The students were panicking; Lavender had gone running up to the school to find someone to help. Neville shot sparks and a bang out of his wand.
“QUIET!” he bellowed. The shock of hearing the normally calm Gryffindor shout was enough for Neville to regain control of the crowd. He glanced around. There were about two hundred students, the majority under the age of seventeen.
“Hartford!” Neville called. A fifth year Ravenclaw prefect with a dark blue ribbon in her hair turned to him.
“You and the other prefects lead everyone back up the path to the school! Make sure you don’t lose anyone “”
“Neville, it’s no good, the gates are closed and there’s no one there to open them,” Lavender called, out of breath as she ran back towards them. “We’re stuck out here, there’s no way back in.”
“What do we do?”
“Why are the Death Eaters here?”
“Do you think they’ll come all the way up here?”
“Was it them that shut us out?”
“I said quiet!” Neville called again. It didn’t work as well as before, but the students did quieten down.
“What do we do, Neville?”
Neville swallowed. He had no answer.
“You need to get back inside the castle.”
The students turned. Approaching up the road from Hogsmeade were Harry, Ron and Hermione. It was Ron who had spoken.
“We can’t “ the gates are closed,” said Lavender. Her eyes, along with the eyes of the entire student body, were drawn to Harry for an answer or a command, but none seemed forthcoming. The Boy Who Lived was not even looking in their direction, his gaze undirected and unfocused, distracted by his thoughts. Hermione answered instead.
“There’s a secret passage way into the castle that won’t be locked off. It starts in the Shrieking Shack,” she said.
“How do we get everyone out without them seeing us?” Dean asked.
Hermione and Ron both looked briefly back at Harry, but he did not react, so Ron replied, “We’ll set up a guard and get everyone through; youngest first.”
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Who would stay behind to guard the rest of the students? At this point, Harry looked up abruptly from his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was quiet “ but everyone heard it.
“Dumbledore’s Army. Over here, please.”
In silence, the members of Dumbledore’s Army gathered around Harry, who was rummaging in his bag, stopping occasionally to wince in pain and run a hand through his hair. He pulled out a folded piece of parchment.
“Dennis, take Gabrielle and head for the Shrieking Shack,” Harry said to Dennis Creevey, handing the Marauder’s Map to Gabrielle Delacour. “Keep hidden, blast your way in, find the trap door and follow the tunnel. It comes out under the Whomping Willow.”
He stopped for a moment, his eyes closing briefly in concentration before opening again.
“Lead the students through “ Gabrielle, take the lead, and Dennis follow behind when everyone’s in. Once they’re all at least half way through the tunnel, cave in the entrance so that no one can follow. The rest of us will get back to the castle another way, we’ll meet you there.”
There was a brief silence. Dennis looked for a moment as though he was about to respond angrily to being chosen as the school babysitter, but the expression on Harry’s face changed his mind.
“Okay,” he said. Harry gave him a grim but grateful smile.
“Go.”
Dennis and Gabrielle rounded up the fifth year prefects and started to organise everyone as the rest of Dumbledore’s Army waited for Harry to speak. He was frowning as though in pain, and paler than usual, but he said nothing to explain it.
“The Death Eaters will be coming from the far side of the village “ the wards closer to the castle are too strong for them to break through. They’re aiming for a second passage into the castle that starts under Honeydukes.” He took a moment to breathe and wince in pain again before continuing. “We’ve got time, but we need a plan.”
The others waited for him to give them one, but he said nothing. Behind them, the students had been shouted into four lines with the first years in front.
“Harry!” Dennis called. “We’re moving out!”
Harry nodded and gestured Dumbledore’s Army to follow him; along with the rest of the school they made their way down the path to the village. To start with everyone was talking; and then Harry raised his voice.
“The quieter everyone is, the easier this is going to be,” he called, without shouting.
The students quietened, though they were still whispering, all of them sneaking looks at Harry constantly.
When they reached the Shack, a few of the older students used blasting spells to break through the doors. Harry pointed Gabrielle to the trapdoor, and then took her to one side. He placed his wand on the Marauder’s Map.
“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he muttered. Gabrielle’s eyes widened as the map appeared on the parchment.
“Gabrielle; you take this, and once everyone’s through the tunnel, keep watch on it. You’ll be able to see if anyone breaks through from the outside.”
Gabrielle nodded.
“Go,” Harry said. The younger girl called the others to the trapdoor, but before she passed through it, she turned back.
“Harry “ good luck,” she said quietly. Harry did not reply. As he made his way back out of the Shack, the same words came to him from students all along the line.
“Good luck.”
“Good luck.”
“Good luck, Potter.”
“Good luck, Harry.”
It was still light outside when Harry reached the rest of Dumbledore’s Army, but the sun was slowly sinking. It would be dark soon. Harry closed his eyes again and felt himself jump minds. Standing with the one or two Death Eaters, he was gazing out across Hogsmeade village and looking up at the castle. He was waiting for something; but they would all attack on his command soon. Harry opened his eyes again, and began to walk down towards the main part of the village. Dumbledore’s Army followed him in silence. When they had reached the main road, he stopped and turned, looking at all of them.
“No one has to do this,” he said quietly. “If you want to go through the Shack and into Hogwarts, it’s alright “ no one could blame you.”
No one spoke as Harry looked around at them, meeting every eye and seeing resolve there. He nodded. But then pain spiked in his scar and he winced, turning away a little and biting his lip. But he could not vanish; they all saw. The Dark Mark still hung in the air a distance away, having clearly been cast from the edge of the village rather than the centre.
“Harry, what do we do?” asked Michael Corner. There was silence again; Harry had no answer.
“Ambush.”
Harry looked around. It was Ron who had spoken, but he seemed to have lost some of his confidence upon gaining everyone else’s attention.
“How?” Harry asked, watching his best friend. Ron chewed his lip for a second and spoke again.
“Split up, into pairs and threes. Find somewhere strategic, somewhere you can cast spells at them without being spotted, and wait for them to arrive. Once they’re in the middle of us, we all attack at once.”
Harry nodded.
“Ron’s right,” he said. The others seemed to agree, and although everyone looked scared beyond reason there still wasn’t anyone walking away. Harry turned to Ron again.
“Go on then, Ron.”
Ron still looked nervous, but his voice had the ring of certainty to it.
“Anthony, Michael, Terry,” he said. “You head over to Honeydukes, get spots by the window.” The three Ravenclaws moved at once, and Ron seemed to take heart.
“Neville, Colin “ try around the side of the Three Broomsticks. Dean and Seamus, do you think you can get up on the roof of Zonko’s?”
Dean and Seamus glanced at each other, and then Seamus nodded.
“Should be able to,” Dean replied. “Come on.”
The two of them left the group after Neville and Colin.
“Justin, Hannah, go around Scrivenshafts; Parvati and Padma, you try to get up on the roof of Honeydukes,” Ron said. People left to find their places as he continued.
“Ernie, Susan, try on top of Dervish and Bangs… Zacharius, Luna, Ginny, get up on the shed next to Gladrags.”
That left Harry, Ron and Hermione.
“We’ll go for the doorway of the Three Broomsticks,” Ron said. “Harry, you should find somewhere you can’t be seen. You’re too much of a target otherwise.”
Harry nodded, seemingly too distracted by his own thoughts to be annoyed at being sent away. He paused in the centre of the street.
“Ron, set off the coins as the signal to attack. Everyone can hold them and feel when they heat up.”
And with that, he slipped between the two nearest buildings and took up station just along the street. Ernie could just about see him standing, very still, against a wall.
*
Hogsmeade village was eerily silent as Dumbledore’s Army waited. But then, after about ten minutes, a sound came from the far side; heavy footsteps. Death Eaters appeared around the corner. There were nearly thirty of them, cloaked, hooded and masked. Not seeing any threat, they were moving casually, not on their guard. Ernie supposed that they assumed the Dark Mark would have frightened everyone off.
The Death Eaters were nearly in the middle of them now. Ernie clenched his fake Galleon tightly in his left hand. A few seconds passed… and then it burnt hot against his skin. Forcing himself to act without thinking, Ernie raised his wand and cast a stunning spell at the same time as a dozen of the other students did.
There were shouts and yells from the crowd of Death Eaters as Dumbledore’s Army attacked. There was only confusion to begin with, and then it became clear; the black-cloaked figures were falling. Ernie caught Susan’s eye briefly, and the two of them grinned with not a little bit of hysteria. Caught in the cross-fire, the Death Eaters were being taken down too quickly to really react, unconscious bodies scattered across the road. Spells were being shot back at Dumbledore’s Army, though; one got too close to Seamus and Dean’s spot on the roof of Zonko’s, ricocheting off of the tiles, the force sending Seamus skidding down the back of the building and onto the ground. Dean fell back to help him.
Less than a dozen Death Eaters were standing now. Ernie could see some of the others looking frightened but pleased, and he felt the same way. If this was all they were attacking with, then they had underestimated “
“AVADA KEDAVRA!”
There was a scream “ more screams “ and then green light flashed over the rooftops and down the alleyways. Ernie looked around, trying to see “ and his stomach turned over.
A second force of Death Eaters were approaching from behind them, already attacking. Ernie felt Susan grab his shoulder, pulling him off the rooftop where they were now perfect targets. He felt something singe his hair as he ducked to avoid another curse. The two of them landed badly, and Ernie cried out involuntarily as pain shot up his leg from his ankle.
“Susan, Ernie, over here!”
Ernie and Susan turned; it was Hannah who had called out from the back door of Scrivenshafts, beckoning them towards her. Susan ran straight away, crossing the gap between the buildings before any of the flying curses could hit her. She turned back when she reached the shelter of the building.
“Come on, Ernie!” she exclaimed. Ernie took a step forward, but his ankle couldn’t support him and he fell down in agony.
“Go!” he called. “Just go, I’ll hide and “”
But before he could finish his sentence, he felt soft hand around his waist, pulling his right arm over shoulders. Hannah was pulling him up and dragging him across the gap as quickly as she could. Ernie tried to use his good leg as much as possible, but they were slower than Susan had been. Too slow.
Ernie didn’t hear the shouted curse over the din of screams and cries. But he saw the green light hit Hannah in the side, and felt her slump against him as he pulled the two of them in through the side door. They both fell to the floor inside Scrivenshafts, Susan slamming the door behind them.
The sound of two people breathing seemed to fill the room.
Ernie lifted his head to see Hannah, her eyes still open, her hair fanned across the wooden floor.
And then the side door burst open again.
Ernie and Susan looked around, and started to raise their wands “ but it was too late.
“Expelliarmus!”
The clatter of their wands in the darkness of the shop seemed to echo despite the noise outside.
*
Shopkeeper’s faces appeared in the upper windows, pale and silent. Dumbledore’s Army were dragged into a rough circle in the main street in pairs and threes, tense and frightened at wandpoint. Dean and Seamus, badly bruised but otherwise unharmed. Colin and Neville. Justin Finch-Fletchley, white as a sheet and alone; Susan and Ernie. Parvati and Padma; and then it was Zacharias, Luna and Ginny. Anthony Goldstein with Michael Corner and Terry Boot. Then Ron and Hermione were forced into a gap in the circle, each with a Death Eater holding onto them.
A minute of uncertainty passed; and then the air swirled and a figure apparated into the centre of the circle. Black robed; tall and skeletal; and when he turned they could see the hoodless, skull-like face of Lord Voldemort.
There was absolute silence.
Lord Voldemort’s piercing, scarlet eyes gazed around the dishevelled students without interest. He waited, unmoving.
And then suddenly there was a scuffle, sounds of a struggle. From around the corner came two Death Eaters forcing a thinner figure forwards. They pulled him through a gap in the circle, and threw him to the ground in the centre.
Harry Potter looked up from the ground and met Voldemort’s eyes, holding the gaze as he pulled himself to his feet.
“Let them go,” he said calmly, though there was anger in the undercurrent of his voice. “You don’t care about them, it’s only me you’re interested in. Let them go.”
Lord Voldemort did not reply, merely watched him as a cat does a particularly odd mouse. Harry dropped his shoulders and relaxed his posture, sliding his hands into his pocket. There was still a tension about him, though, that said he was waiting for an opportunity.
The two gazed at each other for a minute more, the tension building, both refusing to be the one to reveal their own insecurities. Finally, Harry glanced around at the surrounding Death Eaters before he spoke, tossing the words out carelessly.
“So, have you told them yet that you’re a half “” he began, but he didn’t reach the end of the sentence before he was struck across the face with a vicious backhand. He turned back to face his attacker, adjusting his numb jaw. Voldemort’s posture was still calm and still, but his red eyes were wide and burning.
“Insolent fool,” he hissed in parseltongue. “Do you really think that you can dispel their belief in me so easily?”
“No,” answered Harry in English, “but I think I don’t have to.” He glanced pointedly around the circle again, and one or two of the cloaked figures shifted uneasily. Lord Voldemort’s face twisted in fury and he raised his wand.
“What does that matter to you?” he replied coldly, softly. “You are nothing.”
The silence grew sharper, and Harry stared back, unflinching.
“Try me.”
“Crucio.”
*
The rippling pain began as the shouting did. Harry could hear Hermione screaming and Ron yelling; he could hear the frantic scuffle as they fought their captors to reach him in desperation; and over all else he could hear Ginny's voice cutting through the mayhem,
“You BASTARD Riddle! You're a COWARD! If you were even half as brave as him you wouldn't be so scared to fight him man to man, you COWARDLY BASTARD RIDDLE!”
“Stupefy!”
Ginny’s voice fell silent, but others rose up it its place.
“Are you scared?”
“Pathetic!”
“He’s a coward!”
“BASTARD!”
“Harry’s better than you’ll ever be!”
“You’re scared!”
“Coward!”
“Come on Harry!”
“Go Potter!”
“Yeah, go Harry!”
Suddenly, the pain stopped. Harry couldn’t move; his limbs were still twitching convulsively, out of his control. He heard the noise die down, and squinted upwards as Voldemort reached down and curled a skeletal hand around Harry's throat, pulling him up. “Last chance, Potter,” he whispered. Harry pulled himself slowly onto his knees, taking his own weight, and looked straight into those pitiless red eyes.
“Burn in hell.” There was a pause, and then “
“Crucio.”
Pain, pain beyond understanding, beyond any form of recognition, separate from the reality; pain so intense it could not be a part of the real world or of any world for if it did that world would be unsurvivable, that life would be unliveable; pain so extreme that the mind screams at the body and the body curses the mind, that the touch of anything - wood, metal, cloth, flesh - sends fresh waves of agony coursing on through; pain without end, without hope of rest or respite, as the mind desperately scratches out wish upon wish for an ending, an ending of this restless, cureless, pointless agony, as the body reaches about it for peace, even from the hands of the cause of pain itself, as the very soul stretches to breaking point, twisting and writhing and losing control -
“YOU BASTARD, RIDDLE!”
And then that point; that terrible, awe-filled point as the entire being forgets that there was ever anything but the pain, but the agony, but the endlessness; as the mind has no solution, as the body loses all ability for anything but to grip, with no means to relinquish; as the soul becomes pain itself, and the being is consumed...
“HARRY!”
…almost.
“RIDDLE YOU COWARD!”
Almost, but not quite. For in that soul, amidst the writhing agony and the desperate consummation, there is a tiny, golden, spark. The pain and the darkness coil around it, pushing and clawing at every facet of it, but it is not destroyed. It is not penetrated, it is not broken or consumed or ripped apart, but grows. Slowly, achingly slowly, but still it grows. And now the darkness writhes, the darkness twists and rips into itself, the darkness fights to get out; and still the spark grows. First a spark, then an ember, then a flame, then a roaring fire with crystal walls, pushing the liquid darkness mercilessly down “
“HOLD ON HARRY!”
- and the soul rises once more -
“HARRY!”
- and the flames flicker as though reflections in a pair of bright green eyes “
- and Harry stood up.
And there was instant silence.
He could still feel the waves of agony tearing at his flesh, but they no longer worried him. He was aware of the shocked faces around him, aware of the fearful movement, aware that what he was doing was impossible “ but all of that was immaterial. All that mattered was the creature in front of him. He saw it as a twisted, blackened thing in the midst of a colourful world, the stick it carried a fiery sword and the spell escaping it a delicate sliver of blood. And he saw what he needed to do.
He reached forward and gripped, snapping the spell in two “
- and the colourful world passed through grey and then black as he fell back to the ground in pure exhaustion.
*
“Oh my God.”
“What was that?”
“How the hell did he do that?”
“I’ve never seen anything ““
“His eyes? Did you see his eyes?”
“No. What about them?”
“They had golden sparks in the middle!”
“I saw it ““
“Bloody scary.”
“- possessed?”
“Nah.”
“Well, what then?”
“I don’t bloody know!”
“Shh! He’s coming around!”
Harry stirred and groaned quietly. Every part of his body ached like he’d been under the curse for weeks, not just minutes. Even his eyelids were aching, and every so often a twitch would cause the pain to race through his body, brief but sharp. Every movement just made it worse.
“Harry? Can you hear me?” Who was that? Madam Pomfrey? Charlie? Hermione? The voice seemed to have no obvious owner “ at least none that Harry could recognise. He tried to relax back into the fuzzy blackness but it had receded slightly, temporarily out of reach. Someone began to push him gently onto his back, but the pain shot across his body and he forced the words through his mouth.
“Please…”
There was an immediate hush. The whispering voices stopped, but the movement continued. Harry swallowed painfully and tried again.
“Please…don’t move me.”
The movement stopped instantly, and a voice that seemed to come from a long way away said,
“Sorry, Harry.”
*
When Harry woke up again, the world had stopped spinning. He opened his eyes slowly, but then shut them quickly once more against the bright light. He could hear quiet voices speaking, but couldn’t quite make out the words. Harry focused completely on listening.
“…nothing else…don’t see how…”
“…long?”
“…unconscious…not responding…”
Harry tried to open his eyes again, but the lids were too heavy, and the blackness crept back to smother his consciousness. The last thing he heard before he passed out again was,
“…lucky to be alive…”
*
Dawn was only just breaking, light just hitting the inside the headmistress’s office. Eight members of the Order of the Phoenix were scattered around the room, some sat down, others leaning against the walls, all quiet. There were footsteps outside, and then a knock on the door.
“Enter,” Professor McGonagall said swiftly, her voice a little hoarse. The door swung open, and Charlie Weasley stepped through. He looked exhausted.
“Well?” Remus asked immediately from the other side of the office. Everyone in the room was watching Charlie.
“He’s unconscious, so we don’t know what his mental state will be when he wakes up. But physically, he’ll recover. He just needs time,” Charlie said. There was quiet for another moment as this sunk in.
“Ginny?” asked Arthur Weasley softly from where he stood close to the door. Charlie nodded.
“Just stunned.”
“And the Death Eaters?” Emmeline Vance asked.
“They’ve retreated to the Hogsmeade boundary for now, but it won’t be long before they come back,” Aberforth replied gruffly. “Even where they are, they’ve got us shut in.”
“Are they just after ‘arry, or the castle itself?” Fleur asked. McGonagall looked up.
“In all likelihood both,” she replied quietly. “We’ve received word from Alastor that the Ministry of Magic is also under siege.”
“So there’s no help coming from there,” Remus ended.
Silence reigned again. Arthur, who was closest, put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder; Fleur leaned into Bill. Hagrid was staring at the ground, unspeaking.
There was suddenly an echo of sound from outside the door; footsteps getting louder, voices half-hushed, half demanding; the sound of movement.
“You need rest, I can’t allow you to “”
“ “ what is it, why “ ”
“ “ I am the matron here and you will follow my instructions “ ”
The door swung open. Harry Potter stood in the doorway.
His hair was dishevelled, his clothes disarrayed; there were dark, sore circles under his eyes and little bruises could be seen all the way up his lower arms where he had tugged up his sleeves. The sight should have been one of illness, of weakness. But something about his stance said otherwise.
Behind him, Madam Pomfrey was watching her patient anxiously in confusion, and Ron and Hermione were next to her looking worried.
“Harry,” Remus began uncertainly, “we thought you were…”
“I’ve been better,” Harry said quietly, his eyes meeting Remus’ briefly. His voice was steady; he looked around the room, taking in the order members scattered around it, his eyes pausing for a second or two on the portrait of the slumbering Dumbledore.
“I’m going,” he said, his eyes on the air rather than any one person. “I have things to do.”
“But Harry you can’t, you’re not well, it’s not “”
Harry turned his head slightly in her direction. Hermione was silent immediately. He looked around again, but no one seemed willing to contradict him.
“You can’t get out,” Remus said quietly. “The wards are up and the Death Eaters have surrounded us.”
Harry again seemed to be focusing his eyes elsewhere.
“The Forbidden Forest isn’t surrounded yet,” he all but whispered. “If we leave now we’ll be able to slip past them, but we don’t have much time.” He looked up at Professor McGonagall.
“You’ll have to partially raise the wards,” he said, frowning slightly. “Only for a second.”
“I can do that,” McGonagall replied, watching the younger wizard with concern in her eyes. Harry nodded slightly and McGonagall understood it to be in thanks.
“You’ll be wanting this back then, Potter,” Aberforth Dumbledore said, raising his hand. He was holding Harry’s wand.
“I summoned it when you were unconscious,” he said. “Thought you might have a few problems without it.”
Harry took it, meeting Professor Dumbledore’s eyes, so like the old Headmaster’s, and could only nod in response. Once he had his wand, he turned to Ron and Hermione. He did not need to ask; the two of them came forward to stand by his side.
“Let’s go,” he said, turning and moving towards the door where Madam Pomfrey still stood in silence.
“Harry?”
Harry turned. It was Professor McGonagall who had spoken, her voice uncharacteristically uncertain as she used his first name.
“How will we know to let you back in?” she asked.
Harry looked at her.
“One week,” he said, his voice almost a whisper again. “One week and it will be over.” His eyes seemed to regain focus. “I promise you that.”