When Harry came to, some time later, he panicked immediately from claustrophobia and the gagging stench of decay. Flailing, he scraped his hand on the broken rock hard enough to draw blood. Finally, he grasped the edge and shakily heaved himself up out of the tomb and into the night air. He tumbled to the ground and lay there, feeling the lump of the invisibility cloak still bundled under his robes with the wand he had taken from Draco, last month at Malfoy Manor, a million years ago.
Harry gathered himself slowly, pulled out the invisibility cloak, and drew it over himself. He replaced the wand—which was now technically his, by right of conquest—in its accustomed place up his sleeve. It was an inch shorter than his own Holly wand, but it always felt strangely welcoming to his touch, if not quite familiar.
Everything was very quiet. Moving slowly so that the cloak would not flap around his ankles, Harry started to make his way across the grounds. It was a charnel scene, the turf upturned by many feet to reveal dirt, and the dirt soaked through with tears, sweat, and blood. Harry skirted the place where Bellatrix's body lay, and after examining another body that proved to be the Death Eater Scabior, he realized that the only bodies left outside were Death Eaters.
That meant that whatever else had happened, the Death Eaters must have been driven back to leave their fallen behind. Hogwarts, then, must have stood. With that, Harry made his way toward the front doors, where he had last seen Flitwick make his stand. The steps were slick with blood and littered with bodies, some of which were partly in wolf-shape. That didn't make sense, Harry thought, glancing up. It was only a quarter-moon tonight. Something he would need to ask Hermione. Harry's breath caught as he realized that he didn't know whether Hermione would be able to answer; didn't know if she was even… He refused to complete the thought, but strode into the Entrance Hall.
He heard low voices immediately, through the open doors of the Great Hall to his left. Harry stopped in the doorway, and saw that the House Tables had been set up and food had been served, but that each table was filled by students and adults of every House and description. Neville sat at the Hufflepuff table next to Hannah Abbott, the Sword of Gryffindor on the table in front of him. He also saw Narcissa and Draco Malfoy sitting near the door, at the near end of the Ravenclaw table, both looking very uncertain about whether they should be there.
His eyes were drawn, however, to the raised dais where the staff table normally stood. Madam Pomfrey stood at one end, bent over the broken and trembling figure of Anthony Goldstein. Starting in the middle of the dais, however, there was a long row of shapes that were not moving; and grouped around the far end, there stood a small crowd of people with flaming red hair.
Harry couldn't face it, not yet; he needed quiet, he needed to think. He walked up the marble staircase, and kept the cloak on until he reached the second floor of the Headmaster's Tower, and only paused when he found himself in front of the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office.
The gargoyle looked very much worse for the wear after the battle. It leaned against the wall of the alcove where it usually stood, one of its arms was missing, its eyes seemed to be squinted shut in pain, and the wall behind it was open to reveal the spiral staircase leading up to the office.
"Er, can I go up?" he asked the gargoyle.
"Go ahead," the gargoyle grunted, not even bothering to look at him.
Harry climbed carefully past it and walked up the spiral staircase, which did not move like it usually did. Most of the portraits around the walls were empty, presumably down in the Great Hall to commiserate with the rest of the survivors, but directly behind the headmaster's desk, Albus Dumbledore stood in his frame. Dumbledore looked up as the door opened, and when he saw nobody there, his mouth opened a little, as if he was hesitant to speak. Then he asked quietly, "Harry?"
Harry's anger toward Dumbledore had mostly faded since the events of that misty, illusory King's Cross, and the hopeless way that Dumbledore said his name wiped away what little remained of Harry's ill will.
"I'm here, Professor," Harry said, removing the invisibility cloak at last. Dumbledore's smile was tremulous, and his eyes sparkled with tears rather than their usual knowing twinkle.
"I am so very delighted to hear it, Harry. We all heard Voldemort announce your death, and we heard the battle recommence, but I had expected you to make your reappearance immediately and challenge Voldemort once and for all. When you did not, and the Death Eaters fled, I began to fear that I had erred in my guesswork, and that you truly were lost to us."
"I don't know what happened, sir," Harry confessed. Voldemort cursed me like you planned, but I ended up…someplace else. And I saw you there, sir." As he spoke, he crossed to the headmaster's desk, where the Pensieve still sat. He pulled back the headmaster's chair, turned it so that he could see Dumbledore's portrait, and sat down.
"Saw me?" Dumbledore asked. "After you were hit by the curse, Harry?"
"Yes, sir. You spoke to me; it seemed like a very long time. You told me a lot of things that I had already sort of guessed up to that point, and you begged my forgiveness."
Dumbledore looked grave and ashamed, "I certainly hope that I did. I will not ask your reply. What else happened, Harry?"
"I asked you where we were, but you told me that I had the answer. And I did: it looked like King's Cross Station. You told me that I had a choice, to either come back and face Voldemort, or to 'board a train' and move on."
"And, in making that choice, Harry, you have proved yourself a better man than ever I was."
Harry allowed himself a small smile. "You said something like that, too, sir."
Dumbledore chuckled, in spite of himself, it seemed to Harry. "Yes, well… What happened when you woke up, Harry?"
"I was back, but I couldn't move anything except my eyes. Voldemort brought me back to the front of the castle and tried to use my body to make our side surrender, but of course, they didn't. Then put my body into your tomb, sir; I think he was going to destroy it and both of us.
"But Neville pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat, and he killed Nagini. Then everyone started fighting. I saw reinforcements arrive for our side, but I passed out. When I woke up again, I was finally able to move, and I came up here."
Dumbledore looked very solemnly at Harry. "We must assume that Voldemort knows now, or will very soon, that even the Horcrux he thought we would never find is gone, and that he himself is fully mortal for the first time in half a century.
"Tonight may very well have been our best chance to finish him once and for all. I confess, I had envisioned that by the time you went to face him, all of the Horcruxes would be destroyed, and that he would either die upon trying to kill you, or that you would kill him thereafter.
"I do not blame you, and you should not blame yourself; this inability to move upon returning to your body was unexpected and could not have been foreseen. However, the fact remains that Voldemort and his Death Eaters have fled.
"For now, at least, he still believes you are dead, and it may be in our best interest to harbour that impression for a while." But Harry was already shaking his head. Dumbledore tried to reason with him, "Harry, it may grant us the element of surprise we need to finish him…"
Harry interrupted, "Yes, sir, it might. But I think it would boost morale for our side a lot more to know that I'm back, don't you?"
Dumbledore thought it over for a moment, then nodded. "Perhaps so. You understand, though, what you are risking by surrendering this tactical advantage? Once Voldemort realizes you are still alive, it probably will not be long before he goes underground."
"Maybe that will stop some of the random acts of violence," Harry said, but Dumbledore shook his painted head.
"On the contrary, Harry, it will probably make them come more frequently as he attempts to draw you out. Realizing that you have survived the Killing Curse for a second time will infuriate and terrify him, and he will redouble his efforts to find you and kill you, while at the same time refusing to expose himself to you. By contrast, though, his confidence will be badly shaken if he ever faces you again."
"You mean 'when' he faces me again, sir. There's no backing down, or running away. Not anymore. I'm not sure there ever was."
Dumbledore's eyes were swimming with tears again at Harry's words. At length, he said, "How are you planning to reveal yourself, then, Harry?"
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but froze. There were cautious footsteps on the stairs leading up to the office, and he heard unidentifiable voices whispering.
"…definitely heard someone talking up there," someone hissed.
"It's probably just the portraits," replied another, slightly higher voice. "Who else would be up here?"
"Should we even be here?"
"I've told you, who is there to stop us anymore? Nobody will be up here, and I can't stand to be around anybody else right now."
The whispers were right outside the door now. Harry reached for his invisibility cloak, but too late; the door swung open, and the air was rent by a scream.
"HARRY!"
Before Harry could react or process what had happened, he had been yanked out of the chair and was crushed between two sobbing figures. Gasping for breath, Harry managed to wrap an arm around Ron and Hermione and pull them tight against him.
Both of them were babbling.
"How did you—"
"You were—"
"What was—"
"We saw—"
"Voldemort cursed me," Harry said shortly. "I went away for a while, and now I'm back. Good enough?"
Ron simply nodded, beaming. Hermione, predictably, opened her mouth to start asking questions, but Ron nudged her. Amazingly, she paused, and apparently changed what she was going to say.
"What are we going to tell people? How are we going to tell people? I know you, Harry, you don't want to go down to the Great Hall, do you? But people need to know; we need to tell Ginny and Luna and Neville and Sirius and…"
"Why don't you go and get Sirius, Hermione?" said Ron. "Maybe you can figure out some way to slip a note to Neville and Luna, or… No, wait! Just send it to them on their D.A. galleons! Do that after you come back with Sirius, though."
Hermione nodded, and hurried out of the office again. Harry turned to Ron.
"Did you just tell her what to do?"
Ron shrugged, looking self-conscious. "It's like chess, mate. Once you know what the pieces want to do, you just have to let them do it when it fits the strategy."
Harry sat back down, and Ron sat across from him. The silence was comfortable; neither was quite willing to talk, and neither wanted to press the other. In a few minutes, there was motion from the stairwell again, and Harry heard Sirius' voice.
"C'mon, Hermione, I've followed you this far. What's this all about?" he said dully, as though all the life and enthusiasm had been sucked out of him.
Rather than answer, Hermione burst into the room ahead of him and took the seat next to Ron before Sirius could even finish coming up the stairs. When he did, he froze in the doorway, staring at his godson.
"Harry…" he said, huskily. And Harry, who throughout his reunion with Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione, had managed to remain relatively calm, now found his own eyes beginning to sting as he looked up at the man who was like a father and a brother and a comrade and a friend all at once.
Harry couldn't think what to say, except, "I saw them, Sirius. The rest of the Marauders. My dad told me to remind you to try to be a little less flighty. Wormtail said that you were right all along, and that he should have remembered that the best times in his life were when he had you to look up to. Moony asked you to take care of Teddy, the way you should have been allowed to take care of me."
As he spoke, Sirius' own eyes filled with tears. He sank to his knees, nodding silently, and wept for his lost brothers. Thinking of that led Harry to thoughts not only of Lupin, but of Tonks, Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, Ernie Macmillan, and everyone else who had given their lives tonight.
Dumbledore's portrait cleared its throat. He had been respectfully quiet during the reunion, and had joined them openly in their grief. Now he directed Sirius to a cabinet beside his frame, and soon they each had a glass of goblin-made brandy.
Harry opened his mouth to ask how Sirius thought he should make his reappearance, when he heard furtive movement again on the stairs. He drew his wand, and the door flew open to reveal Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was not skulking, but glaring at Harry with nearly as much animosity as ever. And yet, Harry thought, there was something more to it, something only visible in the lines on Malfoy's face, the shadows under his eyes, the haunted expression he had never worn during his time as the Pureblood Prince of Slytherin.
Ron leapt to his feet, pulling out his wand too, but Harry said, "No, Ron." He shared a glance with Dumbledore's portrait, then met Malfoy's gaze squarely. "Can I help you, Draco?"
"Funnily enough, you can, Potter." Malfoy's pointed use of Harry's surname was expected. "That's still my wand you're pointing at me."
"Told you, Draco, 'finders keepers'," Harry smirked, knowing that using his first name would continue to incense him. To Harry's surprise, however, Draco didn't rise.
"I told you, Potter; the wand I used tonight was my mother's. Your Order of the Phoenix confiscated it, and when they returned it they returned it to her. I want my wand back. Or are you afraid of what I might do to you like this?" Draco raised his arms, and as his robes shifted, the rest of them saw for the first time that Draco was handcuffed, and that his shirt was drenched in fresh blood.
Hermione stepped forward, her hand already rummaging in her beaded handbag. "If you come here, I've got some dittany that will take care of whatever's wrong until the healers can take a look at-"
"This isn't my blood, Granger," Malfoy spat. "It's…" but he seemed to choke up, and obviously changed what he was going to say. "It should have been mine, though. From a spell cast by one of yours after the battle."
Harry, for his part, looked at Malfoy for a long moment. True, the wand in his hand was Draco's, but Harry had won it in a duel, meaning that not only would it would obey him, it was his now in the eyes of the law. His own holly and phoenix feather wand was still irreparably broken. He didn't know what he would do without Draco's wand. And yet…
He met Draco's eyes, and found that they exactly matched his mother's. Narcissa had lied to Voldemort in exchange for Harry's word that Draco was alive. Draco had said that her wand was confiscated from him and returned to her, so she must still be in the castle. Lucius would obviously have gone with Voldemort, but Draco was here with his mother. Why? To retrieve his wand? Maybe, but though he approached the subject bluntly, he asked in a way that was, by Malfoy's standards, perfectly civil. He had clearly gotten away from somewhere he was being kept, handcuffed, and followed Ron and Hermione when he saw them leaving with Sirius. He had followed them specifically, rather than try to retrieve his wand from the tomb where he must have seen Harry's body deposited. Perhaps he had guessed then, that Harry was still alive, because what else could bring those three away from the Great Hall in the wake of the Battle? And if he had guessed, then he must have known he would have to approach Harry directly. Which could only mean…
"You're staying, aren't you?" Harry asked. Malfoy said nothing, but Harry could see the answer in his eyes. "You remembered what Professor Dumbledore told you last year, didn't you? We can hide your family, Draco. You can fight for the right side."
Ron choked, "What!?", but Harry ignored him. Malfoy said nothing.
Harry stared at Malfoy for a moment longer, then crossed the room. Without any ceremony, he held Malfoy's wand out on the palm of his left hand, and extended his right. Malfoy's lip twitched, but then he shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He grasped Harry's hand, and for the first time after seven years of near-constant animosity, they shook.
"I'm tired of this feud, Potter," Malfoy sighed, letting out the breath he had taken. "You win. I'll end this if you do."
Harry sighed in return. "I agree. There are more important matters to worry about than things said and done when we were eleven."
"Then you have my word, Pot—Harry."
Harry extended his left hand instead, willingly returning Malfoy's wand to him. Malfoy—Draco—took his wand back from Harry and left without another word.
Ron was still sputtering. "Harry…why…you don't…"
"We have a new ally in the fight against Voldemort, Ron," Harry said simply, but Ron still looked flabbergasted. Harry thought for a moment, trying to come up with an explanation Ron would accept. "A pawn moved to the last rank and now we have a stronger piece. See?"
"I…I guess so, mate, but how do you know you can trust him?"
"Because he may be a pompous, nasty, bullying, prejudiced, self-righteous git…but he's not a liar. He gave his word and he'll keep it."
"But what are you going to do now?" Ron persisted. "Your wand is still broken. Ollivander said it couldn't be repaired, and You-Know-Who still has the Elder Wand!"
Sirius gasped at the mention of the legendary weapon, but Harry continued.
"Yeah, but I figured something out tonight. Remember in the Shrieking Shack, we heard Voldemort complaining that the wand wasn't working right? He thought he could make it work by killing Snape, but we know from Ollivander that's not how wands are passed on. Snape was never the master of the wand, because he was working for Dumbledore the whole time. Dumbledore should have died undefeated, but it didn't work, because somebody disarmed Dumbledore before Snape arrived on the tower last year."
Hermione gasped. "You mean…Malfoy?"
Harry nodded. "Exactly. So, when I beat Draco a few weeks ago…"
This time, it was Sirius who cut in. "Then, you're the master of the Elder Wand?" he asked weakly.
"Assuming we can get it away from Voldemort. Right, Professor?" Harry answered, looking at Dumbledore's portrait.
"I can find no flaw in your reasoning, Harry. In fact, it would go a long way toward explaining what happened to you tonight."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.
"When Harry entered the Forbidden Forest tonight, he was not only the true owner of the Elder Wand and his own Invisibility Cloak, but also briefly the possessor of the Resurrection Stone that was once set in the Ring of Gaunt." Dumbledore's portrait explained. "In other words, one could say that according to the legends, Harry was—"
"Master of Death!" Hermione gasped. Sirius' face was white, and Ron looked thunderstruck.
Harry didn't like the sound of that very much, so instead he said, "The Stone let me get past the Dementors in the forest. That's when I saw my mum, and the Marauders."
"So what are you going to do about a wand, Harry?" Ron persisted.
"Perhaps I can offer a solution," Dumbledore cut in, smiling magisterially down at them all. "Come here, Harry."
Harry crossed the room slowly, and Dumbledore's portrait swung forward suddenly on hinges to reveal a hidden space. Harry knew from Snape's memories that the Sword of Gryffindor had been concealed there once, before Snape had left it for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to find, but the sword was downstairs now. Harry looked inside the secret space curiously, and found a small, narrow box. He pulled it out and sat down, recognizing an Ollivander's case, but not the inlaid signature. It didn't match the one on his own wand case, which had been signed by Mr. Ollivander when Harry bought his wand just after his eleventh birthday.
At Dumbledore's painted nod, he opened the case, and found a polished wand of dark wood.
"What's this, sir?" Harry asked, as Dumbledore swung closed again.
"That, Harry, is a wand which has not been used for more than fifty years, ever since I tamed the Elder Wand in 1945."
Sirius jerked his head to look at Dumbledore. "You mean…that's…your wand, Albus?"
With a small smile, Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, indeed. I purchased it myself, at the age of eleven, from Gerbold Ollivander, in 1892. Though I set it aside when I gained possession of the Elder Wand from Grindelwald, this wand always served me faithfully. Judging by its composition, I think that it will do the same for you."
"What do you mean by 'its composition', professor?" Hermione asked.
"I do not pretend to be an expert on wandlore," Dumbledore replied, spreading his hands. "But Gerbold said as much when I purchased it from him."
"What's it made of, sir?" Harry asked, still staring at the dark wand.
"Fir," Dumbledore replied, "and dragon heartstring. You see, there is a story in the Ollivander family—and I expect Garrick would be able to tell you in better detail than I—that Gerbold only ever sold three wands made of fir in his life…but that each of those three wizards later passed safely through mortal peril. For that reason, the Ollivander family refers to fir wands as 'the Survivor's wand'. I think it rather apropos for Harry, don't you agree?" He smiled gently, and they all returned it rather weakly. Sirius shook his head.
"Only you, Harry, could walk to your death, converse with those who have passed on, and then bounce right back." His godfather's eyes were full of tears again, and Harry realized that without him, Sirius would have been left all alone in the world.
He moved over to Sirius, intending to put a hand on his shoulder, but Sirius grabbed him and hugged him roughly, before straightening up with his hands on Harry's shoulders. They were almost of a height, and Sirius looked into Harry's eyes very seriously.
There was no trace of his characteristic humour in his voice as he said, "You deserve the rest, Harry, after what you've been through. Especially this year." Harry's eyes suddenly burned with unshed tears, and his throat constricted with he didn't know what emotion. "I expect you three are going to head off on your own again?"
"We're going to have to," Harry replied. "If we stay here, it will make Hogwarts even more of a target."
"I agree," Sirius cut in. Harry was astonished at first by the simple agreement. Then he wondered if Sirius was going to demand to go along with them. He immediately began marshaling his arguments against it, but when Sirius continued, he said nothing of the sort. "If Voldemort goes underground, the reign of terror will only get worse. Hogwarts needs to be a haven. We'll get started on rebuilding right away, and make this headquarters. Once we've established, you three should be ready to move out again."
"But won't it be dangerous for You-Know-Who to know exactly where everyone is?" said Ron.
"I didn't say we were going to advertise it," Sirius replied. "But we need somewhere defencible to bring refugees, and Hogwarts fits the bill. Voldemort used up most of his strength besieging the castle tonight; if he tries to do it again, even our weakened defenders will be able to hold him back.
"But," Sirius went on, "That's neither here nor there for you three. It's time you all took a more active role in the Order of the Phoenix and…what did you decide to call it? Dumbledore's Army?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm not in charge of that anymore. It's Neville who's running them now."
"Yes, Frank and Alice's son. He's got his father's build, but damn if he doesn't look just like his mother." Sirius shook his head to break his own reverie, and continued, "I've had a word with this DA, and while I heard some grumbling about how you'd been gone all year, I also heard that they still consider you their Commander-In-Chief. If you want to leave Neville in charge of day-to-day command, fine, but those kids need to see you, Harry. A lot of them laid down their lives tonight. Don't ask the rest of them to die for a stranger."
Harry's stomach clenched. "I didn't want any of them to die for me!" he shouted, but Sirius held up a hand to head him off.
"Do you think James would have wanted me to die for him? Of course not. But that doesn't change the fact that I would have done it in an instant. This isn't about what you want, Harry, it's about what you mean to people. You're 'The Boy Who Lived' all over again, and this time you weren't just a baby. Like it or not, you're a symbol of this resistance to Voldemort's pureblood supremacy. The wizarding world is slipping into darkness, and you need to be there to be its light.
"Most people still see me as a convict. Dumbledore is gone. There's no one else left who can reach out to as many people as you, Harry. It's up to you to take up the banner and do the right thing."
Harry sighed. "At least I can use my celebrity for something good, this time." He turned to Hermione. "Did you tell Neville and Luna yet, Hermione?"
"Yes, of course. They're both taking care of others at the moment, though."
"I'll need Neville, at least, up here. I'd like to see Luna as well, but maybe you should ask her to look after Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys…"
Ron cut in, "Harry, you don't want to keep from Ginny that you're okay. She'll hex you so bad you'll wish you were dueling Voldemort again."
Harry hesitated, then nodded. "Have Luna bring her up, then, if she can extricate her from the rest of the family. I want to have a plan worked out before I go back down to the Great Hall."
Hermione pulled the DA Galleon out of her pocket again, and Harry turned to Sirius. "I want to talk to Kingsley as well, assuming he survived. Oh, and Professor Slughorn too, if you can find him. Send them up here; I'll need their help coming up with that plan. Try to be discreet."
Sirius blinked at him in surprise, then let out a chuckle that was almost his old bark-like laugh. "Harry, when have you ever known me to be less than discreet?" Rather than wait for an answer, he bounded to his feet, transformed into an enormous black dog, and bounded out the door.
Hermione was still staring intently at the fake galleon. "Neville says he'll come, Harry, but he's looking in on someone right now. Luna didn't send an actual reply, but she warmed up the galleon to show that she got the message."
"Why are you bringing Slughorn, Harry?" Ron asked.
"Well, to go over everybody: I think it's obvious why I want you two here. Same goes for Ginny. Neville is in charge of the DA these days, whatever Sirius says; he knows what they're capable of far more than I do. I expect Luna will give us a perspective we'd never consider otherwise. Kingsley is the best auror we've got, and Slughorn is both clever and well-connected. Here, because this is where Dumbledore's portrait is, and I'll want his input as well."
Ron looked very thoughtful at that. Hermione stood up and, at Dumbledore's urging, began to examine the books on his shelves. Harry leaned back into the chair and shut his eyes.
Ginny arrived first. She was several minutes ahead of Luna, having sprinted the entire way. She flung herself into Harry's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Both of them ignored Ron's heavy sigh, and the yelp he let out when Hermione kicked him sharply in the shin. Harry, for his part, just held her against him, feeling the tension in her back, taking in the smell of her hair and the feeling of her tears soaking the shoulder of his robes. He wouldn't give her up again for anything, he vowed silently. Never, ever again.
Luna, for her part, merely sat quietly in a chair Hermione conjured for her. Kingsley, who appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, merely nodded respectfully to Harry, and sat down beside Luna.
Less than a minute later, they heard heavy, tired footfalls on the stairs, and Neville came in. He looked equal parts exhausted and furious, and refused the chair Hermione indicated. He stood beside the door, his hands folded on the Sword of Gryffindor resting point-down between his feet, and glared at Dumbledore's portrait.
Before Harry could ask what that was about, Sirius returned with Slughorn in tow, but the two of them weren't alone. Into the office right on their heels came Professor McGonagall. She fixed Harry with a gimlet eye, and said, "I'm very glad to see you're all right, Potter," in a voice that promised dire words later.
"Yes, yes," Slughorn puffed. "Delighted you're back, Harry m'boy. Truly delighted."
Ginny gave him one final squeeze, then got up and took a seat on Luna's other side. Harry sighed, before sitting up straight and turning to face them properly over the desk. He took Dumbledore's fir wand from the box, and pointed it at his own chair. It began to hover an inch above the ground and move to his left, so that Dumbledore's portrait would not be obscured by the back of his chair. When he settled to the floor again, he slipped the wand up his sleeve, and placed his hands on the desk.
"Voldemort is mortal now," he declared to the assembled people without preamble. "He has not been mortal for many years, ever since he began creating Horcruxes, which allowed him to store pieces of his soul outside his body." Oddly, only the adults reacted. Kingsley blinked sharply, McGonagall gasped aloud, and Slughorn gave an odd kind of groan. Harry ignored them all.
"He intended to make six Horcruxes, originally," he pressed on. "His own diary, which I destroyed in my second year. A ring that belonged to his grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt, which Professor Dumbledore destroyed last year. A locket belonging to Salazar Slytherin, which Ron destroyed in January. A chalice which had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which we stole from Gringotts last night, and which Hermione destroyed before the Battle last night. A diadem once owned by Rowena Ravenclaw, which was destroyed by Fiendfyre just before the Battle started. And finally, that snake of his, Nagini, which Neville killed with the sword of Gryffindor.
"According to Professor Dumbledore," Harry inclined his head toward the portrait on the wall, "Voldemort also accidentally created a seventh Horcrux, on Halloween night, sixteen years ago. When the Killing Curse rebounded on him that night in Godric's Hollow, his spirit was blasted from his body. It was unable to move on thanks to the other Horcruxes, and a piece of it attached to a nearby living soul." He paused here, and tapped the lightning scar on his forehead. Sirius and Professor McGonagall looked horrified. Kingsley was nodding thoughtfully, and Slughorn had his eyes shut tight.
"That final piece of soul was evicted tonight," Harry finished. "The plan, such as it was, was for me to take the curse, so that the final soul fragment would be destroyed, and then kill Voldemort in turn. Unfortunately, I was not able to do so, and now he's on the run.
"I know this Battle was devastating, but it was for the enemy as well. Professor Dumbledore is right: once Voldemort finds out that I survived, he's going to go into hiding, and he's going to be nearly impossible to corner, so we'll need to make a plan to track him down quickly…" McGonagall looked appalled, and Kingsley was already shaking his head, but the objection came, surprisingly, from Neville.
"You can't be serious, Harry." His tone brooked no argument. He pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket. From what Harry could see from across the room, it was covered with names. "At least fifty D.A. members died tonight," Neville said flatly. "That's not even counting anyone that was lost among the Order of the Phoenix, the teachers, the civilian reinforcements, the centaurs, and the house elves. The bodies are still lined up in the Great Hall. Some of those who survived this far are still going to die from complications and lack of Healing, because Madam Pomfrey can't be everywhere at once. And you want us to try to rally everyone with another brilliant plan? After the way the last one turned out?" His hands tightened on the hilt of the sword, and he looked ready to spit at Dumbledore's portrait.
Harry just stared at Neville. He had been expecting support from that quarter, not hostility. "Neville, what…?"
"We trained, and fought, and bled, and died for this. For the school. For him. For you! What do we have to show for it? Besides a stack of bodies?" he snarled. "Wands? Horcruxes? Prophecies? What happened to 'neither can live while the other survives'? Was I ever anything, or was it all Harry all along?" Neville wasn't talking to them anymore; he was shouting at Dumbledore's portrait. "What kind of sick idea was it letting Snape have this school? Why did everything have to be a bloody secret? Why couldn't you ever just tell anyone what was going on, and let us make up our own damn minds!?"
He had leaned forward at the end, putting his weight on Gryffindor's sword, which sank several inches through the carpet and into the stone floor. Neville hardly seemed to notice, turning on his heel and beginning to pace up and down the office, tossing his head like his own bulldog patronus.
Harry was speechless, and so, it seemed, was Dumbledore. His eyes sparkled again with unshed tears as they followed Neville's progress, but he said nothing. After a moment, it was McGonagall who spoke up. "Longbottom, you were in the right tonight to demand that the students in your organization be allowed to stay. I don't think any of us can disagree with that anymore." Neville froze at her words.
Kingsley spoke up. "Agreed," he said in his deep drawl. "We were nearly overrun before Creevey brought your people back, and they all fought like heroes."
"And now the ones who didn't die like heroes will bleed out wishing they had," Neville said bitterly.
"We need to get healers here," said Ron. Everyone turned to look at him. His ears turned red, but he didn't hesitate. "We can't evacuate everyone to Saint Mungo's; there'd be no way to secure it. But if we can bring enough healers here, we should be able to stabilize people, at least."
"Ron's right," Hermione said, though she sounded very shaken. "It makes the most sense, tactically, to bring the healers to the wounded. Some of them wouldn't survive the apparition even if we could use Saint Mungo's."
Something shifted in Harry's memory. He turned his head, scanning the portraits on the walls. They had filled back up in ones and twos as word spread that a council was taking place, and now nearly all of the former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were gazing down at them. He pointed up at a silver-haired witch, squinting to see the name engraved on the plate under her portrait.
"You. Dilys Derwent. You have a portrait at Saint Mungo's, right?" The portrait nodded, looking down at him curiously. "Do you think you could go there ahead of us and give a warning to the healers? The new shift should be arriving soon, and we'll need to head them off before they send the overnight shift home." Dilys continued to stare at him, so he added, "Please?"
After a moment, she nodded again, and stepped sideways out of her frame, disappearing from sight.
Harry turned back to the assembled people. "Good, now I don't expect they'll send over a bunch of healers just at the word of a portrait, so I think Kingsley and Professor Slughorn had better get over there as soon as we're done here.
"Now then," Harry continued, but he hesitated. All of them were staring at him. "What?" he asked defensively.
Neville replied. "You're getting the voice of command right, Harry. You're snapping orders and they sound right. Like the way you gave instructions in the first D.A.."
"Well," Ron cut in, grinning, "the way you did when you weren't being an over-sensitive prat about being in charge."
"Don't stop," Neville encouraged him. "It's what we all need right now, I think. To be told what to do." He didn't smile as he once might have done, but Harry felt the hostility between them diminish a bit.
"Then tell me what's wrong, Neville," Harry said sharply, studying Neville intently as the taller boy threw his shoulders back. It looked like Neville was going to snarl back at him, but he visibly stopped himself and shook his head.
"Harry, you three are sitting safe right here." He started softly, but his voice growing in strength with every word. "You may have all had a bad time of it on the run, but your best friends are still together. One of my two best friends died tonight. The other one is down in the Room of Requirement right now, monged out of his mind, because he just lost his best friend, and he thinks it didn't have to happen. I'm not sure I can convince myself otherwise, much less him. So many lost…and half of us shouldn't have died!
"Half you you shouldn't have lived!" Ron snapped with uncharacteristic harshness. "According to Seamus, you lot were planning a do-or-die final stand at the end of term without Harry or Dumbledore or anyone else."
"We didn't have a choice!" Neville bellowed back. "We thought we'd been abandoned! No one told us anything! How were we supposed to trust in any kind of higher plan that resulted in Snape running the school? We've been through hell this term. You have too, I know, but that doesn't mean that we haven't. We had no idea if any of you were coming back, or if Dumbledore had any kind of plan at all, or… You don't know what it was like, being here, with that bastard in control!" Neville's face was twisted in hate as he struggled to find words for what the ex-Potions Master's reign had been like. Dumbledore's portrait had its face buried in its hands.
"If he'd known you like you are now, Neville, I'm sure he would have told you something," Hermione began, but Ron took over.
"—but when he was alive to make the decisions, you weren't a leader, there wasn't a reason to tell the rest of Hogwarts anything." Ron couldn't keep an edge of sarcasm back as he continued. "As for Snape and Hogwarts… How was Dumbledore supposed to have known how Snape would run the school? Do you honestly think it would have been better if those Carrows were flat-out in charge? No one ever said he liked Snape, just that he used him, and he'd have been an idiot not to."
Neville was staring at Ron, but he seemed to deflate before their eyes. He crossed back to where he had been standing, wrenched the sword out of the floor, and flopped down into the seat Hermione had conjured for him. He placed the sword across the arms of the chair, and rested an elbow upon it as he held his face in his hand.
"Now," Harry said, returning to the business at hand. "We need to fortify the castle, especially if we're bringing healers here. We can use the recovery time to do that while those of us who are still on our feet use the time to rally our allies. We have Grawp on our side, and by the way the battle turned out, I think the centaurs must have joined in. We'll need to approach them, and someone needs to go to the house elves as well. I don't like the idea of them fighting, but after what happened to Dobby, I think we can convince them to stand with us. If they choose to," he hastily added, seeing the look on Hermione's face.
"After that, we'll need to reach out to the goblins. The majority of them seem to have sided with Voldemort, but that doesn't mean they all have, and goblins are vicious and clever. I want that ingenuity on our side."
"You should talk to Bill about that," said Ginny. Harry nodded.
"Agreed. I think he was starting on that during our summer at Grimmauld Place, but with Voldemort out of sight, it was hard to convince them of any urgency. Now, they can't exactly pretend that nothing's going on, and we have the example of what he did to the messenger when he found out that we'd burglarized Gringotts."
"Don't you think that'll be a problem, though, Harry?" Hermione said worriedly.
"Yeah, I do," said Harry, "But compare us to Voldemort, and I think we're the lesser of evils as far as the goblins are concerned. The centaurs should be much more approachable."
"Hagrid could do that," said Ron.
"All right," Harry said. Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, Harry stopped and looked up. Dilys Derwent had returned to her frame, nodding.
"Thank you, Dilys. Professor Slughorn, Kingsley, head to Saint Mungo's now and start bringing healers through into the Great Hall. Light a bonfire if you have to; we need them here fast.
"Professor McGonagall, start marshaling everybody who's still on their feet into two groups. One group, under Percy, to act as runners to assist the healers however they ask, the other to pick up Professor Flitwick and start fortifying the castle again.
"Ginny, go and talk to Bill, please. If he wants to leave immediately, see if he'll take Luna with him." Luna nodded dreamily, and Harry knew he'd made the right decision sending her. "Ron, go with Hagrid to the centaurs. Take Charlie with you, too. Hermione, head down to the kitchens and talk to the house elves. Tell them you've come from me, but please stick to the plan. We'll have time for S.P.E.W. when Voldemort is dead.
"Sirius, do you remember that mirror you gave me a few years ago? Was that enchantment based on a Protean Charm as well?"
"Of course," said Sirius.
"We'll need a better way to communicate than Floo or even those galleons, especially since we don't need the subtlety of coins anymore. See if you can think of something."
"No problem, Harry." He glanced around. "The books in here might be useful, too."
"What about me, Harry?" Neville asked, sounding halfway between impressed and resentful.
"In the long term, you're keeping control of the D.A. They'll follow you sooner than they will me. Right now, though, you and I are going to have a long talk with Professor Dumbledore."
The next few minutes were filled with hustle and bustle as the weary survivors left the room to go about the duties he had assigned. Sirius began pulling certain books from the shelves, and Neville crossed the room to perch on the edge of the desk as Harry turned the chair to face Dumbledore's portrait once more.
"Very well then, Harry, Neville," the portrait said quietly. "What is it you need to know?"
As Harry and Neville walked silently together down the marble staircase into the entrance hall, they heard McGonagall's magically-magnified voice speaking over the babble of the Great Hall.
"Everyone please back away from the injured on the staff podium, and stay well back from the bonfloo. I know you are all eager to help the healers in their work now that you have eaten, so you will be divided up into teams to assist them once they have completed a triage." Harry and Neville both stopped in the doorway. Nobody was looking at them, their eyes fixed either on Professor McGonagall, or on the enormous crackling green flames beside the raised podium, which were disgorging healers and mediwizards at an incredible rate. By the look of it, most of the staff of Saint Mungo's had risen to the occasion.
"Now, from this moment forward," Professor McGonagall continued, "as far as we are concerned, Hogwarts School is is now the capital of the Wizarding World which has not fallen under the sway of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I shall act as Headmistress here for the time being. It may be some time before classes resume, but there will still be many opportunities to learn, and I expect you all to pay attention, as both your own survival and others' may depend on it!"
Her eyes swept the Hall fiercely before she continued. "I shall also act as an official liaison between Hogwarts School and the Order of the Phoenix, a society opposing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, founded by the late Professor Dumbledore. The Order of the Phoenix will now follow Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt." She swept a hand at Kingsley, who was deep in conversation with Sirius and Arthur Weasley. Kingsley raised a hand in acknowledgement, but did not stop talking rapidly to the two in front of him.
McGonagall looked across the hall at Harry and Neville, both standing quietly by the doors, and went on. "The Order of the Phoenix will shortly be incorporated with the society currently operating in the school, known as Dumbledore's Army. The Order, under Auror Shacklebolt, shall act as an intelligence division. Direct command of Dumbledore's Army, however, shall fall to…" McGonagall hesitated for half a second, in which Harry quickly pointed at Neville, beside him.
"Neville Longbottom," Professor McGonagall finished, so smoothly that her pause may not have existed at all.
Neville half-glanced at Harry, and realized what had happened. He started to open his mouth, but Harry hissed, "I told you, they're yours. I'm not about to try to take them away from you. They wouldn't listen to me, anyway." Then, before Neville could protest, Harry held a finger to his lips as McGonagall started again.
"With Hogwarts now the de facto base of operations for those of us who oppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we must do two things. First, we must bring all of your families and other friends into Hogwarts safely and swiftly. It is not safe for anyone to remain outside, and no longer possible for anyone to remain neutral. Either you stand with us, or you stand with the Ministry and the Death Eaters! They place their hope in their Dark Lord, and in the supposed superiority of their homogeny. Hogwarts, though, has always stood for diversity, accepting students of every origin, and we have found ourselves far stronger for it!
"During the triage today, we will enlist every person who can walk to assist the healers in any way they instruct. Starting tonight, we will begin bringing your loved ones safely here. Beginning first thing tomorrow, you will be arranged in work parties and set about rebuilding and re-fortifying the castle such that if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named tries to return, he will break his ranks on our walls without coming anywhere near us!"
At this, the assembled crowd, which had been completely silent up to this point, let out a cheer. Professor McGonagall raised a hand for silence, which gradually returned.
"I can see you are all eager to get to work," she said, and Harry could have sworn she sounded almost sardonic. "So, I shall keep you only a moment longer. Teachers, you may come to me with questions. The Order can of course approach Auror Shacklebolt. Dumbledore's Army, I direct you all to your Commander. Finally…" At this, McGonagall met Harry's eyes again. Harry sighed, but nodded. McGonagall nodded back. "Finally, while I prefer that you do not pester him while he is working toward the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I believe you should also be aware that Hogwarts, the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore's Army will be operating under the direction of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lives!"
With this, McGonagall waved her wand at Harry with a flourish. A light appeared over his head, shining down on him, and the crowd seemed to ripple as every head turned at once, and disbelief spread over every face. Harry raised one hand a little awkwardly, and the tumult broke over him like a bomb.
"Harry! HE'S ALIVE!" the crowd roared and screamed and cheered, and the applause ringing throughout the room was thunderous enough to make the windows rattle.
It was a long time before the clapping and cheering subsided, and everybody began to sit back down. Harry and Neville then began making their way across the Hall. They passed Professor McGonagall, and Neville went with her to being the division of labor to help the healers tonight. Harry continued to where Sirius was still standing with Kingsley and Arthur. He approached quietly, but Sirius put a hand on his shoulder, and Arthur hugged him tightly.
Harry, who would have expected such from Mrs. Weasley, was confused for a moment until Arthur straightened up, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses, and said in a strained voice, "You mustn't blame yourself, Harry. You must know that Molly and I don't, and neither does George. The Weasleys will always stand beside you."
"Well said, Arthur," Kingsley put in. "Harry, I've just been filling in Sirius and Arthur on the current status of the Ministry, such as it is."
"What status?" Harry asked.
Kingsley smiled, a bit grimly. "Precisely. The Ministry has fallen entirely, Harry. Some of the workers who stayed before, trying to remain neutral, have gone into hiding, but the rest have been put under the Imperius Curse. Those who couldn't be controlled by magic are locked up and tortured. I expect Voldemort to declare himself the ruler of Magical Britain any day now, especially since he'll need to reestablish himself as still being firmly in control, in the wake of losing the battle here."
"We'll need to find those in hiding, then, if we can," Harry said. "They can't hide anywhere better than here, especially once we secure this place properly. I'll have to talk to Professor Flitwick about that, actually. We'll need to put all of Hogwarts under the Fidelius Charm, if it can be done.
"What I think you should focus on, Kingsley, is how and where we can raid and rescue the Imperiused and the abducted." Harry felt very awkward issuing orders to the older and more experienced Auror, but Kingsley nodded encouragingly, so he persevered. "I want the first wave of those raids to happen all together, and after that, staggered so it seems like we're everywhere at once. We'll evacuate them here, and grow our own ranks." Kingsley nodded again.
Harry turned to his godfather. "Sirius, can I trust you to work with the D.A. to coordinate the timing of those raids?"
Sirius cuffed Harry's shoulder. "Of course, Harry."
"Then you've got until Kingsley is ready to go, to figure out that communications issue. I think if you recruit Hermione and some of the remaining Ravenclaws, you should be able to come up with something workable pretty quickly."
Harry looked toward Arthur, preparing to tell him that he should go to his family, but he was interrupted by an awkward but determined cough. Standing behind him was Zacharias Smith. Harry had never liked Smith much, and knew that the feeling was mutual. Smith had been in the first D.A., but had questioned Harry's decisions constantly. Judging by the muscle he had put on, he had been part of Neville's D.A. as well, but from the way he kept his distance from the rest of him, he had either had a falling out with them or he was even more of a stuck-up prat than Harry had believed.
As it turned out, however, the former was the case. "Potter, I…I want a job," Smith said stiffly. "I know we haven't always gotten along, and I expect you'll be displeased when you hear that I didn't participate in the main battle tonight." Harry, who had seem Smith pushing younger students aside in order to leave the grounds before the hostilities, opened his mouth, but Smith rushed on. "I tried to convince the D.A. that what we were doing was suicidal, and that it made more sense to bide our time and try to join up with the Order of the Phoenix once we were safely out of school. The Commander and the Secret-Keeper disagreed with me…very strongly." He shivered. Over Smith's shoulder, Harry saw Neville striding across the hall toward them, scowling.
"I was relieved of my position and sent away from the…" he choked for a moment, and Harry realized the Fidelius Charm had activated, preventing him from mentioning the Room of Requirement. A little odd, since Harry knew the secret perfectly well—and wasn't quite sure why he did. "…The hiding place," Smith finished, rubbing his throat.
Neville had arrived, but before he could speak, another voice shouted, "No way, Smith! I told you, I'm never letting you back!"
Everyone jumped. Smith went white as a sheet, and behind him, Neville's knees buckled as tears poured down his face. Having recognized the voice, Harry turned slowly. Hovering indignantly behind him was the pale, silvery, transparent form of Colin Creevey.
Noticing the silence, Colin broke off glaring at Smith to glance around at them all. His transparent cheeks became more opaque as what would, in life, have been a blush suffused his spectral cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then turned to Neville. "Er…That is to say…Secret-Keeper Creevey reporting, Commander."
At the sound of his title, Neville seemed to pull himself together. "Acknowledged," he said, his voice still uneven. "But that isn't up to you anymore, Colin." Colin opened his mouth to argue, but Neville plowed on, "You're a ghost, Col. You can't act as Secret-Keeper for the D.A. when magic can't affect you directly. When you…when you died, the Secret reverted to me and Harry."
"But," Colin protested, "Commander, Smith left us!"
"He came back, Colin," said Neville, his voice eerily calm compared to the young ghost's rising passion. "He found Charlie Weasley and Professor Slughorn and he brought back reinforcements, which is the only reason we weren't overrun. I'd say that's earned him a second chance. What do you think, Harry?"
"Well…" Harry temporized, "If Colin is any indication,the D.A. won't be pleased to see him right away. Personally, I think Smith had the D.A.'s interests at heart, and he had the guts to approach me about it…maybe we could put him to work with someone else at first?" Harry half-glanced at Kingsley, who nodded. "You want a job, Smith? You want to prove yourself to the D.A., right?" Smith nodded, his jaw tight and tears of regret in his eyes.
"Okay. But I'm warning you, it won't be a menial one. We have too many priorities. I'm placing you under the direct command of Auror Shacklebolt, here." He indicated Kingsley. "He'll give you orders and supervise you to make sure that your absence tonight was well-intentioned, and not…cowardly."
Smith looked to Kingsley now, and swallowed, but he nodded again. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again and managed to croak out, "Thank you." He crossed to stand beside Kingsley, who drew him a little to the side and bent slightly to speak into his ear. Harry couldn't hear Kingsley's words, but he could see Smith's face grow both more open and more solemn.
Harry turned back to Colin as the ghost said, eagerly, "Is there anything I can do to help, Harry?"
"Er, can you leave the school grounds, Colin?"
"Only if it's to visit you or the Commander," Colin replied. "My highest loyalties, ahead of Hogwarts herself."
Harry stared at him, and the ghostly cheeks became silvery-opaque again. Deciding not to comment, Harry continued, "All right, Colin. Why don't you go and marshal the ghosts to take a look at the grounds, and see if any of the Death Eaters out there are shamming Abraham?"
"Sure thing!" Colin chirped, and he soared away.
Neville turned to face Harry, and Harry saw the shock behind the ice in the other boy's eyes. He was holding it together, but Colin's appearance had shaken him badly.
"Okay," Harry said, hoping Neville could take some confidence from his tone. "Nev, how many Ravenclaws do we…do we have left from the D.A.? Anyone specializing in communications?"
"Only Luna, Rachel, and Billy are completely uninjured," Neville reeled off. "Technically, we also have Tony, Li, Mandy, Lisa, Icarus, and Sinead, but I don't think the healers are going to let you anywhere near most of them. Maybe Icarus could help… Well, and there's Marietta Edgecombe as well, if you think she can be trusted," he finished, his eyes flickering toward Smith. Sirius nodded, and went looking for a figure wearing blue-striped robes.
"No grudges, Neville," said Harry firmly. "The only person the D.A. have any right to resent is m…"
"Dumbledore," Neville cut across him, "For not trusting us. And we agreed to let that go."
"You just have to convince the rest of the D.A. of it," Harry said, with a bitter smile.
"Never mind that," Neville said. "If Colin finds any Death Eaters still alive out there, we'll need somewhere to keep them. Since Professor Slughorn is back, I wonder if any of the Slytherins came back too? I swear I saw Malcolm…" He broke off and scanned the Great Hall.
"We can't ask them to be the Death Eaters' jailers," Harry said. "Too many of them are close friends and family. I say put the best Hufflepuffs you have left on that job."
"That's exactly what I was thinking, but I'll need to replace Justin, Bernie, and Emma as Healers' assistants, and I figure the least the Slytherins can do is fetch water for the injured."
"Good thinking."
Harry looked around. He saw Hagrid, Ron, and Charlie leaving the Great Hall with Firenze, whose flank was bandaged. He even thought he recognized Ludo Bagman and Gwenog Jones, both in Quidditch robes, standing shoulder to shoulder with Oliver Wood as they passed conjured buckets of water from hand to hand. Almost everyone in the Great Hall was occupied now, following the tasks set to them by Percy and the Healers. Neville suddenly stiffened. Harry followed his gaze, and realized his glare was directed at Malfoy. Neville made to start across the room, but Harry grabbed the back of his robes.
"He's with us now, Neville."
Neville's face was incredulous. "You can't be serious, Harry."
"If you won't accept it from me personally," said Harry through gritted teeth, "Then consider it an order from the Commander-In-Chief. As far as I can tell, he's part of the D.A. anyway. I can feel the Secret." Harry tapped his chest over his heart.
"We only included him so that he couldn't give us away to the Death Eaters through the Fidelius Charm! You can't trust him, Harry!"
"I can. I do, as far as it goes. Leave him be, and make sure the rest of the D.A. does too. I mean it, Neville."
Neville spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving Harry by himself. He had barely taken a breath, however, when he was instead accosted by The Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw tower. Harry managed to stop before he walked through her, but before he could even open his mouth, she was talking.
"We're all working with your Mister Creevey, Harry Potter. As you no doubt noticed, my tower has fallen, but at least one of the students who was atop it is still alive: Cho Chang is buried in the ruins."
Without waiting to hear more, Harry spun on his heel to face the dais where Percy was standing, directing teams of workers.
"Percy! Send a team to follow the Grey Lady, now!" he roared.
"Team Eight, go," Percy barked without missing a beat. Four students handed their buckets to classmates and sprinted after the retreating Ravenclaw ghost.
Harry climbed up onto a bench, then directly onto the Hufflepuff House table before he spotted the top of Professor Flitwick's hat, where he stood huddled with Professors McGonagall and Sprout. He hopped down and politely tapped Flitwick on the shoulder.
"Ah, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see," the tiny Charms Master squeaked. "I was told you were looking for me, but you've been quite busy. What can I help you with?"
"I was wondering, Professor, if it would be possible to place the entire castle under the Fidelius Charm, to protect us all from Voldemort."
"The entire castle? My goodness, no. There are altogether too many wards, charms, and enchantments woven into the very stones of the castle herself, which would interfere with any attempt to conceal it like that."
"There's got to be some way to secure the castle, Professor, or what good is it as a headquarters?" said Harry.
Flitwick stroked his chin. "Hmmm… Perhaps there is, dear boy, perhaps there is. Alas, if only I could consult with some of my students on this. Corner and Boot would relish the opportunity…" His eyes filled with tears, but his voice was steady as he continued. "I shall have to consult with Albus' portrait, but I think we may be able keep the castle safe if we modify some of the enchantments that already exist. If, for instance, we were to tamper with the spell that causes Muggles to see only a ruin, I think perhaps we could project an image of a collapsed and empty Hogwarts to outsiders."
"I think that could work, Professor. Let Percy and Neville know if you need any more wands." Flitwick nodded in agreement, apparently lost in thought as he murmured, "Yes, that could work…though, the Taboo remains in effect, so we shall have to maintain a moratorium on saying the Dark Lord's name."
Harry turned to McGonagall.
"Profes—I mean, Headmistress—"
"'Minerva', if you wish, Harry. You aren't my student right now," she said, kindly."
Harry didn't think he would ever be able to bring himself to call Professor McGonagall by her given name, so he just said, "R-right… I've got two things in mind right now. First, you'd better pass along that message about the Taboo, or we're all going to be tripping over ourselves trying to put our defenses back up every time someone says the name. Second, I know it's too soon to raise a monument or have any kind of proper service, but do you think you can call for a moment of silence at dinnertime, assuming the injured are stabilized by then? I think it's important."
"I agree," she said. "I shall consult with Mister Longbottom on how he thinks it should be gone about."
His last idea now put into action, Harry was momentarily at a loss as to what to do next. He was about to join Neville with the water-bearers, but before he could do so, he saw a vaguely-familiar figure limping up the Hall toward him.
He stared at the man, who appeared to be staring directly back at him. After a moment, Harry recognized the one-eyed beggar who had accosted them the previous day in Diagon Alley. Hermione had been under Polyjuice potion, so the man had been shrieking at what he had thought was Bellatrix LeStrange.
There was something else, though. The beggar was a crutch under one arm now, which he had not carried in the Alley, and there was something familiar about the way he was limping. The crutch made a dull thud on every other step he took, and suddenly the memory crashed into Harry's mind. His mouth dropped open as the beggar stopped in front of him, scratching at the bandage over his left eye.
"What's the matter, Potter?" the beggar growled, his voice quite different from the high-pitched screech of yesterday. "Don't recognize me? Even now, you're caught off-guard? I know you were taught better than that. Always be prepared, always be alert and watchful, and always—always, Potter—Constant vigilance!"
The beggar's face was changing even as he spoke. His uncovered eye became dark and beady; his hair lengthened and turned grey. Wrinkles seemed to be deepening in his cheeks even as Harry looked at him, but then the lines whitened into scars, which crisscrossed his face. Harry was speechless as the thin pencil-shaped nose of the beggar became beaklike, and characteristically misshapen, as though a large chunk of it was missing.
"Now then…" said Mad-Eye Moody, tapping at his bandaged left eye socket. "I'm going to need your help retrieving something of mine."
A/N: [Story revised as of 12/18/2014] No actual new content yet (that starts next chapter) but I'd gotten to thinking about my current style of writing fic, and how this story as it had been posted didn't really match, especially given the shortness of the chapters. It was bothering me a lot, so I came back and fixed it. I think it flows a lot better now. Future chapters will be decent length, (this one being slightly above-decent), so look forward to that. I did a bit of tweaking to help settle the logic of this world, but that's it. Next time, we're skipping ahead a little and diving in.
