Rose and Sword

by SanaNGU

Draco Malfoy, due to the prolonged absence of the Ancient Runes teacher, has been stirring up the class as he pleases with the help of his cronies, preventing the other classmates from studying. Hermione Granger, a responsible and persevering student, is not going to sit idly by.

41. Wyvern of Wye

Hello, everyone, how are you doing? 😊

A thousand thanks, as always, to all of you for reading, for leaving comments, or for letting me know in one way or another that you like the story, you're wonderful! 😍

What did you think of the previous chapter? 🙈 Come on, be honest, you guys skipped the Harry and Ron scenes to get to the important stuff, didn't you? Ha ha ha 😂

Nah, seriously, I hope you both enjoyed both events very much! 😊 I was really nervous about that chapter, because the intimate scene between Draco and Hermione is the first one I've written of that kind. My intention was to make it detailed but not explicit, more like sensual... Do you know what I mean? Does it make sense? Did I succeed? ha, ha, ha 😂

Thank you very much for reading, I hope you liked it a lot! Tell me whatever you want in the comments, I love to read you, seriously 😍

Huge hugs, see you next time! 😊

---

CHAPTER 41

Wyvern of Wye

"Harry Potter..."

The voice sounded low, deep, and still inside his mind. Harry knew then what it was like to be speechless. It wasn't the first time he'd seen a dragon... but it felt like it.

He and Ron had stepped through the opening with their lit wands held high, ready to defend themselves if necessary. And they had almost dropped them in shock. They were in a gigantic black stone cavern, with rocks of varying sizes scattered about the place and long, dripping stalactites everywhere. Harry had never been in such a huge place, and he sensed that he wasn't even seeing it in its entirety. It was asymmetrical, as if they were caverns that had been progressively built side by side. The light from their wands only illuminated the closest area, but what he was seeing already seemed to be three times the size of the Great Hall. And he felt tiny in every way. Had this place always been under the castle?

An underground lake had taken over part of the cavern, disappearing from their view to their right. Not allowing them to see the end. Harry was sure they had descended several miles to get there. They must be below the Great Lake.

But that lake was not the biggest thing down there.

He was twenty feet away from them, and the light from the wands was barely enough to fully illuminate him. The first thing they saw was his back, covered in huge, shiny scales that gleamed coppery. A huge bat wing covered part of his side, moving in rhythm with his breathing. Demonstrating the creature's liveliness. The back continued with a long tail, which formed a curve along his flank, so thick they reckoned it would reach to their waist. It seemed as long as some of the tables in the Great Hall. Or even longer. A row of strong spikes almost fifty centimetres long, angled towards the end of the tail, ran along its surface.

Harry felt his breath catch. All the courage and confidence he had gained from finally discovering the creature's location was gone. That had been the easy part.

Now he was in front of them. And he was moving.

With the sound of a mass scraping against stone, causing the ground to vibrate slightly, and some gravel to fall from the ceiling, Wyvern of Wye stood up slowly, untangling his body. The tail swung to one side, and so did his wing, out of sight. He was turning to face them. The movement caused them to feel a rush of wind in their faces, despite his slowness.

His long neck, and his gigantic head, six metres long, came into view. His skin was uneven, scaly, tough and dry like that of a crocodile. His snout was elongated, with a few spikes protruding from his chin, and over his head. Creating a strange harmony with his reptilian appearance. An almost aerodynamic appearance. His abnormally large nostrils expanded in a fleeting manner, as if he was sniffing them. His eyes were gigantic, though small in comparison to his head. And white as milk.

He was blind.

Harry felt Ron press against his shoulder. Shivering. But he didn't pull back. Harry, indeed, was completely pinned in place, and he imagined his friend was too.

"Harry Potter..." That harsh, deep voice resounded in his head. But the dragon's mouth didn't open at all. "At last we meet..."

He was now generating full, judicious sentences. It was as if communication between them had finally been restored. The miles of distance that separated them seemed to have made it difficult all this time.

"How do you know who I am?" Harry dared to protest aloud. Surprised that he had a voice. And that he'd been able to be rude to a bloody twenty-metre dragon. Ron, beside him, startled.

"Are you talking to him?" he asked quietly, looking at him out of the corner of his eye with a mixture of alarm and panic.

"You still can't hear him?" Harry muttered, somewhat puzzled. But he supposed it made sense. The dragon hadn't opened his mouth. He was communicating through his mind.

"No," Ron mumbled. Sideways, he saw that he was paler than Harry had ever seen him in his life. He could easily count all the freckles on his face, one by one. And he wasn't feeling much better. He was breaking out in a cold sweat. "And you're... doing that again."

Harry looked at him in bewilderment.

"Doing what...?"

"You're famous, Harry Potter, even among thousand-year-old magical creatures like me," Wyvern of Wye replied, calmly, back in his head. Forcing Harry's attention back to him. And he didn't hear Ron's answer to his question. "Your story has leaked through the walls of this castle to me..."

"Are you... blind?" Harry asked, just to make sure. Seeing how that third eyelid, barely a translucent reptilian membrane, covered and uncovered his eyes from the side as he blinked.

"The lack of light has caused me to lose my sight completely..."

"And why can only I hear you?" he added, hoarsely. His mouth was terribly dry. He could see one of the dragon's legs, and it was about three times as tall as he was, and five times as thick. The light from Ron's wand trembled sharply against the dragon's skin. "How can I... understand you?"

"Because I'm speaking Parseltongue. In your mind. Through an art known as 'Legilimency'."

"Parseltongue?" Harry managed to repeat, after feeling his jaw drop under its own weight in surprise. And then he understood what Ron meant. He could hear him making horrible hissing noises. He couldn't understand him at all. "That's not possible. That's the language of serpents. And you're not a —"

"I'm not?"

Harry fell silent, swallowing his breath. Managing to restrain himself from arguing with a bloody dragon any further. Parseltongue. It didn't make any sense. He was a dragon. He wasn't a snake... But neither had been the Basilisk. At least not entirely.

Then he remembered the notes he'd just read in the Library. Hermione's notes. 'Derived from Ancient Greek "viper" or "serpent"'. There really was something of a serpent in a dragon; just as there was in the Basilisk, a being hatched from a chicken's egg and incubated by a toad.

"That's why you've only been communicating with me all this time," Harry said quietly, almost to himself. "Because only I understand Parseltongue in this place..."

"I can use Legilimency to speak to anyone I want. But the others wouldn't hear anything they could understand," the dragon corroborated.

At that moment, Ron dropped his wand to the ground and brought both hands to his head with a loud cry. Harry turned abruptly to him.

"Are you all right?" he exclaimed, terrified, grabbing his arm.

"He entered my head," Ron stammered, his eyes wild, still not letting go of his head. "I heard... a horrible hissing sound... Like the ones you used to make in our second year... I can't understand a word you're saying."

Harry didn't insist. He looked at his friend apprehensively for a few seconds. It was the first time anyone had ever entered Ron's mind, and to speak to him in a language he didn't know; it must have been a horrible experience for the boy. Harry, sadly, was starting to get used to it.

Without letting go of his shoulder, he turned to the dragon again. His expression stern.

"Leave Ron alone, you don't have to prove anything. We understand what Parseltongue is. So tell us, how did you get here?" he asked coldly. Suddenly putting his fear aside, as he felt his best friend trembling with pain next to him.

"I've always been here."

"You've always been here?" Harry repeated aloud, trying hard not to speak in Parseltongue the whole time, so that Ron would pick up on the conversation as well. The young red-haired boy was slowly regulating his breathing again, but his eyes were still wide with shock. He managed to recover his wand with a hesitant movement. "How is that possible?"

"I've been down here since the beginning of it all. The four founders of the school caught me when that foolish knight tried unsuccessfully to assassinate me, and locked me in here. They told no one what they had done to me. They spread the rumour that he had killed me. The whole wizarding world thinks I'm dead."

Then he spun around again, and the ground trembled once more. Harry and Ron held on to each other out of inertia as they saw that this time the tremor was greater. The surface of the lake was disturbed. There was a loud clinking sound, metal against rock.

And then they saw it. As he moved, Wyvern of Wye had exposed one of his hind legs, which was encircled by a thick iron ring. A chain ran out of the ring and out into the darkness, probably reaching up to the wall to be attached there.

Wyvern of Wye was imprisoned.

"Is he trapped?" Ron asked, puzzled, staring at the solid ring. Focusing the light on it.

"He says the founders caught him and locked him up here," Harry muttered hastily, and turned to the dragon again, "And why did they lock you up? Why didn't they finish you off if that was their intention, if you were terrorising England?"

"Because they couldn't kill me. No one can kill me. No wizard can. No wizard is powerful enough."

"They couldn't kill you... and their solution was to lock you in here," he repeated the idea again, this time breathlessly. Ron looked as if he might faint. He clung to Harry and gasped.

"The founders couldn't kill him?" he repeated in a plaintive whisper, too, in Harry's ear. Harry shook his head, a lump in his throat. He looked at the dragon again, who had turned his neck in their direction again, to look at them with those blind eyes.

"Are you going to hurt us?" Harry asked in a firm tone. Not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. He tightened his grip on his wand, locating the entrance to the cave behind them, preparing to run if necessary.

"I have no intention of doing so."

"You're not going to hurt us?" he insisted, frowning, speaking more to Ron than to the dragon. He felt his friend beside him catch his breath. "Why not? Why have you come to me? What do you want from me? You've been asking me for help for months, in a very vague and imprecise way..."

"Because, indeed, I need you to help me. The transmission was not the best due to the distance. I couldn't communicate any clearer. Too many barriers, solid and magical, stood between us."

"And how do you know I won't try to kill you?"

Then the dragon laughed. And it was a violent, savage sound, so loud that Harry put his hands to his head, thinking he would faint. His heart pounding. Ron had to hold him down, even though he didn't understand what was happening.

"You're a funny man, Harry Potter. Someone like you can't finish me off. You're powerful, more powerful than most, and you've proved it by finding me. But not nearly powerful enough. No wizard is. I know you won't even try."

"So, tell me, what do you want from me?" Harry insisted, more quietly. "What could I do for you?"

The dragon's albino eyes rested on him, and stared at him without seeing him for a few seconds. Harry's hair stood on end.

"Free me."

---

Hermione woke with a start, as if someone had shouted in her ear. Her eyes opened instantly. But she had to blink to keep them open, shaking off the lethargy with difficulty. Her eyelids were heavy. Slowly, she took in what was before her. A wooden floor. A horizontal beam. And gloom. Although there was some light. A whitish light. She could see specks of dust in front of her nose, floating in the air. She was lying on her side, she could feel it now. On a hard, but smooth surface. A cloth. A robe. Black. She guessed she had been in this position for a long time. Her shoulder ached intensely, and she sensed that was what had woken her. She was naked. The skin on her hands felt cold, also on the back of her neck, and on her upper shoulder. And one of her feet. The rest was covered by more cloth. But she was naked.

And she was alone.

She sat up suddenly, so abruptly that her thick hair covered her face for a moment. She brushed it aside awkwardly, trying to look around. The cloth covering her slipped down her body and she didn't bother to hold it. Everything was spinning around her.

She was alone. And she was still inside the stands.

Draco was gone.

Hermione couldn't move. She felt suspended in the night, sitting alone, surrounded by wood. Feeling the weight of reality crushing down on her. He was gone. Her fingers, trembling, reached for the robes draped over her body. It had the Slytherin crest embroidered at chest level. And the lapels were green. She didn't remember covering herself with Draco's robes. She didn't remember falling asleep. Had she fallen asleep in his arms? And she didn't remember? She covered her mouth with her palm. Her eyes widened. She felt as if she had skipped a few essential hours of her life. As if she had overslept and missed an important exam. She looked around more carefully. The moonlight was filtering through the structure, between the wooden beams and the iron, barely illuminating it.

The moon...

Midnight.

She turned the wrist on which she was wearing her wristwatch so roughly that she almost hurt herself. She let out an instant moan of relief that was almost a sob, covering her face with her hands.

Twenty-three past eleven.

Trying to breathe to stifle another sob, she uncovered her body. Feeling the panic and urgency take hold of her nerves, she began to look around for her clothes. She found them. Only hers. Draco's belongings were gone. Only his Slytherin robes had been left behind, covering her nakedness from the chill of the night... Or so she thought, until she saw something else. She gasped. She stopped all her movements. The Marauder's Map was beside her, neatly folded.

Hermione crawled over to it, her shirt clutched in her hands. The wood of the floor scraped against her bare knees unpleasantly. Her whole body ached. She felt a sudden, stabbing pain in her lower abdomen, between her legs, which caused her to wince and pout. Somewhat confused, allowing herself a second's delay, she squeezed that musculature. Gingerly. Getting a new jab, unpleasant, as if the tissue was sore. But she didn't have time to worry about that. It was to be expected. Catching her breath, she unfolded the map to examine it, her hands shivering sharply from the change in temperature. It was blank.

She felt for the robes that had been under her body, in despair. And her wand? She remembered then that they had used it to light the place, in the midst of the situation that had happened minutes before. Feeling the floor urgently, she located it, now turned off. Perhaps Draco had turned it off to help her sleep. She didn't know. And she didn't have the strength to think about it. She practically stabbed the parchment with the tip.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she whispered, staring at it.

And it all materialised, progressively. Lines and lines of ink, creating different shapes on the aged surface. She scanned the grounds quickly, knowing what she was looking for, but not wanting to take any chances. She had no time to go in the wrong direction. Sure enough, she found him where she expected. Beside the Whomping Willow, Draco Malfoy's little label was moving slowly, following the circles the boy was making in reality. Pacing impatiently, circling, waiting.

"Damn you..."

Hermione gritted her teeth, hands shaking. Of rage. She dressed, barely paying attention to what she was doing, and stormed out of the entrance hole, dodging wooden beams. She tucked the Marauder's Map safely into a pocket of her robes.

The black Slytherin House robes lay forgotten, crumpled, in that hidden nook beneath the stands.

---

Draco's grey eyes lit up sporadically, reflecting the lights from the distance. They moved rapidly in their sockets, revealing his frenzy. But his body was paralysed.

He had spent the previous few minutes pacing in circles near the Whomping Willow, keeping his eyes on the entrance. Unable to think. Making an effort to harden his heart. Though he didn't know how. But, from this day on, he could not allow himself to feel. He had put on his sober black robes, the personal mark of Death Eaters, but he had not yet covered himself with the hood. That would be the final touch to put it all behind him. And he couldn't yet.

The moonlight, in the crescent phase, illuminated the grounds, albeit very dimly. Hardly anything could be seen. It was dark night. And he had never been so frightened by darkness. But the sudden lights in the distance had frightened him even more.

At first he did not understand what he saw. He took it in little by little, with disbelief. With an eerie assumption. He made a quick reckoning, remembering what the landscape looked like in daylight. Estimating the distance. What was there, between the mountains.

He struggled to sharpen his eyesight, trying to guess more accurately what was happening. But there was not much room for doubt. He could see the flames. Explosions that lit up the night, that seemed tiny in the distance. Spell lights. Miles away, in the middle of the dense darkness.

Hogsmeade was on fire.

He was unable to take a single step. He was completely pinned to the ground, staring at the horizon. He could not hear the whisper of the wind. He could do nothing but stare at the distant flames. Assimilating that there was nothing he could do. Death Eaters were attacking Hogsmeade. And that wasn't what was supposed to happen.

Quick footsteps on the leaf litter behind him broke the silence. And the buzzing in his brain. With a terrible effort, he tore his eyes away from the distant firelight. Not knowing at this point what to expect, what was behind him. Who it was. But with a terrible, terrible suspicion.

He spun around. And felt his blood run cold. Granger was running at full speed towards him, dodging grass and rocks. The moon illuminating her path dimly, making the skin of her bare legs glow beneath her skirt. He would have recognised her silhouette in any darkness.

"No..." Draco gasped, to himself. Breathlessly. Unable to take it in. "What are you doing here?" he asked louder, his eyes twitching as he watched her approach. Unable to do anything about it. Only managing to shout, "What the fuck are you doing here, they're about to come!"

Hermione didn't respond. She held on to his arms when she reached him, so that she wouldn't lose her balance when she stopped abruptly. But she didn't even look at him. She spun him around so that she was standing beside him, turning her face in the direction of the distance. To the pyre that Hogsmeade village had become.

"What is that?" she whispered. She was breathing hard through her mouth from the race there. "What's going on?"

"Hogsmeade," Draco muttered, looking in the same direction as her. Holding her by her elbows. "They're fighting. They shouldn't be, they were supposed to sneak in there unseen. They shouldn't have met any resistance. I don't know what happened..."

Hermione closed her eyes tightly and twisted her face into a desperate grimace. Her lips pursed in anguish. She turned her head, to look straight ahead, at Draco's body. Assimilating that things could get worse. It wasn't just people at Hogwarts that were going to die. Hogsmeade was already suffering from Lord Voldemort's victory.

She looked up, searching for the boy's face. He was still facing the direction of the fire. His light eyes glittering. Twinkling in the distant light. His expression, grim. But Hermione could see the storm beneath it. His chest visibly rising and falling.

Hermione raised a hand and held his cheek with it. She tugged at him, forcing him to stop staring into the distance. To fix his eyes on hers. She got him to focus on her, to concentrate on her. To forget this new horror.

The girl swallowed hard, and gave him the sternest look she could muster. Without letting go of his face, as if she feared he would try to look off into the distance again.

"You left. You left without saying anything to me," she said, openly accusatory. Her eyes were the second bonfire glowing in the night. "How dare you?"

Draco's eyelids trembled with pure anger. He gritted his teeth hard. Remembering then that he was furious with her for showing up there. She never, ever acted the way he implored her to. Could she really not imagine how hard it had been for him to separate himself from her skin, to get up and leave her there, to walk away without a word, thinking that would be the last time he would ever see her?

Draco blew air out of his nose in an irritated huff and turned his face away. Staring at nothing. The darkness of the grounds.

"How was I supposed to...?" he tried to articulate, realising that he had started talking without any coherent idea. He tried to gather his thoughts, to give her a single answer. "I didn't know what to say to you," he hissed, his tone dry.

Hermione continued to look at him with the same expression. Inflexible. She reached down and grabbed his arms with both hands.

"And it didn't occur to you that I did have things to say to you?" she protested, fiercely. Emotion affecting her voice.

Draco glared at her again, still angry. But losing against her gaze. Against her words. Against her hands clutching his arms, over his Death Eater's robes. He was getting sick and tired of mentally preparing himself over and over again to see her one last time, thinking he had made it, survived it, only to have her back in front of him. Forcing him to redouble his efforts, telling himself that this was the one. Without ever being so. But this time it was. The Death Eaters were at the gates of the castle.

He gritted his teeth in a last attempt not to feel defeat overtake him. He dropped his face until he could lean against her forehead, closing his eyes. She closed them too, tightening her fingers around his arms. Feeling his forehead against hers. His breath hitting her skin. They only had a few minutes.

"Are you all right?" he murmured against her cheek. Hermione let out an instant gasp. Almost a disbelieving sob. She dropped her face, resting her forehead against his jaw. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeves.

"How can I be all right...?" she mumbled, angry, in a hoarse voice. How could she be all right if she was about to lose him? But he shook his head. He was still holding her elbows, tightly, as if he was afraid she would disappear prematurely.

"No. I mean if you... If you're feeling well. Because of what we've done before," he said. In an effectively calm tone. But a clumsiness in the way he expressed himself that Hermione was slow to understand.

And then it dawned on her what he meant. Her eyes widened as her mouth opened. With a soft exhale, her lips stretched into a slow smile, looking down his throat. Was that really what he was worried about? Hogsmeade burning a few miles away, an apocalyptic, inescapable war just around the corner, and he was asking her that?

She couldn't put a name to what she felt for him at that moment.

"Yes," she finally said, softly now. She closed her eyes again. "Of course I'm all right."

"Are you sure?" he still added, in a rough murmur. As if he didn't believe a word she said at this point. "Do you have any pain, or — ?"

Hermione shook her head almost lazily.

"I'm fine," she lied again, calmly. In a whisper. "And you?"

He merely nodded his head once. He pulled away from her face, so he could look into her eyes. He released one of her elbows and rested his palm on the side of her neck, cupping her cheek as well. His fingertips dug into her skin, to get her attention.

"They won't be long in arriving," Draco reminded her, in a low voice. "They can't see you here. You shouldn't be here. You need to leave immediately."

Hermione gritted her teeth. Holding back everything that was coming at her. She had made so many decisions hours ago... but having him in front of her, knowing it was the last time, was too much for her. She couldn't get her head around the idea. She didn't want to lose him.

She averted her gaze to Hogsmeade, burning in the distance. Spell lights were still visible. They still had time, the Death Eaters were still fighting there.

"Don't go," she whispered, almost to herself, still looking at the village. "Stay here. Please," she looked at him again. His expression was exasperatingly impassive. "Dumbledore can protect you. Voldemort won't get his hands on you, he won't search your mind. He won't find me. Don't go..."

Draco just stared at her, scanning her eyes. Thinking about how pathetically ironic life was. Hermione Granger asking him to stay by her side. And him wanting to do it.

To fight by Lord Voldemort's side. To help him cleanse the wizarding world of the Muggle presence. To reclaim a customs, a life, in which wizards were a priority. Privileged. To marry, if the war ever ended and he had the chance, a pure-blooded woman. To perpetuate the purity of his bloodline. To fulfil his obligations as a pure-blood. To have a place of honour with the Dark Lord in his new empire. Her parents would be proud. His parents would also have a life of luxury and comfort. Of prestige and authority.

To stand by Granger's side. To choose the difficult path, where everything around him would change. And the scary one. To be protected by those he swore to destroy. To be a fugitive. Maybe forever. To not be able to be with her, no matter what. Because they couldn't be together. For reasons beyond Lord Voldemort. Sentencing his mother to death and his father to life imprisonment. And Theodore's father.

He would be released too if that night went well, he was sure of it. He remembered the gleam in his best friend's eyes when he was aware of it, when Draco mentioned it in that bathroom in the dungeons, minutes after briefing the Death Eaters on how to enter the castle...

"I have to do this," he muttered. Barely moving his lips. Almost in a trance. The safe option.

Hermione's hands trembled in her grip. Her mouth twitched.

"No," she mumbled, her voice harshening. "You have a choice. We can sort it all out. We can still think of another solution."

"Granger..." he muttered, his voice laden with exasperation.

"Maybe Hogsmeade will make a difference. Maybe it'll all go wrong and they won't make it this far. You could stay," she insisted. Her breathing quickened. Needing to fight for him one last time. "It doesn't have to end like this. Hogwarts can't —"

"Granger..." Draco repeated, more firmly. Clutching his hand to the side of her face. But she was still panting. Her eyes were full of determination. Of fear. Of the need to act. To fight to the last minute.

"If you don't open the entrance," Hermione interrupted, raising her voice. She pointed a firm finger at the willow behind them, "We'll still have a few minutes..."

"Grang —"

"Dumbledore might be able to protect your mot —"

"Hermione!" he stopped her then, his voice rising in tone. It thundered through the night. And only the sound of her first name leaving those lips, with that firmness, could silence her. Draco cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to look at him. To calm herself. She looked back at him, fighting for breath. Trembling. With rage. Of helplessness.

Hermione closed her eyes. Giving up. She felt her neck lose strength. She dropped her head. He held it for her. She clutched at his forearms. One breath. Two breaths. She straightened up again to look at him. Her eyes were shining.

"Please, promise me one thing —" Hermione asked, quietly. But much calmer. Draco, on the other hand, was quick to shake his head resolutely. His lips tightened. Apparently knowing what she wanted.

"No," he blurted out, with unexpected irritation. "Stop it. Don't do this to me."

"What?" she whispered, confused.

"I can't," he replied sharply, curiously offended. "So don't ask me. I'm not going to promise you that we'll see each other again," he specified, seeing that she was still looking at him uncertainly. "That we'll be together. That your situation, or mine, can be changed. I'm not going to lie to you about something like that just because we're saying goodbye. And I'm not going to promise you that I won't do what I'm told to do. Whatever. That I'm going to stay out of it and I'm not going to commit atrocities. That I'm not going to kill people. It's a war. I can't promise you... anything."

Now it was Hermione who was shaking her head, still looking him in the eye. Immutable at his words. Her thumbs rubbed his forearms. Telling him that it was all unnecessary. That she already knew.

"It's nothing like that," Hermione murmured, quietly. "I just... I need you to promise me that you're going to be all right. As all right as you can in the middle of this bloody war that's coming. That you'll stay alive. It may sound absurd, but that's all I want. I may never see you again, I don't care," she tightened her grip around his raised forearms, proving she was lying, "but only if I know for certain that you're capable of surviving. I just gave Hogwarts to Voldemort to keep you alive, so you'd better live, Draco Malfoy," she scanned his face with her eyes as she spoke. "Don't let anyone kill you. Or I swear by all that's holy, I'll go to hell to find you."

Draco barely noticed that she had stopped talking. Her voice was still echoing in his head. He found it hard to fully understand what he was hearing. That she wanted that for him. That, despite everything he'd done, what he'd done to her, she was still concerned for his safety.

He blinked. He tried to bring himself back to her, back to reality. Making a superhuman effort not to think. He looked at that face, barely able to remember at that point what it was like to feel hatred or disgust towards her. He was aware of having felt it at some point, of having manifested it, but he evoked it as if it had been a past life.

And now she was there. Asking him to take care of himself above all else. Resigning herself to see him go, to separate forever. To break a bond they never thought they could develop. A place in their lives they never thought the other could occupy. To stop giving the person in front of them an importance they had been acquiring without even planning it. They hadn't planned any of that. But it was possible. There they were. And the spoilt side of Draco never thought he'd have to give up something that made him feel so good. And he was still learning to manage it, holding back the urge to stamp his feet on the ground like a child and blame everyone but himself.

He wished he could tell her all that. If there was ever a time, that was it. But he sensed that his own eyes were being more frank and translucent than he could ever be with words. She could always read his gaze. Taking in the feelings she saw in his eyes that he never spoke aloud. Making it easier for him, even though she didn't have to.

"They wouldn't even let you cross the foyer from hell, Granger," he finally murmured, still lost in her gaze. He couldn't promise her what she wanted. And he hoped she understood.

Hermione's lips trembled in a hint of a smile. She wanted to cry. She needed to cry. But her thoroughness with herself won out over that need. Draco was heading straight for an impending war. To the front line of battle. He was in Voldemort's closest circle. He would have to fight. She needed to tell him something else, and she didn't want to do it in between sobs. And his hands were still on her face. He was still with her. She could break later.

"You're very proficient at duelling," Hermione said then, her tone more practical and hurried. Trying to say as much as she could before she couldn't anymore. Remembering everything Harry had taught her during their time in Dumbledore's Army. "You have that advantage, but it's not enough. You need more reflexes. A duel to the death requires not thinking. To act. Automatically. Practise, as much as you can. Speed, and technique. Learn spells that are executed quickly. There are duelling books that —" She fell silent, suddenly feeling ridiculous. He just stared at her. Mute. Letting her say whatever she wanted. Hermione closed her eyes, biting her lip. "It doesn't matter. Forget it. Please, just... take care of yourself."

Her voice broke. And she wasn't sure if it was because of herself or because Draco's fingers were suddenly digging into the back of her neck. Pulling her down until she was buried in his chest. He released her face so he could wrap his arms around her shoulders. Hermione managed to wrap hers around his sides. Running her hands down the solidity of his back. Trying to memorise how it felt. Where his waist was, and his shoulders. The hardness of his shoulder blades. Pressing her face into his robes, not caring if she couldn't breathe.

"You'd better run away from all this or I swear I'll come back from hell just to get you out," Draco uttered then, close to her ear. With such aplomb, Hermione was sure he was telling the truth.

She closed her eyes tightly. Letting the tears bite at her lashes. And she knew she would never feel as protected in anyone's arms as she felt at that moment, wrapped in the body of a Draco Malfoy dressed in the robes of a Death Eater.

But time was against them.

She saw the shine. She saw the green light behind her closed eyelids. She opened them, and raised her face a little, reaching to see over the boy's shoulder. And the world spun faster than them again.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, breathless.

The boy loosened his embrace, startled by her tone. He separated from her to look into her eyes. The first thing he saw were the trails of tears on her skin. Second, the look of alarm on her face, staring up at the sky behind him. Third, the greenish glow that tinged her skin, and a reflection of the same colour in her crystalline eyes.

Draco turned his head and looked up. The shocking emerald colour glowed brightly in the night sky, dulling the rays of a moon that could do nothing against dark magic. A huge skull, with a snake protruding from its mouth, decorated the sky above Hogsmeade. Apparently, Death Eaters no longer bothered to hide their presence, so sure were they of themselves. Or they thought it absurd, after the commotion in the village.

In any case, the Dark Mark took over the night, illuminating the grounds with its gloomy greenish light. Ending the countdown. Draco looked back at the village. There was no longer any light from the spells, only the flickering illumination of the fire.

He turned to the girl with urgency on his face.

"They're coming over. You have to go. Now. Go back to the Quidditch pitch, they won't find you there. Hide under the stands, and get out of here when things calm down," his eyes were locked on hers, as if he was looking for the slightest hint of objection in them. As if daring her to protest. "Your friends will manage without you. They don't need you, they have Dumbledore. Give me your word that you will."

Hermione hesitated for a brief moment. Then she nodded. Pretending to be painfully resigned. But with no intention of obeying him.

She took a quick glance at the Whomping Willow, swaying gently in the night wind. Some of its branches moved lazily, with no one nearby to attack. Nothing could be heard yet. No voice calling for them to stop the violent branches so they could pass. She looked at the boy again. Everything was going to be all right. He was going to get them into the castle. They would trust him. He would be safe. He was right, she had to go. The worst thing that could happen would be for her to be found there with him. That would jeopardise everything.

Hermione, her expression determined, reached her hands over his shoulders and grabbed his black hood. He blinked, confused at her sudden gesture, but he kept his eyes on her. Hermione pulled the hood over his head herself, creating shadows on his features. She held the sides of his face, stood on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead against his. Hard. Squeezing her eyelids as tightly as she could. She felt Draco lower his face further, pressing his cheek to hers. Their lips moved closer. Hermione, out of caution, moved a few centimetres in the other direction.

"Don't kiss me," she begged. In an almost inaudible whisper. "Please don't kiss me."

And Draco didn't. Nor did he intend to. Not if he intended to leave.

Hermione released her grip on his face and reached for his hands, fallen to the sides of his body. She squeezed them. Interlacing their fingers. Rubbing his skin hard, carelessly, almost anxiously. The last time they were going to touch.

"Leave," Draco ordered, in a stable murmur. Without releasing her hands, he slipped them between their bodies and used them to push her gently from the abdomen. Pushing her away from him.

The girl took a couple of steps back. She looked into his eyes. Leaden under the hood. She released only one of his hands. Despite his words, his fingers imprisoned hers. Allowing her good sense to take control of her feet, she stepped back a little further and felt her hand slipping from his. She felt his thumb drag one last time across the backs of her fingers. Squeezing very hard.

They released their hands.

Hermione spun around, taking a breath of air as she turned her back to him. She ran. Fingers numb. Still feeling the boy's grip on them. And she was startled to realise that their last direct eye contact had been so brief that she could not remember it clearly.

---

In the seventh-year boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, Neville's thunderous snoring was suddenly interrupted. The boy let out a residual grunt, then a sleepy groan. His roommates stirred in their beds as well. Something could be heard. A strange, continuous noise that had woken them all.

Seamus snorted and pulled the blanket off his head, scrutinising the darkness.

"What is that?" he asked, his voice thick. Dean shifted in the bed next to him, but didn't get up.

"I don't know, but make it stop. I want to sleep."

"What are you doing? Where's it coming from?" Seamus insisted, groggily, sitting up when he saw that the sound continued. Neville sat up straight as well, his hair dishevelled.

"It's not me..."

"Dean, are you fucking hungry or what?" Seamus mumbled, his tone lazily mocking. The alluded one uttered a disbelieving reproach against the blankets.

"How can it be my stomach, you twit?"

"It's coming from your bed. What have you got there?" the boy's lethargic voice sounded amused. Dean pulled the pillow from under his head and threw it at his friend.

"It's not me!"

"Harry and Ron aren't here," Neville said then, sounding a little more awake.

"What?" Dean mumbled, coming out from under the blankets at last. He reached for his wand and lit the candle on his bedside table. The three of them looked at their roommates' empty beds. "Well, it's true..."

"Where did they go?" Neville wondered uneasily, swinging his legs out of bed. "Did you see them last night?"

"I don't know, I fell asleep early," Dean admitted, yawning. He rubbed his eyes. "Exams and stuff... I can't believe that, for a day we can sleep in, this is happening."

"Well, where's that noise coming from?" Seamus insisted, pulling the covers off his body too.

"Isn't it coming from...?" Neville got out of bed altogether and walked, barefoot, with clumsy steps, over to the next bed. "Yes, it's louder in here. It's coming from Harry's things. It's a buzzing sound."

"Harry's got something that buzzes?" Seamus joked, more relaxed, still in his bed. He laughed heartily and made Dean grin. "Who would have thought...?"

Neville put his ear to the mattress, to the bedside table, and ended up stopping by the trunk at the foot of the bed. He lifted the lid, but then looked at his other roommates with hesitation on his face.

"Is it all right if...?"

"It's all right, man!" Seamus complained. He got off his bed and walked over. He nudged Neville out of the way and leaned over the trunk himself. "There's something moving in here and making noise, we'll have to stop it..."

"Where have they gone?" Dean insisted, looking at the empty, made-up beds. "If they get caught out there at this hour they're really going to get into trouble... Shall I go downstairs and see if they're in the Common Room?"

"No need, look, it's this that's making the noise... Oh, shit!"

Seamus took out a small object wrapped in an old sock and placed it on the bedside table quickly. It was a small glass spinning top that, now that it had been removed from its precarious woollen wrapping, was spinning at full speed and making shrill noises. Neville put his hands to his ears.

"What on earth is that?" he shrieked above the noise.

"A Sneakoscope!" Seamus replied, also louder than usual. Dean gestured that he hadn't heard anything, and his friend repeated it.

"How do you stop it?" Dean questioned then, loudly. "It's going to wake up the whole tower!"

"I don't know, it's supposed to spin and whistle when there's danger!" Seamus explained.

"Danger?" Neville snapped, uneasy.

Dean shook his head, then mimicked Neville and covered his ears with two fingers.

"It must be broken! Put it away again!"

Seamus did so, wrapping it in the sock in a hurry. He stuffed it into the bottom of the trunk, under his roommate's clothes, and closed the lid as if enclosing a wild animal. There was still a faint buzzing sound, the same one that had woken them. Perhaps a little more muffled.

He looked at the others, trying to conceal his concern. The silence that fell over the dormitory was somewhat tense.

"Tomorrow, when we see Harry, we'll tell him it's broken," Seamus said, with false assurance.

"Are you sure it's... broken?" Neville muttered. His shoulders stiffened. And his round face twitched with unease.

"Of course it is. There's no other explanation," Dean murmured, shrugging his shoulders. "There's no danger anywhere near here. Apart from the exam results, obviously."

---

Hermione hurried through the door behind the greenhouses, making sure to leave it open behind her. She ran as fast as she could ever remember running through the cold, deserted, windowless stone corridors. Without stopping to breathe. Her mind was whirring. She had too much to think about to let the sadness wash over her. She could feel her breath hitching in anguish, but that was all. She had no time. She had too much to do.

She pushed open a door with her shoulder and reached the Entrance Hall. Deserted, as expected. Illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through a few tall windows. All the students were asleep. And the Death Eaters would be here in a matter of minutes. They would catch them all, too dazed and sleepy to defend themselves. Caught completely by surprise. It would be a massacre.

Draco was safe now. And she had to save Hogwarts. Or as many people as she could. She would never forgive herself for not doing everything in her power.

What had happened in Hogsmeade, and the presence of the Dark Mark, ironically, had made it all easier. A sliver of good luck in the midst of that nightmare. It was the excuse she needed to warn that the Death Eaters were coming. She could have seen it with her own eyes. No one had to know that Draco was behind it.

Before her, the doors of the Great Hall, closed at this hour. To her right, the imposing front doors, with the huge gears that corresponded to the bolts, activated. To his left was the Marble Staircase. And, below it, a discreet doorway. Filch's office. And a yellowish light was pouring through the cracks. He was still doing his patrol of the castle before he went to bed.

She strode towards it, panting, and drew her wand as she did so. She hesitated for a moment, agitated. Every second was ticking by, and that was precisely why she needed to get things right. Professor McGonagall's office was on the first floor. It was the closest.

"Expecto Patronum!" she exclaimed, waving her wand. White light shot out from the tip, taking shape, creating a lithe, adorable white otter that swam around her in the air. "Professor, the Death Eaters are on the grounds. They have attacked Hogsmeade. We must evacuate everyone immediately."

As the otter sped away, lighting up the Marble Staircase in its way, Hermione was already yanking open the unnoticed wooden door at the side of the staircase.

"MR FILCH!" she shouted, stepping into the office. The puny caretaker let out a loud snore and craned his neck suddenly. He had fallen asleep in his chair, his head hanging uncomfortably. Mrs Norris, in the corner, meowed loudly and ruffled the hair on his back.

"How dare you, you little brat...?" began the sleepy man, his voice pasty and his eyes fierce, lined with wrinkles. Focusing on her with difficulty.

"Death Eaters!" Hermione howled over the old squib's shaky, panting voice. "They've conjured the Dark Mark in Hogsmeade! They're on their way here! We've got to wake everyone up!"

---

"Set you free?" Harry repeated, in a whisper. His words reverberated softly in the giant cavern. Ron, beside him, had his mouth half-open.

"Yes, set me free," Wyvern of Wye corroborated, his voice deep in Harry's mind.

"Why?" stammered the young Potter. Puzzled. His mind at full speed. "Why should we do such a thing?"

"Because my presence here is no longer a secret. There's someone else besides you two who knows I'm down here. I've known for months that he's been looking for me, which is why I was trying to communicate with you and lure you down here. But you were too far away for my communication to be clear..."

Harry wasn't sure he understood the situation. He rubbed his forehead absently. His head was starting to ache again, probably due to having been mentally communicating with the dragon for so long. His mind was beginning to feel foggy, and he was having trouble concentrating on the conversation.

"Well, what difference does it make, really?" he questioned somewhat sharply. "You have nothing to worry about. If you say that no wizard can kill you..."

"I'm not afraid that wizard will kill me. I do not fear death. What will happen if you don't free me is that he will find me, and use me to do dreadful things, things you can't even imagine."

"That won't happen," Harry protested, frowning. Impatient. "No one else knows how to get down here. Without your directions, we would never have made it. There's no way that wizard can get to you."

The dragon laughed condescendingly. Almost lazily. And though his surly voice sounded abnormally soft, the boy didn't like hearing him laugh like that.

"You have no idea, Harry Potter. You don't understand what he's capable of. And you, before anyone else, should understand."

"What does that mean?" Harry mumbled, beginning to get annoyed. He rubbed his forehead again with the back of his hand. The fringe was bothering his skin.

"Can you think of any wizard who would be capable of something as powerful as finding a dragon hidden for thousands of years, capturing it, and using it to commit atrocities?" Wyvern of Wye asked, in a whisper too gentle to be normal for someone his size. "Do you know of anyone capable of controlling millennia-old magical creatures?"

Harry stared at him, static. He was lost in those empty, white, lifeless eyes. Suddenly, like a sequence from an old movie, a fleeting image flashed into his mind, slightly distorting the dragon's face and replacing it with something very similar: yellow eyes, a similar face, long fangs, a terrifying hiss, a gigantic serpent, the King of Serpents... When he understood, when his mind assimilated what the dragon wanted to tell him, terror rose up his back, making his skin crawl in its wake. He felt he needed to hold on to something.

It was impossible.

"Voldemort?" he whispered, breathless. Ron flinched at the mention of the dark wizard and looked at his friend in disbelief.

"What?" he gasped, anxious.

"Voldemort intends to find the dragon and use it to... I don't know, conquer the wizarding world, I suppose," Harry summarised, shaking his head at the same time. "But that's not going to happen!" he then exclaimed, turning to Wyvern of Wye again. "Voldemort will never get into Hogwarts! You're safe here! It's the only place you'll ever be safe!"

The dragon's contemptuous laughter echoed through his mind for the third time. And Harry felt a new kind of terror come over him. Feeling unprepared for what was coming.

"He's already here, Harry Potter."

Harry, again bringing his hand to his forehead, stopped in mid-motion.

"What?" he managed to articulate, almost speechless.

"The Dark Lord is entering the castle grounds as we speak. And you can't stop him now. He has won. The only thing you can do now, to prevent further damage, is to free me and get me away from him..."

"RON!" cried Harry then, raising a hand to his forehead. Now he understood. It wasn't his head that had been hurting for a long time, but his old lightning bolt scar. The same throbbing pain that always told him that Voldemort was near.

"Harry...?" his friend mumbled, totally disoriented. And frightened.

"Voldemort's here!" Harry frantically stormed, turning to face him. He rested his fingertips on his scar, as if he could hold something back. "He's in the castle! We've got to go up there, right now!"

"What?!" Ron panicked, stiff as a stake. Froze in place. "Wait... What? How— ?"

"I don't know, but we have to go up! We have to help! NOW!" Harry shouted, pulling his friend by the arm towards the exit.

But a loud roar echoed through the cave, making both friends scream in shock. They covered their ears and hunched over, as gravel fell from the ceiling and fell all around them. The dragon's mouth had opened to emit such a terrible sound. The cavity was pitch black, as was his narrow tongue. The membranes on either side of his mouth, which seemed to place a limit on the opening of his jaws, vibrated with the sound waves. His teeth were plentiful, short, but sharp as swords, along with four enormous fangs capable of piercing even another dragon's skin.

"You're not going anywhere, Harry Potter!" Wyvern of Wye roared in his head. Making the boy howl again, in sheer shock. He felt like his skull was going to crack from the inside if he kept screaming like that. "You have to free me! If you don't, it'll be the end of everything!"

Harry stared at him, panting. Dizzy. Too agitated to think. How did he know it wasn't a trap? How did he know that everything Wyvern of Wye had told him wasn't a lie? What if he wanted to join Voldemort? How could he make such an important decision in such a short time?

"What's the matter?" Ron exclaimed, seeing Harry frozen in place. "What's he saying to you?" When he got no answer from his friend, he tugged at the sleeve of his robes. "Come on, let's go!"

"I..." Harry stammered, stumbling, still staring at the creature. "He says I have to set him free..."

"That can wait!" Ron shouted, wide-eyed, now grabbing him by the arm. "If indeed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is here, we have more important things to do! We must go up now! Forget the dragon! We'll deal with him later!"

"In the hands of the Dark Lord, I can do more damage than you can imagine! Release me so I can go!" the dragon shouted again. "He's coming for me!"

Suddenly, a distant explosion silenced everyone in the cave. As if a tree had fallen to the bottom of a cliff, the echo reverberated for long seconds. Stones from the ceiling fell all around them. And now the dragon hadn't moved. Ron stifled a desperate groan.

"Harry, let's go upstairs!" He tugged at his robes again. "We've got to find Hermione...!"

"Harry Potter! You must free me!"

"... and Ginny! They can hurt them!"

"There's no time left!"

"HARRY!"

But the young Potter had heard enough. He shoved Ron away without looking at him and raised his wand, pointing it at the dragon. The creature's voice suddenly stopped inside his head. A moment later, Harry lowered his wand and pointed it at the giant chain hanging from the shackle around his hind leg.

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" he shouted decisively.

The chain exploded, fleetingly illuminating the cave, and snapped between two thick rings with a loud clinking sound. Part of it dangled from the trap that still encircled the dragon's leg, but it didn't matter.

He was free.

A new roar echoed through the cavern. Wyvern of Wye straightened himself as tall as he was, standing on his hind legs until he almost brushed the ceiling with his massive head. He spread his wings, at full extension, on either side of his body. Raising a strong current of air that knocked Harry and Ron to the ground. They rolled uncontrollably to a stop near the entrance, covered in dirt.

The sound he made to celebrate his freedom seemed to have no end. The two boys were forced to cover their ears with their arms in desperation, still lying on the ground. Then the dragon dropped his weight back onto his front legs. Making the floor rumble, and Harry and Ron's little bodies bounce like the stones around them, like rag dolls. They looked up in time to see Wyvern of Wye turning around, his back to them, and advancing with surprising speed for his enormous wingspan towards the bottom of the cave. Towards the underground lake. Taking a strangely graceful leap, he plunged headlong into the lake, disappearing from sight amidst a colossal wave that missed them by only a few feet. A shower of sweet drops drenched their faces and clothes.

When the waters stopped churning furiously, silence reigned in the cave. So thick that it was shuddering. The dragon had disappeared into the lake. He must have known a passage to reach the outside, apparently by diving.

Harry felt Ron clutch his arm urgently, both of them still on the ground.

"Harry... Let's go!"

---

Students running down the fourth-floor corridor stopped suddenly, terrified to see a mirror decorating the wall explode. Those closest to them scrambled out of the way, avoiding the shards of glass. Several raised their wands, ready to fight. But they instantly lowered them again when they saw a panting Harry Potter appear through a secret passageway.

The young man emerged from the wreckage of the mirror, slipping on the shards, and looked around, taking in the frantic situation. His scar began to burn more intensely and he forced himself to ignore it. The corridor was crowded with students in pyjamas of all colours. Some had stopped to look at what was happening in the mirror, confused. Others were still running.

"What's going on?" asked Harry instantly, out of breath, to a blond boy standing in front of him. "Where are you going?"

"They're evacuating the castle," said the young man, his voice a little high-pitched with nerves. Judging by his look, he seemed to be a fifth-year. "Through the fireplaces. They've connected the Floo Network. We're going to the Ravenclaw Common Room."

"Why?" asked Ron, who had come out of the mirror behind Harry. He leaned against the wall to regain his composure. His legs were shaking from the hurried walk up the stairs they had had to make to get back there. The blond boy looked at him uneasily.

"They're saying that You-Know-Who is at the school," he revealed, his voice trembling. All around him, people were still running, and he seemed to be eager to join them. "I don't know if it's true. But Slughorn has told us to come up immediately."

"No, I mean, why are you going to Ravenclaw?" Ron protested, frowning. "I know you, you're a Hufflepuff, why don't you use your fireplace?"

"They say the Death Eaters are in the Entrance Hall," said a red-haired girl who was walking past them at the time and had overheard them, stopping just long enough to speak. "It looks like they're trying to get to the nearest Common Rooms first. And those are Slytherin and Hufflepuff. The professors have closed them off, but there won't be time to evacuate all the students before the Death Eaters get to them. Slughorn has made us go out in groups, and told us to go up the inner passages."

"Any news from the Slytherins yet?" asked another curly-haired young man. He was standing by the mirror, wand in hand, but no longer pointing at Harry or Ron after recognising them as students. "I heard Sprout say that they didn't know how to get them out. That the Death Eaters had them surrounded. They're evacuating everyone they can through their fireplace, and they were thinking of closing and barricading the Common Room."

"With them inside? That's madness," Harry protested, incredulous. He started down the corridor at full speed, followed by Ron. The students they were talking to also joined them, relieved to finally get moving. "They have to get them out any way they can. If they lock them inside, they're handing them over to Voldemort on a plate. The Death Eaters will find a way in..."

"They've started to get them out too," said another, taller boy, who caught up with them in long strides. He seemed a little calmer than the rest, and he also had his wand in his hand. "I've seen two second years. Only Snape and Slughorn are taking care of them, and I think they cannot cope. They're being taken in large groups up the passageway behind the tapestry in the Potions corridor. That one's clear of Death Eaters for the moment."

"Snape," Harry muttered in return. Between his teeth. "Snape had to have known this was going to happen, I'm sure..."

"Has anyone seen Hermione Granger?" Ron asked for his part, picking up his pace urgently. "And Ginny Weasley? From Gryffindor?"

He looked around, scanning the faces around him. Many shook their heads apologetically.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know them," one girl muttered as Ron made eye contact with her. Harry moved faster, his heartbeat suffocating him. Hermione... Knowing her, she'd be looking for them. Or fighting alongside the professors. Without them. He felt the strain rise in his throat; the helplessness that he wasn't helping his friend, overwhelming him. The inevitable thought that she might be in trouble. But he gained nothing by thinking like that. Letting himself panic. Surely she was fine. They would find her imminently. They would never be separated.

They came to a wide staircase perpendicular to their corridor, leading up from the third floor, up which dozens of students were ascending at a jog. With diverse and anxious expressions, stumbling over each other. Shouts and voices could be heard. The students next to Harry and Ron left their company and joined the mass. Without joining them yet, Harry stretched and tried to look for a familiar face from his position. An unmistakable shock of brown hair. Long red hair framing hundreds of freckles...

"Seamus!" he heard a voice emerge from the sea of students, amidst the various shouts. A voice that sounded familiar. "Seamus!"

Harry craned his neck more urgently, trying to locate its owner. Ron, taller than him, suddenly tugged at his sleeve, his eyes fixed on something.

"It's Dean," Ron muttered, above the murmur of voices, trying to make eye contact with his classmate. "And Neville too... Hey!" he shouted, waving his long arm towards the bottom of the stairs. "GUYS!"

Harry let out a gasp of relief. He saw that they were indeed alive when Neville emerged from the crowd to stand in front of them.

"Ron!" he exclaimed, relieved, breaking into an anguished smile. "Harry," he breathed later, seeing him at his side. He put a hand on each of their shoulders. His hair was dishevelled, pointing in all directions. His round face was covered in sweat. "Thank Merlin you're all right... Dean, over here!" he shouted over his shoulder, almost breathless, looking for his other classmate. But he was already pushing his way in front of them. His appearance was similar to Neville's.

"Guys!" he exclaimed, wheezing. He also gave a quick smile. But his eyes looked frantic. "Where did you come from? Have you seen Seamus?"

"No," Harry replied, feeling an instant lump in his throat. "We were... busy. Where did you separate?"

"We were in Professor McGonagall's office," Neville informed him quickly. "Her fireplace was also being used for evacuation; the ones in the Common Rooms are getting overcrowded. We were helping the students... but the Death Eaters have already got there. We got away by the skin of our teeth," he pointed to the crowd behind him. "We got separated then. It was chaotic..."

"They say the fireplace in the Defence Against the Dark Arts office is still passable, but only for a little while longer," Dean added. As he scanned the crowd behind him. "Some of the teachers were fighting there, on the first floor. Several are in the Headmaster's office corridor, and others are on the other side, in front of the Defence classroom office..."

"We were going down to help, but we wanted to find Seamus first," added Neville, nodding, staring at his worried friend.

Harry nodded affirmatively as well. Putting going to the first floor on his to-do list. But he sensed that, if the teachers were holding off the Death Eaters, no one was protecting the students. Covering their way to the fireplaces.

"Who's leading the students, then? How are they getting to the Common Rooms? We've been told they're evacuating through Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. That Hufflepuff and Slytherin are in imminent reach of Death Eaters and are not safe."

Neville and Dean looked at each other. With a hint of pride in their eyes.

"We've been trying to gather as many members of Dumbledore's Army as possible in as short a time as possible," Neville confessed, looking sheepishly elated. Trying not to smile. "We've sent out Patronuses to everyone. The floors have been distributed and they are giving directions to the students. Susan and Zacharias haven't responded, but Justin and Hannah have made it out of their Common Room and I think they're on the other side of this floor, leading the people up the shortcut by the Library. They have spoken to Luna to find out how to get into the Ravenclaw Common Room."

"We don't know where Michael Corner is," Dean remembered, "But Terry Boot is with the Creeveys, they've divided up the fifth floor. Leading everyone to our Common Room."

"Parvati's gone to find Padma," Neville added, his voice cracking slightly. He had to swallow to continue, "She hasn't answered the message and she's been... worried."

Everyone was silent for a moment, unable to meet each other's eyes. Assimilating that fact. The reality. The irrefutable danger of the situation. The irremediable possibility that their friends and classmates were disappearing forever around them.

"Lavender had gone down to the first floor to see if the other passage directly up to the sixth was clear of Death Eaters," Dean continued, lowering his voice. Sensing that Neville could no longer speak. Struggling to go on. "We don't know anything yet. I hope she's all right. I'm sure she is," he added, with a little more energy. "Oh, and Ernie was trying to open the Room of Requirement to see if there's a way to create another exit out of here."

Harry tried to listen, but he was shaking. He was struggling to hold back the moisture in his eyes. Dumbledore's Army was fighting back. It had been no child's play. They were all fighting with everything they had. And Harry hoped they had enough to stand up to Lord Voldemort's followers. Or the guilt would eat him up.

He swallowed, pulling himself together. He clenched his fingers against his wand tighter. He needed to keep a cool head. He knew his friends were watching him, waiting for further instructions.

Distant noises could be heard. Explosions. Heavy objects falling. Perhaps collapses. Everyone tensed their shoulders, scrutinising the air around them. But it was coming from the lower floors.

"All right. But does anyone understand how we got to this point?" Harry urged, squeezing his scar with his fingers. The burning was beginning to be hard to ignore. "How did they get in here?"

"The professors took us out of our beds about an hour ago," Neville reported efficiently, his voice trembling. "But no one knows anything. And they say that You-Know-Who himself is here. That's all we've heard. In fact, in the dormitory, we heard your —"

But he was interrupted by a loud tremor that shook the floor. Screams surrounded them. They clung to each other, trying to keep their stability. Neville fell on his arse, and like him many others. The people coming up the stairs lost their balance, falling on top of each other and blocking the way of those behind them.

Nothing else happened, but it wasn't necessary. The panic increased. The volume of the screams increased. They saw people who seemed to be being crushed, barely rescued by others, as everyone tried to move up as quickly as possible. There seemed to be fierce fighting between the teachers and the Death Eaters on the lower floors.

"Where's Ginny?" Ron moaned, then, his expression broken. Still digging his nails into Harry's forearm, where he'd been holding on. "Where's my sister?"

"We haven't seen her," Dean admitted more quietly, pulling Neville to help him up from the floor. "Sorry... Maybe she's already gone through the Common Room fireplace. The Gryffindors, by sheer proximity, were being the first to be evacuated."

Harry had to take a breath to puff out his chest again, to keep himself straight. His sternum heaved. Ron groaned forlornly beside him and scanned his surroundings. His blue eyes glistened with tears.

"She'd never leave without me. Without us..."

"What about Hermione?" Harry asked then, managing to catch his breath. His heart pounding in his ribs. "Did you see her?"

"Yes, we did, she was on the sixth floor," Neville confirmed, nodding frantically. "She was going to the entrance to the passageway next to the boys' bathroom. To guide the Slytherin students exiting through there to our Common Room."

Harry and Ron barely shared a fleeting glance. They started up the stairs at the same time, into the crowd, followed by Neville and Dean.

---

Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes shone brightly behind half-moon spectacles. He was standing in his office by his wide window, scrutinising the dark grounds. Another tremor shook the floor, but he barely flinched. The light of the Dark Mark, shining high in the sky, reflected on the window pane, on the old Headmaster's spectacles and in his clear eyes.

He dropped his eyelids and his head. His hand trembled as he brought it to his long beard and stroked it, dejected and thoughtful.

"He's done it..."

A white light emerged from nowhere at his back. He turned slowly and found a glowing Patronus in the shape of a cat, with spectacle-like markings around its eyes, sitting on the carpet. The feline opened its mouth and spoke in the exalted voice of Minerva McGonagall:

"Albus, they're on their way up! They're on the third floor! He's here! Lord Voldemort is here!"

"Thank you for the introduction, Minerva."

A cold, lifeless voice rose from the doorway. It was suddenly wide open, but the Headmaster had not heard a single creak of wood. Dumbledore stood as tall as he was. His features became more serene, but his eyes flashed.

"Good evening, Tom. Let me tell you that I think it is utterly cowardly to attack us in the middle of the night."

Lord Voldemort entered the room, almost slithering, his long robes dragging on the floor behind him. He passed through Professor McGonagall's Patronus, turning it into a wispy cloud of smoke that surrounded him and immediately extinguished. Tom Riddle stood in the middle of the office, his white bare feet on the soft carpet.

"Do you think this is the right time for good manners?" he sneered, with a smile that turned his lips into a thin line.

"I've always said that you can get anywhere, as long as you have good manners." Dumbledore turned fully round, facing his interlocutor with his back to the window. "I tried to instil it in you when you were a boy, and I must say I'm not entirely happy with the result. You have not knocked before coming to my castle."

Voldemort snorted through his nose, widening the slits he had for nostrils.

"I apologise," he snorted in a hiss. "I suppose the thrill of having conquered what belongs to me once and for all has clouded my good manners."

Dumbledore's face darkened. Shadows covered his expression, making the wrinkles in his skin appear deeper. The phoenix Fawkes, in his version of a tiny greyish bird, chirped, sunk in the smouldering ashes.

"Hogwarts does not belong to you. Just as you don't own the decision of who lives or dies in this castle," he pointed at the window. "End this, Tom."

Voldemort's expression did not alter, but he did begin to pace around the office, his hands behind his back. He had not drawn his wand and neither had Dumbledore.

"Don't you want to know how I managed to get in despite your extraordinary protections?" he questioned with slight derision, still pacing.

"I'd rather you just walked out of here without murdering anyone tonight."

Voldemort clicked his sharp tongue.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not going anywhere. But rest assured, my Death Eaters have strict orders not to kill anyone. We will not spill a single drop of magical blood today, you have my word. I thought you already knew that, and that's why you decided to stay hidden in your office and do nothing, while we made ourselves comfortable here."

"You know very well why I have stayed here," said the old man, raising his powerful voice. Voldemort let out a laugh, harsh, without a hint of joy.

"To make me come to you, to keep me busy, and to keep me away from your students. From them, and from little Harry Potter. Give them time to run away, right? I know you so well..."

"You're not going to touch a hair on Harry's head," Dumbledore replied. His firm tone could have intimidated anyone. But Lord Voldemort was not just anyone.

"Is that a threat I sense in your voice, Professor? I am surprised. It is not like you... But don't worry, we'll get to Harry Potter. First, you're going to tell me where what I've come for is to be found."

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment.

"Where's what?" he asked in a calmer voice. Voldemort's face twitched as if he were trying to smile patronisingly and swallow his anger at the same time.

"I have no time to spare, Dumbledore," he whispered through his teeth. He ran his bifid tongue across his thin lips. "Tell me where it is hidden. You know I've come to look for it."

"Forgive me, Tom, but I don't know what —" Albus repeated, undeterred. Voldemort instead stopped his walk and looked at him, his face tense with anger.

"Do you need me to break my word and murder every student in this school one by one to refresh your memory?" he questioned in a whisper, bowing his head in mock deference. Dumbledore did not blink.

"Sanguinem e lapide exire non potes," said the headmaster solemnly. Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It could be translated as 'you can't get out blood from a stone'. It's a Muggle proverb," Albus explained lightly. He turned his back on him, nonchalantly, and continued to stare out the window. "You can't take from me what I don't know. And killing my students won't solve that."

"Allow me to correct you, Dumbledore," Voldemort articulated, now standing stiff as a stake in the middle of the office. "My students. The school belongs to me now. And so do you."

"Oh, yes, of course I do," Albus corroborated, unperturbed. Still with his back turned. "Because I'm giving myself willingly. I am giving you my life in exchange for the lives of my students and Harry Potter. The life of the boy who destroyed you doesn't compare to mine, does it? Our history goes back to before Harry Potter, your desire to be superior to me has been eating away at you for years. Finishing Harry can wait a little longer... Well, here I am. I'm not going to run away."

Voldemort was silent for a few seconds. He did not move. Then he just blinked.

"You think you know too much, Dumbledore. You always make the same mistake. You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"I also know you won't kill me now. Not here, not like this, not unarmed. It would be too easy, and you've been waiting a long time for this moment. You're not going to waste my life, murdering me without having any fun. What did you have in mind for me, Tom?"

The corner of the Dark Lord's mouth twitched in a slight spasm.

"Elegant and brave to the end, weren't you, Dumbledore?" He sighed very slowly. "Pathetic. Do you think your useless teachers will be able to hold us for long? By the time the Ministry Aurors come to your rescue, Hogwarts will be mine, and they won't be able to set foot in here. Even you can't deny that I've won."

"You've only won the first battle, Tom," replied the Headmaster, his eyes fixed on the glowing Dark Mark again. "The war begins now."

"And you're not going to take part in it." Suddenly, in Voldemort's hand, his long, dark wand materialised. He pointed it at Dumbledore's back. "Say goodbye to Hogwarts, Albus."

---

"You need to go that way," Hermione said to the first boy in the new group of Slytherin students who had just crossed the tapestry. The boy who stood before her to listen carefully was a young student, probably a third year. He looked very frightened, and Hermione couldn't blame him. She pointed to the end of the corridor with a firm finger, "In that direction. Turn left and go up some stairs. Do you know the Arithmancy classroom? It's just next door, up a few steps." Several other students were coming out from behind the tapestry and also stopped to listen. "It's a huge painting with a portrait of a very fat lady. She will signal you as soon as she sees you, you can't miss it. It should be open, and a red-haired girl called Ginny should be at the door; but, if she isn't, the password is 'Gobstone'. Any questions?"

The young Slytherin boy shook his head vigorously. Several other students mimicked his gesture. Others just looked at her with suspicion and brittle hostility. They knew her, and they knew she was a Mudblood. People continued to arrive, stopping to listen as well. Hermione motioned for them to follow the first young man she had instructed, and those who had arrived immediately behind him.

The girl stood in place, watching them walk away. A few more people crossed the tapestry, and she simply directed them to follow the group. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was half past one in the middle of the night. There were still many students left. She doubted that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Houses had been completely evacuated, and to such a number of students had to be added those from Hufflepuff and Slytherin who were making their way upstairs. It was getting a bit of a backlog now that they couldn't access the fireplaces in the professors' offices. The chamber behind the staff table in the Great Hall had a fireplace, but was also unreachable, being in the Entrance Hall. She had heard that they were planning to evacuate as many Hufflepuff students as possible through the kitchen fireplaces, but she didn't know if it was working. As far as she knew, they only had two safe fireplaces to evacuate hundreds of students one at a time. And the Death Eaters were on their heels, going up floor by floor. With the only obstacle being a dozen teachers, ably versed in magic. Fortunately, some of the best wizards in all of England.

She wondered how things would go on the lower floors. She could hear nothing, in her solitude of the sixth-floor corridor. That placed the battle between professors and Death Eaters on at least the third floor. It still left them some room to manoeuvre. But how long would it take them to reach the towers? And what if they couldn't evacuate everyone?

She had mentally prepared herself for that more than likely possibility, but now that she was living through everyone's efforts to survive, she was having trouble wrapping her head around the idea.

Thank heavens, the castle had been mobilised at full speed. With surprising effectiveness. Filch sent a dizzying message from his fireplace to all the professors at the same time, and by the time he and Hermione left the office, McGonagall was already waiting for them at the top of the Marble Staircase, in her dressing gown, wand in hand. After that, everything was so chaotic that Hermione could hardly explain it clearly if anyone asked her to. They divided up the castle. They woke the students. They blocked the way from the Entrance Hall to prevent the Death Eaters from going upstairs. They mobilised Dumbledore's Army to coordinate the evacuation. And they had no time to think of anything but being faster than the enemy.

The greenish light of the Dark Mark streamed through the windows to her right, dimmed by the torches that surrounded her. She tried to take a deep breath in the silence. There were continuous shivers rising up her back. She wished she could have gone to fight alongside the teachers. Do something more dynamic, to keep her head busy.

But it wouldn't have been convenient. She had promised Draco that she would not return to the castle. That she would hide on the Quidditch pitch. There was no way he could see her there. He needed to stay focused on his task, and Hermione had no intention of being a distraction.

She closed her eyes. Loosening her chest and allowing it to shake in a single, contained sob. She couldn't stop, because, if she stopped, she would think. And she couldn't think. The thought of him with his hood up, with other Death Eaters, casting spells at his own teachers... He was a good duellist. He could defend himself. He'd be fine. He'd be fine. He would always be fine.

They had only hugged once. They were never going to see each other again, and they'd only hugged once. She should have hugged him more. More times. More tightly.

She tried to catch her breath. Hours ago, before midnight, they had hugged, too. She'd hugged him to remove that unbearable look he was giving her. She'd hugged him as he'd broken down in tears. She had hugged him with her naked torso, skin to skin. She had hugged him while he was shaking, his body covering hers...

Her hands, dropped to either side of her hips, clenched in a reflexive spasm around nothing. He was not there for her to hold. She wanted to hug him again.

She sensed the tapestry before her being pushed aside again and opened her eyes. A new group of students. This time, the first one was a girl. She appeared to be only a year or two younger than Hermione. Her eyes were twinkling with terror.

Hermione felt the adrenaline rush bring her back to life again. She blinked rapidly, blowing away the haze.

"You need to go in that direction," she said in a firm voice, pointing down the corridor again. "Turn left and go up some stairs. It's right next to the Arithmancy classroom, it's a —"

"HERMIONE!" shouted a voice behind her. The girl whirled around alertly, raising her wand in attack position, but let out an almost instantaneous groan of relief. Harry and Ron were running towards her at full speed from down the corridor, breaking wind, their robes billowing. Dean and Neville, in their pyjamas, came after them.

"Boys..." she whispered, out of breath.

She turned back to the students and gave them the final directions. By the time the group had raced off in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room, her friends had already reached her side. Hermione found herself suddenly imprisoned in Harry's arms as he pulled her close to him with all his might. She felt him gasp loudly in her ear, breathless. Hermione wrapped her arms around him too, clumsily, anxiously, letting out a sob against his neck.

"You're all right," Hermione hiccupped, shaking. "You're all right..." She looked over Harry's shoulder until she caught a glimpse of Ron, who had also stopped beside her. The boy reached out a hand to grasp her arm, his eyes filled with equal parts relief and anxiety. Hermione reached out and returned his grip. "You're all right... For a moment I thought —" But then she broke away from Harry and her face turned angry, "Where the hell were you?!" she demanded with sudden indignation, slapping one of them on the arm, then the other. "I was worried sick about you..."

"It's... long to explain," Harry said, after exchanging a quick glance with Ron. Neville and Dean were panting beside them, smiling silently at Hermione, relieved to see her safe and sound. "We'll tell you later... Do you know anything? How did this happen? How did they break in?"

Hermione's eyes locked onto him. Her eyelids trembled.

"I don't know, Harry... I don't know."

"Have you seen Ginny?" Ron asked then, his voice cracking. Hermione nodded instantly, pointing down the corridor behind her.

"She's at the entrance to the Fat Lady's portrait. She's helping the Hufflepuff and Slytherin students find their way. She's fine," Hermione hastened to assure him, emphatically.

Ron let out a groan of relief and threatened to faint, hunching over and covering his eyes with one hand. Hermione held him and gave him a quick, sympathetic smile.

"What's the plan now?" Neville asked quietly, still wheezing. Wand in hand. His dark eyes glittering. He scanned his friends one by one until he stopped at Harry. He was staring down the corridor, where Hermione had pointed out Ginny was. His expression was firm.

"Fight," Harry said with absolute certainty, still staring off into the distance. "Ron, you go with Ginny. Hermione, you keep leading the students. Neville and Dean, go and see how Ernie's getting on in the Room of Requirement. If he's found a way to create another exit, make sure the students get to it. I'm going to find Voldemort," he finished, his fist shaking from the force he used to clench his wand in his hand.

"No, Harry, don't even think about it," Hermione objected instantly. Holding his robes as if she feared he was going to run away. "You can't do something like that. You can't face him, especially not alone. It's suicide."

"I'll be with Dumbledore," the boy replied, adamant. "Together we can defeat him. We'll finish him once and for all."

A rueful glint flashed in Hermione's eyes.

"Harry, I haven't seen Dumbledore," she whispered, cautiously. "He wasn't with the teachers who were going to fight. Not the last time I saw them. And he's not on the Map either," she added in a lower whisper so that only he could hear.

"Neither do we," Dean corroborated, frowning. As if it had just dawned on him. "We passed through the corridor to his office while fleeing the Death Eaters, when we were attacked in McGonagall's office. And he wasn't fighting. We saw Sinistra, Hooch, and Trelawney, I think?"

"And McGonagall and Pomfrey, too, at the other entrance to the first floor," Neville added, remembering.

"What are you insinuating?" Harry interrupted, raising his voice. He was starting to get angry. "Well, Dumbledore must be fighting somewhere else. Somewhere, in the middle of a crowd," he looked at Hermione spitefully, as if that justified not seeing him on the Marauder's Map. "Maybe he's already facing Voldemort. I'll find him, and we'll face him together. We're not going to give Hogwarts to him without a fight."

"Harry..." Hermione whispered, trying to make him look her in the eye. "Harry, face it. This isn't the time to fight. The teachers aren't fighting. They're buying us time. Hogwarts is already theirs, we're just buying time to evacuate as many students as possible. We can't stop them, not like this. They've devastated Hogsmeade on their way here. There aren't enough of us. Especially with Lord Voldemort among them," she ignored Neville and Ron's shiver of terror and continued, "But we can still do something..."

"What?" Harry gasped, anxiously. Believing his friend had a master plan up her sleeve.

"Survive," Hermione said, holding him tighter. "We have to leave and plan what we're going to do next. We need to come up with a new plan once we're all safe."

"How... how are we going to leave and hand over the school to them!" Harry shouted, shocked. Taking a step back.

"The castle is the least of it," Hermione insisted, not budging. "Let them keep it. It's just... stone walls, Harry. It's the lives of those of us here that matter. We have to get everyone out of here..."

"You know perfectly well that we can't get all the students out before the Death Eaters get to the towers!" Harry snapped in return. His voice echoing off the cold walls. This statement was followed by several seconds of silence. Hermione shifted her gaze from one eye to the other of her friend.

"And you know Voldemort won't let himself be killed that easily," she hissed.

Harry snorted, stressed, and opened his mouth to say something. But there was only a deafening roar. Hermione shrieked in surprise and clamped her hands over her ears. Her friends did the same, unable to help but look around. Searching for the source of the terrible sound.

"What is that?!"

Suddenly, a huge shadow obscured the white moonlight, and the greenish light of the Dark Mark as well, casting a shadow down the corridor. Everyone turned in the direction of the windows, mouths agape. Huge, dark wings and a rough back were visible through the glass. A new roar was heard, which made them shrink in on themselves, but they did not look away. A thunderous flapping of wings was heard even with the windows closed, and the gigantic figure disappeared from their field of vision. Possibly rising into the sky. Neville, showing unusual courage, rushed to the window. Scanning the horizon.

"It's a —" he tried to stammer. "It's a —"

"Dragon," Harry corroborated, swallowing. He exchanged a brief glance with Ron and a longer one with Hermione. The girl was staring at him wild-eyed. "We've... free him. He's leaving," he added in a whisper.

Dean, who couldn't seem to move a muscle, not even to close his mouth, craned his neck to look at him. Stunned. Hermione had to hold onto Ron to keep from collapsing to the floor.

"Did you — ?" she began, in a frantic whisper.

"A dragon?" Dean repeated, pointing at the window. His black eyes were as wide as saucers. "Did you — did you — a dragon?"

"Where... where did it come from?" Neville stammered in turn, his voice trailing off.

At that moment another group of students crossed the tapestry. A nervous first-year boy led the way. He was shaking from head to toe, and looking around frantically. Everyone sensed that he and his classmates had heard the dragon's roars, but hadn't been able to see who they belonged to as they made their way through the bowels of the castle.

"We are the last Slytherins to come down this passage," the boy reported. Looking apprehensively at them. More students were coming out after him. "Slughorn has closed the entrance, he's coming after us. The Death Eaters have taken over the dungeons. There's a group going up to the fourth floor. The rest are trapped in the Common Room."

He recited it all as if someone had made him memorise it. Possibly an older student, or Snape, or Slughorn. Hermione swallowed but tried to regain control of herself. Needing to forget for the moment about the existence of this dragon who, against all odds, was the least of their problems.

"Are you sure you're the last ones to come this way?" she asked, serenely, making sure she could leave her position there. The boy nodded uneasily. She then hurried to explain how to get to the Common Room. Meanwhile, Ron turned back to the rest of his mates. Neville was still at the window. And Dean was still open-mouthed.

"There's no time to talk about that dragon," Ron said, straightening up slightly. Making Dean finally close his mouth. "We've got to move."

"You're not in favour of leaving," Harry replied. Almost threatening. Ron gave him an unusually stern look.

"Yes, Harry," he said, his voice firm, "I agree with Hermione that the best strategy right now is to survive, regroup, and come up with a plan to screw over these Death Eaters the next time we face them. Letting them kill us now wouldn't be very convenient. But, right now, all I care about is finding my sister."

At the mention of Ginny, a spark flashed in Harry's green eyes. He blinked, breathing hard. The last group of students were walking away. He scrutinised the walls around them. Unable to bear the thought of handing Hogwarts castle over to them without fighting it to his last breath.

A panting, thick-set Horace Slughorn then appeared across the tapestry. His moustache was hilariously dishevelled as he snorted loudly.

"What are you kids standing there for?" he exclaimed, catching his breath, as soon as he saw them. "Go to a Common Room immediately..."

"Professor, how are things on the lower floors?" Hermione asked, concerned. Horace took a deep breath before agreeing to answer.

"Rolanda just sent me a warning that they've had to retreat from the Entrance Hall. The Death Eaters have reached the dungeons. And they'll be making their way to the basement as we speak. We've managed to close them off on the third floor, but I don't know for how long," his voice cracked slightly, though he struggled to keep his composure, blinking rapidly and puffing out his huge chest. He pointed to the end of the corridor. "Go to the fireplaces, the one in your Common Room is —"

"Sir, where is Professor Dumbledore?" Harry interrupted him. The man blinked, slow to understand the question. His face fell, almost guiltily.

"I-I don't know, m'boy. I haven't seen him. Minerva is the one who —"

"How is that possible...?" Harry mumbled, spinning around in frustration. Ruffling his hair. He turned back to face his Potions teacher. "I want to help," he declared. "Are the other teachers on the third floor? I can —"

But he fell silent when he realised that Horace wasn't listening. His brow was furrowed, and he was looking over Harry's shoulder intently. Everyone turned, concerned, Harry included. A fox, bright and white as moonlight, was running towards them. With silent footsteps. Lighting the corridor far brighter than the torches. It stopped in front of them, twitching its pointed ears, as if it was glad to see them. Its small, sharp-fanged mouth opened and Seamus Finnigan's voice was heard, slightly panting.

"Dean, where are you? Are you all right? They've disconnected the Floo Network. The fireplaces are no longer working. And the Death Eaters have already gone up to the fourth floor. The teachers won't be able to do much more. There are students on the third and second floors who were on their way to the Ravenclaw Common Room, but we can't go find them. We don't know what to do."

The Patronus dissolved into a silver cloud that no one in the hall could look away from. The corridor fell silent. Dean was the only one to move, covering his face with one hand, unable to suppress an exhale of relief at hearing his best friend alive.

"Who was it?" Horace asked, his eyes fixed on the spot where the fox had been seconds before. "A student?"

"Seamus Finnigan," Dean corroborated quietly, lowering his hand. "Seventh year. Looks like he was trying to lead the students to the fireplaces."

Slughorn stared at him. He looked incredulous.

"That's not your job! All you have to worry about is getting out of here! How many other students are out there instead of going straight to the fireplaces...?"

"Who else would do it?" Neville protested suddenly, raising his voice. Dean, beside him, winced at the uncharacteristic aggressiveness of his tone. "The professors were defending us from Death Eaters, someone had to organise to lead the students to the Common Rooms. The Prefects weren't enough, and half of them weren't around... Ron has shown up just now, Padma wasn't answering, and Nott is nowhere to be found, nor is Malfoy..."

Hermione felt her whole body stiffen. Her eyes dropped to the floor. She could feel Harry and Ron exchange a glance in which she did not participate. She could visualise, without seeing it, the suspicion in their eyes. How they immediately deduced that Draco Malfoy, son of a Death Eater, would support Lord Voldemort's followers. That he would not help them in the evacuation. That he would be doing everything he could to make it easier for them to enter and take the castle. Or perhaps they imagined him surrendering and begging for mercy to save his own skin, like the coward they thought he was.

The girl doubted that they even imagined that he was directly responsible for all this...

"It's madness..." Horace snorted loudly, ruffling his moustache more. He waved his wand in front of him, and a huge, shiny silver elephant materialised before them. Ron let out an exclamation, backing away from the huge animal, which took up half the corridor. Slughorn turned to his Patronus, "Filius, they've disconnected the Floo Network. Meet me in the fifth-floor passageway. The one with the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. There are students trapped on the lower floors. We need to try and find them. Get Pomona and Septima, or whoever you can. We need to hold on until the Aurors come."

The magical elephant shot off at a speed faster than its real-life counterpart in nature.

"Professor, we'll fight. We'll kick them out of here. We can help..." Harry repeated his soliloquy again. Looking at him pleadingly. But Horace gave him a strict look.

"If all the fireplaces have been intercepted at the same time, it means that Albus's office has been broken into," his professor spat, vehemently. "Do you understand what that means? If you really want to help, Harry, get as many students into your Common Room as you can and lock yourself inside with them. Cast every protection spell you know and wait for us to come for you."

"I can do more than that!" Harry shouted, taking a step forward. But Slughorn didn't budge. They had never seen him so serious, so different from his gentle and flattering nature.

"The last thing we need is students with heroic pretensions to come to the rescue. You are not warriors. We teachers are supposed to protect you, not the other way around. We will find another way to evacuate you. I can assure you that no teacher in this school will leave this place as long as there is a single student left inside."

And, after those stern words, he hurried off down the corridor with a stumbling gait, until he was lost around the corner. Hermione looked at Harry uneasily. Her eyes misted over. Her friend stared at his shoes. Morally collapsed. A still frantic gleam in his eyes.

"Harry," Hermione muttered, standing in front of him, "we have to obey Slughorn. Imagine the chaos in the Common Rooms now, with the fireplaces disconnected. They need us."

"I'm not going to hide while the teachers defend me with their lives," Harry protested, between his teeth. Without looking at her. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes that Hermione hadn't seen since fifth year, when he had a vision of Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. "I'm going to kill him. If he's hurt Dumbledore... I'm going to kill him. I'm going to find him."

Hermione desperately looked over Harry's shoulder for Ron. Her friend looked back at her. They understood each other instantly. Ron gave a cautious nod of his head. And his wand flicked discreetly. It was pointed at Harry's back. Ready to do whatever it took. To get him out of there against his will if necessary. They would not let their best friend give his life in vain.

A new light interrupted them and stopped their hearts. What now? A huge pearl-coloured boar had come trotting up, and its mouth opened before it even reached them.

"Neville, I've done it," Ernie Macmillan's agitated voice exclaimed. "There's a passage from the Room of Requirement. It leads to the Hog's Head. The inn is devastated, but the fireplace is working. Bring students."

Those words filled Harry and the others with boiling water. They stood straight in unison and looked at each other with new energy.

"You heard him," Harry exclaimed. "Get over there immediately. Send out messages to everyone. We've got to evacuate everyone over there. I'm going to —"

"Don't even think we'll leave without you. You're coming with us," Hermione protested, raising her voice.

"No, Hermione. I'm going to —"

"Harry, you're important to Voldemort," she reminded him. She cupped his face with both hands and forced him to look at her. "You can't let him get his hands on you. Do you realise the war that's coming? Everyone needs you. Listen to me... They won't leave without you," she insisted in a quieter voice, gesturing with a fleeting nod to the rest of their companions. Harry's eyes twinkled. "The D.A. members will stay here to fight by your side. If you want to save them, you have to leave."

Hermione noticed under her hands how Harry's jaws clenched. The girl could see his inner struggle. The moisture in his eyes, fixed on hers. But, against all odds, he nodded his head.

"All right, we'll all go then," he whispered. His eyes glowed emerald, but his voice didn't tremble. "We need to send a Patronus to every member of Dumbledore's Army on the lower floors," he said, glancing at Ron, Neville and Dean. They all stared at him intently. "Tell them to go upstairs immediately. They can't face the Death Eaters. They can't rescue those left behind. I got them into this, and I'm not leaving until I see the last D.A. member disappear up a fireplace. We'll regroup and... we'll be back to rescue everyone left behind."

Hermione took her first deep breath in a long time. Without a word, Dean waved his wand and created a quick disembodied Patronus that he sent to the professors, after dictating the new information to it. Ron, for his part, lowered his wand completely.

"Understood, mate," he assured him, firmly, patting him on the shoulder. "A lot of the people who look like they'll be left behind are Slytherins," he muttered, after letting out a heavy snort. Hermione looked at him with astonishment, and he hastened to clarify, "I mean, they're pure-bloods. Even if they stay here, they won't be harmed. The priority is to get the Muggle-borns out, I think we can all agree on that..."

Hermione relaxed at those words and nodded her head. Reluctantly accepting his logic. But remembering that there were also Hufflepuffs left. And, most likely, Gryffindors or Ravenclaws who hadn't yet had a chance to go through the fireplaces...

Harry, for his part, took a breath and focused every cell in his body on the certainty that Ginny was alive just a few stairs away. He waved his wand, and his silver stag materialised before him. He spoke to it in a clear voice:

"All members of the D.A. are to make their way immediately to the Room of Requirement, and bring any students they may encounter along the way. Pass on the message." His Patronus galloped off down the corridor at full speed. Harry turned back to those with him, "We're going to the Common Room to find Ginny. And I need to get my Invisibility Cloak back."

"And we need to decide where we're going now," Ron reminded him. "What to tell the fireplace... Are they sending the students to a specific place?"

"Everyone to their own home," Dean said, "It wouldn't be safe to gather them all in one place. Although I think they've sent some of them to the Ministry to ask for help and explain what was going on. I... I need to see my mother," he added, after swallowing.

"And I need to see my grandmother," Neville muttered almost to himself.

"Are we going to The Burrow or...?" Ron began, turning to Harry. Not wanting to mention the address of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. His friend gave him a sidelong glance, indicating that he had understood.

"It depends on how close we are to the Death Eaters when we leave," Harry decided quietly. "If it's safe, The Burrow. But if not, anywhere random... We can't risk taking them straight to your family."

Ron gave a fleeting, grateful smile. Harry set off at last, in a hurry, following the path the Slytherin students had walked. Dean and Neville, relieved to get moving, followed him. Ron, on the other hand, stayed in his place. Looking at Hermione, who still hadn't moved. Her face was turned towards the window, eyes fixed outside.

"Hermione?" he murmured, quizzical.

But she didn't answer. She didn't appreciate that he was waiting for her. She was just concentrating on trying to breathe. The Dark Mark was glowing in the night sky, through the windows, and she knew it was tinting her skin with a greenish light. Just as she saw it tinting her friends'. She remembered another mark just like the one she was seeing, but black, tattooed on a pearly forearm. Ending in a hand just as white, intertwined with her own, pressing it against the floor...

'You'd better run away from all this or I swear I'll come back from hell just to get you out.'

"Hermione, shall we go?" Ron called again, watching out of the corner of his eye as Harry and the others stopped at the end of the corridor, waiting for them. Realising then that they weren't being followed.

The girl awoke from her reverie and turned her face. Looking back at him. Feigning only a little dazed. Hoping her face wasn't reflecting how every beat of her heart against her ribs was devastating her. She nodded and agreed to precede her friend, striding purposefully down the corridor.

"Yes, sorry, let's go. I was thinking that I have to stop by the dormitory to get Crookshanks, too."

---

Lord Voldemort, standing in Albus Dumbledore's now empty office, moved away from the huge marble fireplace towards the wide window. His scarlet eyes were wide open. They glowed with anger and the violence of two volcanoes. The dragon Wyvern of Wye was flying swiftly away across the black sky, tinged with emerald green. It was no longer more than a tiny dot on the horizon, barely visible. At this point, he could no longer reach him.

He'd escaped him.