Chapter 7 (I think? Kinda lost track...)

Well. Guess you guys will find out whether you're right or wrong about the spy in this chapter. Had some pretty good suggestions and some, ah, interesting (?) ones. I won't give away any details yet, although I will just say to the person who messaged me totally convinced that the spy is in fact Dobby, you couldn't really have been further from the truth ;). On with chapter 7/8/6 (whatever it is).

Neville's POV

The fateful evening had finally arrived. A dark cloud had imposed itself over the sky, engulfing any light which tried to break through, and the night was coloured the purest of blacks. Trying to ignore Luna's casual prediction that this was evidence that Voldemort and the founders of the Rotfang conspiracy had formed an alliance, I instead listened to Kingsley's more reassuring suggestion that this would only help our attempts to stay stealthy. The task ahead of us was a monumental one, a night which could turn out to be one of the most important in wizarding history. The next few hours could see the fall of Voldemort, the liberation of wizards and witches in Britain, the safety of thousands of muggles and muggle-borns out there, unsure of their future. We could change the course of history with success, but with failure we could doom the country to having no elite force to stand up to the Dark Lord who terrorised a country, who threatened an entire planet.

In truth, I was excited. How I had missed the feeling of adrenaline coursing like a blazing fire through my veins, summoning up new found energy from reserves that I had never even known existed. The whiz of a speeding curse zipping inches past my face, followed by the incomparable sensation of realisation that I had avoided death by the tiniest of margins. The resounding thumps of my drum-like heart as I stood in the heat of the battle, chaos in its purest forms smothering me like a blanket of pain and destruction. Nothing could compare to standing tall and defiant as people, both friends and enemies, fell like dominoes beside me. Of course, nobody would have expected this from me of all people; I was not a violent soul, not a person who was supposed to be addicted to the thrill of the fight. And I wasn't. I wasn't a mindless thug who basked in the joy of pointlessly toppling a harmless person in the corridor, like Crabbe, Goyle or Malfoy. It was the poetic justice that I loved, the feeling of fighting back against those who spread fear and pain like a nationwide famine. This was my addiction, and that night I would be getting hooked on it for hopefully the final time.

When I looked around at my fellow fighters, I saw the quiet buzz of fear that spread like an infection through the ranks of an army before the blood, sweat and tears of a battle to come. Some of them were going to die, and they knew it. They had all witnessed the horrors of the Battle of Hogwarts, when dear friends and even family had been lost to all assembled. There was nothing as horrible as turning to see somebody who you had known for your entire life fall to the floor, the entire world going into a profound slow motion as you had to helplessly witness the spark of life and animation leave their body forever, the realisation that you would never exchange a joke or conversation with them ever again. The sinking feeling of knowing that you hadn't even been able to say goodbye, to apologise for their passing, and you would never be able to. I, and everyone around me, would have to go through that all again today. None of us could be sure that we would even see another morning. I shook off the melancholy and profundity that occupied my brain; this was a necessary sacrifice, and I knew that every one of the immeasurably brave people who had emerged from the safety of their shells to fight, and win, were ready to make the necessary sacrifice. I certainly was but Merlin, I hoped that I would live to see the next sunrise.

Hermione's POV

The battlefield was the one thing I dreaded above anything else. You see, Harry had been right. Nothing, no amount of feverish reading in the library or training after dark, could prepare you for the horrors of real life war; you couldn't learn to not break down into tears and fall as a dear one collapsed into the realm of death by your side, to keep your cool under the constant barrage of life threatening spells. Some people just didn't naturally have it, and I was one of them.

To this day, I still felt the biting ice in my veins which had frozen upon hearing Voldemort's boasts of the death of my best friend. His gloats had been delivered with such a cold glee that I'd known that he'd been telling the absolute truth; Harry had willingly walked to his death to give us a fighting chance to beat him. Not a single day, not a single hour, went by when I didn't find myself missing that cheeky grin which had occurred less and less as the burden of being the 'Chosen One' had caught up with him in our sixth year, the searching emerald eyes which welcomed you in with an unquestioning acceptance. Thanks to his unwavering desire to keep his burden from the shoulders of others, still it was only me who knew why he had walked to his death. The injustice of it all; nobody would ever know the pure bravery behind his sacrifice. He held a special sanctuary in my heart, one that nobody would ever occupy, and I would never forget our years together.

When you looked at Kingsley, you saw something impossible to question. Whatever he said, went. He had the unshakable trust of everyone in our group, the certainty that he would do his upmost to lead us to success and that nobody else could. Looking around at the aura of nervousness and anxiety which dominated the Order, I knew that he would need to make an inspiring address to us if we were to enter the heat of battle with the confidence in our cause that the Death Eaters had. He didn't fail to disappoint.

Walking ahead of where we waited to hear his final words before we all apparated to the castle that Voldemort occupied as his stronghold, Kingsley seemed to stand at eight foot tall. He dominated the Burrow's garden, immediately capturing the unfaltering attention of all of those who stood before him. The quiet whispers between jittery fighters stopped in a flash, the only noise around us coming from the quietly swirling winds. Our leader stood before us, imposing and unbreakable. He couldn't have looked more powerful, everything about his tall, straight posture and the determined hardness of his eyes giving off a confidence in the success of our cause. This was a man who meant business.

"In years to come, it will be your names which feature as legendary heroes in the history books because today we are going to fight, and today we are going to defeat the tyranny of his rule. You, the bravest wizards and witches that grace our country, have come to fight as men and women who don't fear his rule, and as such you will go down in history. I know that many of you will be having your doubts about the immanent fight because I have been doing this for thirty years now. Yes, you may die, and if you leave now you'll live. For a while. But dying comfortably in your beds many years from now, maybe at a ripe old age, can you really tell me that you wouldn't regret missing this day, this historic day where finally the bravest witches and wizards stand up to the forces of darkness, and tell them that we are not scared of them. That they can never take our freedom. Nobody will die today, not really, because every single one of you will be immortalised as a saviour of Britain. So back out if you want, abandon this great country to his rule, but I tell you one thing: I'm going to that castle, and I am going to beat him. Who's with me?"

There was a scary moment of silence. If Kingsley was having any doubts about his speech, he certainly wasn't showing it; that stony face was as unreadable as ever. Had his words been rousing enough? Had they convinced these people to walk bravely to potential death, or had they just scared those very same fighters away?

I was answered swiftly after. Suddenly, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause; Kingsley's inspiration had spread like a blazing wildfire. Were these the same people before me, who seconds ago had all shared a mutual expression of sullenness and fear? Where their eyes had been dark and low, pointing nervously to the floor, there was now a common explosion of effulgent determination. Kingsley had convinced them that they would be heroes, legends who great poets of the future would tell stories about, no matter the outcome of that night's conflict; he had given them the immortality that they needed to go and fight with no fear, with nothing held back.

"Kingsley! Kingsley! Kingsley!" People began to chant, reminding me of a band of tribal warriors. He allowed himself a small smile, only causing his ovation to louden at the rare gesture. Shaking my head in silent admiration, I knew that he would make a very fine Minister for Magic when, or if, we won this war. Rowdy as if they were already the conquering army, my fellow freedom fighters took a while to calm down as Kingsley stood patiently waiting for quiet at the front.

"Thank you," he said sincerely once the din finally ceased, "I could not ask for a better group of people to fight beside me. Before we leave, I must quickly just run through the plan once more. We will all take the portkey to our spy's sleeping quarters, when Minerva has taken down the wards, at which point me and the other aurors will silently take out the guards on patrol. You will stay as quiet as little mice whilst we are gone, and you will not move until we get back. If we are spotted, I will send blue sparks into the sky and you must all immediately come back here using the portkey. Has everyone got that? I will not have anyone risking the safety of their fellow men and women because they haven't listened."

A murmur of agreement passed through the listeners, some of them perhaps feeling patronised by Kingsley's concerns; after all, these people had all seen action before.

"Good." He said, his eyes flicking down to check the time on his battered old watch. "We just need to wait until Minerva ret-"

Midway through his sentence, there was the familiar split-second churning in a small concentration of the air ahead of us and our transfiguration professor materialised, her trademark stern expression inexplicably on her face.

"Speak of the devil and she shall appear," she spoke with a small hint of humour. Had that been her idea of a joke? "It is done, and nobody noticed. We can get in."

A minuscule half-smile set itself lightly on our tall leader's lips at his friend's impressive timing, and once again I marvelled at his calmness just minutes before what could turn out to be one of the most important conflicts in wizarding history.

"It is time, then." He told us simply, striding with no more than three long paces to the large family table which stood in the Weasley back garden. "Everybody make sure that you are touching this table, and be sure that you do not let go until we have safely arrived."

"What?" Seamus blurted out, disbelief evident in his narrow, bright eyes. "Is that the porkey? I thought they were supposed to be, y'know, smaller than that?"

"There are a lot of us to fit round, Seamus." I reminded him, rather patiently in my opinion.

One by one, we all followed Kingsley to the old, weathered table and firmly gripped its edges. Last of all to join us was Fleur, who had unsurprisingly not spoken for the entire evening. As per usual, she was keeping to herself but despite her best efforts, I was pretty sure that I new what she was feeling. Reluctance and doubt was evident in her eyes if you looked past her practised apathy of perpetual confidence; I guessed that she thought the plan to be as flimsy as I did. With everyone's eyes on her and a pleading look from her 'husband', she delicately placed her small flute of white wine, something that had seemed to be a constant presence in her hand of late, down on the windowsill and gracefully took small steps towards the table herself. Running her thin, shaking fingers through the silvery hair which cascaded like a waterfall of glinting metal down her shoulders, she took the last remaining place at the table and we were gone.

Ron's POV

I hated portkeys. One moment you'd be standing totally relaxed and steady and the next, a sensation reminiscent of having a fishing hook unceremoniously grab you from the navel area and literally pull you to your location. Anyone who could actually emerge from portkey travel on their feet was some kind of god in my eyes; it had always seemed like a mission impossible to me. I was fortunate, at least, that I was not the only one who tumbled to the floor immediately upon entering the well furnished room of our spy, who incidentally was nowhere to be seen. Neville's fall was even less graceful than mine, the sensation causing him to spin around a few times before collapsing in a jumbled up mess. Naturally, of course, Fleur, who looked as radiant as ever, landed with simply a delicate step, not even the faintest sign of a stumble in her movement. Eyebrows raised, she looked condescendingly down to us on the floor, yawning with boredom at how obviously easy she had found the landing. Merlin, she looked so casually incredible. Her eyes... A deathly glare from Hermione and an angry hiss from Kingsley at the noise we'd made upon entry snapped me out of the hypnotic trance and I resolved to keep myself from looking at Fleur. Somehow, I found it next to impossible to control my urges when I was around her and judging by the infatuated, open mouthed expressions that had been ever present on the faces of the other males in the room, (apart from the older men, of course) I guessed that I wasn't the only one.

"Shhhh!" Kingsley hissed furiously; we had barely been in the castle for ten seconds, and already we'd nearly given ourselves away. He continued, his whisper barely a breath. "We should be back in about ten minutes. Stay quiet, and watch the sky. Remember: blue sparks mean that you've got to get out of here, and immediately."

With everyone's nods of agreement, he gestured for his small group of aurors to follow him. Ghosting over the floor freakishly silently, their professionalism was obvious as they succeeded in slipping out of the lavish quarters without a single squeak. For now, the night's success was on their shoulders.

"It's nice in here." I heard Luna whisper dreamingly, her fingers absent mindedly rubbing the dark satin of our spy's bed. "I wonder why she hasn't put up any nargle nets...?"

Lowering my eyebrows confusedly, I stepped across to her. "What do you mean, 'she'?"

Breathing in my ear humorously, in the same tone as she always used when I'd said or done something rather stupid, Hermione provided me with a reply. "Look around you, Ronald. You don't see very many boys with a make-up dresser or a cupboard full of skirts and dresses, not to mention the fact that the bed is actually made. What more proof do you need?"

Seamus joined the conversation with his own Irish whisper. "I don't know, it could be Malfoy's...?"

I let out a short laugh, quickly extinguished by Hermione's firm hand over my mouth. Withering under the stern gazes of everybody in the room, the one from my mum by far the worst, I embarrassedly gazed down to the tiled floor.

"Remarkable." Dad broke the awkwardness by murmuring, a muggle fire lighter in his hands. Marvelling at its 'genius' he entertained himself by flicking with the switch, turning the flame on and off. Neville responsibly kept an eye on the sky, the only one to remember to follow Kingsley's instructions to watch the sky. I wondered what he was feeling at that moment; fear? Excitement? Relish at the chance for revenge?

With most people frustratedly pacing up and down, in that unwelcome stasis before a battle where they didn't want to think about what was to come but inevitably did, Fleur stood alone at the dresser. Absent mindedly, she ran her long fingers delicately along the row of small bottles of colourful perfume and make-up that stood neatly, waiting to be used. Whether she was actually interested in them or not, I did not know; she very rarely seemed to wear any kind of make-up. Why would she when she so obviously didn't need it? Her skin had a full, natural flush to it, one that other women could only hope to achieve artificially, and her eyelashes were so perfectly black that it was difficult to tell whether that was also intrinsic or if she was just very good at painting them.

Finally, after what seemed like centuries, Kingsley and his auror colleagues slipped back into the room, carefully placing the door shut behind them so that it did not make the tiniest of noises. Judging by the badly hidden expressions of immense satisfaction, and the lack of any kind of visible bruising or injury, I guessed that their mission had been a success with flying colours. The whole room breathed a deep sigh of relief; nobody had liked the feeling of not knowing whether the plan could go ahead or not, and the state of being unable to help the situation.

Nobody needed to ask whether the plan had worked or not, and Kingsley launched straight into the next part of the plan. I noted that he hadn't allowed himself a satisfied look; he didn't consider the job even nearly done. "Now for phase two. Everyone split up into your groups."

With a practised efficiency, everybody silently rearranged themselves to be standing with their team mates; not a word had to be spoken. With me were a relatively familiar group of people: my family. Ginny, who had persuaded mum and dad to let her come along because of her suitable age, George, Percy, Charlie, myself and our parents were all there, with Bill being the only one of the Weasley clan not with us due to 'a special task'. My eyes flickered over to Hermione, looking at her concernedly. I didn't like the fact that we were in separate groups; we had always stood side-by-side in battle, and I didn't like the idea that we would have to get through this one in different circumstances. Would I be able to continue fighting if I didn't know whether she was okay, alive and fighting, or lying dead on the floor at the hands of one of our numerous enemies? I forced the sickening image out of my head; not the right attitude.

"Good." Kingsley continued quietly, "Everyone knows where they are going?" At the same old murmur of agreement, he went on, "the signal is the same as ever. If you see blue sparks, apparate back to the Burrow immediately. Remember what I said earlier, and give this your all. By sunrise, we'll be celebrating the fall of our history's most evil figure. Good luck."

Fleur's POV

Standing on the castle's north parapet, I couldn't help but feel as if we'd been given the useless job. Only minutes ago, the battle had begun as our fellow groups had charged into the barracks, and we had no idea of what was going on. Lights of all colours, brighter than a beaming ray of sunlight, could be seen through the windows as allies and enemies chucked a plethora of spells against each other, but we knew not any details of who was still fighting and who, Merlin forbid, had fallen. Looking over to my side, I noticed Bill trembling nervously next to me. However troubled I was about the prospect of people I knew dying in there, his fear must have been a billion times greater; many of them were his family, others people who had had known for a great deal of his life, and he was forced to stand helpless and just watch. Not knowing whether to put a reassuring arm around him or not, I walked to the edge of the wall and looked out in the other direction to where the fighting was occurring as Hestia responsibly did the job that we had been assigned: watching out for the return of the werewolves.

The view was glorious, illuminated dimly by the lights which gently swung on their beams around the castle walls, and from where I stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The fortification was on the very edge of a terrific precipice. Intrigued by the sheer depth of the chasm, I casually flicked a pebble from the wall and watched it tumble downwards. It seemed to travel one hundred metres without touching a single thing, glinting as it fell into what looked like a pit with no bottom. And as well, As far as the eye could reach there was a magnificent sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there was a gap. Here and there were silver threads where the rivers wound in deep gorges through the forests.

"That's it." Bill broke behind me, storming off at a jogging pace towards the steps down into the courtyard. "I've got to help. We can't just stand here!"

Before I could react, Hestia ran after him and authoritatively grabbed him by the arm. She was only a small witch, black-haired and bright pink of cheeks, but evidently she had authority. "We were given this task by Kingsley, and although I'm sure that we all agree that we should be down there fighting, if Kingsley but us here then here we shall stay."

Feeling like it should have been me, his wife, talking to him rather than someone who was essentially no more than a stranger, I spoke out myself. "Do not worry, Beel. Zhey will be okay, I am sure."

"They aren't your family, Fleur." He spat at me, but I was not offended. Clearly, my husband was just somebody who dearly loved his parents and siblings, something that I could relate to.

"They are, aren't they?" Hestia said, eyebrows lowered confusedly. "You two are married, right?"

An awkward silence descended over us at the mention of our disaster of a matrimony. Technically, Hestia was correct in that they were supposed to be my family, although not by blood, yet I certainly didn't consider them to be, just as I was sure that Bill didn't regard my parents and Gabrielle to be his.

Realisation dawned on Hestia like a tonne of bricks. "Oh."

That pretty much summed it up. I turned back to the picturesque view behind me, not particularly wanting this to turn into a marriage counselling session.

"Honestly though, Bill." I heard her say behind me, reassuring my 'husband'. "They will be fine. Remember that they took the Death Eaters by surprise. And anyway, you can always tell when someone dear has gone, you can always feel it. I promise that they'll all be okay."

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Bill pull the young auror into a tight hug. "Thank you," he told her quietly. "Thank you for saying that."

"Charming." We heard a sarcastic voice drawl from a few metres away at the end of the parapet. Immediately, we all drew our wands and pointed them threateningly towards the darkness, where the sound had come from; whoever it was didn't sound friendly.

"Show yourself!" Hestia shouted fiercely, the bubbly persona which she'd been exercising just seconds ago quickly turning into a wolf-like vehemence.

The sound of footsteps, and then she stepped out lazily into the light of the fortifications, not even bothering to draw her own wand. The witch was tall and shapely, possessing an enviable hourglass shaped figure and standing only a couple of inches shorter than my husband, a man who stood at least a head above me. Her hair was a river of shining, glittering gold , elegantly stretching down to far below her shoulders in delicate curls. Contrasting strikingly with her pale skin was a small layer of bright lipstick, the only make-up which she appeared to be wearing. There was not a flaw about her, perfection all the way across her body from the long, muscular legs to her sizeable and well rounded bust, finishing with that glowing hair. She had the look of a woman who was mind-bogglingly beautiful and knew it, a self-assurance clearly etched on her defined features. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought her to have Veela heritage like myself, but she didn't quite meet the true perfection that my race was known for. She was, however, by far and away the most beautiful human that I had ever known.

"If you haven't worked out who I am by now, then I have chosen the wrong side in working for you." She told us, basking in the admiration that she was getting from my husband and the envy that came from Hestia. Strangely, she pointedly ignored my gaze, unwilling to look at me; perhaps she was not used to looking at a woman even more dazzling than herself.

"You're the spy." Hestia glared at her; I sensed that she automatically didn't like this seemingly arrogant girl, something that I was pretty sure that I could agree with already.

She rolled her eyes at our ignorance, pulling her dress down her arm on one side to reveal the small, owl mark that Kingsley had told us to check for. "Feel free to publicise it across the entire castle."

The young auror ground her teeth together angrily, but ultimately ignored the jibe. "Grab my arm, then, and I'll take you back to headquarters."

""No." Came her swift, blunt reply.

The beautiful woman's arrogance was beginning to get on my nerves. "No?"

She continued, "There's something that you've got to help me with beforehand. I think that you might be interested; someone on your side has been locked in a cell for the last few months. If you come with me, we might be able to get him out."

"No can do." Hestia replied stubbornly, although I suspected her obstinance was perhaps partially to do with the desire to annoy the arrogant woman. " Orders are to get you back as soon as possible. It's for your own safety."

The woman smirked, turning to Bill. "What do you think? Don't you agree with me?"

She knew full well that from the moment the Bill had first laid his eyes on her, she'd had him wrapped around her finger; he was a sucker for a pretty face.

He replied, "Ummm, I guess that we could take a look?"

Silent from the sidelines, I rolled my eyes and Hestia gave him a similar look of exasperation. Before either of us could reply, however, the arrogant woman continued. "Look. If you two would feel morally fine about leaving a man, or woman, who's been tortured every night for the last four months in a cell, then go ahead and leave without me because I'm going to get whoever's in there out."

Grabbing the infatuated Bill's arm, she speedily took him off in the direction of her destination.

"Keep watch." I told Hestia, agreeing with the woman despite myself about the morals of leaving the prisoner to die. "If we're not back in five minutes then just get out of here."

Before Hestia could protest, I was running after my husband and the spy.

Ron's POV

The curse hit me with the power and force of a falling house, and immediately I was thrown backwards by the force. A low buzz in my disorientated ears, I grasped around desperately for my wand on the floor around me. The spark of consciousness was dripping from my body like water from a leaky pipe, slowly but surely, and vaguely I could hear the screams of my mother across the room. Dolohov, the bastard, had managed to get me like he'd killed Remus and mum's brother and sister.

Strangely, as my senses dulled and my body rested, I felt guilty for putting my family through the torment of seeing a sibling or son fall in battle; I knew all to well what that was like, and the emptiness which followed could not be compared to anything. Unconsciousness consumed me.

Fleur's POV

"I never asked your name," I told the unnamed spy, panting as she lead us down a spiral flight of stairs at a quick pace.

She turned briefly to look at me oddly, as if I'd just asked her if she wanted to eat a smelly boot. Was inquiring about her identity such a strange question where she came from? "Why do you want to know that?"

"Well, why not?" I laughed, although there was little humour in the situation.

She shrugged her shoulders as we reached the bottom of the stairs, moving forwards to fumble with a door handle, which when turned lead us into a dimly lit corridor lined with several windowless cell doors. It was a grim environment indeed.

"If you really want to know, I'm Daphne Greengrass." She introduced herself at long last. Waiting for her to ask about my name, I quickly realised that she had no interest in my identity whatsoever.

I told her anyway. "I am Fleur Delacour."

"Charmed, I'm sure." She said with a dry sarcasm, imitating the pleasantries of the higher classes.

Counting quietly as she lead us along the row of black doors, she stopped at number seven and stepped back.

"Here we are." She gestured towards the door. "There's just a slight problem: I suspect that this door is protected by all sorts of curses and magical enchantments. The Dark Lord has taken a particular interest in whoever the poor soul inside there is."

Bill raised his hand excitedly, sickeningly desperate to impress one of the ladies present. Certainly, that lady wasn't me. "I'm a curse breaker! I reckon that I can get through this in about fifteen to twenty minutes; I've had to break through ancient Egyptian magic before, and that stuff only gets stronger with age."

"You are going to 'ave to do better zhan zhat." I told him grimly, remembering that we did have a time limit. "We are supposed to leave in a few minutes."

Determined, Bill knelt down in front of the door and began to examine it. With intricate flourishes, he waved his wand over the threshold, all the time muttering complicated incantations.

Guessing that he was detecting any magical barriers, I stepped back to talk to the girl who called herself Daphne Greengrass.

"Do you 'ave any idea 'oo is in zhere?" I asked her, trying to create conversation more than anything else.

She hesitated, a rare look of uncertainty briefly floating over her face. "I don't know very much, but I do know that the Dark Lord himself and Draco Malfoy have been spending a lot of time down here with whoever's in there. I'm surprised that he or she is still going."

"It is a very, ah, what is the word... selfless thing zhat you are doing, though." I told her. "You could 'ave been 'ome and safe by now, but you decided to stay to try to rescue zhis person."

Daphne looked at me almost pityingly, a look of extreme condescension on her flawless face, as if she laughed at my idea of doing things for others. "You should know one thing about me, Delacour. Everything that I do is for myself. I'm not trying to rescue this person because I am worried for them, or because I think that they deserve better. I'm doing it because I think it will anger the Dark Lord greatly, judging by the amount of effort that he has obviously put into this."

I cut across her. "But the Dark Lord could be dead by now. That was the point of tonight's expedition."

She laughed, "Do you really think that any of you can beat him? I just pity anyone who went to fight him tonight, because they had no chance. Anyway, as I was saying. I simply want to annoy the Dark Lord; honestly, I couldn't care less about the well being of whoever is in there and I know that it is bad, but that is how I've been brought up to live. We Slytherins fight for ourselves, and only once we are safe do we help others."

"Why are you so keen on angering the Dark Lord?"

"Why are you so keen on asking so many questions?"

Touché. The conversation swiftly ended.

"I've done it!" Bill exclaimed a couple of minutes later. "It was actually remarkably simple."

Daphne responded in a typically dry manner. "Merlin, don't burden us with too many details."

He blushed, but continued. "Only one single curse was placed on this door, and it will not affect us. It is designed to only affect the person who is being kept in the cell, and get this: it's designed specifically to not kill! Whoever is in there, Vol- You-Know-Who wants them alive at all costs."

"So we can just... walk in?" Daphne checked, totally disbelieving that it could be so simple.

"Zhere is a zery big door in zhe way," I told her, with the express purpose of being annoying.

She glared daggers at me. "Very funny. What I mean is, can we just unlock it? You know, with alohomora?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders. "Only one way to find out, right?"

Silently casting the spell and twisting his wand in the corkscrew motion, Bill grinned as the door swung open welcomingly. "Too easy!"

Cautiously, we ghosted through the doorway. Was it really so simple? Surely there were other traps, snares so cunning that even Bill hadn't been able to detect them. This was Lord Voldemort's, the most powerful wizard on the planet, prisoner after all.

"Lumos." I muttered, the darkness so thick and intense that I could not see two feet ahead of me. Once again, I felt sorry for the poor soul who lived there. With no windows to the cell, they wouldn't have seen daylight since being thrown into confinement.

We heard him before we saw him, a painful croak sounding from the left of the doorway as my spell brightly illuminated the room, displaying what was no more than a damp, mouldy, cold, even blood splattered room the size of a mere broom closet.

The prisoner desperately covered his face with his hands, and quickly I realised my mistake.

"Please." He croaked, his words barely discernible. "Light."

Suddenly, realisation dawned on me. I recognised this boy, even with his hands obscuring his face. That long, scruffy and very greasy raven black hair – I'd seen it before. I shut the light off, now sure that I knew the identity of this mysterious prisoner, and I could barely believe it. He wasn't supposed to be alive.

"Mon Dieu," I whispered as I knelt down to clutch his twig-like limbs, as fragile as a new born baby's. "'Arry?"

Wow.

That took a long time. I've absolutely worked my little socks off to write this, so I literally can't be bothered to write any author's notes. God, that took a lot out of me.

Just a couple of things, though. Firstly, that's probably the longest chapter that I'll ever write. As you know, I'm not someone who very often asks for reviews, but if you are ever going to leave a review then now would be the time to do it, because it would be just a small way of showing that you understand how much effort this took on my part.

Secondly, I'd say that you should except another chapter on Sunday. I'm going to give myself a day off to recover from this, so Sunday's probably realistic.

I'd love to break my all time reviews record (for both of my stories) with this monster of a chapter, so if I can get more than about thirty then I would be literally the happiest guy on the planet.

Always a pleasure,

Charlie.

PS: Well done to those of you who guessed correctly about the spy, there were a fair few of you. Good job.

Phewhp. I need to sleep.