudden flood of memory—to the Shrieking Shack in his third year—when Sirius, wand out, with cold rage burning in his face, was asking for his trust. To be honest, he was taken aback by the sudden earnestness in Snape's voice. But, nonetheless, Harry found himself nodding in assent. "For some reason, I believe you."
Snape again smiled. "I brought you here to rest and recover before we head into the darkness. Do you feel ready now?"
"At least you've warned me that you're taking me to the Dark Lord," Harry offered, giving him a tight smile.
"Because it must be done," and Harry was puzzled to see some amount of regret on his face. "I will not be able to prevent what happens afterward. I'm sure it will be . . . unpleasant. But I do have a plan, one that should enable you to fight him and, if you are strong enough, to win. I have only one request. I have put myself at great risk by exposing my double-life to you. When you are in his presence, do not think of this conversation, or of our visit to see Lily. Focus instead on my performance in the Death Chamber. The anger you naturally feel should make it easy for the Dark Lord to read. He will be pleased, and convinced that I did my job properly."
"Do you think I can do that?"
"Harry. Your use of Occlumency has become almost legendary. The Death Eaters are still talking about how you left Rodolphus Lestrange with a jellied brain. They recognized the result of fatal Legilimency, having seen it often enough from the Dark Lord. Your shield has become quiet formidable as well."
It was Harry's turn to give a slight smile. He glanced around, absurdly imagining the response of his friends if they could see him and Professor Snape bonding in the Slytherin Common Room. Harry's smile faded. "Have you been out there?" Harry said, indicating the rest of Hogwarts with a gesture.
"No," Snape shook his head, walking toward the fireplace and standing to stare at the coals. "There was no time. I merely went to my office to get the items I need for the spells to end the reign of the Dark Lord."
"And my friends?"
"I do not know if the Castle fell, but we can assume that if any of your friends were taken by Aurors, they have by now been moved along with the rest of the captured student body, to Hell Manor."
The room swirled around Harry and he grasped the chair before him like a lifeline. But who? Which ones?
"Then we have to go now. There's no way of knowing what he'll do—" Harry couldn't even finish the sentence.
"Potter!" Snape barked, and Harry looked up, dazed. "Don't go soft on me! You have a job to do. Focus!" Harry took a deep breath and pushed down the horrible fear that had taken hold. "Listen to me. You cannot expect to waltz in there and defeat the Dark Lord easily. He will make it difficult for you to even breathe, let alone come up with a strategy to win. Confront the pain now—that's your only hope. Assume that he has all your friends and he will use their pain to convince you that you cannot win. And for now, and for the time you are there—forget them."
Harry shook his head. "No."
"Yes!" Snape stalked closer, until his beady eyes were boring into Harry's from only a meter away. "There is no other way to function but to cut off those emotions or they will pull you under. You must be free to fight. Close down your emotions, Harry. Do it now!"
Hesitantly, Harry closed his eyes. He found that he was trembling. What would the Death Eaters be doing to his friends?
"No! Do not think about them! Think about the task ahead. Focus, Potter! Show me how strong you can be."
Strong? How strong could he be without—
"Shut them down! Now! Focus! Focus on the Dark Lord, on your hatred for him. Let it make you hard. Make you impenetrable. They will hurt you. Let them," Snape hissed. "As long as you can perform your final act, it doesn't matter what they do to hurt you—and make no mistake—that is what their focus will be. Say it to yourself: Pain doesn't matter." Harry grimaced. "Not for you, not for your friends. Death Eaters will put Hermione under the Cruciatus. They will cut Ronald Weasley's body to ribbons. Ginny will be screaming the entirety of time you are there. But it is your task to focus. Focus! The only way to help them is to focus and be prepared for the opportunity to strike."
Harry's trembling was more pronounced now, and a tear squeezed out of each eye. He tried to breathe. Slowly, painfully, he pulled up the gray shield in his mind.
"That's it. Focus. Nothing matters except the mission to kill the Dark Lord. Now. Are you ready?"
Harry nodded, his jaws clenched tight. He willed himself to breathe.
"I am going to tell you now how to kill the Dark Lord—a plan that Albus and I devised and the final piece of which I have just now retrieved. It will work."
"And if it doesn't?"
"It will."
"If it DOESN'T?"
Snape hesitated, and Harry opened his eyes. "Then . . . we go to Plan B."
They were going to Apparate in. Harry was tied, not by an Incarcerous spell, but by a painful, thin wire around his neck. His shirt was off, and Snape had added to the few gashes and bruises already there by dent of a very useful spell that caused contusions without blunt force. He had also made two shallow gashes on Harry's side and instructed Harry to cradle his side as though it were injured.
"Remember, we must always trick him into underestimating you. The simple advantage of an injury will go straight to his head. How tight is the wire?"
"Too tight."
"Good. The less you are faking, the better."
Wormtail, having just been released from his bondage, snuffled up beside Snape. Harry felt his upper lip curl.
"I need to take the boy's wand," he said, ducking his head in a subservient way.
"Harry," Snape directed.
Harry sighed, uncurled his arm from around his midriff, which, despite Snape's assurances, did still hurt a bit. His wand shot out of his wrist holster, and he handed it over grudgingly to Wormtail. Their eyes met.
"A life debt I owe to you," Wormtail whispered, "and I will pay. Oh, I will."
"And why would you do that?"
Wormtail looked up, his face haunted. "A life debt must be paid! I have no choice!" He jerked his head to look at Snape, who seemed completely unmoved.
"Step aside, Wormtail. Paying the life debt is in your best interest, and since it is owed to Potter, then it is in the best interests of the Wizarding World as well. Or, I could go hand you back in at the Ministry."
"No! I'll do it!"
"Fine. Step aside," Snape repeated coldly. Wormtail lurched aside and Snape waved his wand, removing the poison antidote that had been attached to Harry's left bicep. Snape then studied Harry and gave a smirk.
Uh oh, Harry thought. He braced himself.
A hot sizzle once again cut through his flesh, this time on his forehead. Blood at once trickled down into his eyes.
"Oi," he protested, wiping away as much as he could.
"It's a lightning bolt on your forehead. The Dark Lord will love it, and perhaps find less reason to torture you." Snape walked closer to Harry. "Remember there is a purpose to this. Any cut or bruise I give you will be kinder than his."
Harry nodded. He took a deep breath, stretched out the muscles in his neck, once again clasped his abdomen and bent over, as if in pain. "How's this?" he asked, looking up at Snape through the blood that had dripped into his eyes, stinging him.
"Tears. Good." Snape snapped.
Harry grimaced, trying to focus and keep the rising panic at bay. Minutes ago, before the plan had been fully explained to him, he'd felt focused and calm. But now . . .
Snape turned to him, stared into his eyes and said, "It's time."
Harry swallowed, took a deep breath and nodded.
As soon as they Apparated in, the pain in his scar began. Harry could do little more than stumble after Snape as they walked down the hall, frantically trying to focus enough to erect his mental shield. Damn. He should have thought of that already.
Finally, he got it up and the pain stopped. Better. Much better.
Harry straightened a bit and tried to even his pace with Snape. If the Wizard got too far ahead, the thin wire bound around his neck dug in—far in—and drew blood. So far it wasn't too bad. So far.
Around them, Wormtail cavorted, whinged and cringed alternately, his ramblings unintelligible to Harry. Not that Harry cared to listen.
As much of his brain that could be allowed to stray away from his dire situation and doomed future did so with awe, taking in the enormous black granite walls, the polished black marble floors and the gold that scrolled, leafed and lined every possible surface, including voluminous amounts of carvings, statues and archways. There were no torches, but an eerie blue glow flowed down from the ceiling, casting pallid light and deep shadow around the three making their way down the hallway.
Looking ahead, Harry could see no end to the hall. He began to despair. Holding himself in this position was exhausting, and the wire cut deeper with each slight movement independent of Snape. Far from being comfortable, it was rather more like the torture it was devised to imitate.
"Quiet," Snape snapped at Wormtail, who immediately sank into a quivering ball of fear, shaking his head desperately.
"Get up!"
"Tell him I helped you catch Potter," Wormtail pleaded. "It's the only way he'll let me live. You know it! You know it!!! Please, please?"
"He already knows the Weasley spawn captured you. Surely, it couldn't have come as a big surprise to Dark Lord that you are inept."
"No, indeed," came a disembodied voice from the ceiling, "it wasn't." The voice was cold and casual. "This is only the latest and, I fear, the last in a series of disappointments with Wormtail." Wormtail shrieked as though someone had jabbed him with a needle.
Harry stared at Snape, who bowed and spoke to the voice as one might speak to a friend through the telephone. "I am afraid Wormtail is correct, my Lord. He did provide a needed diversion tonight when I had Potter cornered. As you can see, our trap was successful."
The air around them went still. Harry felt a tingle of Magic around him, searching, seeking, tasting him.
"You have brought him here, Severus?" The voice quivered with excitement.
There was a small nudge against the shield in his mind, but it held.
"Yes, my Lord. He is yours to do with as you please," Snape's eyes cut to Harry's one final time, and Harry saw regret where he had once seen only unfathomable black depths. Then he looked away and Harry knew his ordeal was truly beginning. His last friend in this place had now turned his back on him.
"Focus," Snape hissed, and then the Dark Lord's magic reached out for Harry.
With a violent swipe, Harry was lifted and propelled down the hall on a rushing stream of air. Snape had let go of the cord, but not before it tightened so much that Harry was struggling to breathe. He was also struggling to stay calm, to keep focused. No matter what, he had to keep his shield up.
He was flipped upside-down, then sideways, then slung backwards and forwards until he was completely disoriented. Like a nightmare, the hallway stretched on and on, and Tom played with Harry as a cat would with his prey. Harry closed his eyes. Using his Senses, he reoriented himself. Pain doesn't matter.
Tom was laughing now, and the whirlwind grew more violent. Harry was thrown against the wall, his head taking the crux of the impact. Groaning, fighting for awareness, he was pulled back to the middle of the hallway, then flung against the other wall. This time, he Sensed the wall in time and flipped around so that his feet and legs took the impact.
And so the game began. Over and over, Harry was thrown from one side the other, and often he was able to save himself from serious injury. A few times, his dizziness overcame his Senses and he hit the wall, scraping a shoulder raw or adding new bruises. Snape should have just saved them the trouble of planting fake injuries on Harry, he was going to arrive with plenty of them, anyway.
After some time, the screaming wind and constant maneuvering started breaking Harry's nerves down. No! He could wrap himself up in the shield, as he'd done once before, but he'd remain inert, defenseless before Tom. Not a good idea.
But truly, his body didn't matter at this point, anyway. It was his mind that–
With a sudden gasp, the wind stopped. Harry, stunned and upside-down at the moment, fell heavily to the floor. He lay there, groaning and taking stock of his injuries. Everything hurt, especially his back, where he'd hit the wall a number of times, scraping off skin. He'd twisted his left knee, sprained his left wrist, and . . . ouch . . . broken one finger on his right hand.
And it wasn't over. He wasn't alone.
"Enjoy the ride?" Harry felt a faint buzzing against the shield in his mind, but it held. He looked up to see Tom gloating over him—way over him. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was perched up on a black granite throne with carved serpents writhing over the sides and back of it, serpents detailed with so much gold that the throne shone.
Tom's red eyes glared at him from above. They were in an enormous room, a cavernous space that swallowed them whole, and yet, they were alone. Harry felt dread blossoming in his stomach. He couldn't take Tom on alone. Snape was wrong about that.
"Ready to die, boy?" Tom hissed.
Harry kept a stony silence, trying not to give off how injured he was.
"If I were you, I would consider answering when a question is put to you. Otherwise, this might happen."
Harry had only time to think, No, before the Cruciatus Curse seized him. Agony on top of injury. Excruciating pain on top of white-hot agony. He only suffered for what was probably a short time, but it left him writhing, struggling for breath and knowing the rawness in his throat had come from screaming.
"I like you better this way, boy," Tom said, suddenly standing by Harry's side. "I wish your school friends could see you now—panting, useless and about to die an agonizing death. I wish the whole Wizarding world could see you like this." Harry caught the way Tom was relishing every word, and he dreaded where this monologue was going. "Oh, wait—they can see you, or at least hear you. Ever heard of the Wizarding Wireless, Harry? I predict that your death is going to be the number one broadcast—ever. Want to wager on that? Of course, you'll be in no condition to collect even if you did win." Tom bent over Harry and stared malevolently into his face. "I suggest you ready yourself."
And then there was a tug on Harry's feet and his body slid across the floor. Harry gritted his teeth as his already raw back was scraped across the floor. He fought to flip over, to sit up, but it was useless. The pain grew and grew, until Harry had no choice. If he was to stay sane, to stay focused, he was going to have to retreat.
But not all the way, he cautioned himself. The last time he'd pulled himself inside his Shield, when the two Love Potions were warring inside him, he'd been almost unable to escape again. This time, he'd leave a crack.
Harry pulled his shield around his mind, cutting off the pain in his body and the sound of Tom's goading. It was quiet and calm there, inside his dove gray sphere.
But if he chose to focus on it, there was one tiny sliver of a world where agony was all and death was hovering. He had no idea where his body was being taken, only that it had something to do with the Wizarding Wireless and his schoolmates watching him die. He did not want to go there.
Fear clutched at his heart and he desperately called up Snape's words. "As long as you can perform your final act, it doesn't matter what they do to hurt you. Pain doesn't matter. Focus."
So. Harry clutched at his resolve. He was the One. He had been prepared for this. So many witches and wizards were all counting on him. His friends needed him to do this. The world needed him to do this. What is one life in comparison with thousands, millions? Nothing. Pain doesn't matter.
Tom was dragging him a long way. Eventually, Harry thought to try a concentrated, controlled Mobilicorpus spell on himself. He opened his Shield. If he could only lift himself a few centimeters off the floor . . .
It worked. Now his back . . . oh—it was too painful—
Harry slipped back inside his shield. What was he going to do?
Pain doesn't matter.
Where was Tom taking him? There were other sounds around now, and a change in the air around him, but before Harry could discover more, a blanket of darkness smothered him. He fought a few moments before surrendering to the inevitable.
"Harry!"
Harry woke with a gasp, pain stealing his breath. Screaming. People were screaming—not him. But his back was on fire. His shield had failed when he'd lost consciousness. Gritting his teeth, he rolled on to his side and bit his lip when his left foot hit the ground. Cradling his left arm, he tried to focus on the blurry world around him. They'd taken his glasses. Instant panic took him. No glasses. No wand. He couldn't even see all the people that wanted to kill him, here in this place.
It was so loud, there were so many people out there around him. Was this an arena?
Overhead, the moon was bright with its quarter smile and the stilted breeze was ripe with a nauseating mix of fresh grass and hot blood. The Death Eaters had been busy. Someone was moaning close by. Wherever Harry looked, clumps of figures in black robes with skull-white masks stood, vulture-like, over their victims.
Harry gritted his teeth to stop from calling out for his friends. Were they here? Were they already being tortured?
He forced himself to look beyond the Death Eaters to the stadium, where a constant roar of nearly unintelligible sound was buffeting him. Sometimes he could make out individual voices, but that didn't make it better.
"Harry! Oh god, Harry, get up!" someone screamed.
"Fight him, Harry!"
"Help us!"
They all sounded like that, as if a thousand people were at the end of reason and the beginning of madness. The Death Eaters had taken them there.
"Get up, Harry!"
"Please, oh, please—some one help him!"
Harry was shirtless, wandless and helpless. Vivid memories of Malfoy Manor assaulted him. He'd been in the same position there and Snape had helped him. Fixed his eyes, gave him a potion, brought him his wand. Had he ever said thank you for that? Properly? Never mind, he was here again. Needing Snape. Needing somebody. And this time, he had a much larger audience.
What had Snape told him?
Focus!
"Ah, he is awake," Tom's voice came out of nowhere, echoing horribly around the arena. Cheers went up from all around the stadium, hissing and namecalling as well, from the Death Eaters prowling toward him. "Then, let us begin our first Wizarding Wireless Network broadcast from Hell Manor, something I imagine we will be doing once a week from here on out as we deal with those who oppose us." A dark, blurry figure appeared at Harry's right, red eyes gleaming. "Today, in attendance, we have the entire Ministry of Magic staff, as well as those students from Hogwarts who saw fit to oppose our agenda. And how is our crowd feeling today?" A faltering roar of defiance came back. "Ah, not so brave now that our Minister is dead and our boy hero has shown up in such pitiable shape, are we?"
Harry, by now, had forced himself upright, but only made it to one knee when Tom stopped in front of him, his red eyes horribly in focus. "Let us welcome our guest of honor, the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter." Again, a din of noise rose from the stadium.
"Yes, yes. We'll hear from him in a moment. But for now, I would like to take a moment to outline the genius of my plan and to prepare those of you out there listening—prepare you for despair. You see, the Ministry has already fallen. Dumbledore is dead and Hogwarts has fallen, or to be specific, will fall within the hour now. My Death Eaters are here in force with me now, but I will begin sending them out tomorrow evening to seek out and destroy all those who, foolishly, vainly, oppose me. All that remains is to take care of the last, best hope of the Wizarding World." He paused, smiled and turned to Harry.
"Have anything to say, Boy-Who-Is-About-To-Die?"
Harry licked his lips and tried to steady himself. "It's not over yet." His rough voice, caught by the WWN, was broadcast all over the stadium as well.
Tom twitched and leaned closer into Harry's face. "No, it's not over because I don't want it to be over. I want you to beg for death before I, as your Lord, grant it. And this time, neither your Mum, your Godfather, nor Your Headmaster is here to save you." He laughed, joined in by those around Harry.
"You're wrong," Harry started to choke up, and paused to stand and regain control. "They are here with me. Their love is and it will save me once again." The words felt right and Harry suddenly knew what his path must be. Hate wasn't his strength. He couldn't be like Snape. He couldn't cut out his heart and still fight.
The Death Eaters had jeered most of the way through his statement, but Tom held up a hand for silence. Voices cut off all over the stadium and an eerie quiet took over.
"Love will save you? Love?" The Death Eaters laughed with Tom again. "Are you speaking of the pity that the Weasley family has felt for you, the fruit of which was pushing their own children aside in order to support, nay, to suck up to the hero of the Wizarding World?"
"No!" Harry shouted, swaying on his feet. "No! Of course they don't do that! They—"
But with a wave of Tom's wand, Harry's voice was removed from the WWN, banished to a quiet protest that Tom easily overcame. "I have someone here who'd beg to differ with you on that statement. Actually, he'd beg for just about anything at this point. But he is a Weasley himself. What was his name? Percival? Is that your name—dog?"
Tom turned aside so that Harry could see Death Eaters pulling one of the limp bodies off of the ground, one with trademark red hair. "Yes, yes, my Lord," Percy whined in a pain-wracked voice. Harry's stomach churned and he was glad he couldn't see Percy's face more clearly. Nothing he said would mean anything more than they had tortured him long enough to force him to say it. "My parents turned me out. They believed anything Harry Potter said and he turned them against me!" Some dissenters in the audience booed. "He did! I tried to tell them—I tried to tell them, but they wouldn't listen!"
Tom walked closer to Percy, putting a large, thin hand on the young man's head. "And did you tell them about me?" he said in a silky voice.
"Of—of course, my Lord," he squeaked out.
"Stop it!" Harry cried, but his voice didn't carry far enough. He started forward, limping.
Percy was becoming frantic. "I told them you were a merciful Lord, a great Master and they betrayed me. You know mothers and fathers do that sometimes—you know that!"
"You told them I was merciful?" Tom was relishing the words.
"Yes! Yes! I did!" Percy fell forward on his hands and knees as the Death Eaters pitched him forward.
"You lied." Tom said, waving his wand idly. "Avada Kedarva."
A green flash of light struck Percy in the face and he fell backwards, dead.
"No!" Harry screamed, limping the remainder of the way and falling down to his knees beside Percy. All he could see was Mrs. Weasley's face. Was she hearing this over the radio even now? No . . .
Tom stalked around Harry, his cloak billowing. "A Weasley has died, Harry. How does that make you feel?"
Tears were streaming down Harry's face as he checked Percy for signs of breathing. Of course, there were none. No . . . He knew what Snape would say to him, that he was weak, losing focus, that Tom was getting exactly what he wanted. But Harry had no choice. He could not NOT feel. It was impossible. "You bastard," he whispered to Tom.
"For those of you at home who cannot see the face of our boy hero, he is crying openly, unable to speak. Crying. For that waste of wizarding power. For someone who had betrayed him as surely as Wormtail betrayed his parents. Which reminds me . . . Wormtail."
"Yes, yes, my lord?" A lumpy figure in black came scrurrying up and the Dark Lord waved his wand, turning him into a rat again.
Harry's gaze shot around the stadium. Where was Snape?
"Wormtail, you piece of human excrement. I thought I might offer Harry the chance to confront you. He should avenge his father's death, you know. Harry?"
Harry shook his head, keeping one hand on Percy's still body, cradling the other against his body.
"Harry . . . you're not cooperating. Perhaps you need a little reminder of who is in control here? Crucio!"
Harry's skull imploded. Crimson, black and neon blue flashed behind his eyes. The pain was unbearable. No shield. Breathless, constricted, spasming, he tried to focus. The shield was slow to rise and ever slower to grow large enough to wrap around his mind. But in the end, it was there and Harry pulled inside desperately, leaving a slit to keep the world open. Tremors seized his body from head to foot.
How was he going to go on like this, if Tom kept him in wracking pain?
Finally, his body stopped heaving and he knew it was over. He slowly opened his shield a bit more, allowing more of his consciousness to interact with reality. His body felt like it was expanding—painfully—after being crushed by a giant hand.
"A different answer this time?" Tom prodded him with the toe of one black shoe.
"Your control . . . over the s-situation . . . is . . . an illusion," Harry breathed out, but his voice echoed through the stadium. The crowd came alive in response.
"Oh. Then, perhaps, this is an illusion as well? Crucio!"
No. Harry couldn't take it again. He Sensed the pain coming and put a hand up, blocking it without even thinking. A new influx of power breathed life into him and he wondered, tremblingly, if he had pulled that power from Ron or Ginny. Damn.
"Crucio!"
Again, Harry blocked it. He had no other choice. What was taking Snape so long?
"Obviously, you're well enough to duel. Then, by all means, let us get this over with. Stand up, boy!" Tom demanded, waving his wand threateningly.
Harry lay inert, saving his strength. He knew what Tom was going to do next.
"Stand up!" Tom lifted his wand, and Harry felt an invisible hand bend and force him to his feet. The pain was constant, but not overwhelming. But he could not duel—not like this, injured and—
"Before we continue, I would like to see how this boy was captured. Severus?"
"My Lord," a Death Eater walked smoothly into the circle, dark cloak billowing behind, white mask of pain in place. "You wish to enjoy my memory?"
"Take off your mask," Tom commanded.
Snape bowed his head and removed his mask, sneer in place. Around the arena, the crowd went mad. Harry could feel the hate flowing toward Snape and suddenly felt extreme concern for the delicacy of Snape's position.
Could Snape show this memory without revealing that he was helping Harry? Possibly . . . yes, he had been perfectly in character when he'd used the Incarcerous spell against Harry and then captured the twins. But he would have to keep Tom out of the rest of the memories of the evening . . .
"Legilimens!"
Snape looked completely relaxed and calm as Tom's wand pointed at him and the dark red eyes bored into his own. Harry snapped his head to look at Wormtail, who was shaking visibly as he watched Snape.
The arena grew quiet. Harry swayed on his feet, causing a surge of pain on his left leg.
Suddenly, Tom began to laugh, a mirthless chuckling that grew deeper and deeper with intent. He released Snape and turned to Harry.
"You destroyed the Veil?" His voice was touched with surprise.
"Yes."
Tom turned back to Snape. "Then the Dementors are no more?"
"Yes, my Lord, I am afraid that is the case. As a result, Hogwarts has not . . . fallen. But I am sure it is only a matter of—"
Over the loud cheering from the stands, Tom screeched "Crucio!"
Harry stilled his hand, though he wanted to block the curse with all of his heart. Snape fell to the ground, writhing and screaming hoarsely. The cheering from the crowd redoubled and Harry had to hold himself in check more closely.
Focus. If he moved now, if he betrayed the slightest interest in saving Snape, then all would be lost. Damn. Damn. Damn.
"I am disappointed in you, Severus," Tom said in a caressing voice after he cancelled the curse. "Could you not have stopped the boy from destroying the Veil before you captured him? You know what the penalty is for disappointing me? Ask Wormtail." Tom's eyes shot a gaze of pure malevolence at Wormtail, who whimpered.
Harry was shaking. He couldn't stand by and watch this. His only—
Suddenly, the lighting in the stadium flared bright yellow and everyone grew quiet. The Death Eaters turned to Tom as one.
Tom paused, his wand still aimed at Snape. "Intruders. How . . . interesting. Go—and stop them."
Death Eaters scattered.
"But, Lord, how can there be intruders?" Harry instantly recognized the harsh voice of Bellatrix Lestrange from behind him. "Unless . . . Severus Snape has betrayed us!"
Tom turned and addressed the figure directly behind him. "Severus, you are the Secret-Keeper for the location of Hell Manor. Is it possible you were tortured into insanity at Hogwarts and forced to give up the address?" Snape stood motionless, arms crossed in front of him. "No . . . I didn't think so. You have betrayed me . . . after all these years." Harry heard the change in tone and feared for his Professor.
"I knew it! I knew it all along!" Bellatrix screeched. "Kill him!"
"He's mine—first. Then you may have him. Oh, look, he's making a potion. Should I be concerned, Severus? Are you planning to kill me, too? You should know, Severus, that it's impossible," he added conversationally. "Crucio!"
Snape, who had just Summoned a bubbling cauldron from somewhere nearby, blocked the spell and threw a countercurse immediately.
Tom blocked it and sent a Bludgeoning Curse toward the cauldron, which Snape barely managed to block. Bellatrix, who alone had remained behind, sent a curse at the cauldron as well. Snape, blocked it as well while muttering something.
"This must be an important potion, Severus. You do love to talk. Why don't you tell us what it is?"
"It's a potion for me, Master!" Wormtail was suddenly there in front of Harry, shoving Harry's wand into his hands before turning back to Tom. "I repay my debt and refuse your gift, Lord. Diffindo!" He screeched as the spell sliced through his arm. "No longer is my flesh willingly given! I take it back! I take it all back" He fell to his knees, sobbing. The silver hand rose into the air, a greenish tint surrounding it. As it approached the cauldron, Tom gave a violent start.
Harry stepped forward, trembling. "Blood of an enemy—given willingly this time." He also cast a Diffindo spell, slicing open his arm once again in the same place Wormtail had cut two years before. The blood drifted up, caught by Snape's spell.
Tom, who had seemed stunned by the realization of what they were doing, now laughed. Not a good sign. "For those of you listening at home, Severus Snape, the great traitor, has set up his own classroom in the arena. He has managed to convince Wormtail to give back the silver hand I gave him in return for his flesh at my rebirth, and the boy has given his blood. And what do you have there, Professor Snape? Another bit of bone dust from my father?" he asked arrogantly.
Harry's heart sank. Tom wasn't even worried. The crowd was restless, but quiet, watching intently.
"No, Dark Lord," Snape said, his voice shaking slightly. "This is from the ring finger if your dead mother." Snape uncorked the vial and added it to the potion, which immediately turned sulfur yellow. A foul-smelling steam rose and began to cloud the area.
Tom seemed to freeze up completely for several long seconds. Then he screamed, "Stop him!" and several things happened at once. Bellatrix ran toward Snape, the lighting around the arena began to flicker again, the wind began to swirl, and Tom's voice echoed mightily. "Cease or you will not live to see my reign!"
Snape was intent on the potion. Spitting with hatred, Bellatrix stopped and threw a Killing Curse at him. Already fading fast, Harry pushed himself forward awkwardly and shoved Snape out of the way. They both landed hard. Snape threw up a Shield to protect the cauldron from Tom's Reductor Curse.
Breathing through gritted teeth, Harry got to his feet, favoring his left leg more heavily now. He moved to the cauldron, raised his wand and closed his eyes. Everything seemed to slow and his Senses went out. There were five curses coming toward him and Snape, two of them Killing Curses. Some of the other Death Eaters had run back when their master had called. Damn.
Harry jerked his wand down and back up, lifting dirt, rock and stone up out of the earth, forming a circle around them to absorb the curses. As the circle began exploding around him, Harry Focused and brought his Shield up—and out.
The dove gray Shield shimmered around him and Snape together, translucent but strong enough to absorb the remaining Curses. "Hurry," Harry said through clenched teeth. Already he felt the Shield flicker, but then new strength bled into him. No. It had come from someone, he was sure of it. Ron?
Harry closed his eyes and Sensed outward. He saw the multiple Curses spun his way from the surrounding Death Eaters, saw Wormtail on the ground, his Magical Energy fading in the throes of death from Tom's Killing Curse, and beyond, the Magical Signatures of hundreds upon hundreds of people in the crowd—some students he recognized—but many that he didn't. Was Ron here? Hermione? Ginny?
Nowhere could he find their energy. He sobbed in relief—they weren't here being tortured. He stretched farther outward, farther toward the Manor. Beyond the mansion there was an imposing line of dark magic creatures. Harry puzzled out that some must be giants, and some vampires and veela. Farther beyond that, after a long empty stretch of land, there was an advancing guard—the Order of the Phoenix! And with them, House Elves, Centaurs and even a few goblins.
Harry searched among the witches and wizards and nearly lost concentration when he found Ron, Ginny, Tobias, Draco and Hermione among them. Ron was faltering, already down before the battle began, probably because of Harry's Magical drain on him. Ginny looked slow as well. Damn that spell!
Harry was jerked back to himself when three simultaneous curses hit the Shield, severely draining his energy. With dread, he felt another influx of power and groaned.
"Do it, now!" he snapped at Snape.
"How many times must I tell you that Potions cannot be rushed!" Snape hissed back venomously. "It will be ready when it has reached the correct temperature and when—ah, when the smoke turns blood-red." Harry glanced back and saw the bloody smoke filling the Shield.
"Put down the Shield, Harry," Snape said softly.
Harry waited until another Cruciatus Curse reflected off the Shield, then dropped it. The smoke, already grown thick, reached toward Tom with a will of its own.
Tom shrieked and spun Curse after Curse at it, with no effect.
"Master!" Bellatrix screamed. "NO, MASTER!" She threw herself in front of him, wand raised, as the smoke crawled over them. A horrible scream tore the air, joined by another one.
Snape moved up beside Harry. "Did it work?" he breathed out. "It must work."
Harry strained to see through the crimson smoke. When it slowly cleared, one clean, white skeleton, stripped of all flesh and blood, lay on the ground—Bellatrix? Above it stood what was left of Tom. Harry gasped. Tom's face was bulging, rotting, dripping pieces as he touched it with limp, lifeless hands. "No," he moaned, "my body!" Then he focused on Harry and Snape. Walking stiff-legged toward them, his expression hard, he bit out the words, "But I'm still here."
"Impossible," muttered Snape, putting a protective hand across Harry.
"And I'm still alive enough to do this—Avada Kedarva!"
Snape thrust Harry behind him and took the Curse. Tom's laughter rang through the arena as Harry hit the ground, hard. His head ringing, Harry lay there, unsure whether or not he was actually hearing the sounds of fighting nearby.
"For those of you at home, you will understand if I gloat. Severus Snape, the traitor, is dead." The six Death Eaters that had returned cheered. The crowd remained silent.
The crowd?
"I am invincible!" Tom crowed, even as the back of his head fell to the ground with a wet plomp. "The Prophecy was wrong. I cannot die! So, are you ready to die, boy?" Tom hissed.
Harry ignored him. With sudden inspiration, he knew how to make Plan B work. Quickly, he used his Senses to search within the arena's grounds for wands taken from the crowd —there they were, sitting in a pile, waiting to be destroyed. Harry focused on the pile, lifted it and scattered the wands into the stands.
The crowd cheered and the Death Eaters scrambled. The air came alive with curses, not all of them perfectly aimed, but none of them even came close to Harry. From the open entrance at the front, Death Eaters came pouring in, driven by something coming through after them. Grawp! Harry couldn't see him well, but he knew him by size and by voice.
"Hag-eerrrrr!"
A lot of people screamed and there was an instant panic.
The last Harry had heard of Grawp, Hagrid had found him a temporary cave to live in not far from the school. Obviously, he had come out of hiding, and from what it sounded like, he was angry about something done to Hagrid. Grawp strode onto the field, sweeping small, angry, curse-throwing Death Eaters off left and right. The curses bounced off Grawp harmlessly.
A black body moved into Harry's line of vision, and he looked up in surprise—blanching at what he saw. Tom's red eyes glared down at him from a half-decomposed, skeletal face that had already lost its jaw. He could no longer taunt Harry, or even say a curse, but his eyes were full of hate.
"Harry! Diffindo!"
Tom whirled around and dodged the jet of red light, but the bones of his right arm swung off, and his left leg collapsed, forcing him to one knee.
Luna Lovegood was limping toward him, her wand trained on Tom's decaying body. "Are you all right, Harry?"
Harry almost answered that he was fine, but couldn't because of the pain. He just nodded and struggled to sit up. Then Tom lunged, his bony hand clamping onto Harry's damaged leg, sending sharp, shooting pains up his whole body.
"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" screeched Hermione, who was suddenly running up accompanied by someone—was that Dean? Yes, it was, and he was no longer under the Imperius.
"Harry!" he cried out before spinning a low roundhouse kick that landed in the center of Tom's chest—the immediate effect of which there was no longer a body there. Pieces of Tom went flying off in every direction, pieces of his decaying flesh splattering bystanders.
People in the stands cheered. The Death Eaters stared, horrified to see their leader gone. Some broke and ran. Some Apparated out. But some, with death on their faces, stalked toward Harry.
"Harry," Hermione said tearfully, kneeling beside him, "are you all right?"
"Look out," he warned her.
Hermione stood, stepped over him and held out her wand at the oncoming Death Eaters. "Just you try it, you bloody bastards!"
"We're ready," Dean agreed, standing at her side with Luna.
Harry, even with his three friends there back-to-back-to-back, could not find the strength to get up. Weakly, he raised his wand, knowing that any spell he cast would pull more from the Weasleys.
"Harry!" A blur on a broom sped up, sending Curses among the Death Eaters, scattering them.
"Charlie?" Harry watched him enviously as he dodged Curses and maneuvered himself between Harry and the Death Eaters. Grawp had pounded off, chasing Death Eaters up into the stands.
"There's more coming—hold on!" Charlie jumped off the broom and knelt by Harry "Bill and the others are still fighting at the gates."
"Where's Ron? And Ginny?" Harry managed, as Charlie slid an arm under him in an attempt to get him on his feet.
"Coming. A bit slow. You know how Ron is when's there Veela around," he said with a strained grin. From that, Harry knew his friend was having a rough time.
"And Ginny?"
"Any second now. Just keep your head in the game, right?"
Harry nodded and leaned on Charlie to stand. "She's all right?"
"Yeah. Fine," Charlie grunted as he took most of Harry's weight. "Bad leg?"
Harry nodded and took several deep breaths. "Can we get out of here?"
"I'll help, Harry," interrupted a small voice beside him, and Harry turned to see a flushed, tear-stained Collin Creevy. "Bastards got my brother."
"I'm sorry," Harry offered.
Colin nodded and took his place by Charlie, wand out. Almost immediately, he put up a Shield to block a Diffindo Curse from Antonin Dolohov, which knocked him back a few meters. Dolohov was stupid enough to still be trying to get to Harry.
"It's not over, Potter! Not yet!" He started to throw another curse, but Hermione hit him with an Incarcerous.
"I'm here, Harry," Lavender Brown said, stumbling up to the group, crying. "Are you all right? They were so . . . horrible . . ." and she collapsed on Dean, sobbing. Dean put one arm around her and held his wand up with the other. He looked at Harry.
"Sorry about before, mate. I—I don't know what happened. Last thing I remember, I was getting ready for the Quidditch Match, you know?"
Harry, who was feeling light-headed now, clutched at Charlie and nodded.
"Later," Charlie told him tersely. "All right, Harry?"
But Harry wasn't feeling well. His scar was burning . . . getting so bad that he had to shut his eyes, press a hand against his head and cry out. Then there was a flash of pain and he was falling into darkness . . .
When he came to, it was much quieter, and he was laying on something soft. His eyes drifted open, seeing quarter moon, clouds, empty stands, and then shut again. He was still outside, still at Hell Manor, and groups of people were talking quietly around him, about him.
". . . believe it's over so soon. I mean, I thought there would be . . ." the voice fell into a whisper.
". . . fourteen vampires! If Remus hadn't brought a few werewolf friends . . . it would have been ugly."
". . . giants were nothing. It was the goblins that—Harry! Is he awake?"
"He's thinking about it," murmured a soft voice over him. Ginny! She was leaning over him, bright brown gaze fixed on his face, because his head was in her lap.
A dry laugh nearby told him that Draco had survived fine. "No. He's thinking about you."
Ginny leaned down and kissed him softly. Harry smiled. Draco groaned.
"Where's Ron?" Harry asked as soon as she pulled away.
"He's asleep—that same Magical drain as before. But he'll be fine."
"And Tom?"
Ginny sighed. "We think he's gone."
Harry heard the hesitation in her voice. Had someone explained to her the part of Tom that was residing in Harry's scar? For that matter, was it still there? Would Harry even know? Or was it waiting in there, waiting for a weak moment on Harry's part when it might take over?
Harry shifted slightly, then sucked in a pained breath through his teeth.
"Don't move," Ginny warned him. "The Healers haven't arrived yet, and I . . .don't know how to treat all of your injuries," her voice sounded forcedly unemotional.
Harry reached for her hand with his good one. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm all right." He lay back, wondering how long that would last. "Where's Hermione?"
"With Ron. She doesn't know you're awake, but Cho was going to let her know."
"Cho's here?" Harry was confused.
"Yes. Everyone wanted to help, Harry. Everyone," she whispered, leaning over to kiss Harry's forehead. "You were so brave. We heard all of it." A warmth spread from her gentle touch to every part of his body. She had survived. So had he. Was there a future for them after all? A time when they could be together without—
A searing pain tore into Harry's Shield—he hadn't even realized it was still up. How had it still been up? Protection from the—
He screamed.
"Harry, what's wrong?"
Someone threw himself beside Harry. "It's Voldemort," Draco shouted, "he's attacking from the inside. How in the bloody hell can he do that?"
A small part of his soul was left in me. Now that's the only part of him alive.
"Oh, god."
Harry heard Draco begin to explain and then the world outside began to fade. Procclumency, Draco. Procclumency! Plan B!
Tom was screaming inside his head, something Harry couldn't understand, but his body was on fire. His scar was going to split his head in two. He thrashed in Ginny's arms.
. . . doesn't hear me . . ."
Draco's voice was so loud.
People were arguing. Ginny was pulled from him. The pain . . .
". . . everybody understand?"
Tom was in him, tearing into memories, slashing at his Magic, ripping into his mind. STOP! Harry screamed at him. Minutes passed—hours, days; an eternity of agony.
STOP! Please . . . dear god . . .
Snatches of conversation floated through his mind, but he could no longer feel his body at all—just pain.
". . . last chance . . ."
". . . love you, Harry . . ."
". . . ready on three . . ."
Then a bright light flooded his mind.
It is morning, and he's at the window in the Gryffindor Common Room. The sky is bright blue already—perfect for Quidditch. A small touch on his shoulder and he's turning around. Only, he's seeing this memory from Ginny's point-of-view and he gets an eyeful of himself, but as Ginny sees him. She's worried about the black circles under his eyes and drawn to the scar on his forehead. She thinks his eyes are brilliant this morning and that his smile makes her insides wiggle. Ginny Weasley loves him . . .
Then it flickered and all was dark, howling pain again.
Another blinding light appeared and this time, it was Hermione.
They are walking from Transfiguration Class, where Harry has just gotten top marks for his goblet, and Hermione is pestering him.
"But how did you know what it should look like?"
"Hermione, can we give it a rest? Your goblet was fine—spectacular!" Harry turns to her, exasperated.
Hermione sees the frustration on his face, stops and holds up both her hands. She's been promising herself not to stress him out this year. In fact, she practiced this very situation just two days ago, with Ginny coaching her. "Sorry, Harry. I'm sorry. I'm being obsessive again, aren't I?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, let's talk about something else, something less I'm less obsessive about . . . how about House Elves?" Hermione says brightly, sliding a sly glance at Harry.
He stops and stares at her, then cracks up. Happy, Hermione joined in. They laugh until tears are rolling down their cheeks.
Once again, the light faded and this time, Harry was fighting to stay conscious. Then came another explosion of light, another memory, this time from Charlie.
Harry and Charlie are meeting up after the only-partially successful plan to get Harry to school at the beginning of term. Charlie is feeling funny, only half transformed back into himself from being Harry's double, and is confessing that he didn't actually like pretending to be Harry very much.
"Bloody hell, Harry. Seems like everyone was either trying to get my autograph, tell me how Voldemort was going to do me in and how they were going to help him, or trying to get into my pants."
Harry blinks and gets that stunned look—the one he always gets whenever someone makes him suddenly self-aware. "Who was trying into your pants?"
Charlie has to grin. "Your pants, mate. Not mine. And I'm not answering that question, as I'd have to incriminate several young witches who should have bloody well known better. Hopefully, I got my message across."
Flash. Another memory.
Dumbledore and the D.A. are walking with Harry, seeing him safely home from the Infirmary. When they reach the third flight of stairs, Harry stops and gazes in shock at the line of his housemates stretching from the fourth floor stairs and up as far as the Gryffindor Common Room. Lavender pokes Collin, who takes a picture of the slow smile on Harry's face.
They start moving up and as soon as the Headmaster reaches the first Gryffindor, they all start cheering. Students are reaching around Fred and George to shake Harry's hand, calling out their thanks again and again. Then, the Gryffindors follow right behind Harry, piling in until it is dangerously crowded all along the stairs. Harry has to be pushed up ahead by Fred and George just to squeeze through at the top. The clamouring and cheering only grows louder as they approach the Common Room door, as the hallway is lined by Harry's house mates as well.
At the door, Dumbledore steps back and gives Harry a smile. "Welcome home, Harry." Lavender is smiling as well, and wiping away a tear. "Welcome home, Harry," she whispers, marveling that she could feel so much affection for someone not in her own family.
Another flash.
It is earlier in the night, and Harry is running past Draco up the stairs. Feeling snippy and out of sorts, Draco turns to stare at the Boy-Who-Lived. "Are you done with your little temper tan—"
Harry's wand whips around, aimed at Draco's throat. Draco swallows. "Obviously not."
"Do you remember what they did to Tobias when they had him down there—just to make me angry?" The look in Harry's eyes startles Draco. The vicious, righteous anger is quite normal, but the abject desperation fueled by stark fear—that is new. "And now they have Ginny? I feel like someone is ripping me apart." Though the words have a touch of melodrama to them, Draco can see that it is true. Harry even has to catch a breath before he can continue. "Is there anyone you care about enough to understand that?"
Draco opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself, pausing to really think. "I don't know. There used to be." Everyone has been taken from him—parents, friends, girlfriend (of a sort). Who does he care about? His eyes fall on Harry and jump away immediately. No one would believe that. But if he asks himself how he would feel if the Dark Lord got his hands on Harry, Draco's heart squeezes tight like a fist. That's how his heart used to respond to insults about his parents. Confused, Draco falls back against the wall, muttering to himself. "I suppose we'll soon see."
As Harry climbs the stairs, Draco wonders how Harry would feel if he knew they had suddenly become friends, without either of them realizing it.
Harry could not smile or respond, but he felt the warmth of the memory to his core. And as more and more memories were thrust into Harry's mind, he gradually became aware of what was happening. Procclumency. They were sending him their memories, sending him their love.
Tom hated it. He couldn't stand it. Harry felt his soul trying to pull away. The pain was intolerable; it was beginning to break him down. He felt himself begin to scream. He couldn't take much more.
The flashes began to come faster. He saw the day Remus Lupin taught him to do a Patronus.
He saw himself grabbing the Snitch, kissing Ginny, giving the speech at the beginning of term, retreating from rabid fangirls, in a food fight, flying on BuckBeak, hugging Sirius, and, thrown in amongst the others, Snape's memory of their visit to his mother.
Hope. Joy. Love.
Tom began to lash out, striking deep within Harry's body. Without thinking, Harry pulled his Shield up. For the first time, the pain diminished slightly.
Harry opened his eyes. He wanted to get a last look at everyone. Ron, Charlie and Remus were leaning on his lower body, trying to stop the spasms that jerked him around relentlessly.
"Harry?" Remus asked, his face gray and haggard, "is it working?"
Harry licked his lips and tasted blood. "Yes. He . . . hates it," he croaked.
Ginny, who was directly over him, her face white and strained, said, "Good! I love you, Harry. Please . . ."
Harry nodded, but couldn't reply. The pain was already growing again. His body couldn't hold on much longer.
"Hermione?"
Ginny looked over her shoulder to call, "Hermione, he's awake! Hurry!"
Harry gave Ron another look, saw the exhaustion in his pale face, the blood on his cheeks and the desperation in his eyes. Knowing the word to be completely inadequate for all they had been through together and for all the ways Ron had been there for him—a lifeline, a bonded friend, a protector—Harry managed a simple, "Thanks."
He could tell by the tightening of Ron's mouth and the intense look in his eyes that the meaning was understood. Ron didn't say anything, but reached over and put a hand behind Harry's neck and held it there as Harry spasmed in renewed pain.
Draco, Harry thought to his other, newer friend, thank you.
"Don't die on us, you little . . ." Draco's voice faded out.
"Harry!" Hermione fell to her knees beside him and leaned in closely. "Fight him, Harry! Close your eyes."
"No—"
"You have to fight him!" she was close to tears. "Don't give up!"
"I have to—say . . ."
"What?"
She bent closer and he forced out a whisper, "love you." Hermione's eyes flew wide, then filled with tears and she began shaking her head. Ron released Harry and took her hand.
"Ginny?" Harry whispered and she leaned over him, gripping his hand tighter. "Be strong," he told her. "Love . . . you."
"And I love you . . . Harry James Potter," Ginny said between heaving breaths, her brown eyes red-rimmed and quickly filling. "I always will."
"I love you, too, Harry," Hermione put a steadying hand on Ginny and took another breath. "Now, close your eyes and think about your Mum and your Dad. Remember the wedding picture you have? They were so happy and they loved you so much . . ."
Harry's back arched up off the ground as he remembered. These memories hurt Tom, and Tom was hurting Harry in return. Vicious cycle. Only one way to stop it.
"Remember the big breakfasts Mrs. Weasley always makes you eat at her house? She never thinks you get enough and is never happier than when you ask for seconds . . ."
Harry fought to focus on his Shield. He shook and gritted his teeth and ignored the pain. He brought up his Shield. He circled it around himself, and closed it off—completely.
Silence. Absence of pain. Peace.
Having nothing left, Harry floated down into the dove gray nothingness, releasing his life, his burden, his future into whatever hands held it now. He had done all he could.