Chapter 139 – Saying Good-byes

Harry awoke right at 7 am. Early wakening was a habit he was starting to adopt from Severus, although he still woke slowly, not snapping completely awake the way his bondmate did. He was aware of cold air, although he himself was comfortably warm in bed. He remembered that the weather had begun to turn to the worse as the evening wore on, and based on the cold that had settled into the dungeon, it must have continued in that direction all night. No doubt, Severus had cast a warming charm before they fell asleep, or maybe he awoke in the cold earlier. Harry stilled and listened, then he wiggled a bit. No, he was alone in bed. Was Severus in the bathroom? Or had he awoken and gone to sit in the parlor until Harry awoke? It was completely silent in their rooms, it seemed. Harry was piecing together little bits of information in his mind, but was not yet sufficiently awake to draw conclusions or venture forth from the warm bed to check. It was several more minutes before Harry thought to use wandless magic to start a fire in the grate in their bedroom, to begin to take the chill out of the air before his bodily needs demanded that he get out of bed and visit the bathroom.

Harry was still waiting for his brain to reach full awareness when he did hear noise outside, in the sitting room. It sounded like a door closing, and shortly after, the bedroom door swung open and a tired, fully-dressed Severus slipped in.

He noticed the fire and looked quickly to Harry, who was still befuddled with sleep. "Sorry if I woke you, but you seem to be waking on your own. Did you sleep well?" he asked, knowing it had been just a few hours ago that they went to sleep.

"Ummm." That was the best Harry could do; his brain wasn't fully ready for conversation.

Severus looked longingly at the bed; a few more hours of sleep would feel so good. But years of experience had taught him that he was much better off staying awake once morning came rather than trying to go to sleep for just an hour or two. He'd feel worse. He nodded at Harry. "Get a bit more sleep then, and come out to the sitting room when you wake. The Ministry has been working all night to sort out that battle, and I suspect the Minister will provide an update shortly."

Severus settled in his chair by the fire, with a strong cup of coffee and the Daily Prophet. He'd been awakened a few hours ago, and asked to go to the muggle estate. He legilimized a few more muggles for the aurors, and adjusted the memories of a dozen more to support the version of this event that he expected would be made public today. He felt so guilty. He was certain that Harry's uncle had been killed, and yet he had still not told Harry. The young man would know soon enough, because it would be in the Minister's report, for sure. But Severus opted to allow Harry the morning, at least, unbothered by that development. Was it truly to give Harry that little bit extra time unaware, or because Severus did not want to have to deliver the news? Harry had said he had no feelings anymore for the man, one way or the other, but how would that stand up to an event like this? He brooded while he read.

Harry dozed briefly after hearing Severus' voice, the nagging realization that there was news of developments waiting when he awoke preventing him from falling fully into sleep again. Eventually, Harry gave into curiosity and deserted his bed.

Severus heard the shower turn off and nodded to the house elf loitering in the corner to bring their breakfast. It arrived just a moment before Harry did, fresh from his wake-up shower.

"Morning," he offered, as he settled into his place on the couch, arching his back in a stretch. He accepted a cup of coffee from Severus. "So what happened last night? When did you leave?"

"I was summoned to assist several hours ago, and I arrived back here just as you were awakening. My role is just a part of a much bigger story. I've ordered breakfast here, and when we are finished, we can go to the Ministry Annex for your briefing. Albus will join us, but he doesn't want to usurp the Minister's role here."

Harry quirked his eyebrow as he joined Severus in moving to the table where a nice spread had just appeared, and he piled his plate with a selection of items. This Minister seemed very open in her interest in the Headmaster's opinion and not offended, as Fudge had been, when he offered a thought. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore wanted to keep it that way?

"My briefing?" he asked, wondering if he was right.

"This does allow the Headmaster to be part of the Minister's planning without opening her to criticism that she is simply Albus' puppet. Apparently, there is some grumbling among some of Fudge's old network that she is not up to the task and relies too much on outside advisors, presumably the Headmaster. The involvement of the Winter Lands Warriors makes this an event of interest specifically to you, and Albus' participation need not even be noted."

Harry shrugged as he tucked into his food. The nonsense that went on at the Ministry – he could not imagine why anyone would want to be Minister.

There was a steady stream of students and families wandering through the vestibule in front of the Great Hall all morning; the house elves served breakfast to the resolute early risers at the usual time, but kept food available all morning to those who slept in after a late night. Only someone who looked carefully would notice that there were far more aurors among the crowd than usual, coming and going from the Ministry Annex (and its floo connection back to the Ministry itself in London) and the investigation headquarters set up in an unused barn not far from Sir Harold's estate. No one gave a second thought to the Headmaster strolling through the hall and meeting up with Harry and Severus just as they arrived at the Annex door.

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up from his desk when the three entered, and stood to greet them.

"Good morning to you all," he said with a slight bow of his head. "The Minister will be here momentarily. What a morning, what a morning! What a night, actually. It's been a full time job just to keep up with the developments. We'll have a full report as soon as Minister Bones arrives."

Before the three could take their seats around a table, green flames flared in the floo, and the Minister of Magic stepped through, followed seconds later by aurors Stark and Entwhistle.

Greetings were exchanged before the Minister pointed everyone to the seats so her briefing could begin. Stark took the lead there, with assistance from his junior colleague.

"Well, ma'am, sirs, we spent most of yesterday and last night coordinating with the local muggle police to interview everyone who we could find in the area who was at the battle, or as the muggles now call it, the "exercise." The muggles began to take the field between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade early yesterday morning, but the fighting commenced just about noon. They all quit the field in hysteria about an hour later. The weather was getting bad, and the retreat was very disorderly. As a result, many of them just got back to the big muggle estate as it was getting dark; lucky for us, because only a few of the muggles were able to leave the area before we could interview them. We were also able to get our aurors onto the field fast enough to detect some magic that was done there – it turns out that not all of the muggles were really muggles. We detected the signatures of two separate apparitions, although in one case, I'd call it an attempt to apparate."

Entwhistle consulted a sheaf of parchments. "Based on our interviews and the information provided by Madam Pomfrey and the Hogwarts infirmary, it appears that there were a total of nine deaths. Adney Riddle, known to us as Adney Pucey, died when his head was crushed by a boulder, an errant shot from one of the muggle trebuchets. There were four muggles whose hearts stopped during the battle and our magical healers could not revive them in the Infirmary. Charles Frost, one of the leaders of the anti-magic movement, known to us as Cornelius Fudge, might have been swallowed by the Black Wyrms. We recovered his wand at the scene and there was some blood and a very slight signature of apparition at that spot; under the circumstances, we concluded that his apparition attempt was not entirely successful. In all likelihood, he was either swallowed before he could apparate, or he splinched as he apparated. He was in the company of Vernon Dursley, a muggle leader of the movement, also believed swallowed. Finally, we concluded that muggles Chester Willoughsby and Mark Digby were similarly swallowed."

Harry felt his chest constrict. He was aware of every breath he was taking, and felt his breath speed up. More dead to account for, but this was different. Uncle Vernon was dead. Cornelius Fudge was dead. Plus a Death Eater, who found his way back to Voldemort of his own free will, after Harry had removed the means by which Voldemort could compel compliance. Of course the muggles were still victims, and Harry was pained at their deaths, as always. He sat stone-faced for a minute before realizing that all conversation had ceased around him. When he stirred to look at the others, he blushed to realize they were all looking at him with expressions of concern.

"I'm fine, sorry for disrupting the briefing," Harry began, his voice unsure and near to breaking. "It's just, well, there were three people who represented a threat to me personally, and you've just told me that two of them are gone. Just like that."

The two aurors seemed rather confused by that statement, but held their tongues at the reaction of Professor Snape.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing subtly so it was unlikely that the others could tell that he was being comforted. He turned and looked at the older man, hoping to draw strength to control his emotions from someone who had mastered that skill. Holding Severus' gaze, he breathed in and out, slowly, until he felt steadier. He nodded at his bondmate, and Severus slowly withdrew his hand.

"Thank you for that report, Auror Stark, Auror Entwhistle. Are we publicizing the involvement of the Black Wyrms? I thought we were not going to mention them." Harry tried to move the briefing along, to deflect attention from his emotions.

"No, sir, the involvement of the Black Wyrms is known to just the people in this room. We are not putting that in any written reports, but wanted to give this group all the information we had." Stark still shuddered at his memory of his briefing with the Minister, learning that there were dragons in the ground right here at Hogwarts. "We spent the hours before dawn positioning the injured we had brought to the Infirmary, and the four muggles who died of heart problems, closer to the muggle estate. The ones alive now have appropriate, if very vague, memories of running from the field, thanks to Professor Snape. One of our muggle-born aurors is with them, to make sure they are safe until they can be rescued. We located them in a barn on a property near to the muggle estate, and if no one finds them he's going to bring them to the estate himself."

Harry cast a grateful glance at Severus, glad to hear that he contributed to this resolution.

"We decided not to turn over the body of Adney Pucey," Stark continued. "No muggle is going to miss him, and no one will recall what happened to him. He had been with Hiram McNair and one of the leaders of the anti-magic movement when he was killed by the boulder. We believe McNair simply apparated away; there was a definite signature of apparition right near the body when we recovered it. Mr. Mason, the muggle with whom Pucey and McNair were standing when the battle began, now has a vague memory of both men running away when the battle began." Stark nodded at Severus, a calculating grin on his face. That had been Snape's idea.

There were nods all around at that news. There were many unknowns in this situation, but in the event that the anti-magic movement survived, and in the event that Death Eaters saw something to be gained by infiltrating it, at least McNair would not be welcomed back.

"But didn't the Prime Minister see the Black Wyrms himself, from the castle? He thought they were a flock of birds, didn't he?" Harry was still concerned that this was not as airtight a story as they might have hoped.

Severus spoke at that point. "I took a portkey to the Ministry of Magic very early this morning, and visited the Prime Minister with Minister Bones," he began, with a nod to the woman. "Those particular memories no longer exist. He recalls just a disorganized battle that evolved into a panicked retreat."

Madam Bones added, "We do not want to create panic among students and parents with any suggestion that the land here is unstable. We will stand by the story among those with magic that a flock of birds seemed to appear in the midst of the muggles and, flying in close unison, a phenomenon the muggles call a "murmuration," frightened them terribly and they quit the field. Anyone familiar with the land here knows how rugged the terrain is, and will likely assume they flew up from one of the gorges and took the muggles by surprise."

Harry's mind was still on the dead. They never seemed to leave him.

"And how are you going to explain the dead of whom there is nothing left?" he asked the group.

Severus looked like he'd swallowed something that tasted unpleasant. Damn the boy for his focus on the dead! The fact that there were so few fatalities in an attack like this, with the kinds of weaponry involved, was an astonishing outcome. Why did Harry persist in his concern about the few combatants, his opponents, for Merlin's sake, who did not survive?

The Minister responded.

"Well, yes, Mr. Potter, that will require some effort. We have, or more accurately, Professor Snape has, planted memories of a very disorganized retreat, and of several participants leaving their comrades to follow roads and open fields in a different direction. Our aurors have suggested to the muggle police that a few of them wandered too close to the edge of a particularly deep gorge, the edge of which was concealed by blowing snow. Our aurors reported that they believe four men stumbled over the edge and fell to the bottom, falls that could not be survived. We informed the muggles that there is running water at the bottom of the gorge, so the bodies are not likely to be where they landed, but we are looking."

Entwhistle continued. "We have people back at the Ministry right now, transfiguring slabs of meat into carcasses that will pass as the battered and waterlogged bodies of the four missing men, and will add enough magic to get the bodies processed through the muggle's forensic process to get death certificates. Not pretty, but there will be "bodies" in sealed coffins available to be buried. Cornelius Fudge is a problem, as always, because too many muggles remember him as Charles Frost, from the rallies and news reports. Professor Snape created a memory in Mr. Mason that Frost had shared that he was a bachelor and did not have close family. We have to create muggle records of Charles Frost, because, of course, there is no real Charles Frost. We'll get him a proper death certificate from the muggles and have one of our aurors claim the body posing as a distant relative, to close the muggle's paperwork record of the man." Entwhistle wasn't as informed as his seniors' of Harry's personal situation, so he went on. "Dursley has a wife and son, and Sir Harold has advised that he will accompany a local constable today to visit the wife to inform her of what happened. Willoughsby was the town drunk in the village not too far Sir Harold's estate. No family to speak of. In all likelihood, he tagged along with someone who offered him a drink. Sir Harold has offered to provide a proper burial for the body, as the muggles do not expect anyone to claim it. Mark Digby is from Nottingham, and the muggle police are looking for family. Again, if no one claims the body, or if the family lacks the means to bury it, Sir Harold will assist."

Harry had gone very quiet. With a look of sad sympathy at Harry, Albus observed, "Sir Harold seems to be quite the benefactor here."

Amelia nodded. "I don't think he faces any civil or criminal liability for any of this, but he feels morally obligated to do something. He was a "right old fool," the term used by the Prime Minister to describe him to me, and perhaps he feels that himself."

After the Minister and her staff had left, Harry finally spoke to Severus. "I don't know if my aunt has the money to bury her husband. If there is need, I will provide it."

Severus shook his head sadly. "If ever there was someone who did not deserve your help, Harry, that man would be him."

"It's not about what he deserved. I know that. But if I can help my aunt, I will."

Petunia had spent a quiet New Year's Eve. Dudley was spending the weekend with a friend from school, and Marge, having left a few days earlier in a snit at Vernon's early departure, was not coming for New Year's Eve.

Vernon had called her earlier in the day, quite excited that there would be "a charge" later that day. She was quite confident in the school's ability to protect itself and the little town against Vernon and his friends, so she was not concerned about that. She had hoped he'd be able to get home by early evening, if the nonsense in Scotland ended quickly and Sir Harold made his helicopter available, but then she saw the weather reports on the midday news. Storms had formed up north that were starting to dump significant amounts of snow on the ground, and making travel impossible. In all likelihood, Vernon was snowbound at Sir Harold's estate, with even helicopters grounded until the weather improved. When no call came from him as night fell, she imagined that the bad weather had knocked out telephone lines as well.

Several neighbors were gathering at the Cavendishes that evening, so she slipped across the street alone to join the wait for the new year, making sure that all were aware that her Vernon was snowed in up at Sir Harold Beckwith's estate in Scotland. Typical for Little Whinging New Year's Eve gatherings, she was home and in bed by half-past midnight.

She was just finishing her breakfast dishes when the doorbell signaled that she had visitors. A peek through the window as she got to the door provided the curious sight of a massive luxury vehicle, like the one that had collected Vernon for one of his trips to Scotland. Sir Harold's?

Petunia admitted her visitors, a nervous-looking gentleman from the local constable's office, and a man she recognized from the telly as Sir Harold himself. They declined her offer of tea and awkwardly took seats in the lounge.

"Mrs. Dursley," Sir Harold began, "I'm afraid we've very bad news. There was an accident of sorts up in Scotland. Our people took the field for one of our drills, and apparently a flock of birds appeared out of a gully without warning, creating a panic. It was bedlam as everyone ran from the field; Vernon was with a small group that ventured too close to the edge of one of the deep gorges, and the four of them fell into it. There is a stream of rushing water at the bottom, so we dispatched a team at first light to look for the bodies. I most sincerely regret to inform you that we just received confirmation that your husband's body has been recovered. I have arranged for the remains to be placed in a sealed casket, as the damage from the fall was most extensive; you and your family should treasure your memories of Vernon as he looked before this calamity."

Petunia gasped in shock, and huddled into herself on the couch as tears formed in her eyes. The constable retreated to the kitchen, to fix the distraught woman a cup of tea, leaving Sir Harold to continue to try to calm her. He sat uncomfortably, watching her try to get control of her emotions. When she continued to seem incapable of speech, he offered, "I've contacted one of my personal secretaries who lives in the London area, and she's going to come by to assist you later this morning. She'll be able to help with arrangements, contacting people, legalities. Miss Catherine Smythe-Jones, very capable young lady. I'm sure she'll be able to be of great assistance to you."

Sir Harold looked around the lounge as he continued to wait on his hostess to compose herself. He had very little contact with people outside of his social strata, and could not remember ever being in such a modest home. He wondered if Mrs. Dursley could manage the expense of arranging a funeral; he'd contact Miss Smythe-Jones as soon as he'd left to authorize her to pay the cost of the funeral from his funds.

The constable offered a rather badly brewed cup of tea, which Petunia accepted numbly and discovered she couldn't drink because her hands were shaking. She allowed him to put it on the coffee table for her.

The two men were each contemplating how to extricate themselves from the Dursley home when salvation arrived in the form of Miss Smythe-Jones, a stylish and exceedingly competent woman in her late 30s who had worked for Sir Harold since she left university. She lived on the south side of London and was able to get to Little Whinging faster than expected. She soothed the new widow, moved her out to the sun room with a fresh cup of tea, and met briefly with her employer for instructions. She then began the process of making telephone calls and arrangements.

By the end of the day, Miss Smythe-Jones had at least left messages for all who needed to be contacted, and set appointments for Petunia the next day to arrange the funeral and meet with her solicitor. The son, Dudley, was on his way home, and sister Marge would arrive tomorrow afternoon. One of Sir Harold's men had called her to advise that the paperwork had been completed and Vernon's casket would be shipped down from Scotland and should arrive at the funeral home the day after. Miss Smythe-Jones herself took a room at the Whinging Hotel, rather than use a posher but more distant establishment, so she could shepherd Petunia through the necessary activities tomorrow. The poor thing looked quite lost, and latched on to her immediately.

X

Thurston Landon sat moodily behind his large desk, in a massive office, in the sprawling executive offices perched above the huge Landon Enterprises warehouse. He'd been asked to attend a meeting of the directors of the firm this morning. The directors never met on New Year's Day, so this was a bit of a surprise.

He had not seen this coming. Of course not – the firm had just had its best year in its history! And it was all his doing! He'd seen the opportunity with Lord Black and encouraged him to represent the firm up in the Winter Lands, and that gave Landon Enterprises a front-row seat to the remarkable changes that occurred up there, and immediate access to the sudden flood of products suddenly available from the north. Alright, he had not secured a contract as the sole distributor of Winter Lands potions ingredients to the rest of the wizarding world, but that might have been a stretch. And his petition for citizenship had been denied, but then, no one else he knew of had been granted citizenship, either.

Chairman Emeritus! What an insult! Had his blasted son plotted this behind his back? Had Eustace's decision to remain closer to home this past year really been because he and Margaret were going to start a family, or had he wanted to get closer to the others who had interests in Landon Enterprises, to plot a coup? Force the old man out to pasture, so the arrogant young whelp could take the reins of the firm?

He seethed for at least an hour, furious. After a while, and after several glasses of whiskey, he began to calm down.

He still had his office; he liked that. It was the biggest room in the building. He'd made sure of that when he'd had the executive suite constructed many years ago. Maybe the title wasn't too shabby. And of course, Eustace had said he'd consult with his father, who had such extensive experience, as he assumed the role of Chairman. The financial arrangements were completely satisfactory, although in truth, Thurston had ample personal resources aside from the business. He could have maintained his standard of living even if his ties with the firm had been severed completely.

The experience of being pushed aside was not pleasant, and Thurston imagined it would be a long while before he could forgive his son and his two younger brothers. Business was his life, had been for years. He stared out the window for a while, watching the dark clouds gather and a mixture of snow and rain start to fall. A few ideas began to percolate in his mind, other ventures that were never right for Landon Enterprises so he had not pursued them. Maybe he'd look into those.

X

Harry had allowed Severus to steer him back to their rooms in the dungeon after the early meeting with the Minister. Only when Severus was sure that Harry was being truthful in his insistence that he was fine and not upset over the news about his uncle was Severus willing to release him to join his friends in the Gryffindor common room.

The room was rather crowded, what with a full complement of Weasleys, an assortment of visitors from other houses, and extended families of current students who opted to gather in the cozy room rather than the Great Hall. Harry spotted Hermione right off, but before he could get near her, he was intercepted by Neville and Pharaoh Nitrocris, who looked very serious. Something had been going on there all during the holiday, Harry recalled noticing, and he'd meant to ask, so he allowed himself to be herded off to a corner of the common room to speak to them.

Neville cut right to the chase. "Harry, Nitrocris and I plan to be married as soon as I leave school, at the end of this year."

Harry was a bit taken aback, to say the least. "That's great, guys, great. What does your Gran think of this, Neville? And, Nitrocris, is there an issue with you marrying someone who isn't Egyptian?"

Nitrocris huffed. "I have introduced many reforms in Egypt since last we met, Harry Potter. But I recently learned that many of my subjects are ignoring these new ways of doing things. There is a perception, at least, that I am not serious, and that what I am doing now is temporary. I was able to isolate my uncles and their families, but they have allies. Maybe not people allied to them personally, but to the way things used to be. Over the past few months, much has been made of the fact that I am unmarried and childless, and many of the reforms and programs I have introduced are foundering because this is a distraction. I have worked so hard to move my country forward, and it pains me greatly to see progress halted, Harry Potter. Now, there is a great deal of pressure for me to marry one of my younger cousins, a boy only seven years old. His father will step in to rule, and I'd be worse off than where I was before the demon killed my oldest uncle and cousin! And I will not stand for it."

She took a breath before adding, "I actually asked Neville to father a child with me. I realize that he has a life here in England, family and friends, and probably does not want to leave. Marriage was his idea."

Harry looked stunned. "I can see why you'd want to keep Egypt moving forward. But is this the right thing for you? Are you being pressured into doing something you really don't want to do, just to address this one challenge? I mean, you and Neville might well want to marry someday, but perhaps right now isn't the right time – is there anything we can do to allow you to act on your schedule?"

"Your Headmaster said as much to me a year ago. To follow my heart and mind, choose my own path, and not let anyone or anything else dictate my actions. My heart and mind tell me that my future is with Neville Longbottom, not one of my little cousins. And now is as good a time as any."

This all seemed to be a one-sided story; where did Neville stand on the matter? There did not seem to be any polite way to ask, under the circumstances.

Neville himself seemed to know what Harry was thinking, and he finally chimed in. "I told Nitrocris that I love her and would love to marry her, as soon as I leave school in June. My gram is not thrilled that I plan to marry so soon after leaving school, and is worried about what my life will be like, but she understands. She'll give her blessing."

Harry looked at the two of them. There was something nagging him, a thought in the back of his mind that was not coming forward. "Well, I'm hardly one to speak against marrying too young, am I? It seems to be working out well for me, and I see no reason it won't work just as well for you. Neville, you did such a great job with helping the Winter Lands and their farms, and you've been great in the greenhouses, I'm sure you'll contribute great things in Egypt." The image of Neville travelling, and sand, suddenly returned to his mind – Neville's destiny!

"You know, Neville, when I first learned that I could see paths or destinies before people, I sometimes tried to see paths of people I knew. I saw a path before you, and couldn't figure out what it meant. I saw you moving over distance, and I'm sure I saw sand. I assumed it meant that you'd travel. Maybe you'd have a business sourcing potions ingredients from exotic places or something. I am no good at figuring out what the paths mean, so I sort of abandoned that exercise. But now I do see a connection between your plans with Nitrocris and what I saw of your destiny."

Surprisingly, Neville did react in any way by what Harry said; he already knew in his heart that this was right for him. Nitrocris was thrilled with the news, though. She knew what was right for her, and was relieved to learn that it was right for Neville, too.

"You will come, Harry Potter, and Professor Snape, too, when we wed?" Nitrocris asked.

"Wouldn't miss it!" Harry assured her, as he punched Neville in the arm with a smile.

As Harry wished them a Happy New Year, Nitrocris took his hands in hers. "Harry Potter, Neville has told me what you expect to occur in the future. There is to be another battle." Harry was a bit surprised that Neville would share that information with someone, but when he considered the relationship between Neville and Nitrocris, perhaps he ought not be surprised. He was pleased also that she accepted this foreknowledge without all sorts of gyrations about its source, which seemed to be the way British wizards handled that sort of thing. What she said next really astonished him. "You fight not for yourself, but for all of us. I am your ally and will come to England to help you when the time comes. I will bring others if you wish. Egyptian magic is protective. We have an affinity with minerals, stones, and can keep them strong. I understand your love of this castle and am committed to protecting it, as you are. Send word to me when the time comes and I will be here."

Harry was finally able to get to Hermione, who was perched on a chair at the fringe of the Weasley crowd. He shared his news of his uncle's demise; Neville's news was for Neville to share when he felt it was time to do so.

Not surprisingly, Hermione understood, and immediately gave voice to what Harry was pretty sure others were thinking. "You said you felt nothing for him, before, Harry. I imagine you do feel a bit sad for your aunt, and maybe your cousin, but you don't seem upset. You are really OK?" she sought to confirm. She accepted Harry's nod in answer, and just squeezed his hand. The two of them turned their attention to Little Harry, gurgling happily from a perch at the end of his father's knee.

X

Voldemort had tasked each of his Death Eaters with very specific assignments. His grand plan had been greeted with much enthusiasm, but he knew that this bunch needed clear instructions if anything was to happen.

It was not yet time to do anything that would reveal his plans to others, but there was opportunity now to take advantage of what the fool muggles had done. He already had his Death Eaters on the field outside Hogsmeade casting disillusionment charms on the siege engines; in the hands of trained wizards and magical creatures, those weapons could inflict harm. And at the proper time, they would do so. He assumed for now that the wizards and muggle authorities would think that the muggles simply retrieved their machines and moved them away, and would not notice or be concerned about the apparent disappearances. Certainly in his time, no students went into those fields, and he assumed that remained the case, so he was confident that this would not be discovered by accident.

He also had Death Eaters looking for a suitable area somewhere on the moors, for all aligned with him to gather, when the time was right. Witches and wizards might be able to apparate to Hogwarts instantly over distances, but they were actually just a part of the magical army he had been able to piece together, and not all of the creatures were capable of that sort of transport. He needed a place from which others could travel by whatever means they used, and arrive at Hogwarts within no more than a day. He'd given that team some rather specific instructions and areas in which to look, and he would personally inspect the recommended land before any actual preparations began.

The battle that would resolve this matter, once and for all, would be epic, and remembered for millennia. Voldemort was not concerned about the outcome – he knew he would prevail. His concern now was that it be staged for maximum impact and remembered for all the right things. Just as winter ebbed, he thought. After the threat of major snowstorms, but before a thaw made everything soggy.

[A/N – Many thanks to all of you still following along, and very especially to those of you who take the time to offer a comment or review. Nothing gets me more excited than finding a new review! I'm sorry for the delay in getting the update finished, but the real world hasn't been kind these last few months. I will soldier on, hopefully at a faster pace, and I think I'm coming to the end of my story, probably a handful of chapters left. Have a safe and happy Fall, everyone.]