harry_30

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 31 – A Dangerous Game
~~~***~~~

The third staircase on the climb up Gryffindor tower locked into place. A few of the wizards in the portraits against the wall stirred, but most just continued sleeping. Even though she was exhausted, Hermione’s heart pounded faster and faster the closer they got to the Gryffindor common room.

On their climb out of the dungeons, she explained everything that had transpired. Snape cursed Harry’s reckless behaviour.

“He’ll get them all killed is what will happen,” Snape had hissed. “Foolish, just like his father.”

But even still, he was intrigued by the possibility that Voldemort could have taken control of another student, perhaps too intrigued Hermione pondered. As they climbed, Snape tried to convince her that everything was and would remain just fine. Voldemort was certainly miles, if not countries, away. His words contradicted his eager expression. Nor was Hermione so sure that Voldemort had left Hogwarts once he had been forced to leave Gabriella’s body.

Harry was certainly impulsive, but there was always an edge of truth in everything he said. It’s just that he had a problem taking the time to think it all through. She wished that, at least sometimes, Harry would sit down and just contemplate the implications and intricacies of his actions and the actions of those around him. Ron had the same impulsive streak in him; perhaps that’s why he and Harry were such great friends, but he was also, when he took the time, a great strategist. He could weave the moves four, or more steps ahead. Hermione knew that Ron’s brothers, Fred and George, had long ago mastered that skill and that, one day, Ron would as well. Perhaps that’s why she and Ron made such a great couple. Or, maybe, it was because he was such a good—

“Well, here we are,” said Snape in a long drawn out sigh. “Shall you do the honours, Ms. Granger?” he asked, holding his hand out toward the sleeping Fat Lady. Hermione cleared her throat. The Fat Lady didn’t move. She coughed louder. Still nothing happened.

“Excuse me,” she said softly.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” snapped Snape. He pounded on the portrait’s frame. “Wake up, woman!” he yelled. The Fat Lady nearly jumped out of the frame. Her hair was skewed to one side and her lipstick had somehow smeared across her cheek.

“How dare you interrupt my—” She stopped, realizing that a professor was present and then quickly tried to adjust her appearance. “Is there a p-problem Professor?” Snape looked at Hermione impatiently.

“Ms. Granger?”

“Er… sorry, ma’am. We didn’t mean to—”

“Ms. Granger?”

“Why, yes, sir… Demon dippers.”

The portrait swung open and Snape and Hermione stepped into the Gryffindor common room. Hermione expected to see Ron, pacing back and forth with his wand drawn, looking expectantly out the window for Harry’s return. Instead he was sprawled out on the couch in front of the fire… asleep. Or was he d—?

“RON!” she cried. The redhead jumped up, nearly throwing his wand into the fire.

“W-What,” he sputtered groggily. “What the bloody—”

“Worse than worthless,” muttered Snape.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, running to his side.

“Er… yeah,” he answered, rubbing his eyes with one hand while reaching down about the bottom of the couch to find his wand. Realizing he’d simply fallen asleep, Hermione’s demeanour instantly changed and, bent down as he was, she kicked him in the arse, flattening him to the floor.

“How could you fall asleep?” she yelled, kicking him once more. “Harry could be back any minute now and… and—”

“Stop kicking me!” Ron yelled back. “Ow! So help me… I’ll—” Finally, he found his wand, spun onto his back and held it up at her, waving it like a first year.

“You’ll what?” snapped Hermione, kicking his thigh. “I should—”

“Eh, hem.” Snape gave a little cough and the two stopped to look at him. The irritation in his eyes was enough for Hermione to put her wand away. It took Ron a moment more.

“Sev… er, Professor,” he said, slipping his wand away and rubbing his hind quarters. “Of course.” Ron rose to his feet and put his arm, haltingly, about Hermione’s waist. He looked into her eyes and whispered, “No need to go mental. I was awake. Reflexes of a cat. You know that. Meeeeowww.” He made a clawing motion with his right hand, and Hermione, against her will, smiled.

“Is the boy still upstairs?” Snape asked with an obviously dispassionate voice.

“Er, Patrick?” asked Ron. “Sure. Probably still in bed. I haven’t heard a thing since he left to the dormitory.”

“Obviously,” drawled Snape.

The three made there way to where the second year boys slept. Already, the early glow of dawn was beginning to reveal itself through the window. Hermione glanced out through the pains of glass and noticed a somewhat sickly looking wizard approaching the front doors of Hogwarts with great haste. She recognized, Remus Lupin at once, and his presence did not, in her mind, portend as a sight of great things to come. She watched as the castle doors closed behind him.

“I suggest we proceed with due caution,” offered Snape quietly.

All three held their wands at the ready as Snape carefully pulled back the curtains on Patrick’s bed. He was there, asleep in a foetal position. Looking down at him, Hermione felt that the whole concept that this angelic looking boy could be possessed by Voldemort was fantastical.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” whispered Hermione. The words, though soft, startled Patrick and he jumped up, seeing Ron at his bedside first.

“Oh crap!” Patrick exclaimed. “Did I miss Quidditch practice? I was going to watch—” He stopped, noticing Snape. “Professor?” Then he saw Hermione. “What’s wrong?” It took him a moment to process and then he yelled, “It’s Harry!” The other second year students began to stir at the commotion. “Where’s Harry? Did something happen today in the forest?” Patrick was agitated and tried to rise to his feet, but Ron held him down.

“He was supposed to see Dumbledore,” Patrick continued. “I knew he was in danger. Where’s Harry? I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen! He never…” Again, he tried to get up, but Ron held him fast. “Let me—”

“Legilimens!” whispered Snape with one hand against Patrick’s shoulder. The connection lasted for only a heartbeat or two and stopped as abruptly as it began as Snape jerked his hand away.

“Well, Professor,” asked Hermione, her wand drawn, but her hand shaking. “Can you see anything?”

“Nothing that would concern you, Ms. Granger,” answered Snape calmly. “But, if this was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I doubt I’d be able to discern a thing.” Ron sniggered.

“Then why bother?” he asked.

“Because,” replied Snape, “if it was… him, he most certainly would have killed the three of us for even trying.”

“But—”

“If he had, it would have been a foolish move, revealing his presence,” answered Snape before Hermione could ask the question. “His plans, whatever they might be, would have been foiled. A worthy sacrifice, don’t you think, Ms. Granger?”

“Voldemort?” muttered Patrick, somewhat confused.

“I could have a go,” offered Ron. “Maybe you just need to—”

“No,” said Snape shortly, holding his arm in front of Ron and blocking his way. Ron’s temper flared.

“But I healed the Longbottom’s minds; maybe I can see what happened to the Dark Lord. I know he was in there.”

“Dark Lord,” queried Hermione softly to herself. She’d never heard Ron refer to Voldemort in that way. And the tone was almost deferential.

“This is a job for Madame Pomfrey,” insisted Snape. “I’m afraid your suspicions may have been properly founded. Young Mr. O’Riley here has no memory of this morning’s breakfast.”

“What are you talking about?” said Patrick, irritably. “I had kippers and orange juice and—”

“They served kippers yesterday, not today,” interrupted Hermione.

“It seems, Mr. O’Riley,” said Snape, “that you have no memory since sometime midday yesterday.”

“That’s not possible! I was just—” He looked to the window. “It’s dark. But…” His head fell. “It’s not… not again. Please… not again…” He began to cry, wrapping one hand about Hermione’s robes. “Why me?”

“Because,” said Hermione gently, “he knows that Harry is fond of you. You’re the brother he never had.” Her eyes flashed to Ron, but his expression did not register what she had just said. Instead he was more intent on Professor Snape. Her words, however, did appear to calm Patrick, if only a little.

He was still crying as they made their way to the Hospital wing. Hermione couldn’t help but feel miserable for him. He was obviously unnerved and upset and worried. He clung to her as if she were a singular piece of driftwood in a vast open ocean. She stroked his head, trying to calm him, but little would help. Then, suddenly, he stopped and stood upright.

“James!” he cried. All at once, he turned and tried to head the other way. “We have to see if James is—”

“Hold on,” said Hermione, struggling with the others to hold him in place. “We need to get you to the hospital and then… then we’ll go check on James.”

“But maybe—”

“Mr. O’Riley,” spat Snape struggling to hold him as well. “If you don’t turn the other way, I’ll bind and gag you and have Mr. Weasley here drag you the rest of the way.”

Snape’s threats didn’t work. In fact, it took some time to get Patrick headed back toward Madame Pomfrey, but, finally, Hermione was able to assure him that they would see James right away.

When they arrived, they were surprised to see Madame Pomfrey still dressed in her nurse’s robes and wide awake. A further push of the door revealed why. Theodore Nott and his pals had been healed and were being released. Nott first saw only Hermione and took a step back.

“Stay away, you!” he yelled.

His recoil could not have stabbed further into Hermione’s heart. She had nearly killed him last year, slamming his skull into the stone walls of the dungeons. There was still part of her that was happy he had been punished, but no part had wished him death. That her actions had nearly cost Nott his life had haunted Hermione all summer long. She had never told anyone about the nightmares, not even Ron, and the fact that Nott seemed so afraid of her, here of all places, shook her to the bone. She wanted to reach out to him, but knew that, especially with his pals here, that she would simply make matters worse. As her own sadness deepened, the flash of fear in his eyes quickly vaporized and a sense of anger filled the void.

“I… I mean,” Nott sputtered, putting on a show for the others, “if you know what’s good for you!” He had regained his composure, but not before Ron chuckled slowly as he walked through the door with Patrick in his arms, Snape a few paced behind. The subtle laughter did not go unnoticed by Nott or Hermione.

“Ron!” she whispered.

“What’s that Weasles?” challenged Nott unaware that his Head of House was just behind the door. He moved forward, reaching for his wand.

Nott had taken only two steps forward before Patrick held out his hand and, struggling to break free of Ron’s grip, cried, “Crucio!” At the same instant that Nott cried out in pain, Hermione and Snape cried out to stop Patrick. The spell was broken at once, and he began to shake uncontrollably.

Quickly, Madame Pomfrey ushered Patrick to a bed just as Nott’s gang ushered him out of the hospital ward before he could verbalize what had just happened to him.

“You will wait for me in the common room!” Snape called after them. “Buffoons,” he muttered to himself.

Patrick took a drink from a dull green potion and fell fast asleep. There was clear pallor to Madame Pomfrey’s complexion that wasn’t there a moment before.

“I… I never…” she muttered to herself.

“No, Poppy,” said Snape, “but the darkness has clearly seeped within the walls. Whether he had taken control of Mr. O’Riley’s body, or simply used him as a pawn remains to be seen.” He looked into Hermione’s eyes. “He is, perhaps, closer than we can imagine.”

She could feel Snape’s eyes penetrating her own, searching for something. There was a pulse of pain in her right temple. She was about to challenge Snape for looking into her mind when Ron bumped his shoulder and broke the trance.

“Yeh think?” snapped Ron angrily, brushing past Snape and toward Patrick’s bed. “Now maybe if you let me have a look, we can find out exactly—”

“Mr. Weasley,” said Snape, placing a firm hand on Ron’s shoulder. “You were the last one to see Patrick, is that right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Hermione watched as Snape’s hand tightened slightly about Ron’s shoulder. She knew that he was trying to search Ron’s mind as he had searched hers. But Ron’s mental skills at both Occlumency and Legilimency were ten-fold her own. Ron slapped Snape’s hand away and there was distinct pop as, somewhere, the air had arced between them.

“Oi! Don’t think so, Professor.” Ron took a step back from Snape. “Harry told us not to trust anyone, and as much as I’m sure you’re not Voldemort, I’m just as sure you are.”

“Voldemort?” whispered Hermione under her breath. Had Ron actually said the name? Her eyes scanned him for any hint, any suggestion that maybe—

“Yes… well,” began Snape, twirling his wrist so that his cloak repositioned itself on his forearm. Hermione wondered if it might be to more readily grab his wand if need be. Ron took it exactly as such, as if he’d seen the move many times before and knew exactly what it meant, and for the briefest of moments, it was almost a twitch, he reached for his own wand and stopped.

“I see,” said Snape, his eyes glancing back between Patrick and Ron. “Well, I think Madame Pomfrey can handle things from here, and I will go and speak to Professor Dumbledore directly.”

At these words, Hermione brushed aside her own concerns as being paranoid and a great wave of relief past over her, certain that at last action would be taken. “Excellent, professor,” she said with the faintest hint of a smile.

“Shall we go with you?” offered Ron. But before Snape could answer, Hermione replied.

“Oh. I don’t think so, Ron. Harry asked us to be ready for him and I think it best—”

“But Dumbledore,” interrupted Ron with unexpected vigour. “He may want to hear the whole story. He may not believe—”

“I can assure you, Mr. Weasley,” said Snape smoothly, “that Professor Dumbledore will believe what I have to tell him.” Ron’s arms crossed. It was clear he was trying to assemble a new argument, but, before he could, Snape added, “And you bring up a good point, Ms. Granger. Someone should be ready to greet Harry and the others should they arrive; I think it wise that you alert Professor McGonagall.” He held up his hand and a quill floated in the air and a small scroll appeared from between his fingers. He began to scribble hastily. When he was finished, the quill vanished and he rolled the parchment in his hands, uttering words Hermione did not understand… an old Germanic tongue she thought. “Take this to her.” He made a fist so that his ring, bearing the crest of Slytherin, faced a green wax disk that had appeared and aligned along the seam of the rolled parchment. It flashed bright yellow and sealed the note shut. “It explains everything.”

Hermione took the note from Professor Slytherin and started toward the exit. She was at the door when she realized that Ron was not following her.

“Ron!” she called. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

Ron’s eyes rose to meet Snape’s. The redhead smiled an odd smile and, his eyes still focussed on Severus Snape, said, “Absssolutely!”

Within minutes they were halfway to Professor McGonagall’s. Hermione was surprised that Ron did not take her hand in his as they walked. It was his custom. But maybe with the thoughts of war floating in the air, he was too nervous. Moving briskly, they turned the corner to Professor McGonagall’s office.

“You really shouldn’t be like that, you know,” scolded Hermione. “He’s changed.”

“What?” asked Ron, distracted.

“I heard the emphasis on the Sssss. I thought you and Harry agreed that he was—”

“I think I know where Sev- Snape’s loyalties lie.” They walked a bit further and Ron’s hands kept flexing into and out of fists. “There’s one way to find out.”

Hermione stopped. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you acting this way?”

“First, let’s get that very important note to Professor McGonagall, as if she’d have half a clue as to what to do with the information, and then… well, we’ll prepare a welcoming party for our Harry.”

She didn’t like the tone in his voice. Now Ron was being disrespectful to both Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and his best friend.

“Look,” she said irritably, placing her hands on her hips, “I know you’re nervous, but—”

“Come on!”

This time, he had grabbed her hand and was nearly dragging her down the hall to Professor McGonagall’s office. Before she had a chance to complain, Ron was banging loudly on the Professor’s door. Suddenly, his whole demeanour changed. His shoulders, which the moment before were tall and defiant, had slumped. The fire that was in his eyes a moment before faded to fear. Then, for an instant, the fire and posture returned.

“Give me that.” He snapped the parchment with Snape’s seal on it and his figure slumped once more just before the door opened. Professor McGonagall was still in her nightgown; her eyes were tired but the tightness about her lips suggested that she had been in some way interrupted.

“What in heaven’s name—”

“We need your help P-Professor,” said Ron nervously. “Professor Snape insisted we g-give this to you. Harry’s in trouble.”

“Potter?” asked Professor McGonagall, concerned with the uncharacteristic appearance of Ron’s emotions. “What’s he gotten himself into this time?” She stepped backwards into her front office, leaving the door open as on offering for the two students to enter.

“Well, it’s not exactly about Harry,” began Hermione. “It’s about Vold—” She felt Ron’s hand dig into her wrist. She yanked her hand away.

“It’s unusual that Severus should use his seal,” said McGonagall, holding up her wand. She tapped the green disk and it vanished; the tight role of parchment uncurled. Hermione paid no attention. She was furious at Ron.

“I don’t see why you should be so squeamish about me saying it, when you just used his name upstairs!”

Professor McGonagall looked up over her glasses at the two students.

“Read the note,” snapped Ron, before Hermione could answer. “Please.”

Hermione had never been so angry at him. She huffed and folded her arms, taking a step back and waiting for Professor McGonagall to look at the piece of parchment in her hands. As she stood, Hermione noticed the small door that was behind the desk in Professor McGonagall’s office was ajar. She’d never seen it open before. Hermione could make out some paintings and a small sitting chair and table – an entryway to a larger space beyond from which came the light of flickering candles. Hermione’s eyes shot back to Ron, who was eagerly waiting for Professor McGonagall to read the note. He had never been this way. Moody, yes, but not like this. Usually, he was ready for a fight, perhaps too eager. Now… now his emotions were swinging from one direction to the next. He was edgy, rude, frightened, bossy… it was like he was two different people. Two different—

“Patrick’s well then?” asked Professor McGonagall shortly. Her voice was firm and the expression on her face had not changed. Apparently, the note from Snape had not impacted her in any discernable way. Ron just stared at her, transfixed, not saying a word. Hermione was just about to answer when the left side of Ron’s face twitched upward, curling his lips into a smile.

“Well played, Minerva,” he said softly with a cold voice. “It is unfortunate… isn’t it?”

Hermione watched as the colour of Professor McGonagall’s face blanched, though her expression remained stern. Instinctively, the professor looked back behind her toward the open door. There, on the table next to the sitting chair, was her wand.

“Ron?” Hermione asked. “What’s—”

“RUN GIRL!” cried Professor McGonagall just as she lunged toward the steely eyed redhead before her. With a wave of his wand, he sent her crashing against the far wall.

“Stupefy!” cried Hermione, but, without even looking back towards her, he deflected the spell as if he were swatting a fly. He stepped toward the professor, crumpled on the floor, shattered shelves were strewn about the floor.

“Run!” called Professor McGonagall again. “It’s—”

“A serious lapse in judgement, Minerva. So like a Gryffindor.” With a flick of his wand, Ron sent a shattered piece of bookcase flying out of his way. “Still, I need to see the note. I need to know where Snape’s loyalties lie. Did he tell you outright, or could you see through his lies?”

It was him. It was Voldemort! He’d taken… he’d taken Ron. A wave of panic rushed across Hermione and she was certain she would wretch at any moment. Her breaths became short and laboured. The wand in her hand was shaking violently. She cast another spell and another spell, each he flicked away with ease, never looking back toward her, ever moving toward his prey, the defenceless professor, crawling across the office floor toward the open door behind her desk. As he drew close, he held his wand inches from her face, but she ignored it, continuing to crawl toward her goal, her left leg twisted in an odd direction. The lack of fear drew rage from the evil controlling Ron. Hermione continued to fire spells to no effect.

“Would you die for a piece of parchment, Professor?” Voldemort sneered. “It was sealed and sent to you! You know for me to read it, you must hand it to me!”

Professor McGonagall stopped crawling, resting one hand against her oak desk. Instead of looking toward Ron, her eyes met Hermione’s. There was fierceness and an anger – anger that Hermione had seen in those same eyes before, when students did not listen or pay attention. All too often she’d seen the look directed at Ron, but now they were directed at her.

“Run!” she said with a hushed but determined voice. It penetrated Hermione and, against her will, she turned and moved toward the office door, leading to the outside corridor. After only two steps, however, the door slammed shut, locked tight.

“I’m afraid I have run out of time to play more games,” said Voldemort. He held his hand down toward the broken professor. “Give me the note!” Professor McGonagall took one glance at Hermione and a tear traced down her cheek. “How very touching,” Voldemort jeered. “GIVE ME THE NOTE!”

Professor McGonagall looked once at Hermione and then at the desk before her. Voldemort snarled.

“AVADA—”

“Rennervate,” whispered Professor McGonagall. Without another word she, and the note, were gone. It looked as if they’d simple melted away directly into vapour.

“—KEDAVRA!”

A flash of green exploded into the office floor sending shards and splinters of wood everywhere. Hermione could see at once he was confused, his eyes darting about looking for where the professor had gone. He turned and faced Hermione, looking as if he might ask her where McGonagall had vanished to when, at the same moment, the old oak desk rose up on two of its legs and crashed down on top of Voldemort. There was a terrific crunch.

“RON!” cried Hermione. She began to move forward when the desk turned on its victim and faced Hermione.

The centre drawer moved out and Hermione heard it say, “Run!” in a dry, scratchy voice. She didn’t need to be told again. Unable to open the front door, she ran toward the back door that was still ajar. Just as she passed the desk, it burst into flames and she saw Ron rising to his feet, his wand arm twisted in an awkward direction. Her emotions had sundered – half happy that her fiancé was still alive, half defeated that Voldemort was rising for the attack.

Hermione cast a spell to make it rain in the office and slammed the door shut behind her, locking it with a wave of her wand. Almost at once, she could hear Voldemort, blasting away. It would only be a matter of seconds before he was through. She ran back, further into the room, looking for another way out. She came to a small room that was evidently Professor McGonagall’s sleeping quarters. Portraits lined the walls, pictures of Minerva McGonagall with friends and family. She was smiling in nearly every one. To Hermione, the smiling and jovial Professor McGonagall seemed, somehow, out of place. She wondered who these other witches and wizards were. There was another blast and she pulled herself away to look for an—

The door exploded open, Ron stepping through the billowing smoke and dust. Hermione’s heart was crashing against her chest. She was trapped. There was no smile on his face, no interest in banter. He was furious that things were not going the way he had planned. He raised his wand with his opposite hand and pointed it at her face. She knew that she could not beat the wizard before her. Instead of attacking back, she raised her wand high into the air.

“Bombarda!” she cried, bringing down the roof above him. He stopped the falling timbers in midair and flung them aside. His eyes flashed red.

“Avada Ked—” He stopped, a small look of discomfort crossed his face, almost as if he’d swallowed a fly. He tilted his neck to one side, causing it to crack and then he spit the dust from his mouth. He shook his wrist and held his wand upright again. Hermione was backed against the wall.

“Ron… please.”

“Avad—” Again Voldemort faltered. The fire in his eyes grew bright. He raised his wand once more, preparing to cast the killing curse, only this time he couldn’t even begin the incantation.

“Ron?” Hermione asked. For a moment she thought she saw a flash of his blue eyes look back at her, but at once they were extinguished. Voldemort spat again.

“Very well,” he hissed. He pointed his wand at Hermione and this time she felt her feet leave the floor. A moment later, she was flung onto Professor McGonagall’s bed. “You don’t want to see her die?” he asked, staring at his reflection in the glass that covered one of the portraits hanging on the wall. He turned back toward Hermione. “Perhaps there is time… time for one more game.”

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 32 – Death Divined
~~~***~~~

The air was cool, but she felt hot, perspiration dripping into her eyes, making it difficult to see the way forward. She was running, running, was it, to save someone? She couldn’t remember. Running away from someone? Her heart was pounding in her chest, but not from exertion… from fear. Her head snapped this way and that, her stinging eyes straining against the murkiness to see through the dense trees, but there was only the thin veil of a gray mist that filled the voids between the trunks, eerily lit by some unknown light from above. They were here, she knew that, watching her; they’d always been here, but why was she? The sweat that now coated her body and soaked her nightclothes was chilled by an unnatural breeze and Gabriella could feel an overpowering fear work its way up from her bare feet, to her chest and, finally, it constricted about her throat. She wanted to scream in the darkness, but she couldn’t; the fear had consumed her.

There was a distant splash off to her right and she ran through the bramble in that direction, hoping beyond hope that someone was there to save her from the forest and the murdering creatures it contained, now closing in around her. She burst through a collection of branches and found herself at the edge of a rather small lake, her feet skidding to a halt in the moss-covered earth. Her nightclothes had vanished, replaced by splendidly white robes. Somewhere beyond the veil, she could hear the water’s source – a great falls roaring and churning just outside her vision. The lake’s surface glittered from the light above and it caused her eyes to move upward, only to find a great comet roaring through the night’s sky.

“Ebyrth,” she whispered to herself. Someone suddenly grabbed her from behind and held her gently about the waist.

“I wonder how something so beautiful could—”

She spun, ready to strike like a cornered serpent, but then stayed her hand.

“Harry?”

He was smiling, his gaze still upward toward the comet. She could see the reflection of its fiery tail burning across his eyes. He looked back down at her with nothing but warmth in the same pools of green and it filled her heart with hope.

“I’ve always loved this place,” he said softly as he kissed her forehead. “He can’t beat us here.” There was a snap, a branch breaking, and then Hermione Granger appeared from the darkness.

“Harry, why are you here?” she called angrily. “We need you back at the castle. We’re under attack! The Dementors—”

“Don’t you see that there are other things more important?” Harry yelled back.

The moment the words left his mouth a Centaur with a dark black coat stepped out of the forest, a large bow in one hand and a quiver across his back. Gabriella saw Harry’s eyes meet the Centaur’s.

“I… I didn’t think you’d join us,” said Harry with a tone of surprise in his voice.

“Impudence!” the Centaur called to someone out across the lake, hidden in the mist. “You were right, my Lord!”

Seeing the hatred in the Centaur’s eyes, Gabriella pulled back, pulled away from Harry. She’d seen those eyes before; it was happening again. Harry turned.

“Gabriella?” he asked. “What is it?”

The Centaur notched an arrow in his bow, but Gabriella was silent, her voice strangled once again with fear. All she could do was reach out a hand and point a trembling finger at the Centaur now drawing the string back on his bow.

“NO!” a voice cried from across the lake. Gabriella spun and there, somehow floating above the surface of the water was Severus Snape. He was wearing a large black cloak with a hood that covered the top his head, but there was no mistaking the pale skin, the long, hooked nose and the thin lips now twisted with fury. He was screaming like a madman. “NO!”

There was a flash of green light, the twang of a bowstring, and Gabriella could feel herself slip from her body and hover off the ground – now an impassioned observer. There, face down in the reeds and mossy earth, she laid — a Centaur arrow in her back.

Her spirit drifted upward, higher and higher, until the vision of her death below was covered in mist… and the darkness enveloped the mist… and the pain throbbed in her left arm… and the sound of crying filled the air… a baby… crying.

Gabriella’s eyes opened; the ash and heated dust still floating in the air made them burn and water. A large timber, flames still lapping up its side, was across her chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. She tried to yell for help, but the weight against her chest was too great. Somewhere, out of her vision, she heard Cho coughing. There was the sound of clatter, but Gabriella could not see what was happening.

“Jamie?” Cho called out with a hushed and panicked voice. “Jamie, are you— shhhh. There, there. It’s okay. I’m right— Oh my god, Gab! Wingardium Leviosa!”

The timber rose into the air and the oxygen rushed back into Gabriella’s lungs. Her first reaction was to cough. She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in her left arm told her that it was broken.

“Gab!” cried Cho, stepping over to her friend. “Merlin, it’s your arm.” With blinding speed, her wand was out, bathing Gabriella’s arm in a blue light. She could feel the bones knit back together; it itched. She was sure it was done and began to rise to her feet when Cho told her to wait. A second light erupted from her wand, this time white, and she muttered an incantation for strength. When it stopped, Cho held her hand out to lift up Gabriella. “It’s the only way to make sure the bone sets properly. If you— Oh… your wand. Here.” Cho reached down and picked up Gabriella’s wand.

Taking the wand from Cho’s hand, Gabriella muttered, “Thanks.” Her head was pounding and it took a moment for Gabriella’s eyes to focus. Finally, Cho’s face became clear. Her clothes were badly burned and her left arm and shoulder were blistered, raw and red. In her other arm, was baby Jamie without a mark on him, only a smudge of soot marked the left side of his face. “The blessing,” Gabriella thought to herself.

“Cho,” she said. “Your arm, it’s burned. I’m pretty good with those; let me—”

“Tony!” cried Cho, a sudden look of realization spreading across her face. She spun from Gabriella. “TONY!” Gabriella stood up and began to scan the ash covered debris for Anthony Goldstein. Only then, did Gabriella fully take in the scope of the devastation. It was hard to believe that anything could survive the wreckage that surrounded them. Her mother had told her what anger and hatred were capable of… warned her to take her duty seriously. Until this moment, she didn’t believe that Harry would—

“TONY!”

Carefully, Gabriella levitated one of the charred couches that looked like it might have been the one on which she’d seen him reading. Beneath it was a small corner of a newspaper that caught her eye, a tiny white square popping out against a purely black background; the rest had been burned away; not even cinder remained. Cho saw it and began to cry, repeatedly screaming Anthony’s name through the sobs, one arm holding Jamie and the other holding her wand levitating nearly the entire room into the air. Looking up at the swirling, sooty mess, Gabriella saw a flash of blue – the bottom of a trainer.

“Cho, there!”

Hovering in the air with the other debris was a long mass of gray ash. It could have been a rolled up rug, or a large cushion, or any of a number of burnt household items now charred beyond recognition, but it wasn’t. When Cho brought him toward her, the breeze brushed away the ash and revealed that it was a corpse, covered in soot, burnt beyond recognition, and lifeless. Cho began to tremble, threatening to drop him and everything else she had levitated into the air.

“Let me,” offered Gabriella, and she took control of Anthony and brought him down to a, more or less, sheltered corner of what once was a room. There was a crash as Cho let everything fall behind them and it sent up a great plume of dust and smoke. For a moment, Gabriella thought she’d heard someone yelling outside and her thoughts rushed toward Harry, but first she had to be sure. She knelt down toward Anthony and vanished the ash that covered his body. Cho let out a gasp and turned away.

“Rennervate!” called Gabriella, knowing that it wouldn’t work. Well over half his body was badly burned. His left arm was nothing more than a blackened stump and the whole side of his face was more skeleton than flesh. “Renner—”
“Stop!” Cho took her by the wrist. “He… he wouldn’t want to come back, not like that.” Tears were streaming down her face. Her hand was trembling as she turned to face the north and its darkening sky. “Those bastards!” She moved forward and this time Gabriella held her.

“No Cho, you don’t understand. You can’t.”

“I can and I will! Look what… look what they’ve done!”

Gabriella scanned the devastation and in her heart she knew that this was not the work of a Death Eater, or even a dozen Death Eaters. The earth was scorched as far as she could see, its surface a glossy glass that was cracked and bubbled, and the castle behind her was now little more than a ruin. How Cho survived was a miracle. She knew the source of this devastation and knew, by the warmth in the ring that was upon her finger, that he was still alive. Just like Cho, she too wanted to run to find Anthony’s murderer, only for very different reasons. Gabriella took in another deep breath. She needed to get Cho to safety, before she discovered the truth.

“Cho, they’ve come for Jamie. You’ve got to get him back to Hogwarts. It’s the only place that’s safe.”

“I… I…” Cho was dazed, angry and confused. Her eyes kept darting from one direction to the other, looking for what she must do. Finally, looking down at Anthony’s body, she said, “No. I won’t leave him, not like this.”

“I’m serious. You don’t understand. If—”

“I understand just fine! Don’t you see what they’ve done! They must be punished. They will be punished.” With a flourish of her wand, Jamie rose into the air out of Cho’s arm and toward Cho’s back. Then, he was held in place with a sticking charm. She winced as his hand brushed against her blistered shoulder. She muttered another incantation and he disappeared, almost. It was a tremendous camouflage. She began to move toward the shattered window; melted shards littered the ground.

“Cho, it’s suicide. I won’t let you—” began Gabriella.

“You can’t stop me!”

“Fine, then let me heal your arm. If you’re going to fight, you’ll need to stay focussed.” Cho stopped and, without saying a word, nodded her head.

Gabriella healed the burns as best she could, but the shoulder was badly scarred.

“I can’t do anything about the scar,” Gabriella said sadly. “Not here. Maybe with some potions, when we get back to the castle.”

“No matter,” said Cho. She closed her eyes and her short black hair grew down about her shoulders covering the disfigurement. She wiped another tear from her face and placed a gentle hand on Jamie’s head. “Now, be good for mum, sweetheart.” She tapped his forehead and Jamie was fast asleep, magically pinned to his mother. Again, she moved out from the shattered walls of Sirius’ castle.

“Where are Sirius and the others?” asked Gabriella as they moved out onto the scorched earth.

“They took the hippogriffs to scout the grounds. They heard that there was— Oh my god.” For a moment, Cho’s burst of bravery faltered. High above, the clouds had darkened the sky, but they both knew by the sinking feeling in their hearts and the cold in the air that the clouds weren’t clouds at all, but a swarm of Dementors. They were swirling about an area maybe two hundred yards away – an enormous tornado of blackness that was being repelled, somehow, from touching the ground. The pointed mass of black resembled an arrow pointing downward and Gabriella’s eyes followed it quite naturally to the earth below. Flanked in the distance by at least a dozen Death Eaters in black robes was a lone blonde wizard. The two witches realized simultaneously who he was, but Cho had never really believed that Draco was still alive.

“Malfoy?” Cho muttered. “That’s not possible.”

Gabriella turned to Cho and held her by the arms. “Cho, this is insane. We can’t possibly defeat them all. You’ve got to get out of here before the Dementors block any hope of Apparation. You have to think of Jamie.” Cho’s eyes were at first defiant, but another look back at what they had to face and she nodded her head reluctantly. She pulled her wand out to Apparate.

“You both need to get to the castle, get to Hermione. Do you understand? Just Hermione. Trust no one, not even your own brother.” Gabriella wasn’t sure why she didn’t say Ron, or Patrick, or one of the professors, but something in her visions, in her spirit, was warning her against it.

“But… Harry. Where’s Harry?”

Hearing his name, a stab of fear struck Gabriella’s heart and, for the first time, a tear began to make its way down her dusty face. Her eyes looked toward the skies. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Now go. I’ll be there… I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Gabriella gave Cho a hug and kissed the sleeping Jamie on the forehead. They held hands for just an instant; Cho raised her wand to Apparate — Gabriella flinched. She’d heard a bloodcurdling scream that felt as if it had shaken the earth. “Harry?”
“What?” Cho asked.

“You didn’t hear that?” Gabriella asked. She looked back and saw the Dementors swirl more aggressively above Draco. She moved a few paces forward as Draco cast some sort of spell onto the ground. There was another scream that reverberated in her mind. It filled the air and felt as if it echoed from the wall of Dementors flying high above.

“Gab, what is it?” Cho asked, noticing the look on Gabriella’s face, but again not hearing the scream.

“He’s killing him,” Gabriella said, her voice trembling. Harry was calling out to her, but from where? She was unwilling to believe that Draco could betray Harry, but then she saw him, little more than a black cloth folded out upon the scorched earth. “What is he doing?” she asked, her words quivering slightly. The Dementors suddenly spun downward and looked as if they were going to attack both Draco and Harry, but Draco cast a Patronus that sent them fleeing upward. Still, the dark cloud hung high in the air above his head. “It doesn’t make sense. You’re their target. Voldemort wants Jamie. Harry’s of no value… unless—”

Without warning, while Gabriella tried to gather her thoughts, Cho took off running, nearly knocking Gabriella over. Lucius Malfoy had appeared and it was his appearance that convinced Cho that he was to blame –she knew beyond reason Lucius had killed her husband. He was too embroiled in some argument with Draco to notice her running at them. Instead, the first to move was a Death Eater some thirty yards beyond. Cho didn’t see him move, nor did she care. Gabriella noticed and began to chase her down.

“Never again!” Cho spat at full stride, but the two Malfoy’s did not hear her.

Instead, the Death Eater, standing behind Lucius that had seen her, pulled his wand to attack, but no sooner had he moved to protect the Malfoys than Lucius spun on him and a jet of green erupted from his wand and dropped the Death Eater to the ground. The other Death Eaters chose not to move close enough to give him another target. As Cho and Gabriella ran across the open field, the two Malfoys remained oblivious to their approach as the wizards both bent low over Harry’s body.

“Cho, wait!” yelled Gabriella with a hushed voice. She reached out her hand to pull Cho’s arm. “Harry’s—”

Again a scream filled Gabriella’s mind; pain stabbed at her temples. She halted, grabbing her head between her hands. They were torturing him. She tried to gather herself and realized Cho had escaped her. “Cho! Don’t—”

“Avada Kedavra!” Cho cried. The way she was bouncing as she ran, Jamie jangling on her back, it would have been hard to hit the side of the barn, if it had still been standing. Trying to strike a crouching wizard was harder still. Her spell sailed above the oblivious wizards. Then, unexpectedly, Lucius Malfoy, jumped up, as if his hand had been stung. Gabriella could hear him curse and saw him pull his wand, pointing it not at the ground, but at his son. Even in the waning light, blocked be the swarming Dementors, Gabriella could see that he was furious. His hand pulled back for the strike and then he appeared to freeze in place, a white shimmering mist swirling about him.

Then, just as suddenly, Draco held his wand, ready to cast a spell at Harry. He pulled back, but then noticed the two young women running toward him. Gabriella was slowly closing the distance between herself and the witch waving her wand wildly.

“Avada Kedavra!” Cho hissed through gritted teeth, anger firing her eyes. Draco slammed his body to the earth next to Harry. The bolt of green past over his head and struck the petrified Lucius Malfoy at the neck. Without a sound, he crumpled to the ground.
________________________________________


Lucius Malfoy smiled an evil smile as his fingers prepared to tug the loose flesh on Harry’s side. Writhing in pain, Harry couldn’t believe that Draco had betrayed him. Somehow, Harry always knew this moment would come, but there was still part of him that thought that there was some part of Draco Malfoy worth saving. Why had Harry hesitated when he had the chance? He should have destroyed Draco when he had first seen him. Even though it was now Lucius Malfoy asking the questions… “What do you say, lad?”… and it was Lucius Malfoy threatening to torture him, Harry’s eyes, filled with contempt, were firmly fixed on Draco.

Harry was contemplating just what exactly he would do to Draco if he was ever released. If only Lucius was foolish enough to— Harry suddenly felt the liberation of his vocal cords as Lucius touched his forehead. Before his eyes darted back to Lucius, Harry could have sworn he’d seen an evil smirk pass Draco’s face. But why?

Lucius began to tug on the flesh dangling loose on Harry’s side. The pain was intense, but Harry was distracted when, looking up past Lucius’ face, Harry saw a flash of green fly past, its light neon-like against the darkness of Dementors above. Lucius hadn’t seen it, but did he know it had come? Was he trying to threaten Harry with the killing curse? Harry decided he wasn’t going to sit still to find out. He swallowed, trying to ensure that the spell would work the first time.

“Fodio Serpetia!” Harry hissed sharply. The spell pierced the hand Lucius was using to tear at Harry’s flesh. The elder Malfoy cried out in pain, jerked his bleeding hand away and reached for his wand. “That’s right,” jeered Harry, still unable to move. “You did have one good arm left; not any more. Enjoy the stinging of a dragon’s bite, while you can.”

“Damn you, Draco!” Lucius spat. The skin on his fingers began to blister, his knuckles curled. Then the redness began to trace its way up to his wrist and then disappeared under his cloak. “You knew! You knew he could—”

“Father,” drawled Draco, “how could I possibly—”

Suddenly a ghost appeared, swirling out of the ground at Malfoy’s feet. It was the old man who had beseeched Harry to stay at Sirius’ castle. The ghost enveloped Lucius and, for a moment, he stood frozen in place, a dull look of horror in his eyes.

“What is that?” cried Draco, drawing his wand. “What have you done?” Harry thought quickly, searching for what to say.

“He’s er… frozen,” Harry mumbled, trying to fight back the tears of pain in his eyes. “R-Release me now, or… or he’ll die!”

Draco flicked his wand without saying a word and the spell binding the rest of Harry’s body disappeared, as did the ghost, but not before it looked into Harry’s eyes and whispered, “It will be the moon.”
“Let him,” drawled Draco. “I could give a— What in the name of Hades?”

Suddenly, Draco slammed to the earth next to Harry. At first he thought Draco wanted to fight, a battle Harry knew he couldn’t win, not with his chest sliced open as it was. But then the corner of his eye caught the second glint of green. Harry watched as it past over them and struck Lucius in the throat, dropping him to blackened soil. In the distance, Harry heard a voice yell, “Murderer!” It was Cho Chang.

“Father!” screamed Draco, crawling over to Lucius, who was motionless on the ground. Harry, barely able to move, watched as the rage spread across Draco’s face. Evidently, Draco wasn’t as dispassionate as he made out to be. “You bitch!” he hissed, his fangs flaring as he popped to his feet with his wand drawn. The earth began to rumble as the ring of Death Eaters that had been held at bay began to move forward. Then there was a screech from above. Five Dementors fell dead from the sky.

The cloud of darkness screeched again. Harry heard one of the Dementors cry, “Hold your position!” But his comrades evidently did not heed the command. The darkness separated and the sun’s rays broke through to the blackened soil. Still on his back, Harry watched as five hippogriffs plunged through the opening, clawing and tearing at the blackness before them. In the lead, Sirius was riding Buckbeak, and every Dementor they faced, fell dead, dropping with a sickening snap as they struck the earth.

Another bolt of green past above Harry’s head and just missed Draco. Harry struggled to raise up high enough onto one elbow and was able to see Cho and Gabriella running toward him. Looking back up at the sky, Harry realized that more members of the Order were plunging through the gash made in the shield of Dementors by the hippogriffs. Just as Draco began to utter the killing curse, the sun struck the vampire in the face and he cried out in pain. He too looked up and became instantly aware that his situation was precarious. Stunning spells and death curses began flying in both directions. Harry reached for his wand, but Draco kicked him in the side and Harry’s vision filled with stars.

“You… I did this for YOU!” Draco’s face was red and bulging, not so much from the stinging rays of the sun, but from the fury swelling inside him. “And this is how you repay me!” He glared at Harry, pulled a vile from him robes and threw it to the ground, shattering the glass and splashing a green liquid everywhere. Then his gaze drifted toward his father, prone on the ground. The anger driving his expression crashed into a look of defeat.

“I’m done,” Draco muttered. “You can all go to hell. I’ve nothing left.” Draco bent down to hold his father’s arm and, without so much as a flick of the wrist, the pair Disapparated. Immediately after, the air filled with pops and snaps as the Death Eaters followed. The remaining assemblage of Dementors, lacking the luxury of such a hasty escape, battled in retreat. The creatures looked like a distant, burgeoning thunder cloud as Dementor after Dementor streaked from the sky in a constant downpour of death, bolts of light flashing against the darkness.

Harry’s vision began to tunnel as his mind tried to hold on to Draco’s last words, but they slipped past just as the ground exploded next to him. Cho, oblivious to Harry’s presence, was casting spell after spell, onto the spot where Lucius had lain but a moment before.

“Die! Die! You bastards!” She screamed, holding her wand in a trembling hand, her knuckles white with anger. He’d never known this person and, as his mind reached out to sense her aura, his heart skipped. Two colours flickered in his mind’s eye as Cho crumpled to her knees and began to sob violently.

Harry tried to focus, to understand what he was seeing, but his mind couldn’t hold on to anything; he’d lost too much blood. For the first time, he looked down at his chest. The gashes were wide and blood continued to trickle freely between the flaps of flesh.

“Oh,” he muttered, clawing blindly at the ground to find his wand. He needed to try to stop the bleeding. There was a scream. Gabriella was standing over him. “Hi,” he breathed. “Bit of a mess, eh?” His elbow gave out and he landed flat on his back. “I… I thought you said it never gets cold here.” He began to shiver uncontrollably.

Blue light filled his vision and Gabriella began an incantation Harry didn’t understand. Then there was another voice.

“Gabriella? Harry?” It was Sirius. “Bloody hell!” There was a low screech and the fluttering of wings.

“Buckbeak?” Harry asked weakly. “I thought I’d—”

“Shhhh,” interrupted Gabriella, placing her fingers over Harry’s lips. “You need to rest.” She turned to Harry’s godfather. “Sirius, praise Asha you are well. Was that Nymphadora?” Another blue light, tinged in green, sprang from Gabriella’s wand and bathed Harry’s chest. The wounds began to fade as his skin began to stitch itself together only the bonds weren’t holding as Gabriella expected.

“Half the Order’s here. Remus sent word that there might be an attack. We went out to scout and found ourselves up to our necks in Dementors. I thought we were all done for, but then there was the explosion and the sky filled with fire.” Sirius took Harry’s hand. “They scattered. Harry, how did you—”

“Murdering Malfoys,” spat Cho. “They killed Tony.”

“No,” Sirius gasped. “Where? How?”

“The explosion,” said Gabriella. “It blew the castle walls in and the air filled with fire.”

“And Jamie?” asked Sirius anxiously. Gabriella touched the head of the sleeping child on Cho’s back and revealed his presence. An audible sigh of relief past Harry’s lips as he understood the reason for the two auras.

“No fire can penetrate one with Asha’s blessing,” said Gabriella. Cho, still dazed, seemed not to understand.

“Of course,” Sirius whispered.

The cobwebs began to clear from Harry’s mind and, at last, he was able to pull in a full breath of air into his lungs. Against Gabriella’s protestations, he sat up, running his fingers across the thin lines on his chest. They were still oozing blood.

“I can repair those in a few days,” said Gabriella, “but you need to rest. I can’t refill the blood you’ve lost.”

“I… I can’t rest,” said Harry. He grabbed Sirius by the sleeve. “Where is he? Have you seen him? Did he reveal himself?”

“Who?”

“Voldemort!” snapped Harry. “He… he couldn’t have taken over Lucius. Not the way Draco was talking to him.”

“We had some decent fights on our hands, Harry, but no one’s shown power like Voldemort. I’m sure he’s not—”

“He’s here!” interrupted Harry. “I know he is!” There was a wild look in his eyes that sent a blast of cold into Gabriella’s heart. He tried to bring himself up to one knee. “Jamie. We’ve got to get Jamie to Hogwarts.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” said Sirius. “Not in the condition you’re in now. You couldn’t Apparate from here to the… where are the stables?” Harry swayed and Gabriella caught him.

“Gone,” said Harry, shaking his head to gather his senses. “I—”

“What do you mean, ‘…no one’s shown power?’ Why couldn’t he have been Lucius?” asked Cho, now holding Jamie in her arms. “Maybe I’ve destroyed him.” The boy stared at Harry, his bright green eyes seemed to be asking why Harry had killed his father.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.

“Sirius,” said Cho with a short snap, “look around you. You don’t think this took power? This had to be Voldemort’s hand.” Harry seized on the idea. Anything to get Cho and Jamie away from here, especially now that the castle’s protections had been breached.

“Yes,” he said. “Hogwarts. You two have got to go back to Hogwarts.” Gabriella cast him a scathing glance, but said nothing. “Ron and Hermione are expecting you.”

“Hermione,” added Gabriella, almost as if correcting Harry. “Go see Hermione.”

“But—”

“Ron won’t understand, won’t appreciate what’s just happened,” said Gabriella. “You know what he’s like when it comes to dealing with emotions, Harry. Hermione will know what to do to take care of Cho and Jamie when they arrive.” Harry pondered this for a moment and then nodded his head in agreement.

“Well, they won’t be travelling alone,” said Sirius. “I’ll send a group of—”

“We can’t announce to the world that something’s up,” said Harry. “No one must know they’ve arrived. If they can get to Hogsmeade undetected, they’ll be safe from there. I’ve already made the arrangements.” Sirius stroked his moustache.

“Then Tonks,” he said finally. “She can look like another student, or maybe James, Cho’s brother. What do you think, Cho?”

“We need to bring Tony back to his parents,” she said, her eyes now set on the broken castle in the distance. “They need to know what Voldemort did to their son.” Harry could feel Gabriella’s fingers grip tightly into his arm, her nails ready to break through the skin. Still, he said nothing.

“I’ll make sure it happens,” said Sirius solemnly.

It took some time before the other members of the Order returned from the fight. Harry was forced to sit in one of the corners of the rubble while others cleared debris. Tonks did little more than nod at Harry and helped about the castle in any way she could that meant she didn’t have to interact with him. Harry was surprised that George was there, but grew uncomfortable when he and Kingsley began discussing how Voldemort had nearly melted an area over two kilometres in diameter.

“I could have sworn I saw two dragons heading north,” said Kingsley. “You don’t think they’ve joined forces with him. If the dragons take his—”

“Don’t say another word,” snapped Gabriella. “I won’t stand here and listen to such rot.”

“Of course not, my dear,” said Kingsley with a bow of his head. “Of course not.” He put his arm about George and the two continued to chat in hushed whispers as they walked to the further reaches of the castle.

Gabriella cursed under her breath and flashed eyes of fire at Harry. She had grown more and more agitated as the preparations were made for Cho’s and Jamie’s departure and was now pacing back and forth, biting the nails on her right hand.

In all the activity, Harry’s mind faded in and out of awareness. He was suddenly roused when Tonks announced they were ready. When he looked up, he saw Gabriella talking to Tonks, but then Gabriella, a second Gabriella, walked into the room. The first Gabriella turned and Harry realized it had been Cho all along. The lengthening of her hair had confused him.

“You two could be twins,” he said with a smile, but neither returned the expression. Instead, Gabriella made one final plea that everyone stay put, just through the night. But even Sirius was concerned that the Death Eaters might return with reinforcements. Harry stood, and immediately began to sway. His vision, once more began to tunnel. Gabriella offered her support as he limped over and hugged Cho. His mind flashed at once to the fateful moment. What had possessed him? A great lump landed in Harry’s throat and he dwelled on what he’d done to Anthony; it was all he could do to hold back the tears. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his knees weakening. “I swear I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tonight, if possible.”

“You’ll be lucky to make it there in two weeks,” said Sirius.

Tonks stepped forward and changed her appearance; she now looked like Madam Rosmerta, only Harry never noticed Rosmerta wear such a glum look before. “Let’s go guys,” she said, and Cho stepped over to her, Jamie once again camouflaged and held in a magical sack on her back. Harry kissed his son on the head.

“Don’t listen to Sirius,” he whispered. He was feeling a bit dizzy now. “I’ll protect you now; I swear. I’ll protect you both. Don’t… don’t let these wounds fool you. I have the power to—”

“They’d best be going,” Gabriella interrupted. Harry took a moment to realize she’d spoken and then nodded his head.

“Right. Good-bye, Tonks,” he said with a wave. He took in a gulp of air, trying to gather some semblance of control and composure, but it didn’t work. Everything was losing its colour, taking on casts of gray. Tonks just barely acknowledged his gesture with a nod of her head. “By the way, what ever happened to Finnius?” Harry asked about the wizard that had been following him earlier in the year. “Is he an Auror yet?”

“He was killed in France,” replied Tonks with no emotion whatsoever, her eyes not meeting Harry’s, but instead drifting to Gabriella. For a moment Harry’s heart filled with distrust and he closed his eyes looking to examine Tonks’ aura. He was amazed to see the multiple colours. It was like looking at a flaming rainbow.

“Metamorphmagus,” Harry muttered to himself. Of course she would appear like that. He moved to hold out his hand in front of his face, just to see if maybe he too had the same property. He tried to transform, but the effort was too much for him and his hand dropped to his side. Gabriella grabbed his shirt just to keep him from falling. The effort, however, caught Tonks’ attention and for the first time she looked at Harry.

“Have you practiced at all?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said. “I can’t do it unless it’s someone I’ve been close with.” Tonks nodded knowingly.

“You know, Harry. You’re as great a wizard as there ever was. If you put your mind to it, in a year’s time you’d be teaching me a trick or two.” She made an effort at a smile.

“I’ll try.”

“Oh, Harry,” said Tonks. “That’s not near good enough. If you want to win this war of yours, you’ll have to do a hell of a lot more than just try.” She took Cho’s hand. “Ready?” she asked. Cho nodded and the two Disapparated.

“I don’t know, Harry,” said Gabriella, her voice uneasy. “Maybe I should—”

Harry’s eyes rolled up in their sockets, his knees buckled, and he collapsed in Gabriella’s arms. He heard, as if from a distant cave, Sirius bark orders to get him moved. Gabriella began to curse something in Armenian. Whatever it was she thought she should do would have to wait. She cursed again. Harry’s translation skills were spotty at best, but they’d spent enough time in Armenia that he’d picked up a few words. In the mist surrounding his mind, he could have sworn he heard her pray to Asha to protect them all from Ron Weasley and Severus Snape. “That couldn’t be right,” he thought.

Then, before the fog consumed him, he was sure she muttered to herself in a faint whisper, “Duty first. Mama, you were right.” He was being lifted and Gabriella’s voice faded. “If I must, I will kill him.”

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 33 – The Final Passing
~~~***~~~

On the wall, in the portrait opposite his bed, the four masters performed. The viola, cello, and two violins were, as always, played with perfection even when the notes didn’t seem quite right. The piece, Mozart’s Dissonance Quartet, was apropos, he thought, and each note that hung in the air helped to soothe his soul. That they played at all hours in an effort to calm his nerves was a blessing he could never repay – particularly now, in his final hours.

There was a bright orange flutter; he watched as a feather slowly fell to the floor. He knew, before it struck, and he grabbed the sheets of his bed tightly, steeling himself. The room exploded with a thunderous clap and it felt as if a symbol had been slammed against each ear, squashing his head between with a tremendous crash. His mind seized, splintering the pain like shards of glass that raced down to his fingers and toes, shredding every nerve along their way. Since Christmas, he’d been having good times and bad times. This was not a good time.

Albus Dumbledore slowly took in a long, deep breath, and exhaled, trying to find some moment of rest in the night’s darkness. His magic had been fragmenting and what he once was able to control and focus with tremendous might was now scattered and, in the worst of times, dangerous to any around him. He heard someone, the portrait of Dilys Derwent, offer him warm assurances as she prodded him to rest and he tried to oblige, rolling on to his right side and curling into a ball with his pillow held in both hands and his knees caressing his elbows.

Raising his head slightly, Albus focussed on the lone candle in his room, flickering in the corner and, without saying a word, thought the incantation to extinguish it. If anything, the flame grew larger. He cursed his ineptitude under his breath and laid his head back onto his pillow. He sighed; the candle sputtered and went out. How had it come to this?

“Goodnight, Dylis,” he whispered glumly as he closed his eyes, hoping that his episode had passed, but knowing that, even if it had, he would not sleep, not tonight. As he shifted on his perch, Fawkes sang a soft tune that blended seamlessly with the strings. Another feather fell to the floor, but this time its meeting with the hardened wood below went unnoticed. Instead, Albus held his eyes shut, but his mind open, expanding his consciousness outward, across the castle. It was a night time stroll he often performed with his mind and, even now, he used it to keep his mental faculties as sharp as they would allow.

The darkness was here, he knew that, but how or where, he hadn’t the strength to discover what would reveal itself soon enough. Acknowledging his own inability, he let his mind turn to Harry and there it stayed for some time, resting in the confidence that the young wizard would be ready when the time came. “Yes… ready,” he muttered to himself, shifting beneath the sheets. Then doubt crept in…

Really? Do you think so?

Yes.

You thought his parents were ready too, didn’t you?… Didn’t you?… But they died. And now you place your decrepit hopes in the strength of their child! He’s a boy, Albus!

They weren’t much older.

And they died!

It’s not the same! His skill without a wand. His experience facing Voldemort.

They faced him too… three times!

His gifts. The blessings. This will be different. You don’t understand.

I don’t understand? Me? That’s comical. I understand everything all too well, but then so do you, don’t you? Where is he, Albus? Where is he now? How could you let him go, when you know… you know that within these walls—

I’m too tired for this.

Then die and get it over wi—

There was a gentle rapping upon a distant door. It opened. Albus had no inclination to get up to see who it was. He already knew.

“Professor? Professor, you said it was urgent.” The voice of Remus Lupin made its way from Dumbledore’s office. Fawkes called out, saving his master the strength of doing so himself. The music stopped and Albus heard the door to his bedroom creak open. Still, he did not move, but merely opened his eyes to stare toward the empty chair at the side of his bed. Remus moved to sit in it. Their eyes met and Dumbledore smiled, blinking.

“Welcome,” he whispered. “Would you like some tea?” Without saying another word, a teapot and cup appeared at the table beside the chair in which Remus sat. “Just one lump, I recall.” And a small cube of sugar appeared with a spoon. Yes, he was tired, but he would never be considered an ungracious host, or maybe he just wanted to prove to himself, his doubting self, that his strength was surging forward again, if only for the time being.

“So tell me, Remus,” began Albus, his blue eyes twinkling, “have the rumours leaked out that you’ll soon be the new headmaster at Hogwarts?”

“They have,” answered Remus, dryly.

“And have you now come to take your place of honour?”

“You know, of course, that most everyone believes you’ve gone mad,” said Remus. Then a thin smile creased his lips. “Fortunately, if you can call it that, Arthur Weasley has kept the idea of a werewolf at Hogwarts alive at the Ministry. If there’s a plan to kill the future headmaster of Hogwarts, then you’ve set the bull’s-eye squarely on my back. Although, the rightful target might be a bit more suited at protecting himself than am I.”

“Yes,” answered Albus, “I’m sorry about that, but then I’m sure he’s enough to be getting on with about now.” Remus nodded and took a sip of tea. For a moment, Albus’ mind drifted to all the lives lost that had offered their service upon his advice. He wasn’t very proud of the number – some of the finest witches and wizards that he had ever known.

Like Lilly and James.

Nor, did he take satisfaction in counting the number of lives saved.

It was Ron that saved the Longbottoms, not you.

Suddenly, he was quite tired again.

“Does anyone else know you’re here?” he asked.

“I had been expecting Severus to meet me at the entrance,” said Remus with some bit of concern. His voice was quiet, but nervous. “I’m sorry I’m late. There’s some disturbing news coming from Greece. I only received half of Sirius’ last message. It sounds like the Carpathians all over again. I don’t like it. The Centaurs have been losing ground and dragons have been seen in the area. I don’t understand it at all. The last time I spoke with Antreas, he told me that the dragons had no interest in a war that didn’t concern them. I’d go to the castle, but Harry’s somehow made it unplottable. And now, I hear, the boy has gone to enter the fray. He believes Voldemort is searching for his son… Harry’s son.” Albus shifted on the bed, and Remus noticed. “How long have you known, Headmaster?”

Albus looked into Remus’ eyes. It didn’t take a Legilimens to know that the man seated beside him was looking to get a reaction. He sat up in his bed, pushing the pillow against the headrest and then leaned back against it. Another cup appeared on the table, the teapot poured more tea by itself, and the cup floated over to Albus’ hands. He took a sip.

“Our Harry’s no longer a boy anymore is he, Remus?” said Albus, and then he took another sip of tea. A tinge of concern crossed the right side of his face, but he pushed it aside. He’d hoped this news would be held more tightly. “Who told you?”

“Hermione Granger,” said Remus, leaning forward. “Earlier this evening. And there’s more, Albus. She doesn’t believe that Voldemort has left Hogwarts as you had suspected.”

Albus grumbled to himself. He should have known who before he asked the question – a sign that his powers were slipping. Of course Hermione would turn to Remus for help. Who else was there? Minerva didn’t exactly evoke a motherly persona. He was weary, but moved to sit at the edge of his bed. Remus came to assist and he defensively pushed him away.

“I am not an invalid!” he snapped, trying to untangle his bedclothes from about his ankle. He regretted his actions almost at once, but chose not to apologize. He held out his hand and summoned his wand without speaking. Then, he blasted the bit of cloth still trapped about his foot, releasing it and letting it fall to the floor at the side of the bed.

“Better,” he whispered, looking down at his bare feet and wondering if, perhaps, he should have worn socks to bed. The evening was, after all, a bit chilled and, what with the fire unlit, his bones were—

“Forgive me, Professor.” Remus interrupted Albus’ train of thought. How long had his mind been wandering? “About Voldemort… I fear he may still be within the castle walls.”

“Fear, Remus? There’s nothing to fear. And… yes, he is within the castle walls. Hermione was right to be concerned; the brightest witch I—”

“You knew?” said Remus, rising to his feet. “Why in Merlin’s—”

There was a sharp knock at the door outside followed by a louder, more emphatic pounding. Albus closed his eyes and took in another breath. It was all happening too soon. He was supposed to be ready, to still have his powers in full command. He wasn’t supposed to be some doddering, old—

“Shall I open the door, sir?” Remus asked irritably. It was clear Remus felt confused, and there was some part of Albus that enjoyed knowing that he still had the upper hand. He would keep it that way… for awhile.

“Enter, Severus,” Albus muttered quietly and the door flew open. There was a hurried sound of footsteps and then a swirl of black issued through Albus’ bedroom door – always the dramatist. Snape’s eyes were wide and concerned. He took one look over at Remus, who now stood, and the side of his lip curled just a bit.

“Professor… Lupin,” drawled Snape, slowly and deliberately with just the faintest tilt of his head. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I believe we have a… situation.”

“Severus,” said Albus with a sigh, “certainly, by now, you know that you may speak openly in front of our future headmaster.” Snape blanched slightly at the word.

“Do you think that wise, sir? I’m not sure we can trust…”

“A werewolf?” snapped Remus. “Is that it, Severus? You can’t stand that I’m here speaking with Professor Dumbledore about the future of this school. You think, maybe, you should be Headmaster?” Remus stepped forward to face Snape. “Is that it?”

“More than one within these walls has fallen prey to the Imperius curse, Remus,” countered Snape in a very steady tone. His calmness only angered Remus more. “Forgive me, Headmaster, but your skills at Legilimency are not as foolproof as they once were.”

“Which puts into question where your loyalties lay, Severus,” said Remus, before Albus could answer.

“Enough!” cried Albus, rising to his feet and suddenly appearing more dangerous than ever. “Severus, you have something you wish to say, say it!”

“It appears that Patrick O’Riley has been under Lord Voldemort’s control, at least since he was last seen leaving the Forbidden Forest.”

“The Imperious you just spoke of?” asked Remus.

“No,” answered Severus, and then he held the silence to add import to his following words. “He was under the control of Lord Voldemort, possessed of mind and body. Sometime, within the last hour, Voldemort has found another host.”

“So he never tried to escape, once he was forced to flee Gabriella’s body,” asserted Remus. Albus stepped over to a basin that filled with water and he splashed his face, as Snape began to ring his hands.

“What’s more,” added Snape, “Mr. Potter has left the school to fight Voldemort, believing that the Dark Lord is leading the attack upon his godfather in Greece. So typical,” he breathed. “What’s worse, he has some misguided intention to bring back a rescue party to Hogwarts, believing it safer.”

“We need to warn him,” said Remus.

“It is safer,” asserted Albus proudly. For a moment, he almost believed it true himself.

“Professor, you can’t mean that!” said Remus moving closer to the headmaster. Then he turned to Snape in some hope that he might agree, but Snape didn’t come to his aid. Then Remus said, “Do you know where Voldemort is, Severus? Who is the new host?”

For the first time in days, things began to clear in Dumbledore’s mind. He knew what Snape was about to say, before he said it, and the regained power caused his lips to smile with satisfaction. The others took it as a discordant expression.

“He’s taken over another student, Remus,” said Snape. “Hermione Granger or her fiancé, Ron Weasley… probably the boy.”

“WHAT?” cried Remus.

Ignoring the outburst, Snape continued. “They should be speaking with Minerva at any moment. I suggest we—”

“You let them walk off!” Remus cut in.

“What would you have me do? I tried to see which one was possessed, but was unable. If I had prodded further, Voldemort would have left none alive – that’s not a sacrifice I was willing to take.”

“Who? Your life or the student’s?”

“Silence,” snapped Albus. He’d heard enough. He knew what needed to be done, but for the first time in a long time he questioned the outcome. He stepped over to his clothes-closet and the door opened by itself. An instant later, he was adorned in an ornate, red robe. It had once been worn by Gryffindor, and Albus felt it a fitting way to end his tenure at Hogwarts. He took his first step toward the door, unsteadily. Remus moved to help him, but Albus pushed him away.

The elderly wizard stepped out into the office and walked over to a large silver instrument that had stars flying about it, some red, some white, and some green. He tapped it once with the side of his wand. The field of stars rotated into a new orientation. Each point of light represented a witch or wizard that Albus had been tracking through the year. The new orientation was now centred over Greece. He watched as the pinpricks of light representing Lucius and his son Malfoy continued to slide down from the north of the country. They commanded a great host of Dementors and a tingle of concern ran up Albus’ back. Harry’s faith in Draco was commendable, but Albus wasn’t so certain.

The Dementors the Malfoy’s commanded needed to be destroyed. They had multiplied far beyond their natural number; some black magic was at work. The Centaurs had no chance to survive the onslaught, and the number of wizards willing to battle was insufficient, once matched against the supporting Death Eaters. There was only one hope for success – dragon fire. But Remus was correct when he quoted Antreas; the creatures cared little of what Dementors destroyed so long as they did not cross dragon boundaries. Since the Carpathians, the Dementors moved with the knowledge of what had happened to their number there. In Greece, the Dementor army took care to stay away from dragon territory. Albus had tried to sway Grigor to call for the help of the dragons, but he had refused. Nonetheless, Albus was well aware of how the war was irritating the dragons. All it would take would be one small match to call them to service – Harry.

He tapped the side of the instrument once more and it shifted over Italy. There he saw two white lights in Apparation toward Greece. Harry had to complete this mission, even if he didn’t know what it was. That, unfortunately, left the castle at risk; Albus knew all too well the prophecy. With Harry in Europe, Albus would have to face Voldemort without hope of winning. But then, what, really, does winning mean? With another tap, all the lights flickered out. Albus turned to face Remus and Severus.

“Remus, you must go to Hogsmeade,” he said. Remus began to object, but Albus flashed him a glare that made him feel as if he were back in school. “If the rescue party arrives, we must be prepared to act quickly. You mustn’t bring Harry’s child to the castle; it’s not safe. Instead, go to the forest, to the Centaurs. I’ll send word to Magorian.”

“Magorian?” Remus cried. “Why would he—”

“Because with you will be the child of their Chosen,” Albus interrupted. “He will ensure you are safe, for now.”

For how long, Albus did not know. Soon, the board upon which each of them played would change. The armies of Greece would focus back to Great Britain. Hogwarts would become a battle ground. There was only one thing about which Albus was certain – no matter the outcome of that battle, the war would be over, for better, or for worse.

“Go on, go on,” said Albus, shuffling Remus out of his office. “Even should the Centaurs fail, within the forest are powers that will move to protect you. Find Hagrid… Have him escort you to Terntalag.”

“Professor,” implored Remus.