Disclaimer: ‘Tis not mine, I promise.
The first day was panic.
“Students are to return to their dormitories immediately!”
Professor McGonagall’s voice carried over the crowd, but so many of them were talking amongst themselves that it was hard to know if anyone was listening.
“Hogsmeade residents if you could make your way to the classrooms on the fourth floor, beds have been created for you – ”
The noise was increasing. McGonagall looked around the hallway, smothering her desperation with frustration, and took out her wand. She conjured a long stick from the air and then, taking it in one hand, hit the stone wall sharply.
“Attention! Attention!”
A few people nearby looked around, but none stopped. They were pushing through the crowd, all on a mission of their own. I have to owl my parents. I have to find my sister. I have to get out of here. Now, now, now!
Professor McGonagall leant back against the wall, shaking her head at no one.
*
The second day was fear.
Everyone was organised, finally. The heads of houses had directed, shouted and driven the students back to their common rooms, and the other teachers had then managed to organise places to sleep for the residents of Hogsmeade who had flooded in through the castle gates before they had been closed. The students were still going to their classes, though the fourth floor was now being used to house the villagers. No matter the sternness of the glare or the sharpness of the tongue, the students wouldn’t stop whispering in class, calling in the hallways – avoiding the windows. Rumours flew like sparrows, darting from mind to mind, from mouth to mouth; Harry Potter’s going to kill You-Know-Who. He promised; one week, he said. One of the students was killed in the Hogsmeade attack, her parents don’t even know yet. All the owls are being intercepted. The Ministry of Magic is under siege. Harry Potter…
Loud noises caused shrieks and jumps in every direction. Every whisperer was wide-eyed and fearful; and no one seemed to sleep.
*
The third day was hope.
Sitting in the Headmistress’s office at the end of the day, the few members of the Order who were in Hogwarts were staring anxiously at the fireplace. The letter from the Ministry, in layers of code, was in Professor McGonagall’s hand. Suddenly, the flames flashed green, and Nymphadora Tonks stepped through. Her hair was brown and short, tied back in a ponytail as though simply to get it out of the way. She stood very still as four wands were raised, pointing directly at her chest.
“Nymphadora Tonks, when we picked Harry Potter up from his Aunt and Uncle’s house in the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, what did you break?”
Remus’ voice was steady, but tense. Tonks gave a faint smile.
“It was a plate,” she said quietly. “A blue plate that had been left on the countertop.”
The eyes of everyone in the room flicked back to Remus as he nodded.
“That’s correct,” he said. The others started to lower their wands, but Aberforth stopped them.
“Wait,” he said quietly. “Miss Tonks, isn’t it? What’s the password that Alastor Moody gave to you?”
“Quirrell,” Tonks replied. Aberforth Dumbledore nodded, amused.
“That’s right. You can lower your wands, chaps.”
Arthur, Bill, Charlie and Emmeline Vance did so, relaxing. Emmeline looked confused.
“Why ‘Quirrell’?” she asked, turning to Aberforth, but it was McGonagall who answered.
“Not something that anyone would guess,” she said.
Remus had taken Tonks into his arms, and he held onto her as she spoke to the rest of the group.
“The Ministry is under siege, but they’re holding the Death Eaters off easily,” she reported. “It’s just a matter of keeping everyone calm and organised. How have you been getting on here?”
The other members looked at each other.
“No one’s been hurt since the fight,” Charlie said, “but it’s pretty tense. It’s only going to take something small for the castle to break out in panic again.”
“Rumours are flying thick around the students, everyone seems to know that there was a death in Hogsmeade,” Aberforth continued. Tonks looked at him sharply.
“Who?” she asked, concerned.
“Hannah Abbott, Hufflepuff seventh year,” Professor McGonagall answered, her voice waving slightly. She cleared her throat. “She and the rest of Dumbledore’s Army are the only reason we’re still here.”
Tonks nodded, her face pale.
“Well, the floo connection I came through has been secured. With the rest of the network shut down it can’t be intercepted, but we’ll keep using a password system just in case,” she said.
“Will the Minister be sending anyone?” Emmeline Vance asked. Tonks nodded again.
“As many Aurors as they can spare will come through tomorrow.”
The others seemed to relax a little, gratefully. Tonks cleared her throat a little, and then looked around the room.
“What about Harry?”
*
The fourth day was confidence.
The Aurors arrived at around eleven in the morning, eight of them. Not many, admittedly, but they were the first sign of the outside world that the school had seen for a few days, and with their presence came a change in attitude.
People started looking out of the windows again; the hubbub of noise was lighter, chattier than usual. There were more smiles. Someone even dropped a Dungbomb in a second floor corridor and was severely reprimanded for it. The wards were strong, and it seemed as though everyone was finally settling into their current situation.
*
The fifth day was shock.
The patronus arrived during dinner, in the centre of the Great Hall. Everyone turned to look at it as it spoke with the voice of Alastor Moody.
“We are overrun.”
Again, the whispers rippled around, people questioning, arguing – hardly believing. The professors on the high table conferred just as disbelievingly.
*
The sixth day was silence.
Silence from the outside world.
Silence across the grounds.
Silence in the castle.
*
The seventh day.
Charlie was out on the top of the North Tower, looking out across the grounds. Not many people would come up here any more, and he knew why – if he looked to his left he could see the dots of black that were Death Eater guards, lining the edge of the grounds. He wouldn’t be able to see them at all in a couple of hours, though; sunset was approaching.
Without really thinking about it, he reached for the pendant hanging around his neck, toying with it between finger and thumb. A few people had them now; Fred and George had given them to the rest of the Weasley family a short time after Harry, Ron and Hermione had left Grimmauld Place. Charlie’s had a dragon’s wing etched into the surface, and a little W on the reverse. He let it fall back against his skin, leaning against the stone wall; at then he felt it grow hot.
*
Diagon Alley was for the most part deserted; but a few shop-keepers lingered, secreted away in storerooms and cowering behind countertops. Fred and George Weasley had been working in their shop when news had come through, whispers from other people on the Alley – Hogsmeade Village had been attacked. Hogwarts and the Ministry were under siege. And then – the Ministry had been taken.
Unlike most of the others on the Alley, however, Fred and George were not sitting and whispering together in some dark corner of their shop. They continued to work on repairs.
Curses had ripped apart much of the shop’s interior a few months ago, which made rebuilding difficult and time consuming; and it had been three weeks before Fred had recovered enough to be able to help. But slowly but surely the shattered glass had been swept up, the broken pieces of wood and stone collected and moved away, and any surviving merchandise had been salvaged. The shop was no longer a wreck, but a skeleton of what it had been; the perfect place to start a refurbishment which, as Fred had said, they had needed anyway.
On this particular day, the seventh since the Hogsmeade attacks, the twins were standing at a surviving countertop looking over plans.
“I still think we should keep the more specialised stuff in the back room.”
“Yeah – but can we open it out a bit? Too many people had to ask where it was, I think we need a clearer layout.”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly, in a show of synchronicity that rarely occurred when the two of them did not have an audience, the twins looked at each other, each raising a hand to his chest. The necklaces that they both wore, George’s bearing a rocket and Fred’s an exploding firework, had burnet hot against their skin. There was a moment when the two of them just looked at each other without speaking; then they both drew their wands, took hold of their own necklace, and disapparated with a sharp, synchronised pop.
*
Harry watched as the leading Death Eater, his mask still on, lifted his left sleeve and pressed the tip of his wand to the mark there – and he felt the summons tear at him – his scar was splitting open, he knew what was happening – they had him.
He backed up but stopped as he heard movement behind him – the Death Eaters had encircled him. He swallowed, gripped his wand, and said as casually as he could manage,
“About now would be good.”
*
Ron was watching from the Burrow’s kitchen window; Hermione, behind him, was hushing people as they apparated into the kitchen. At Harry’s words, Ron turned to the others.
“Go,” he barely had time to say before the Weasley family and half of the Order of the Phoenix charged outside.
*
The grassy space outside the Burrow was mud in minutes under the havoc. More Death Eaters arrived every minute, and though more Order members joined them they were outnumbered. And then, the sudden shout, and three people arrived at the edge of the fighting – Bellatrix Lestrange. Lucius Malfoy.
And Lord Voldemort, Nagini at his heels.
Bellatrix flew into the fray without hesitation, sharp lines of green slicing through the crowd. Lucius moved to the side and was pulled into a duel with Remus Lupin. But the Dark Lord saw his young opponent stop and turn, and they met eyes.
“The chosen one, they call you now.”
The words echoed in Harry’s mind, and he saw himself through those red eyes.
“I wasn’t chosen,” he said, both aloud and in his thoughts. “I chose.” His wand arm snapped out with a wordless spell, and the duel began.
The fighting around them did not cease, it could not – but every witch and wizard there on the grimy mud in the dying light was watching. In between spells faces turned to the two in the centre, drawn to the battle that would decide all of their fates.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Nagini leap at Ron, but he didn’t have breath to warn him – but then Ron turned.
“Finio Inanis!”
Ron’s voice soared above the crowd as the spell hit the snake which collapsed to the floor, dead. Harry saw Voldemort’s eyes widen with the sudden knowledge – and then, despite both of them trying to avoid it, their spells clashed together, forming the familiar golden beam of light between their two wands. Before the spell could move them away from the battle as it had before, something occurred to Harry. He met Voldemort’s eyes, his expression somewhere between pride and fear, and whispered two words.
“Finio Inanis.”
The beam of golden light swelled and pulsed, sending a burst of colour down its length towards Voldemort’s wand. When the light reached it, Voldemort’s wand shattered; but the colours continued, free-wheeling the length of his arm and bursting into sparks. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was driven backwards, his eyes wide with fear and shock as he fell, consumed by flame - dead. The connection between his wand and Harry’s exploded, and Harry was flung away as the golden sparks raced down his wand, as the heavy, deadening effect tore at his wand hand and began to chase the life from his arm. There was chaos surrounding him – people shouting, screaming, fighting – but he barely noticed it. He grabbed his wrist, clawing at his own arm, as if trying to stop the life slowly leaving him, not caring about the nightmare blend of sounds around him, indifferent to everything, until he saw a flash of bright red hair tossing, crying out.
“HARRY!” He looked up through his agony and saw Ginny, kicking and screaming but being dragged away from the fight by a death eater, whose mask…whose mask was slipping off, clawed off by Ginny’s flailing hands. The platinum blonde hair was unmistakable.
Malfoy. Harry felt a rage building up inside him, overriding the pain, and he stood up, ripping his wand from his right hand with his left, ignoring the skin that that tore with it, burning his palm. He moved, flinging curses right and left at any Death Eater between him and Ginny. Shocked by the sudden violence of his attack, they fell one by one, he was four meters away, three…
Suddenly there was no-one between them.
“GINNY!” he shouted. She saw him and jerked downwards, no longer blocking his target –
“Stupefy!” Lucius Malfoy dropped over, unconscious, as Ginny fell forwards into Harry’s arms. Safe. Except…
He didn’t stop to think, couldn’t consider any other choice. He pushed into Ginny and she fell away. The curse hit him full in the back and he hit the ground. The last thing he saw was Ginny leaning over him, white with shock, calling his name, before the world went black.
*
Ron hurled a stunner at his opponent and turned to see Harry push Ginny out of the path of a curse, taking it himself instead and instantly crumpling to the ground beside her. He couldn’t think, he just ran towards them. Ginny was deathly pale and had her hands on Harry’s shoulders, shaking him, begging him to wake up. Ron fell to his knees beside them, barely registering that the Death Eaters had been more or less defeated and that all the Order members still standing were running towards them. As noise enveloped them, Ron had only one thought. I didn’t even see. I didn’t even see what curse it was…
*
Six (silence)
The Burrow was unnaturally quiet. Molly Weasley was in the kitchen, making herself busy, clattering plates and cutlery as she washed them by hand for once, but never speaking. Arthur came in every ten minutes or so to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Upstairs, various Weasleys were occupying themselves equally quietly. Fred and George were playing cards, watched wordlessly by Ron; Hermione and Ginny were reading in Ginny’s room, Ginny glancing up from her book at the ceiling every time a floorboard creaked. Bill had left for work that morning with only a nod to his father and a wave to the rest of the family.
In the room directly below the attic, Harry lay deeply unconscious. Charlie was sitting on a chair next to the head of the bed, tracking his temperature and keeping an eye on the time as he waited for Madam Pomfrey to return.
*
Five (shock)
The quiet of the previous day was abruptly shattered by an arrival. There was a somewhat hesitant knock on the door as the Weasley family and Hermione sat eating breakfast, and Fred, who was closest, got up to open it.
Standing on the doorstep, his usually neat hair in disarray, his expression nervous instead of smug, was Percy.
There was a clatter as Ron dropped the fork he was holding.
“I heard that – ” Percy began, “Well, I wanted to – it’s just that – I thought I should – I’ve been meaning too – well… sorry.”
The last word was delivered awkwardly, but sincerely. No one said anything. Percy swallowed.
“I’ll – I’ll just go, I shouldn’t have just – I’ll –”
“Come in, Percy,” Arthur said quietly. Percy hovered in the doorway for a moment more before stepping inside. Fred closed the door behind his brother, and then moved away to stand with the rest of the family. Percy did not seem to know what do to with himself. He chewed his lip for a minute or so and then managed to speak again.
“I really am,” he said, “sorry, I mean. I have been for a while, I didn’t know how – I suppose you don’t want me –”
“You’re my son.”
Percy looked straight at his father and nodded, his face pale. Arthur nodded too, considering.
“You’re our family,” he said, reaching for Molly’s hand. “We’ll always want you, even if we’re angry.” He smiled softly, and Percy managed a weak smile back.
Fred and George exchanged glances, and then they both moved over to stand either side of Percy, who swallowed anxiously again.
“Percy, we’ve always known you were a prat,” George began, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“And we’ve tried to explain it to you before,” Fred continued, putting his hand on Percy’s other shoulder.
“But we think that now –”
“ – after all of this –”
“You’ve probably learnt your lesson.”
The twins grinned, and Percy seemed to relax considerably. Bill stood up to ruffle his little brother’s hair, and it wasn’t long before Percy was sitting at the table with them, eating breakfast.
“The Death Eaters all vanished from the Ministry without a word,” Percy said. “Apparently they disappeared from around Hogwarts at the same time. We only knew what had happened after the fact.”
“When the Order sent a message to Scrimgeour,” Bill interjected. Percy nodded.
“Speaking of what happened,” he said warily, looking around, “where is Harry?”
The others all exchanged glances. Charlie answered.
“He’s upstairs, Perce, pretty badly hurt.”
“Will he be alright?”
The obvious concern on Percy’s face was enough to win the tiny bits of affection that the other had been holding back.
Arthur nodded.
“Madam Pomfrey says he’ll recover, but it’s going to take time – he hasn’t woken up yet.”
“Best not to let on where he is, Percy, if that’s alright. Don’t need the press all over him,” Charlie said.
“Of course,” Percy agreed softly. He went back to eating his scrambled egg.
There was quiet for a few minutes, until Hermione spoke up.
“Percy?” she asked unsurely. “Do you know how – how many, um…”
“Fifteen dead,” Percy answered, “at the Ministry, at least. A few hurt, but not seriously. It’s a miracle it wasn’t more. I don’t know about Hogwarts.”
“One,” said Ron, speaking to his toast.
*
Later that evening, when a bed had been squeezed in for Percy (Mrs Weasley insisted he stay, and he was glad to) and most of the family had trouped upstairs for the night, Percy was in the kitchen fetching a glass of water when the twins entered.
“Hey Perce,” George said casually, leaning against the doorframe. Percy gave them a smile.
“You’re still up?” he asked.
Fred nodded.
“We’ve got something for you,” he said.
“Didn’t know when you’d turn up again,” George continued, bringing out a little black box.
“But we know you would eventually,” Fred finished. George threw the box lightly to Percy, who managed to catch it one-handed and put down his glass of water to open it.
Inside was a necklace with a silvery pendant the size of a fingerprint. On one side was etched a small ‘W’ and on the other a pair of clearly horn-rimmed glasses.
*
Four (confidence)
Late afternoon, and Percy had returned from a brief trip to the Ministry. Bill and Charlie and Arthur all had jobs to go to, but no one wanted to leave with Harry lying upstairs.
They were all scattered around in the living room, talking quietly, when there was a sudden loud crack, followed by a thud. Everyone jumped; Hermione gave a little scream of shock and then clapped a hand over her mouth, looking embarrassed.
“Sorry,” she said shakily. “Still jumpy.”
At the open window, Errol arrived, looking battered.
“He flew into the window, the stupid thing,” Fred said, starting to laugh, as shaky as Hermione. The others all grinned in the same fashion, and Bill had just taken the letter from Errol’s leg when there was a sudden noise on the stair. And then another. Footsteps.
The room was frozen; and then Harry was standing in the doorway, his wand in his left hand, his body shuddering in exhaustion.
“Heard a scream,” he murmured. Ron moved fast enough to catch him as he swayed, and between him and Charlie they managed to get Harry into the nearest armchair.
“Harry, you should be resting,” Charlie said gently. Harry nodded vaguely.
“Tired,” he said hoarsely. This prompted another shaky laugh from the others.
“Yeah, Harry, no kidding,” George said.
“Let’s get you back to bed, hey?” Charlie said, nodding to Bill who came to help him.
“You just go back to sleep, we’ll look after you.”
Harry closed his eyes, the world returning to the more comfortable black.
*
Three (hope)
Although most of the major pains had passed, he still found it difficult to stay still without shifting position every few minutes in a fruitless effort to prevent his body beginning to ache. Movement was still difficult and consumed much of his energy; he woke up, had something to eat, went back to sleep, and did little else all day. But his sleep was uncomfortable rather than restful, punctuated with the shouts and screams of recent weeks.
Despite this, however, the mood in the house had improved slightly. Some of the tension was gone, and the smiles were lighter.
*
Two (fear)
Harry managed to get downstairs for breakfast that morning, but only supported by Ron. Ginny watched him over the table. Apart from looking ill, he was exhausted – he had great purple circles under his eyes, and she could see a fine tremble as he used his left hand to pour milk onto his cereal.
When breakfast was over, he seemed if anything more worn out. He hadn’t spoken at all except the occasional murmured ‘please’ or ‘thank you’, and when Ron and Charlie helped him to his feet his face lost even more colour.
“I’m fine,” he said softly, his voice hoarse, “I’m fine.”
Charlie was frowning, but said nothing.
That evening, Ginny slipped up to Harry’s room – as everyone was now referring to it – straight after dinner. Opening the door as quietly as she could, she stepped inside and sat down in the chair next to Harry’s bed.
He was asleep, but not peacefully; his face was twisted in pain, frightened. Ginny put a hand gently on his left shoulder, wary of touching the right, and gave it a careful shake.
“Harry,” she murmured. “Wake up.”
After a few moments, Harry blinked himself awake, squinting against the dim lamp on the bedside table.
“Ginny? What…”
Speaking suddenly provoked coughing, and Ginny bit her lip as Harry winced with every spasm.
“Here,” she said, handing him the glass of water next to the bed. He drank from it gratefully.
“Thanks,” he said finally, handing it back to her. She smiled a little.
“You were having a nightmare,” she replied quietly. “Can I help?”
Harry didn’t answer for a minute or so, but finally he turned his head to see her. His expression was nervous and his words were hesitant.
“Would you – I mean, you don’t have to, but would you… stay?”
Ginny smiled, properly this time, though with a hint of sadness.
“Of course,” she said softly. She kicked off her shoes as Harry gingerly moved over, watching her curl up on the side of the bed. She wound her hand into his.
“Goodnight, Harry.”
*
One (panic)
It was dark in the room now, the dark of early morning. Harry smiled slightly to himself despite the pain as he felt Ginny sleepily tug on the sheets, turning over. He let his thoughts wander and closed his eyes, sleep overwhelming him.
- a flash of golden eyes behind round glasses -
Harry woke up.
*
To be continued in the sequel (the epically long, still-in-the-redrafting stages sequel which should begin to be posted summer 2012), Lightning Clan.
Thank you all for coming.
HK
All for All by HermitKnut
Chapter Notes: A/N to mods: I don't know why MNFF is making question marks appear all over the place. The formatting seems fine at my end...