Hello there, again! Three out of four, done!


I do not like to talk about it, but I must for the sake of honesty and scholarship. Were I not, this book of mine would be a lie, a failure, a crime against erudition and literature.

Yes, I have done it. More than once, in fact. Not because of foul desires, but due to necessity. Could I have done it differently? Yes, I think so when looking back at it. But stress and fear are a powerful thing, more so when one's own life is at peril.

I see their faces each night when I go to sleep. I write their names every morning as the sun goes up into the sky.

They are also part of my story, after all.

Lawrence the Third, in 'Ramblings and thinkings of an old man', chapter 28.


Chapter 62 - Blood first drawn

Dawn broke through the sky with its warm, fiery veil. Night was dispelled away, thus the morning of a new week began within Hogwarts. A warm day, it seemed. One to enjoy outdoors once the lectures were to end. Playing was to be expected, laughs were to be heard, smiles were to be seen.

Save the fact Ron was not going to allow so.

The redhead waited impatiently, his left foot tapping against the hard, cold floor in a relentless melody. It was too early for anyone to be awake and ready; a perfect time for scheming. He'd found coldness and darkness within the abandoned classroom. A mirror of what he felt after the most recent events.

"Where the hell are they?" he complained aloud, his patience hanging by a thin thread.

Nothing announced their arrival. Fred and Geroge just bursted into the dark room, wide grins stretching their faces.

"Ain't you a delight to my sore eyes, little brother?" George snickered. "Took us a while to get here! That Gertrude is quite a persistent witch, following us everywhere! She's as foul as she's hot, and that is to say something!"

"To your eyes?" Fred wondered. "You must have super powers, dear Georgie, because I see nothing here!" His wand alighted the room with a potent Lumos, then closed the door behind them. "Now, much better! Well, what's the matter, dear Ronnie? Problems within the vipers' nest, maybe? Someone we must pay a little visit to?"

Ron resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he was as frank as he'd ever been.

"I plan to get rid of Umbridge today. And I need your help."

Mirth was erased from George's and Fred's faces, glancing at one another with a seriousness so improper to them. They sat down on a table, right in front of Ron. And then waited for him to elaborate.

"Say, do you really care about getting expelled anymore?"

Again they exchanged a glance. Again they remained silent, eagerly waiting for their younger brother to go on.

"Because, were this plan to fail, we'll all be expelled. It's very risky, I know that, but it's all I could come up with to get rid of that hellish toad of a woman."

Fred and George smiled challengingly. "My, my, brother!" George whistled. "Aren't you a daring Weasley!" Fred nodded to those words, proud. "And here I thought you were taking after Percy's pompousness!" And then their voices merged together as they spoke simultaneously. "We don't give a damn about getting expelled. School ain't for us, exams ain't for us. We already know what to make a living of. And if you give us a chance to go out with a bang, then you'll become our favourite brother forever!"

They glanced at one another once more, then shrugged their shoulders. "Besides, that's only if we fail, as you just said. And we never miss, dear brother. And since you are of our same blood, that means you never miss either! I see no flaw within this plan, honestly. Hell, I've already lost hope of ridding ourselves from books and lectures!"

Ron simply could not share their merry mood. "Well, if so, I need you to…"

Their grins widened as he explained his plan to them, stretching their faces so much Ron thought they would split in two. And they laughed plenty, too. Palming him on the back and telling him how proud they were. At last they left the room among snickering, far too busy thinking of a way to make Ron's plan come true.

Ron, however, could only clench his fists to fight away the dread within him. "Let's go, Gerd," he said while standing up. "Now it's time to set hell loose upon Hogwarts and swim through the ashes."


Ron did not attend his period of Potions that morning. Instead he wandered about the castle, hidden under a Disillusionment Spell. And instead started to plant little seeds of chaos here and there.

He set ablaze the bag of a Ravenclaw from the Party. He made them believe it was the work of Beatrice Haywood and some other members of the Army who walked with her. He made Bole trip, and Gerd rounded a corner when the Slytherin turned around, carrying Ron's cloak upon her. He locked a bunch of girls in the bathroom, transfiguring the lock and parts of the door into solid stone, and allowed their shouts to run free. He infested the corridors with the twins' pest bombs. He even attacked his own, cursing Susan, Katie, Angelina and Corner when students affiliated to the Party were around.

Soon enough, there was utter chaos within Hogwarts. A battlefield blossomed within, too. Not even the neutral students were able to escape from the conflict anymore, for they were also caught in the crossfire. Resentment and adrenaline had been suppressed for far too long, so everyone was happy to give in to chaos once it fell upon the castle. Spells were exchanged, insults were bellowed and even fists and kicks were invited to the party.

And no Professor came to stop the many brawls all over the school.

If all had gone well, they would not come for a while longer. Snape would be isolated in the dungeons, too busy teaching. Flitwick was to be locked in his chambers by a tool Fred had promised Ron it would bid them enough time. McGonagall was to be deep into slumber, as George had somehow put a weak somniferous into the coffee she always drank first thing in the morning. Sprout was to be held in the gardens, where a greenhouse had been set ablaze. The other Professors, such as Sinistra or Babblings wouldn't be enough, and Faith was supposed to side with them.

Ron remained hidden as the students dashed past him, for there was battle everywhere he went.

"Here, Anthony!" Dean shouted, running upstairs, his wand ablaze in red. "Goyle went this way!"

"You will regret that!" Flint bellowed, his face filled with red, swollen pimples, pus running down his face. Adrian Pucey followed him as best he could, limping, half of his white shirt burnt to ashes and with a shoe missing.

"Expelliarmus!" Susan chanted, holding her ground in a tight crossroads against a boy two years her senior. She moved around skillfully, almost performing a dance. "Protego! Diffindo! Stupefy!" Lavender and Hannah joined her shortly after, and the older Slytherin was put on the run.

There were sights which made Ron ashamed of his choice, too.

A white-faced Hufflepuff lay unconscious in a hallway close to the Great Hall, a bloody gash on her right temple; a girl which did not belong to either the Party nor the Army. A level above, he found a pair of Slytherins of second year beating into a pulp a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw of first year, wands long forgotten. Close to the dungeons, a spell made Sue Li trip downstairs, and her arm twisted horribly as she wailed in pain. Entire hallways were flooded, pictures ragged and torn apart, banners set ablaze, armours crumbled and broken…

Yet Ron did not halt, nor did he hesitate.

The redhead set ablaze every picture he found of Umbridge, every Ministry banner there was within the castle. He spoke for the first time in hours too, bellowing at Peeves, instigating him to join the chaos, to which he gave in gladly.

And finally the bird did abandon the safety of her nest.

Umbridge strode past the Great Hall, a storming look on her face, eyes twitching in rage, shouting loudly for all to hear. Spell after spell flew out her wand, putting an end to every brawl she found in her way in not a kind way. Macnair followed her closely, far calmer, yet with a gleam of dark mirth in his eyes; the same Ron had glimpsed when the man had beheaded Buckbeak.

Ron watched them from afar, magic concealed within him as much as he dared without breaking his spell, then set off. Toward Umbridge's chambers, where the quill awaited. He ran so fast his footsteps echoed through every hallway. And he put such focus into the task he became visible once more. Perhaps it was for the better, as he did not fancy growing too exhausted.

He crossed paths with many.

The members of the Army begged him to join the brawls, their pleading eyes speaking louder than any word could. Hopeful. A light which died the moment he dashed past them, abandoning his friends to their luck. He stumbled upon the Party too, of course. A few times, Ron even was obliged to draw out his wand, making quick work of the younger ones, running away from the older and more skilled.

And at last he made it to the long hallway which preceded Umbride's chambers. Deserted, silent, yet so very bright as the sunrays seeped through the many windows on the left wall, which faced eastward.

Ron halted abruptly about to round a corner. Footsteps approached. A faint, weak signature, which felt familiar enough. Yet he took no risks. Ron lunged from the corner, grasping the stranger with an iron grip. His wand rose to the stranger's neck, ablaze in red, eager to give in to the action he'd suppressed so fervently today.

The girl whimpered in pain and surprise. Ron let go of her neck, surprised.

"Alaine? What are you-"

Her elbow rose to his chin. A firm, dry hit which made him dazed with pain. Taking a few steps back on wobbling legs, Ron cursed at the girl.

Only then did Alaine realise who her captor was. "Oh gosh!" she gasped, hand to her mouth, eyes opened in shock. "Ron? What are you doing here? Oh. I'm so very sorry!"

Ron glanced at her as he felt about his sore chin. He could taste blood in his mouth, as he'd bitten his tongue. "I should be the one asking questions here!" he spat a clot of blood and froth. "Storming girl, you sure pack a strong punch for such a small body!"

Alaine reddened. "Beatrice taught me how to punch. Or well, how to elbow, in this case. Again, I'm-"

Ron cut in, "There's no time for talking. You need to run and hide. Hogwarts has become a battlefield, in case you missed it."

"What? No way in hell I'm doing that! I came here for the quill. This is the best chance we'll ever get." Ron opened his mouth, about to send her away once more. Alaine stepped forward, her first against his chest. "Don't you dare to dismiss me, Weasley! I've suffered that quill on my flesh far more times than you. I deserve to see it gone. I deserve to be the one to make Umbridge crumble. Don't you dare to take this away from me."

Ron stared at the girl. At the tears gleaming in her eyes, at her trembling lip. And he gave up.

"Fine. But you better do as I say, when I say it. Got it?"

Alaine nodded firmly, then set off before Ron could take a step. Her stride was cut short soon after, for the castle shook and trembled. "What is happening?" she croaked, leaning onto the wall to balance herself. "An earthquake?"

Ron ran past her, grinning widely. "An earthquake indeed! Named Fred and George Weasley, my dear brothers!"

Whatever the twins had done, it was of no importance to Ron. They had promised him chaos and ruckus, a prank like no other before. Thud, thud, thud, his footsteps resounded in the hallway, quick and light, full of determination. Until he reached the door. He tried to burst it open with a push of his shoulder. It didn't yield an inch.

"Move!" Alaine said. "Alohomora!" Her spell broke against the door in a rain of light wisps.

"Step back, Alaine." Ron raised his own wand. "Confringo!"

A violent surge of energy went down his arm, into his wand. Its tip was ablaze in gleaming orange. A burst of energy made the door yield at last. It broke into a rain of splinters and dust, carved out of the wall which held it.

Ron jumped into the room amidst the deep cloud of smoke, his eyes watery and puffy. He held the neck of his shirt against his mouth, trying to avoid breathing such foul air. His wand moved again, thus the smoke was dispelled away, into the hallway behind.

Alaine coughed, following him inside. "That was bloody brilliant! But do me a favour and warn me next time!"

Ron was already onto the main desk, opening its drawers and searching through its belongings. "There won't be a next time!" He found nothing. "Help me!" But Alaine was already on the move, upon a small table close to the warmth.

Gerd zipped around the room, eyeing from above as Ron moved onto the next piece of furniture. Again, he found nothing.

"Get into her chambers!" Alaine told him, head sank into a wooden vault beneath the oval window. "I'll search through the office."

Ron kicked open the door which led to Umbridge's dormitory. It was an awful sight. Pink, red and orange, the three bright colours fought one another to seize control of the room. The large bed was unmade, its sheets a messy sea of white and pink, giving away a scent of floral perfume; a far too sweet scent. Pink robes hang from the ceiling, and among them stood out a black, much larger one—Macnair's undoubtedly.

"Move!" Gerd snapped at him. "There is no time to lose!"

Ron cursed at himself, lunging at the vault just beneath the bed's feet. He had expanded his aura as far as it could reach. It covered a distance of a few hallways at best. It wasn't much, true enough, but it would need to be enough. He glanced at the large, oval window which alighted the office. In case of emergency, they could jump through it, and then worry about the landing.

The next few minutes turned into a blurry sequence. Ron put the dormitory upside down. Drawers were emptied, chairs and couches were tumbled, the carpet rolled and scratched. Yet he found nothing. He grew desperate, then he remembered he was a wizard.

"Accio quill!"

There was a faint clicking coming from within the office. Then a storm of quills fell upon him. "Shit!" Ron ducked down and hid beneath the bed. They all fell to the carpeted floor with a soft thud. Dozens of them. Silvery some, golden a few, and black most. Regular quills all. Not a crimson one to be found amidst them. "Bloody hell! Couldn't be that easy, of course not!"

"I've got it!" Alaine shouted from the other room.

Ron bolted up like an arrow from beneath the bed. So fast and thoughtlessly he stood up that his head came to clash against the wooden base of the mattress. He ignored the pain, bursting with relief as he was.

He found Alaine standing atop the main desk, on her tiptoes, left hand into a secret hole in the wall, holding a crimson quill of beautiful craft. A diploma laid on the floor beneath, its glass frame shattered. In gold over white, words could be read. It proclaimed Umbridge as an Eye of the Wizengamot.

Ron grinned at her. "Nice! Come on now! Let's get the hell out of here!"

"Look behind!" Gerd shouted urgently.

He turned around, and glimpsed a flash of black from the corner of his eyes. Then the world turned dark for a few seconds. Ron went numb; for much he tried, his limbs did not answer his orders. A buzzing sound became all he could hear. Until the mist which covered his eyes started to dispel slowly.

And words started to make sense.

"To think they'd be so daring!"

"You've grown weak. And weaklings, they excel at making the best out of their likes' flaws. Seeping through the cracks, as water through a creviced dyke."

"I am not weak!"

Ron opened his eyes, just to find himself in Macnair's arms. The man's fingers were set upon his shoulders, like sharp claws upon his flesh. In front of him stood Umbridge, dressed in full yellow, her fingers going white so tight she held Alaine from her hair, pulling strands of it from her scalp.

On her left hand was clutched the crimson quill.

They had lost.

Umbridge followed his eyes, then smiled widely. "Good morning, beautiful." She pulled from Alaine's hair, making the girl whimper and cry. "Aren't you two a daring pair? To think all the ruckus below was but a cheap distraction… Oh, but you really thought I would leave my chambers unguarded? Perhaps you aren't as clever as I thought of you, Ronald."

"I knew it would be guarded," Ron said bitterly. To speak, it felt a mighty thing, so dry and raspy his mouth was. "I simply thought we had just enough time." He should have felt them coming down the hallway, as his aura had been expanded all the way there.

Unless they had tricked him in that field too. There were many things he yet ignored about magic, after all. He'd thought himself an able wizard, just to crash against the wall real life was.

"And you almost did it," Umbridge smirked. "You like chess, right, Ronald? Because you made a blunder. You thought well of your moves. Brilliantly, even. But I've hidden a piece from you until today. My dear Cornelius sent me a few Aurors when I told him of the misfits within these walls. The morning after Potter, that foolish boy, tried to break into my chambers. Dawlish and Williamson, they did their job flawlessly. I'm afraid those twin brothers of yours weren't ready for them either. Nor the other idiots from your self-proclaimed Army."

Ron's eyes darted up, in search of Gerd. She stood above them, head close to the dome-like ceiling. Icy calm, a deadly shadow in her gleaming eyes. She gave him a firm nod, and Ron knew what to do next.

Save he wasn't able to use his magic.

"The hell?" the boy muttered.

"Oh, that?" Umbridge snickered. "Since you are a rather naughty boy, we took precautions. Look down, please."

Ron did so, and he found a black necklace around his throat. It seemed to be made of black leather, though it was soft against his skin. It was simple, without any ornaments or embellishments. And it felt warm.

"A Warded device," Umbridge said cruelly. "It restrains the use of magic on the person who wears it, sealing it deep within one's core against its will. A gift from our dear Aurors. Aren't they kind?"

Ron stared deep into the witch's eyes. Ignoring Alaine's face, so full of pain and suffering as it was. He felt cold, disappointed, ashamed and embarrassed. But over all those reigned one emotion. Fury, scorching and cold, like a roaring tempest.

Umbridge blinked, avoiding his eyes, uncomfortable.

"And what comes next?" Ron asked nonchalantly. It was a wonder how he was able to control his temper. All he wanted to do was to shake free of Macnair's grip, then push Umbridge through the window. And then hope for the fall to not kill her so quickly. She deserved plenty of suffering, after all.

Macnair somehow felt his murderous intent, tightening his grip on the boy's shoulder. "Now you come with us, to the Forest. And then we wait for that annoying bitch to bite the bait. And once we are done with her, we'll decide what to do with you two." He sneered. "Were the decision up to me, I would leave you to die in the Forest. Food for any witless beast to feast upon. We could pose it as an accident. Would not be the first time it happens."

Ron didn't answer, instead allowed himself to be pushed forward. Alaine tried to fight her way out of Umbridge's reach. The woman just pulled from the girl's hair, almost lifting her from the ground.

"Cut it, Alaine," Ron said softly as they took a staircase down. There was silence within the hallways. Chaos long gone, replaced by tension and dread. Every student hidden as if moles into their holes. "They've won. Just do as they say, and they won't hurt you so much."

Alaine sniffed, lips trembling, eyes overflowing with tears which streamed down her face. But she surrendered at last, and Umbridge limited herself to carrying her by the hair, as if pulling a horse by the reins, yet in a much softer way.

Step after step, hallway after hallway, level after level, they moved through the castle without any trouble. Until Macnair suddenly halted, about to round a corner into a wide hall.

"Conceal your aura, Dolores. It's McGonagall."

"Where's Dawlish, then?" she asked in a whisper. "He was tasked with keeping an eye on the Professors!"

"Don't know, don't care. Just be quiet, woman."

So she was already free of her slumber. Again, how much time had passed since he'd unleashed chaos upon the school? To Ron, it felt like ages ago. They waited some more, holding their breaths. Not because they wanted to, but because of the cold, firm hands upon their mouths. No sound reached them, nor a shadow. If McGonagall was around, it was not enough. And so their last hope died; slowly, like a flame consuming itself.

At last did Macnair resume their stride.

Their walk out of the castle, and later into the Forest, felt much quicker than it really was. Ron did not utter a word, so lost he was within himself. Defeat had never tasted this foul, and he knew plenty about defeat. Gerd zipped beside them, now in her eagle form, wings wide open to the winds. He felt her worry through their Link. And her anguish and her impotence.

What could she do? Grant him the Anticipation? For what purpose? To do nothing, as he was unable to use his magic?

Still, and much to his surprise, Ron remained collected as they walked into the Forest's shadows. Cold, in control of his mind. This could not end here, today. Not when Herpo had just returned, when Voldemort roamed free and alive. His family depended on him. And more, many more. All those he loved depended on him too.

Ahead, Umbridge looked static, bursting with satisfaction. "You've given me far more trouble than I thought you could, Weasley. You and your lot of misfits. I had to break you all slowly, carefully. And Potter too. You made me this way. I never wanted to reach this far. This is all your fault."

"Don't lie, you disgusting bitch," Ron sniffed. She turned around, red-faced, eyes full of anger yet also in disbelief. "You can't stand the fact people don't dance to your tune. That they don't kiss the very floor you walk over. You had no need to reach so far. To rid Hagrid of his dream in such a cruel way. To betray Parkinson the way you did. To reveal Lupin's nature, more so given the fact you've always persecuted his kin."

Ron snorted, smirking down at her. "I could go on for hours. I pity you, funnily enough. You are weak, Umbridge. So weak you need to scream to the skies how strong you are. So everyone may know of your lies. So weak that you need to tell yourself you are not as horrible a person as you know you are. Go to hell with your bloody excuses. Kill yourself and do us all a favour."

Umbride breathed out deeply, her face tainted by a furious shade of red, hands trembling and twitching. "Walden, punish him."

The man, once a Death Eater, shook his head. "There is no time for that, as much as I desire to do it. That woman must be upon us by now. And she's a Nigtheye. She's dangerous."

Oh, so that's what they truly want. It made sense, he reckoned. All the Professors had shown their displeasure toward Umbridge, but only one had truly moved against her. Faith Gourcuff, who had trained the students, granted them a way to defend themselves, made a resistance out of them. So carefully, with such calculated steps, always at the edge of getting caught. And now Ron had given her away.

Their walk resumed. Umbridge led them through the Forest, into its depths, imposing a frenzied stride upon them. His words had hurt her greatly. Not enough, much to Ron's shame. The trees' roots started to thicken, breaking through the ground as if woody fingers, making them jump over them. The thicket hid the sun from them, made Umbridge use her wand to cast a bit of light upon the dark path. The ground dried, so their feet found a much firmer surface to walk over.

Birds didn't chirp, insects didn't buzz, animals didn't come to eye them curiously. Nothing seemed to move within the Forest. Yet they felt something. As if someone was watching over them.

Umbridge glanced to their sides again and again, wand pointed at the shadows, nervousness well written in her features. Macnair, however, kept his eyes on the path ahead. Ron did the same. Nothing mattered to him as of this moment. Nothing but thinking of a plan to get Alaine back to safety. And also, to get rid of these two despicable swines.

Yet for much he thought, nothing came to his mind.

What was he to do without magic? He could perhaps break free of Macnair's grasp, then reach for the knife on his belt. But his hand to hand combat wasn't the best yet, and the man who held him was a seasoned murderer. He would not hesitate to kill him if the chance came, Ron knew.

Umbridge suddenly halted, looking around. "Here it will do," she said. "I don't like this Forest, and I don't want to go deeper into it. There's something wrong with it."

They'd stopped at a small clearing in which the trees parted away, allowing a bit of sunlight through the thicket. The grass grew tall and reckless here, rising up past their ankles. It smelled of dampness and humidity, as the vegetation had yet to let go of the most recent rains.

"Here, let me hold the girl," Macnair said. "This boy, he isn't scared at all. His eyes look so calm and cold I'd love to gorge them out and make him feast upon them. But since I cannot do that yet, I will settle for the weaker girl. It will make that Nighteye think about her actions more carefully. Be less reckless and daring."

Ron's eyes darted up. "And how do you know she'll come for us? I don't think anyone knows we are here."

Macnair simply pushed the redhead into Umbridge's weaker yet all the same cold hands. He grabbed Alaine from the neck of her robes, almost raising her from the ground, and held his wand to her neck.

"Because we've told her of our intentions," Umbridge smirked cruelly. "That ungrateful bastard, she betrayed me. I trusted her, made her an important part of my plans. And yet she dared to rise against me, to turn my students into toy soldiers. Today, she will be punished for such ungratefulness. A little accident will happen to both of you, and she will be to blame. Let's see what the world thinks of her then."

Macnair smiled grimly, too. "And now we wait for our prey to arrive. Ah, my hands are already trembling. I wish I could face her in combat and kill her with my own hands."

Ron closed his eyes, heartbeat going crazy. What have I done?


Harry stormed through the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, sweating, breathing frenziedly, scared. Not for his own sake, but for that of his people. He'd made them suffer a lot this year. Every time he'd tried to defend them, to get rid of Umbridge, he'd hurt them more and more.

And the sight he found as he walked through the hallways, it was one to shock him.

Chaos, utter and absolute chaos.

Someone had set fire to the Ministry banner which had hung down the staircase which led to the Tower, its ashes falling into the abyss below, deep into the castle. The walls were cracked, pictures empty of those who had once lived in them, and shouting could be heard. Getting closer and closer.

Harry gulped down a bit of spit, readying himself. Still he didn't unsheathe his wand, long forgotten into the pockets of his robes. Footsteps resounded, coming from the hallway prior to the staircase. Thud, thud, thud. A soft, unyielding cacophony.

Until Percy appeared through its wide arc.

The oldest Weasley pulled from another student, who limped and grimaced in pain with each step. Dark-skinned, tall and lanky, Harry knew him. It was Lee Jordan.

"Wait a moment, Percy!" Lee grunted. "You need to hear me!" Percy, however, simply shushed him, his eyes set upon the path ahead.

"Is he okay?" Harry managed to say from well above them, weakly, hesitantly.

Percy raised his eyes, surprised. "Harry? Oh, well. Lee isn't hurt gravely, but someone made an armour fall upon his leg. It cracked horribly, and he can't use it anymore. Not without pain, at least."

Lee groaned, frustrated. "Bastard got me from behind! Bloody coward, whoever he was! A bloody snake, most likely. I will find him, and then we'll see if he's so brave when face to face!"

"Stay still!" Percy snapped at him. "And for the sake of Merlin, do shut up for once!"

Harry ran to them, slipping underneath Lee's other shoulder. "Here, let me help." Thanks to the two of them, Lee was able to make it upstairs. Then Percy laid him down, just before the Fat Lady's picture. She too was absent.

"What's happening?" Harry asked, his voice not so faint anymore.

"Liberation," Lee said. His face had lost a lot of colour, yet his eyes hadn't lost a bit of determination. "Justice. Freedom. Call it as you may, I don't care. All I know is that we rid ourselves of Umbridge today."

Harry felt a surge of hope within him. And of eagerness, which spread all through his body, filling him with uncomfortable warmth. It spurred him to wake up and join his friends in their fight.

He put an end to it.

"Yes, a wonderful plan!" Percy exclaimed, raising his arms in exasperation. "Bloody genius, whoever came up with it. Yes, let's turn the castle into a battlefield, and then what? Do we curse Umbridge the moment she steps into our sight? Do we march toward her chambers and pull her out of them by her ankles?"

"Oh, I wish!" Lee closed his eyes, licking his lips as if tasting the sweetest fruit ever. "I bloody wish…"

"No, it does not make sense!" Percy snapped. "You are a bunch of fools, each and every one of you! I don't like Umbridge, hate her even, but this will get us nowhere. Wait, it will get us somewhere. To a far worse place than before! Do you really think she is to be intimidated? Do you think she won't retaliate once she retakes control of the castle? Please, use your head for once, Lee. Look at what she did to Hermione! At Hagrid, Parkinson and Neville! She's a monster, and all you are doing is to anger her!"

Harry and Lee shared a glance, in awe. Percy had always been the most collected and cold of the Weasleys—if not the only one. Always one to respect the authorities, to never speak ill of them. And one to never raise his voice and much less to curse. Now here he stood, red-faced, fuming in anger.

Percy pointed his finger at Lee, then at Harry. "You will stay here while I go in search of Madam Pomfrey so she can take a look at your leg. And you will remain with him, to make sure he does nothing stupid."

Lee shook his head, staring at Harry. "He doesn't understand it, Harry. I will remain here, since I can't do a bloody thing to save my life right now, but you need to go. Find Fred and George, and tell them I've seen a bloody Auror here. And he was attacking members of the Army. That's what I've been trying to tell Percy, but he just refused to hear me!"

"An… Auror?" Percy asked back, blinking. "Have you also hit your head?"

Lee punched the wall out of sheer frustration. "I did not, damn it all! I saw him! A tall, gangly man, of grey and greasy hair. Dressed in dark-blue uniform. Wand ablaze, firing spell after spell toward every direction!" He spat a bit of spit to his side. "He's here to help that bitch of Umbridge. And the twins' plan, it will fail unless someone were to tell them about the Auror."

He turned abruptly toward Harry. "It must be you, Harry. Fight back, please. Become the leader we looked up to once more. We need you."

Harry did not give it a single thought. He just ran away, allowing his nervous legs to take him whatever they wanted. Behind, Percy shouted desperately, "Wait, no!" which found an unbreakable wall in Harry's ears. He felt scared, hands trembling. He felt anxious, his breathing ragged and quick. Were he to find a member of the Party, he would not raise his wand against him. He knew it well enough. He just couldn't fight back. Not after the suffering his fighting had caused others.

But he could help them in other ways… Right?

Harry was not worthless… Right?

He was not fated to fail miserably at whatever he tried… Right?

They could not hate him… Right?

And so, mind sieged and torn apart by such thoughts, hallways passing by like a flash before his eyes, Harry dived into the pit of chaos Hogwarts had become.

Spells rained toward every direction; blinding flashes of light of each and every colour. Shouting reigned; a cacophony of voices in which that of a foe was no different than that of a friend. At the end of the hallway, Ginny Weasley led a group of first-years into safety as Alicia Spinnet covered them. Looking below, leaning his head above the staircase's handrail, a Slytherin lay unconscious as Seamus Finegan jumped over him, a glint of euphoria brightening his face…

A faint voice deep within Harry begged the boy to join the frail, to help his friends and to punish the members of the Party. He shut it down instantly. Last time he'd tried to help, his people had paid the price.

A new explosion pulled him out of his shocked stupor. "The hell was that?"

He ran toward it, and found out it had taken place far further than its striding sound had let on. To be precise, nearby the Great Hall.

Harry found the area far calmer than he'd expected. An ominous silence had spread its fingers all over the empty hall. One could smell dust and powder, though, dry and pungent. The sandclock, its walls of transparent glass, which contained the colourful jewels that accounted for the race for the House Cup were all intact save one. A river of bright green gems flowed through the polished, stone floor.

"Psss, Harry!"

"Come here, you beauty!"

He turned around, his wand eagerly awaiting for a release which didn't come to happen. Behind a tall column, into a dark corner, Fred and George crouched down, waving their hands at him. Red kerchiefs covered their faces up to just beneath their eyes, and their hair was full of dust and ashes, messy and dirty. Their eyes, though, gleamed with mirth and trepidation.

"Come now!"

"Move out of the way! You are easily spotted there!"

Harry made his way over to them. "What are you doing here? And what's with the kerchiefs on your faces."

The twins shared an amused glance.

"Looks cool, right?" Fred snickered.

"We've always wanted to wear one of those while doing mischief," George said, "but Mum always threw them into the bin."

Harry looked down at what lay beneath the shadow of the column. There were two little bags running over with strange dust; one of dull grey, another of bright pink. The fingers of both Weasleys were stained with grey and pink spots alike. When looked closely, one could see their skin was red and swollen, almost blistered. Also, their old broomsticks lay against the wall.

Fred raised a brow, following his eyes. "Oh, this? Well, this is a wonderful thing, dear Harry! You just wait and see!"

George pulled a clay envelope from the pocket of his robes. He then filled it with grey dust, closing its two halves tightly. And then he grabbed a spec of the pink dusk. "Look closely!" He clicked his fingers, and the pink substance seemed to spark. He then poured it all over the clay sphere and stood up.

It was a quick and precise throw, proper of an excellent chaser. The ball hit one of Slytherin's banners, and it was engulfed into flames by a rain of firecrackers.

"What'cha think?" Fred grinned. "Nasty, isn't it?"

"We call them Mollyers," George added. "In honour of our beloved mother and her flaring temper! Stings like her slaps, also." His fingers were clearly blistered now, a few drops of pink on the swollen flesh.

Harry could only blink in awe.

"The explosion from a minute ago… Was it yours?"

"Of course it was us!"

"That was our dear Great Molly! Went out with a bang, that one!"

They glanced at one another, once again, grinning like madmen.

"And there's still the Mega Molly. That one, however, must only be used at a very special time, which…"

Footsteps resounded, quick and heavy; those of a person who didn't mind to be heard. George stepped out from behind the column, wand ready on his right hand and a Mollyer on his left, pushing Harry aside.

It was no other but Dean Thomas who strode into the Great Hall. He was sweating and red-faced, breathing raggedly. "Umbridge has left her chambers! I repeat, the toad has left its hole!" And just like that, he ran past the three of them, sparing them only a sideways glance.

His shouting remained after he stormed into the next hallway.

George and Fred turned serious suddenly. Such an exceptional sight sent shudders of fear through his body.

"Time to go all out, Forge. Let's make our little brother proud."

"You bet, Gred."

"You better take cover, Harry. Fall back and delight yourself. Umbridge will fall today, because our brother said so, and Hermione and everyone else will be avenged."

What followed next, it was a display of exceptionality, flashiness, noiseness and Weasleyness like no other before.

The twins jumped into their broomsticks and soared upward, to the Hall's ceiling. There, Fred grabbed a large amount of pink dust, just to toss it before him. George threw the clay sphere into the dust rain—and so was born a storm of firecrackers which thundered in rage. Red, yellow, blue… The sparks and the explosions gleamed in every colour there was.

They stormed out of the Hall, and havoc was set loose upon the castle.

Harry remembered something of utmost importance. "Wait! There's an Auror here! You must be…" Yet his shouting was drowned into the choir of chaos unleashed by the twins.

Harry ran after them, pale and sweaty, cursing his own stupidity.

"Dragon, now!" Fred's voice reached from afar.

George threw another sphere into the pink rain, and a dragon made of firecrackers came to be born. They flew all over the castle as Harry followed them. To Fred's command, different creatures and things were turned into firecrackers. They cut through many brawls, making the students duck away in search of safety.

Gertrude Meads—who had been fighting Angelina and Katie all by herself—wasn't fast enough, as shocked as she'd been. A torrent of cat-firecrackers set her robes on fire, making the girl scream in fear. Prefects who belonged to neither of groups, such as Cedric Diggory and Claire Tossard, could only protect a bunch of wounded students from the trail of chaos. A group of scared first-years barely avoided a huge lion-firecracker which went past them. Even Professor Sinistra could do nothing as the twins soared past her, rooted to her spot as her eyes opened in awe.

"Umbridge!" George bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Come for us! Come, you bloody toad! Else we'll set your dear castle ablaze!"

Shit, I need to be quicker! I must warn them! Harry had grown so blind to all else save his mission that he didn't realise he'd broken into another brawl. He slipped on Colin Creevey's robes, who was a whimpering mess on the floor. By the time he stood up, Bole had raised him from the neck of his robes, pushing him against the wall.

"Ain't this a nice surprise?" the Slytherin beater grinned. There was a bit of blood running down the corner of his mouth, and one of his eyes was swollen and half-lidded. "Gryffindor's ace seeker in flesh and bone! Say, have you recovered yet from losing the Cup for another year? I can imagine how much Wood must have cried over it, that loser."

Harry looked around—apart from Collin, Darren Davis and most of his friends lay scattered all over the hall.

Bole followed his eyes. "Oh, yes. I did this myself. These annoying fuckers stood their ground, much to my surprise. Whoever trained you, they did it well. But we were also trained in combat, you see, by Walden Macnair himself. And I'm dying to test my skills against some of the stronger lions. Perhaps that wrench of Katie Bell. She's given us a fair amount of trouble in the field, after all, and she needs to pay now."

Rage blossomed within Harry. There wasn't a single thought in his mind when he headbutted Bole, and the cracking of his nose filled the Gryffindor with a dark mirth.

"Ahg…" Bole cursed, stepping back as his hands rose to his face. "You'll pay for-"

"Stupefy!"

Harry's curse brightened the hall, and it was echoed by a heavy thud, that of a large body falling down. He wasn't granted time to think. Already on his tiptoes, Harry jumped away from a rain of curses, taking shelter inside a small classroom.

By the time Derrick, Warrington and Bletchley made it inside, Harry was nowhere to be found.

"The hell?" Warrington hissed. "Where's that fucker?"

"He's turned invisible, you oaf!" Bletchley bit back. "They've been doing it all through the year!"

Harry moved silently around them, on the tip of his toes, going for the door. Their eyes scanned every inch of the room, yet they found nothing. The door was so very close, a few steps away from him…

"Close the bloody door!" Bletchley hissed then.

Derrick dashed for it, yet an instant too late. Harry managed to put his feet in between the door and the wall. Pain travelled up his feet, just as surprise did appear on the Slytherin's face. His faint, "what the…" was cut short when Harry slammed the door open into his face.

He never looked back once. Not when they strode out of the room, in search of revenge, nor when Professor Flitwick intercepted them, nor when the thre Slytherins were fools enough to turn against the Professor.

He'd lost sight of the twins, however, and then a sombre realisation fell upon him. There was chaos no more, replaced by a calm silence. Like a wall through which nothing could seep.

Until the shouts broke through it, finally.

Harry made it outside at last, into Godric's Courtyard. Sunlight fell all over him, warm, welcoming. Unlike the picture which he glimpsed. A tall Auror stood amidst the Courtyard, bathed in sunlight. He was bald, plump and dark-eyed, dressed in dark-blue uniform. And his wand was a blazing beacon in his hand. His skill was an elegant thing. It was also lethal to their hopes.

Fred and George danced with him, jumping around, barely dodging the Auror's spells. Faces damped in sweat, kerchiefs still in place, and a semblance of desperation within their eyes. Their broomsticks lay broken and splintered far from them, just as two largest spots, one of pink and other of grey, stained the brownish marbled floor.

Fred looked back for an instant, eyes gleaming with hope. "Help us, Harry!"

Yet Harry did nothing. To help them, it would only make them suffer a far worse defeat, he was sure of that. He stood witness to a most unfair fight, rooted to his spot, still bathed in sunlight, which felt far too pure a thing for such a pitiful thing as he was. The hand which held his wand trembled, threatening to let it slip.

Reinforcements came from behind. Angelina and Katie ran to the twins' aid. Katie was first to fall, felled by a very precise stunner to her chest. Shortly after, Angelina was jailed by marble chains which rose from the ground. One after another, the Army joined the brawl. One after another, they fell.

Dean, Seammus and Susan, all exhausted and wounded, tried to make the Auror lose his focus on the twins—just to fall after exchanging a couple spells. Wayne Hopkins and Megan Jones, peaceful Hufflepuffs as they were, couldn't Shield the twins for long, and they too fell. Lisa Turpin's wand was broken when she tried to parry a spell. Marcus Belby managed to set the Auror's cloak on fire, just to be knocked-out shortly after. The Patil twins lay motionless after being hit by a bright, yellowish curse. Beatrice Haywood did hold her ground for a while, but her fate was the same as everyone's else.

At last did the bloodless massacre end. Only Harry was left standing to see the twins fall.

The Weasley brothers were kneeled down by ropes of light coiled around their shoulders, knees, ankles and wrists. Fred's kerchief was but ashes after being set ablaze by a spell, while all that remained from George's were damped threads of red stuck to his reddened, sweaty skin.

The Auror came to stand before them. "Red hair, face full of freckles, pale eyes… You Weasleys are all the same." His voice betrayed his calm facade. It came out raggedly, each word an effort which he couldn't afford after such a long brawl. "Tenacious fuckers, also. You two did good today, lads, so be proud. I, on the contrary, am not proud of beating a bunch of children… But orders are orders, and one must carry them out."

The twins didn't even glance at Harry, and that hurt him far greater than any accusatory staring.

"Since when are you here, in Hogwart?" Fred managed to grunt.

"Since the Headmistress requested a bit of help from the Minister. We arrived about a week ago, though Umbridge made us hide like rats. She wanted us as some aces up her sleeve." His eyes fell upon the pink and grey stains, letting out a tired sigh, "And I guess she was on the right, given the turmoil you two caused today."

"Us?" George questioned coldly.

"Yes, us. Me and my fellow agent, John Dawlish. He was given another task for today, though I ignore which." He sighed once more; a heavier one this time, full of exhaustion. "Your venture has ended, lads. Now you two will be expelled. Many of your friends will probably. Just… Try no to not make it harder. If not for yourselves, for your friends. Bow your heads, erase that rage within your eyes, and plea for the whole blame to fall upon you. That way, perhaps, many of your friends will be spared from expulsion."

The Auror raised his gaze one last time, staring at Harry. There was a wordless question in his eyes— you are the only one standing left, what will you do? Harry simply bowed his head, storing his wand into his robes, sitting down in the cold ground as a veil of shame fell upon him. Accepting defeat.

The hours went by as the sun went down. Between the Professors and the Aurors, Hogwarts was brought back to peace. The members of the Army and the Party alike were put into custody, chastised and punished. And whispers started to run from one end of the castle to the other.

Umbridge and Macnair were missing, and so were Faith Gourcuff, Alaine Baldwin and Ronald Weasley.

Harry saw hope in his friends' faces—as long as one of them were to remain on their feet, the fight would not die and there would be hope. He did not think so, however.

They had lost for good.


Macnair's stiffness told Ron that something was about to happen.

The man's eyes darted to the entrance to the clearing. Ron mirrored him, ignoring Umbridge's firm hand on his head, which tried to control every of his moves. He felt her tightening his grip, annoyed.

"She's here," Macnair said, the hint of a smile on his face.

"Good," Umbridge replied, also following their gaze.

Alaine, however, held his head down, eyes upon the green carpet the ground was. Sniffing faintly, body shaking with each whimper.

Faith made no noise as she came at them. Nor did she try to conceal her presence. She walked into the lion's den, firmly, confident, with a grace to her stride so natural to it. Her face was another story, though. Cold eyes, showing no emotion. Features held in a firm rictus, lips drawn into a thin line.

She halted about ten metres away from them. "Is it possible to fall as low as you two did, I wonder? What is this foul nonsense? Taking children as hostages, hurting them… You two truly belong with one another. Monsters of the same kind."

Macnair grinned, untroubled. Umbridge, however, did not take those words so well.

"And you speak to me about foulness?" she hissed. "You, who betrayed my trust. You, who instructed children in war and set them loose upon the order I had built for the school? This is all your fault, Gourcuff. Not mine. Yours and only yours."

Faith tilted her head. "Is that what you tell yourself at night? To make yourself feel better? Oh, I really pity you, Umbridge. You play yourself as a strong woman, but you know deep within that is just a weak, crumbling facade."

Umbridge's face reddened. "You dare to-"

Faith's wand rose faster than blinking. Macnair's did too. The two of them fell into a tense stalemate, wands pointed at one another.

"Ah, the beastly Death Eater," Faith said sourly. "I used to hunt folk like you a long while ago. It was part of my instruction as a Nighteye, you see. I really loved those hunts. To hear the screams of those bastards, it filled me with joy."

Umbridge joined the frail, her wand finally lifted from Ron's neck. The boy hesitated—was this his chance?

Macnair put an end to his doubts. "Any of you move a finger, and I blow this girl's brains."

There was silence within the clearing. Ron could not see Alaine from her position, but he'd felt the way Umbridge had tensed behind him.

"Walden," she started, tentatively, "perhaps you should-"

"Shut up!" Macnair cut in. "You hesitate, and this bitch kills us in the blink of an eye. She's a Nighteye, Dolores. A murderer, just like I am. Look at her eyes. Do you see anything in them? Because I do. I've seen it plenty in many others. Past friends of mine, who once stood with me in pursuit of better times."

"Then," Faith started, "if you are so eager to meet me in battle, why don't you free the girl and come at me? I thought you were a man to thirst for blood, Walden Macnair. Not a coward."

"A coward?" Macnair mused in response. "Me, a coward? Crucio!"

A horrifying shrieking broke through the tension of the clearing. It was a pained whaling unlike any other Ron had ever heard. He turned around in a frenzy, ignoring Macnair's previous words, feeling that Umbridge had let go of him. He turned pale at the sight he found.

Alaine laid on the ground, embraced by the blades of grass. Rolling around, hands up to her face, leaving bloody scratches across it, screaming and screaming, crying her eyes dry.

"Stop!" Ron bellowed, taking a step forward.

"Do not move!" Faith shouted at the boy. The coldness within her eyes was long gone, replaced by a scorching anger, embers in her blue irises.

A second went by. A second which felt eternal.

"That is much better," Macnair said, halting his torment on Alaine. The girl went so still Ron thought her dead. But then she started to tremble, body shaken by sudden and fast spasm. "There it is, your real character. I cannot stand when the likes of you stare at me like that, with such airs of superiority. That fury, that murderous desire… Ah, I'm really going to enjoy breaking you, Nighteye."

Faith stored her wand back into her blue, long skirts, glancing at Umbridge. "What do you want of me? To turn myself in? Well, I will gladly do that. If you are to free these children, that's it."

Umbridge had gone pale at the most recent series of events, her eyes looking everywhere but toward Alaine. Still she was quick to shake herself out of stupor. "You are to confess for the whole country to hear. To confess you trained the students not for class but to make soldiers out of them. That you wanted to seize control of Hogwarts. That your actions caused a lot of harm to many children…" she hesitated, "including these two who, unfortunately, will meet no happy ending today."

Faith stared at Umbridge with such profoundness it made the witch shift in discomfort.

"I will confess this was but a selfish desire of mine. That I wished to seize control of the castle, as you just said, and to seize the position of Headmistress for myself. That my ambition caused a lot of hurt to the children. But these two, they will suffer no more. I believe enough has been done to them. You do that, and I will gladly walk into Azkaban myself."

Umbridge considered those words, her eyes gleaming with ambition and victory once more. And she nodded to them, at last. Macnair stepped forward, stepping on Alaine's leg. The girl laid motionless though it all, giving no sign of pain nor fear. Until he came to stand before Ron.

"This boy's eyes," he growled, staring down, "I don't like them. Such venom within them. You think yourself a brave, noble cunt, don't you? Yes, I'm certain of that. Your uncles were once like that, you see. Brave and self-righteous cunts. Shame I wasn't there to see them suffer and die. I would've gladly pulled their nails off their skin one by one."

Ron stared right into the Death Eater's eyes. There was nothing he could do right now to stop them. He stood powerless, yet again. But to simply hold his ground, not lowering his head in fear, it made Macnair's eye twitch in rage. The man was one to easily lose his temper, he knew. If he was to provoke him enough, perhaps there would come a chance for Faith to seize.

Macnair, however, kept his temper at bay.

"Put the Warded necklace around that bitch's throat, Dolores," he said. "Let's finish this. I will however enjoy her later, us two alone. I hope you'll give me a good time, bitch, because this has been a rather emotionless morning."

Faith shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly as Umbridge walked toward her. Wand pointed at the Nighteye on one hand, necklace held in the other. Macnair raised his wand up to Ron's forehead, already gleaming in green.

Ron knew he should have felt fear, but he did not. All he felt was a cold rage within, like an endless pit swallowing every other emotion. Gerd zipped above them, her fury drinking on his own. Or perhaps it was the other way around, his rage drinking on hers. They both desired nothing but to hurt Macnair as he deserved.

Faith snatched the necklace from Umbridge's hand, glancing at it. Then she sighed in defeat.

"My venture here has reached its end, I suppose. And I have failed yet again. At least this lie will haunt me no more. I have spent far too much time in a life which was not mine."

She put on the necklace, and the unbelievable happened.

She became a different woman before their aghast eyes. Her black hair gleamed, now bristled locks of bright red. Her eyes remained bright, though green instead of blue. Her face rounded, losing a bit of its sharpness, and a long scar now went through her forehead down to the corner of her lips, as if skin once burnt and not fully healed. She retained her size, but her shape lost a bit of roundness to her womanly curves.

The clearing became silent, time stilled, as they all could only stare at the strange woman before them. Suddenly Ron knew what to do. There would be no better chance than this.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.

Gerd showed herself to them all, a gleaming woman-like spirit zipping around in a frenzy, dancing above them.

"Do it." Her emotions spoke to him as loud and clear as her voice did. "Summon what I left behind centuries ago. It is yours to claim now. A worthy bearer, for such a disgusting responsibility."

He simply did so. It was as natural to him as breathing.

Ron felt strength surging within him. A thrill for battle. Too warm, scorching hot. Its oppressive fingers all over him, a scream for freedom. His eyes alighted, gleaming blue frost streaming off his body. He felt powerful, more than ever. And he summoned that strength from within.

Macnair took a step back, mouth open in awe, eyes in disbelief. And his wand lost that green touch which had gleamed its tip.

It was the moment he'd been waiting for.

Ron thrusted his hand forward, just as Gerd told him without the need of words through their bond. Mist gathered there, then solidified in the blink of an eye. A curved, long sword his hands now wielded, of a craft so beautiful one could only lose oneself on it. Of a blue steel so faint it looked ice-white, reflecting the sunlight, becoming a beacon of hope. Weightless despite its huge shape, as if made of wind itself.

It was a blade of death, he knew.

And death he unleashed.

The blade felt strange in his hands, never thought to wield one. And yet it was so easy to wield it. And to know what to do. It rose in an upward cut, in hunger to slice and cut worthy flesh. For a moment Ron thought he had missed, as he had felt no resistance, neither a bone nor a muscle nor a ligament trying to stop the blade. As if cutting through the empty air.

And then Macnair's head fell down as the blade went through his neck. The steel gleamed in red, blood smoking on the steel. Ron saw it fall in slow motion, one last rictus of surprise in his cold, sharp features, a silent gasp which would never leave his mouth. His body twitched, then fell down too.

There was shouting, but faint, like a faraway echo. There was the drumming of his heartbeat, his temples buzzing to its beat. Slow, so very slow, just as everything around seemed to slow down. Time stilled as Ron's eyes fell upon the blood-soaked, smoking blade. And the weight of what he had just done finally fell upon him.

He had killed a man.

It felt as if waking up from a long dream. Ron blinked, his eyes getting used to the bright morning. The world around him felt strange. The noises were faint, the colours were darker. It felt as if being inside a misty bubble.

He blinked once more.

Faith—or whoever this strange woman was—had fallen upon Umbridge, a knee of her throat, her eyes staring off to space as she drifted into unconsciousness. She, once his Professor, stared at the boy with shock written all over her features. Ron turned around, and found Alaine on her hands and knees. Trembling, pale as a ghost, looking at him. Not with shock, but with fear.

Alaine crawled back, shaking, whimpering. "Y-You… Killed… Killed."

He blinked once more, not letting go of the blade for a second.

Gerdnyaram descended, perching herself upon his shoulder, sharing her warmth with him. "You did what needed to be done, my dear Ronald. It was them or us. There was no other way."

He nodded faintly, raising his eyes from the blade at last. Its tip was sunk into the ground, carving a hole in it as if it was made of plasticine.

Faith stood up from Umbridge, who now lay unconscious, and took a careful step toward the boy, raising both of her hands into the air. "Careful, Ronald. Be at ease, for I mean you no harm."

Step after step she closed the distance in between them. Gerdnyaram eyed her warily. Ron just allowed her to do as she pleased.

"That's it. Good boy." She reached out to take the blade away from him. Softly, slowly, carefully. Her warm hand fell upon his own. Faith grabbed the blade, held it way more regally than he'd one, almost reverently. And then she slowly set it down on the ground.

"I killed him," Ron muttered, finally. It felt as if he hadn't spoken in ages.

"You did kill him," Faith nodded softly. Her hands raised toward him once more, and finally he was rid of the Warded necklace. "And because of that I am alive. And you two free and unharmed. I do condemn violence, more so killing. But it was long ago when I learnt that, just sometimes, one cannot escape it. This is a foul world, Ronald. Good people suffer, bad people thrive, and us, those who linger in between them, must try our best to stand afloat."

Ron nodded, trying to find comfort and reason in her words. It was either that or accept he'd become a murderer.

He took a step forward, toward Alaine, going in her aid. She opened her eyes, terrified, crawling away from him.

"Alaine… I…"

Faith dashed past him. She made it to the hurting girl in no time at all. "You are safe, dear." She held the girl in her arms, embracing her, allowing her to cry into her breast. In the meantime, Faith's hand rose from behind. A simple touch of her fingers and Alaine was put into slumber.

Faith rocked her slowly, putting her down carefully upon the soft grass.

Then she turned toward Ron. "And at last it is the two of us alone, the moment pure. Because I believe we have much to talk about, Ronald Weasley."

Gerd tensed. "She is a strange woman. There is something very particular about her. Still, I sense no danger from her. I truly believe she is not our enemy."

That did not mean she was their ally either. But she'd helped them through the year, just as she'd come in their aid today. Going so far as to offer herself just to save them. Least Ron could do was to give her a chance.

"Who are you?" the boy asked quietly.

He could still feel the blade's weight on his hands, his fingers closing around the beautiful handler which wasn't there anymore. Just as his eyes darted at Macnair's corpse each few seconds; a shadow he couldn't ignore.

Faith sighed, exhausted, almost defeated despite their recent victory. "I've been many people, done many professions. I've worn their faces and their clothes, acted just like them, even thought like they would. Lost myself in them, even. Formerly, I was the proud Master of an ancient and regal Order, which I betrayed and fought against. Again I failed in my venture against them. So I came here with a different purpose in mind. I came to Hogwars because of you, Ronald. For you are, somehow, of utmost importance to the fate of this world, even if you yet ignore."

Her eyes hardened, casting away that air of defeat around her. "My name is Shana. And today, unfortunately, I bring to you the end of your life as you knew it."

Ron froze, forgetting to even breathe. Shana. He knew of that name. A woman of fiery hair and just nature, he'd been told.

He could only laugh. Maddening guffaws which broke through the Forest's sombre silence. He'd killed a man, and now he'd found a woman who was an important thread in the lattice of time.

She blinked, surprised, yet allowed him to get rid of all those many emotions which had put him on the edge for so long. Gerd simply held her hand to his face, soothingly, a soft caress.

Ron ended up coughing, reaching the end of his stroke of madness. There was a mirthless, ironic smile on his face. "Perhaps I'm finally losing my mind once and for all," he said at last. "All that has happened in these past few days, I guess I reached my limit. Merlin, all I want is to close my eyes and never wake up again. To live in this shittery of a world…" He sighed, scratching his temple with a finger, "But I can't do that. Have a duty to carry out and all that nonsense."

Shana stood up, eyeing him carefully. "You knew of me? How so?"

"Kayle told me about you. Implored me to seek you out, in fact. You found me first, however."

"Kayle. Yes, I do remember her. She was a unique sight, after all."

Ron turned stiff and wary. It was time to set every thought aside, even those which clinged so firmly. Like that corpse to which he'd turned his back on. Like Alaine's fear toward him.

"She is. But I don't trust her. Not fully, at least, and that means I cannot trust you either. And here and today, I'm the one who knows more. So you will answer my questions truthfully. Was I clear enough?"

Shana glanced down at his shoulder, where Gerd made herself visible. "Ah, yes," she said sourly. "I had also forgotten you were a companion to an Essentia. A pleasure to meet you, blue woman. Now, I hate to be ordered around by a child, but I will dance to your tune for the time being, Ronald."

"You said that you were searching for me. Why?"

"Because you were somehow related to Herpo the Foul." She halted briefly, waiting for something. "Ah, your lack of surprise tells me that you too know of him. Well, it will make us waste not so much time in silly explanations. It is a long story, though, so I will be as brief as possible. Thing is, I've been fighting against some people who I thought wanted to bring Herpo back to life. Me and my allies, we were defeated horribly, so I ran with the tail between my legs. I settled for another venture, desperate, almost hopeless. I had nothing more to lose, after all. And that brought me here."

Ron considered her explanation. "If so, why did it take you so long to contact me?" he observed.

"Because I lost myself in the life of a Professor," she sighed. Ron raised a brow, urging her to continue. Which she did, rolling her eyes. "Do you remember what I said just before? That I've worn the faces and clothes of many people, losing myself on them? Well, it simply was not a poetic reference. I impersonate people, using my Illusions to wear their faces. I study them for months. I adopt their speaking, their fixations and their character. Until I become them. Neither is this a poetic way of speaking. I literally discard my own self so I can become them, to fool even those closest to them. I know it sounds like madness, and perhaps it is, but that is what I do.

"And here, in this castle of wonder and song, I fell into a life I couldn't discard, regardless of my venture's importance. Children getting bullied and terrorised by a foul woman and her lackeys. I just couldn't stand aside. This woman I've impersonated, Faith Gourcuff, wouldn't have stood aside. She saw herself in some students, like your friend Hermione Granger among others. And when you all flocked to me, told me of your fears and worries, saw hope in your faces once more when I taught you, I simply sunk deeper and deeper into this life."

Once, Ron would have labelled this woman a freak, thinking of her story as mad rambling. But now, after all he'd seen, it somehow made sense to him—hell, he'd seen a man reborn and visited a strange world in which only the souls of ancient people lingered. A woman saying that she wore an Illusion in order to become some else, it wasn't so outworldly. So he accepted it.

"And what happened to the real Faith Gourcuff."

"She's dead," Shana said. "I found her corpse around seven months ago. Frozen, buried deep beneath a mass of ice and snow in Norway. Oh, but don't be mistaken here. She was as much of a wonder as you all believe her to be. A Nighteye, one of the youngest in history, as I later came to know. A curious mind, a brave heart, a cold, unyielding soul, as those close to her told me. And someone who dreamed of being a Professor, to share all she knew, let it be magic, experiences or morality to children. Yet she was felled by a horde of creatures to which I find no words to describe. All ten of them, slayed single-handedly by one woman alone."

Gerd leaned forward, speaking for the first time. "Those monsters, describe them to me."

"Predators, that's the first word which came to my mind when I first saw them," Shana said. "Tall and wide, of rough skin, of thick muscles. Their body was similar to that of a large bear, with white, spiky fur, and with six strong limbs. Their heads, however, were that of a spider. When I found them, there were white worms all over them, gorging on their flesh. I wasn't able to discern whether they belonged with one another or not."

Gerd shuddered. "Men's Bane," she mused. "Too many of them, all together. I knew they were not extinct, but this…"

"What of them, Essentia?" Shana asked sharply. "I believe I've been honest enough. Perhaps it would be kind to pay me back with the same coin."

Gerdnyaram jumped down Ron's shoulder, zipping around. One instant she was a woman, the next she was an eagle, changing constantly in between her two forms. "Nightmares, that is what they are. Ancient creatures we fought long ago. Most of them were wiped out, but many others survived. To see them so awake and active, it is just another proof of the world's inevitable change."

Shana eyed her sharply. "I know of the legends. However, I thought they were simply that, legends and myths. But the worry I feel within your voice, it tells me otherwise."

Ron stared at her, studying her face. He figured it out soon enough.

"You don't know yet, do you?"

Shana blinked. "Know about what?"

"That Herpo the Foul has been reborn already."

To simply mutter those words aloud, it seemed to make the world writhe. The wind blew stronger and colder, the clouds lunged at the sun, trying to hide it behind them, even the firm trees seemed to crook away from Ron and the foul words he'd uttered. Shana's reaction was much simpler, however. She took her hand up to her mouth, masking a gasp, as her face turned white.

"No. Isaac has done it… I know he was close, but this soon? Damned fool…"

"Isaac?" Ron muttered. "I know that name. Yes, I remember him. He's dead. Killed by a man who wore his very same clothes, though silver instead of white. The same shade as his hair."

"Was his name Xaladir?"

"Xaladir the Second," Ron nodded sourly. "So he referred to himself as."

"How do you know about them?"

"Because, as soon as Herpo was reborn, he summoned us to a strange world. Thirteen of us—six from the present, six from the past, and Herpo himself. He was not an old man anymore, however. He's taken a young body for a vessel. That of a strong, tall man. Of short and blond hair, with a long scar across his face. He…"

Ron halted abruptly as Shana sat down with her back against a tree. "Are… Are you okay?"

"No," she said weakly. "I've never been worse, in fact. That man whose body was taken for a vessel, I knew him. Was fond of him once… Damn bastard! So that was why he stuck to me for so long, why he later came to betray us!"

Ron allowed her a bit of time so she could regain her composure. She seemed really afflicted. But it had been the fate of that man what had unsettled her the most, not Herpo's reborn. He wished for it to be quick, though. The longer he remained in silence, the more the murder he'd committed weighed upon his conscience.

In the end, it took her around a minute to calm down. It impressed him to see how fiercely her eyes gleamed, her moment of weakness long forgotten. And such fierceness came along with a straightforwardness which astonished Ron.

"Do you trust me?"

Simple and direct, her question was. Not meant for him alone to answer.

Gerd halted, standing in the air with her hands clasped behind her back, staring at the red-haired woman. "I…" she started. "I do trust you in some regards. I am certain you wish us no harm, that you want to stop Herpo and that you are kind-hearted. However, I see slyness and dutifulness within your eyes, too. You are a woman who will do what is necessary, regardless of what it might take. Those are quite dangerous people to trust."

Ron took himself longer to answer.

"I don't trust you. It isn't personal. It's just that I… I don't even trust myself anymore. I'm sorry, I guess."

Shana stood up as she waved her hand. "You are a clever lad, then. It would be unwise to trust me, given what few words we've crossed. That would need to change, however. These are rough times. Times in which trusting others becomes of the essence. I was once like that, you see, and learnt the hard way one cannot simply do everything on their own. Friends are a precious thing, Ronald." She extended her hand forward, "I hope one day you may think of me as a friend. In the meantime, let's start anew. Like I said, my name is Shana, and I'm pleased to meet you."

Her words reminded her of some Gerd had uttered a while ago; she too had tried to fight on her own, just to fall short. Times in which their relationship had strained almost beyond repair. Times in which they'd agreed to begin a bond of trust and honesty.

Ron glanced at her hand for a second, then sighed weakly, "Pleased to meet you, Shana. Say, what are you planning to do?"

Her eyes sparkled with a faint amusement. "Oh, a straightforward lad! I like that kind of men." Ron rolled his eyes, to which she gave the hint of a smile. "Jokes aside, now. I plan to approach this revelation with a cold mind. I will tell my closest allies about Herpo's return, consult our plans with them. They are of trust, so don't fear. Also, I want you to be part of those plans. Now, I'm well aware of the fact you are a child. I won't reveal your name to them, certainly. I won't ask you to fight against our enemies, either. But I want you with me. You'll tell me all you know, and I'll tell you all I know. A bond of trust. Alone, we both have been defeated. Together, we might stand a chance."

Ron considered it. To have powerful allies, it could make a difference. He could use them as new pieces, just as they could use him were he to not be extremely careful. One cannot just take no risks when so much is at stake, he thought grimly. Alone, I and Gerd stand no chance, as it has been proven already. Not against the monsters were are to face. We need more people. People whom we can trust, if possible. People whom we can make use of, if not.

It was quite the easy choice to make.

"Sure," Ron nodded, then he glanced around. "But first, what are we going to do about this mess? Macnair is… Well, he's dead. Umbridge is unconscious, and Alaine… She's seen what I did. She's afraid of me now…"

Shana's hand fell upon his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "I will handle it all myself. It's the least I can do, I guess, given the fact it's mainly my fault." She made her way over Umbridge, looking down at her. "This foul woman, she deserves the worst. She wanted me to confess for her crimes, blame me. Well, I will give her a taste of her own foulness. She will confess about all she's done, and she will suffer what she deserves."

Ron closed the distance between them. There, he looked down at Umbridge. She was a pitiful sight. Even when slept, her round face had a touch of vileness to it. Though it was masked by a semblance of fear. Fear of losing. Fear of facing the justice she deserved.

"Good," Ron almost spat. "Make her suffer."

Shana glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. "Such anger, best to have it controlled."

"I don't give a shit about that right now, with all due respect. You know how much she's made us suffer these months. Simply because we stood in her way or refused to obey every word of hers."

"Guess you are right."

"How do you plan to make her confess? Not by kind means, I suppose."

Shana crouched down, taking her hand down to Umbridge's face. "I'll use Compulsion. It's a foul art, I know, but I feel no shame toward this woman. I will make her believe she was on the wrong, drill a semblance of repentance into her mind, fill her with shame and regret. It might break her mind apart if I'm not careful enough, but it's the only way for us to solve this mess and come out unscattered."

"And what about Macnair?"

"I will make her believe a beast from the Forest killed him. So she will tell the authorities. Given the fact no magic was used to kill him, the Healers won't suspect otherwise when they examine his corpse."

"And what about Faith Gourcuff? She might be dead, but she was real to us all."

"She will disappear deep into the Forest, a pile of meat for the beast which killed Macnair to feast upon. So will Umbridge say once I'm finished with the Compulsion. So will you say, feigning to be scared and horrified once they interrogate you. And so will…" Her words hung into the air, as they both knew there was someone else to worry about. Someone innocent.

Ron gulped down. "And what about Alaine?"

Shana stiffed, glancing at the sleeping girl. "I will need to Obliviate her. Replace her memories with false, new ones. She saw you slain that man, and we cannot afford ourselves that risk. Perhaps it's for the better. She was tortured today, and saw plenty of horrors."

"Will it be dangerous?"

"Plenty. Obliviation and Compulsion are two similar arts, and just like I said I'm no master at them. I'll be extremely cautious, of course. With both of them." She raised her eyes, looking at him hesitantly. "Also, if you want, I can erase the killing from your memory. I've seen the way your hands trembled, the regret within your face. It's quite a traumatic experience, but one you don't need to live with."

Ron blinked in disbelief. "Could I really…"

He halted abruptly. To rid himself of his killing? The way Macnair's head had fallen down, the blade coated in blood, the ease to a most disgusting action. The death of a man he'd wished to see suffer since the day he executed Buckbeack. The memory of a foul promise he once made under the shadow of a tree. To simply forget it all… It sounded lovely.

"No," he found himself saying, surprising even himself. "His death… Is mine to carry. This revulsion… I best remember it, lest I wish death so coldly upon someone else one day. Merlin, I was an utter fool back then… To think I could kill someone and not feel anything… Bloody fool, I was."

Shana gave him a soft smile. "You are quite wise for a boy about your age, Ronald. And you have a good heart, don't ever think otherwise."

Ron allowed himself a heavy sigh. "Thank you. I needed to hear some nice words, I guess."

"It's a good start to our friendship, I suppose," she nodded, her smile widening. A honest smile, this time. "Now, why don't you wait there, under the shadow of that tall tree. It will take me a long while to perform this, and I can see how exhausted you are."

It sounded such a great idea Ron found no words of refusal. He didn't make it to the tree in one go, however, for a flash of pale blue caught his eyes. There, sunk among the blades of grass, was the blade he'd wielded to kill Macnair. He shuddered, yet found himself walking toward it.

Gerd glided by his side, silent.

Ron crouched down to grab the blade by its handler. There was no blood coating its steel anymore. He allowed himself a moment to observe its craft, mesmerised. The blade was curved, faintly jagged, as if ascending flames. The handler was of even paler steel, a shade darker than white, also curved inward to protect one's hands. It was as long as Ron was tall, yet it weighed almost nothing.

"What is this, Gerd?" he whispered.

"For many, a treasure of nonesuch value; if just equal to entire kingdoms or royal bloodlines. An aberration, for just as many. It is prosperity yet also treason. A relic of past times no blacksmith of today will ever replicate, as the vile secrets to its forging were lost in the Doom. Bringer of death, a blade meant to fell those of our same kin. A Soulblade, in short."

"A… Soulblade?"

"A blade made of Alazthi Steel, bonded to a warrior's blood. Bane to all forms of magic. The Goblin's craft, stolen from them through blood and fire. Made ours by right of conquest, as foul as it is. Then enchanted, so it might only obey its bearer alone. A drop of blood, and the Blade will be bonded to you until your last breath. To be summoned and casted away as you deem it. Once, it was mine—Skydancer, I named it. Now it is yours to take. I forsworn it when I died."

Ron extended his arm, pulling the Blade as far from his body as possible. It scared him. What he'd felt when killing Macnair, so easy to slice and kill, such eagerness, it horrified him. Killing should not be so simple and easy. And yet, his eyes could not look aside, as he was also enthralled by the Blade.

Gerd understood his dilemma.

"A blade is what you make of it. Even a Soulblade. It can become a bane for the evil, a salvation for the innocent. To spill blood and rid another of their life, it takes a piece from oneself. I have seen even the noblest and greatest fall, as easily as frail children fell to fever. It is the most grandiose burden to carry upon one's shoulders. Yet I know you, Ronald, and I am certain death will not seduce you. Regardless of what you wield, nothing will."

Ron drew in a deep breath, still wielding the Blade with extreme caution and reverence.

"If you are its bearer, how did I come to summon it?"

"Because our bond has grown strong enough, I believe," Gerdnyaram said fondly. "You trust me, and I trust you. Just as you accepted me to bear the Anticipation, I accepted you to wield Skydancer. Today, I desperately wanted to save you. Yet I stood powerless in this flawed form of mine. All I could do was to pray for you, but then I felt that tug from within. A call for battle, a call for blood. I knew what it was, as I have felt it plenty. I just passed on that thrill to you."

"I cannot wield this, Gerd. It's too much for me. It reeks of death. It buzzes, eager for violence. This power… It terrifies me. Killing should never be this easy."

"It was mine once, now it is yours to accept or refuse. Be mindful of my words, however. A blade is what you make of it. Just as those children you once thought to be evil and rotted just because of their parents' nature were as normal as you were, with their flaws and virtues. You could do so much good with this Blade, Ronald."

Silence embraced them, as if the Forest itself awaited his decision. And he, unlike many had they been in his situation, really considered tossing the Blade aside, rejecting its foul company.

But then the memories swarmed him.

Memories of death, those of his family and loved ones. His father, bitten and strangled to death by a snake. That lifeless flash of red Bill became amidst the Great Hall. The twins and Charlie, nowhere to be seen. His mother, Ginny and Percy, lost, defeated, their eyes devoid of both emotion and life.

And memories of failure. All the times he had felt powerless, being unable to fight back. Tom's mocking smirk. A dark shadow above them as he tried to protect Daphne and Hermione. Macnair's wand pointed at his neck. That reunion of monsters in which he had felt so scared and hopeless…

Ron tightened his grip on the Soulblade. He clenched it with such strength that blood poured out from his dry skin. And the handler heated. A violent kind of heat, not a warm one.

"I'll take it," he said, voice weak and shaking.

Gerd alighted, smiling. "I am happy and honoured you accepted this gift from me." She flew down, staring at the Blade with fondness. "Skydancer… It is a beautiful name—one written in blood and anger and fear. But it is a little part of me, not of you. A good blade needs a name, Ronald. I hope it will be one to protagonize a far kinder story this time."

"A name…" Ron muttered.

He glanced up, to the bright sky above. A perfect name came to his mind without much thinking.

"Oathbinder," Ron whispered. "You and I, we are both bonded by oaths we swore when we started to trust one another. Promises we made. This is my Blade now, my story. But once it was yours. I think it is too cruel to rid the Blade of its first bearer. We are on this together, Gerd. Don't forget that."

Ron then felt a warmth within him, one different to that the sun and its bright rays bestowed upon him, one even more different to the feverish heat he felt from the Blade. Gerd smiled truthfully, face alight with emotion. And Ron then knew that, somehow, they would find success in their venture.