One Hundred and Fifty-Two - The Lightning-Struck Tower

The smell of salt and sea had gone. Harry and Dumbledore were once again standing on the High Street in Hogsmeade. The night had deepened in their absence, and all was still in the village, with only a few yellow lights shining from the upper story windows.

"Well, that was discouraging," Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh. He had performed the Apparition charm which had brought them both back to the village, though he seemed wearied by even this small task, as though the disappointment of not finding a horcrux had taken a physical toll on his body. Harry couldn't help but notice the way he massaged his blackened and burnt hand as he disengaged his arm from Harry's.

"But we mustn't despair!" he continued in a tone of forced cheerfulness as he tried to reassure Harry. "The challenge we face is great, indeed. We were bound to come across unexpected obstacles. This, being only our first venture…"

He stopped mid-sentence. At first, Harry could see no reason for this sudden pause. He worried that their recent adventure had been too much for the elderly wizard. He thought of the curse mark, and again wondered how far it had spread. Then he turned his head, following the direction of Dumbledore's gaze, and felt a shaft of cold fear pierce his heart.

There in the sky, suspended between the stars that lay directly above Hogwarts, was an enormous green skull, a serpent trailing from its open mouth like a demonic tongue. The Dark Mark. The symbol left by Voldemort's followers whenever, wherever they had murdered.

"We need to return to the castle at once," said Dumbledore in a soft, yet determined voice.

There was no need for Harry to respond. Within a moment, Dumbledore had drawn his wand, waving it through the air and conjuring two broomsticks with as much ease as he had conjured the crystal goblet back in the cave. Harry noticed that one of the brooms was his own Nimbus 2000, though how Dumbledore had been able to summon it from this distance, and with such ease, was a mystery to him. But this was not the time for questions. Dumbledore had already mounted his broom and said, "Harry, your cloak."

Harry quickly pulled his invisibility cloak from his pocket, throwing it over himself as Dumbledore kicked off from the ground, taking the lead as he pelted back toward the school. Harry caught up to him easily. Though Dumbledore was steady on his broom, he was an older wizard, and could not compete with Harry and his Nimbus in terms of speed. Harry was careful not to outstrip him, however, and from underneath his cloak, he kept pace beside Dumbledore.

Despite his age, Dumbledore was certainly wasting no time. The Dark Mark seemed to have instilled him with a new sense of urgency. He was bent low over his broom, his eyes fixed on the skull, his long white beard streaming behind him as they raced toward the school.

Harry tore his gaze away from the headmaster, fixing them likewise on the Dark Mark. He was filled with an indescribable dread. The Dark Mark was only cast when Voldemort, or one of his followers, had murdered someone. Harry tried to swallow his fear, but questions were racing through his mind: How long had they been gone? Had anyone else seen the Mark? Who had cast it? Surely no one was hurt. Surely it couldn't mean that…

Over the whistling of the night air in his ears, he heard Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He felt a tremor through his broom, and understood what Dumbledore must have done an instant later, when they both safely sailed over the gate and onto the school grounds. Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle so they could enter at speed.

The Mark was suspended over the astronomy tower, the highest point of the castle. Dumbledore crossed the ramparts and was dismounting his broom when Harry landed beside him. The top of the tower was deserted. The door to the spiral staircase leading back inside the castle was closed. There was no sign of a struggle, of a crime hastily covered up, of a body…

"Is it a trick?" Harry asked, pulling off his cloak as he looked up at the green skull with its serpent's tongue, glinting sinisterly in the night sky. "Someone trying to scare us? To send a message?"

He was hopeful that Dumbledore would agree with him, but he felt a cold chill as he looked at the headmaster again, noting the way in which he clutched his chest with his withered hand.

"Harry, you must go and find Severus," said Dumbledore in a firm, clear voice. "Do nothing else, speak to nobody else, and do not remove your cloak. I shall wait here."

Harry heard the urgency in his voice, and could not ignore the Dark Mark still hanging above them, but still he hesitated. He wasn't sure how he felt about seeing Snape now, after everything he had learned…

Dumbledore sensed his hesitation, and for perhaps the first time that Harry could recall, he snapped with impatience, "You swore to obey me, Harry! Now go!"

If there was something wrong, if someone was hurt, then further argument would only be wasting precious minutes. Harry pushed his own feelings aside as he made his way to the door leading to the spiral staircase. His hand had only just closed on the iron ring of the trapdoor when he heard running footsteps on the other side.

"Away, Harry!" Dumbledore cautioned, motioning Harry to step aside. Harry complied, throwing his cloak back over his head with one hand as he drew his wand with the other.

He had barely cleared the door when it burst open and a large, hulking form emerged, shouting, "Expelliarmus!"

Harry's body became rigid and immobile. He was paralyzed, though for a moment, he couldn't understand how it had happened. Then he saw Dumbledore's wand flying in an arc over the edge of the ramparts and understood. Dumbledore had immobilized him, and in the second it had taken to perform the spell, he lost the chance of defending himself.

Dumbledore showed no signs of panic or distress, however. He merely looked at the person who had disarmed him and said, "Good evening, Gregory."

Goyle stepped forward, his eyes glancing hungrily from side to side.

"Who else is here?" he demanded.

"A question I might ask you," said Dumbledore, "Or are you acting alone?"

"Oh no, I've got backup," said Goyle with a vicious grin. "There are Death Eaters in your castle right at this moment. They ran into a few of your guards, but that won't matter. It's too late to stop us, Dumbledore. "

"I expected as much," said Dumbledore in the same conversational tone. "Forgive me for saying so, Gregory, but I expected you had some help. After all, you have not been known for your intellectual prowess…"

Goyle, angered by the insult, proudly declared, "I didn't need any help to disarm you, did I? And no one helped me bring the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. I did that myself, right under your nose, and you didn't even notice!"

"And yet your feeble attempts to kill me this year have all failed," observed Dumbledore calmly. "Or are you going to tell me that was the work of Mr. Crabbe?"

Goyle hesitated, his wand still pointed threateningly at Dumbledore's chest. He seemed to be thinking over the headmaster's words, as though trying to decide if he were luring him into a trap. Apparently, he came to some resolution, for he ran his tongue over his lips and grunted, "No… That was me… Vince didn't want anything to do with it…"

"Perhaps your friend simply didn't realize you were acting on Lord Voldemort's orders?" suggested Dumbledore, "If he knew, for example, that you had joined the Death Eaters. That your master had ordered you to kill me…"

Goyle had flinched involuntarily when he heard Dumbledore speak Voldemort's name, but he recovered himself quickly, interrupting the headmaster to say, "He never ordered me. He wanted the Death Eaters in the school. Wanted you dead. But it wasn't supposed to be… I volunteered."

He looked as though he expected Dumbledore to be impressed, but his smile faltered when Dumbledore merely remarked, "Ah, I see. Then you were truly acting alone. We must conclude, then, that it was your own ineptitude which resulted in my survival, and this rather inane encounter we find ourselves in now."

"If you're already bored, I can end this now," sneered Goyle, menacing Dumbledore with his wand as he took another step forward.

Harry stood imprisoned within his own paralyzed body, staring at the two of them from underneath his cloak. His ears strained to hear the sounds of distant fighting, wondering who had come forward to stop the Death Eaters. The other teachers? Members of the Order? His friends?

He couldn't allow himself to be distracted by these thoughts now. In fact, he could do nothing but stare at the two figures before him. He didn't understand why Dumbledore was doing this. Why was he goading Goyle on, taunting him, as if he wanted Goyle to deliver the fatal blow? Why had he immobilized Harry, preventing him from coming to his defense, when he himself was unarmed and helpless?

And then Harry remembered. His own wand was still in his hand. He was unable to speak or move his arm, but what did that signify? Hadn't he been practicing wordless magic all year? And before that, had he not honed his abilities, practicing the use of magic without the aid of a wand? If he could concentrate, perhaps he could unfreeze himself without a sound…

Before Goyle could strike, or Dumbledore speak another word, they were interrupted by the muffled sound of someone shouting below.

"Somebody must be putting up a good fight," said Dumbledore, as though the conflict mattered very little to him. "But you were saying… You have been trying to kill me all year, but this was not your principal object. Not the mission that Lord Voldemort had assigned to you. And you have successfully introduced Death Eaters into my school. I must admit, I had thought the task beyond your skills. How did you do it?"

Goyle was more than willing to gloat about his conquest. He responded eagerly, "I used the broken Vanishing Cabinet from the third floor, moved it into the Room of Requirement, so I could pair it with…"

"Ah," interrupted Dumbledore with a sigh, "It had a twin. Now, that is clever, to forge a passage between the two cabinets. Too clever, I think, for you to accomplish alone."

"It was me!" Goyle insisted, "I'm the one who fixed the broken cabinet! I'm the one who struck the deal with Borgin…"

"But who told you how to enter the Room of Requirement? Who told you about the Vanishing Cabinet, or the fact that it had a twin? Ah, Gregory… The fact of the matter is that Lord Voldemort orchestrated your every move. You have been little more than a pawn in his design…"

"I'm done being someone's pawn!" Goyle roared with renewed fervor, thrusting his wand accusingly at Dumbledore. "I put up with that pompous arse Draco for years, just as my father used to follow his dad, and where did it get them? Both in disgrace… Both in Azkaban!"

"You want to restore your family's standing with Lord Voldemort?" asked Dumbledore.

"Not exactly…" said Goyle slowly, "I'm just tired of being overshadowed by that idiot… It was supposed to be him, you know. Draco. His mother wants him back, but the Dark Lord would never allow it, not after… So he set a task. A way for Draco to prove himself, should he ever wish to return…"

"And you think that Draco would have agreed to such a task?" Dumbledore asked, genuinely curious. "That he would be welcomed back with open arms? The Malfoys restored to all their former glory?"

"He chose his side!" Goyle bellowed. "He chose to debase himself and live among blood-traitors and mudbloods! Well, you know what I say? I say, let him! The Malfoys had their chance! The Goyles should be rewarded for their loyalty! It should be me standing at the Dark Lord's right hand!"

Harry stopped struggling against the jinx that still held him motionless. He refocused all of his energy on Goyle. If he was truly prepared to cast a fatal curse against Dumbledore, then Harry had to stop him. He would try to disarm him, if he could…

Suddenly, there came several loud bangs from below, and the thundering sound of footsteps racing up the spiral stairs. A second later, Goyle was jostled out of the way as four people, robed in black, burst through the door and onto the ramparts. Harry, still paralyzed, his eyes unblinking, gazed in horror at the figures before him. It seemed the Death Eaters had won the fight below.

A lumpy-looking man with an odd, lopsided leer gave a wheezy laugh when he saw the elderly wizard before him. "Dumbledore cornered! Dumbledore wandless! Dumbledore alone! Well done, boy," he added to Goyle, "The Dark Lord will be very pleased, indeed!"

Goyle beamed with malicious pride while Dumbledore addressed the man. "Good evening, Amycus," he said calmly, "And you've brought Alecto, too. Charming."

Harry thought that 'charming' was an interesting choice of word. The short, hideous woman who stood alongside Amycus could only be his sister, the resemblance between them was so uncanny. She gave a irritating titter as she said, "Think your little jokes'll help you on your deathbed, then?"

"Jokes?" Dumbledore repeated, "No, these are manners."

"We gonna stand here all night exchanging pleasantries?" snarled the man standing closest to where Harry remained hidden under his cloak. He was big, with long, matted gray hair and whiskers. His black robes looked uncomfortably tight, showing off a sinewy, muscular frame. Harry could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat, and, most disturbingly, blood wafting from him. The man looked at Goyle as he asked, "Well? You said you wanted to do it, boy. Here's your chance."

"Is that you, Fenrir?" asked Dumbledore.

"That's right," rasped the tall man, "Pleased to see me here, Dumbledore?"

"No, I can't say that I am."

Fenrir Greyback grinned, showing yellow, pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin as he licked his lips slowly, obscenely.

"But you know how much I like kids."

"Am I to take it that you have resorted to attacking even without the full moon?" Dumbledore asked, and for the first time, there was something like disgust in his voice, "You have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"

"That's right," said Greyback. He sounded proud of himself. "Shocks you that, does it?"

Harry, incensed to see the man who had attacked Remus as a boy, who might even then have attacked other children in the school, renewed his efforts to free himself from the jinx that bound him in place. There were too many of them for him to disarm. It would be better to free himself, then strike with his wand from under his cloak…

"Nobody is shocked by your depravity, Fenrir," said the fourth Death Eater. She pulled back her dark hood, and if Harry had been unfrozen, he would have screamed in anger. Bellatrix Lestrange stepped forward, twirling her wand casually as she smirked. "Repulsed, disgusted, perhaps. But not shocked."

"Like you're one to talk," sneered Greyback. "When you're the most depraved of us all."

Bellatrix smiled. Beneath the gaunt, wasted look she had adopted after many years in Azkaban, beneath the layers of madness and evil, there was a glimmer of the beautiful woman she had once been. But her smile did nothing to enhance her beauty. On the contrary, there was something malevolent in her gaze as she turned to face Dumbledore that made her appear more beastlike than the werewolf at her side.

"Enough talking!" said Amycus with another giggle. "We've got our orders! Now then, since the boy was so keen, shall we let him do it? Or should someone who has been with us longer, someone with more experience, perhaps…"

"It seems Dumbledore is not long for this world, either way," observed Bellatrix, whose heavy gaze had just noticed Dumbledore's withered hand, clutched to his chest. "What's happening to you, Albus? Fraternizing with Mudbloods and half-breeds finally taking its toll?"

"In my case, Bellatrix," replied Dumbledore, "It is nothing more than old age. Slower reflexes, weaker resistance, that sort of thing… If you are all lucky, perhaps it will happen to you, one day…"

"What's that mean? What's that mean?" yelled Alecto, suddenly angry. "Always the same, weren't yeh, Dumbledore? Talking and talking in your riddles, and they never meant anything! Well, I won't stand here listening to another word! Do it, boy!"

Renewed sounds of scuffling from below distracted the group. A voice shouted, "They've blocked the stairs! Reducto!"

Harry's heart leapt. So these four had not eliminated all opposition. There were still those who would fight. From the sounds of things, the Death Eaters had merely created a barrier behind them.

"We're running out of time," growled Greyback. "Hurry up, boy! Quickly!"

Before anyone could act, the door to the ramparts burst open. Harry expected at least five members of the Order of the Phoenix. Enough, in short, to face the Death Eaters and Goyle one on one. But it was only Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his dark eyes swept the scene.

"Snape! Good, you're here…" wheezed Amycus while Bellatrix looked on haughtily. "The boy was just about to do it. Have you taken care of the others?"

Snape did not respond to his question. He was looking at Dumbledore, his face the blank mask he wore whenever he faced an enemy.

"Severus…" said Dumbledore softly, his tone almost pleading.

Snape said nothing. He walked forward silently, pushing Goyle out of the way while the three Death Eaters fell back. Snape gazed for a moment longer at Dumbledore. To the untrained eye, his expression could have been taken for revulsion, even hatred. But Harry knew him better now. He saw only sadness, regret, and perhaps even fear, etched into the harsh lines of his face.

"Severus, please…" said Dumbledore in that same pathetic tone.

And at once, Harry understood. Dumbledore was dying. The curse that affected his hand, the same curse that had killed Sirius, had spread. It was killing him slowly, painfully. Dumbledore was prepared to accept death, but not at the hands of Gregory Goyle, nor the Death Eaters. He wanted a quick death by someone loyal to him. Someone who had always followed his orders…

Harry felt an overpowering sense of anger. Not just at Dumbledore, who was prepared to use Snape as his pawn until the very end, but at Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback, at Goyle and the other Death Eaters, and Voldemort and even Snape for allowing this to happen. He was furious at the entire train of events, dating back long before Harry's birth, that had inevitably and irrevocably led him to this moment. He would not allow it. He would not allow it to end this way…

The hand that was holding his wand twitched.

Snape had raised his wand. He was pointing it directly at Dumbledore.

"Avada Kedavra."

There was a jet of green light, and a look of surprise on Dumbledore's face. He stumbled backward, then fell, almost in slow motion, slipping over the battlements and out of sight.

The spell had not come from Snape's wand. It had not come from Goyle, nor the Death Eaters. Not even Bellatrix Lestrange. The stupefied Death Eaters each turned in the direction from whence that fatal spell had originated, and Harry, freed from the jinx that had bound him, slowly pulled the invisibility cloak from his head.