The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As the final days of the term passed, Harry tried to ignore the fact that he would soon graduate and leave Hogwarts, perhaps, forever. As the seventh years had no more classes and exams, he and Ron and Hermione and many of the others, dawdled by the lake or wandered over to Hogsmeade for a few last visits to The Three Broomsticks and Honeydukes. Each evening they practiced for the final quidditch game, which was set to be held on the Twenty. They all wanted quite badly to win the cup one final time and Harry threw himself into practices with complete concentration as it distracted him from other worries.
Every day they would argue over their assignment to the Muggle ministry. Harry still felt mostly that he was being informally expelled from the wizarding community. “You can’t deny it,” he said gloomily, “we’ll be working and living like Muggles mostly. I can’t imagine they’ll want us waving our wands and messing up their computers or knocking out the lights and their mobile phones.”
“C’mon,” Ron said, “They can’t expect us to use their eclectricity, can they?”
“Of course, they can,” Hermione, replied. “Not that it’s particularly difficult,” she added with amusement. “It’s just as easy to flick a light switch as it is to light your wand or a torch.” She hesitated and said to Harry, “You might find it’s not so bad. I mean, nobody there will know you as The Boy Who Lived. You won’t be stared at or…well, you know. And it’s not as if all Muggles are like your Aunt and Uncle.” Harry looked at Hermione skeptically.
“The minute they find out what we are, we’ll be pariahs. They’ll either be wanting us to tell their fortunes and entertain them with tricks like those illusionists on the telly, or they’ll be terrified we’ll curse them and think we’re agents of the devil.”
Ron laughed. “We can always perform a flame freezing charm and escape if they want to burn us at the stake.”
“Oh, you are such idiots, the both of you,” Hermione said. “All you really want to do is stay here and play quidditch.” Her voice quavered a bit though and she didn’t sound nearly as stern and commonsensical as she no doubt intended.
At night, Harry slipped away and transformed and found escape there. And when Ginny could sneak away from her classes and forthcoming exams, they found places to hide and to be alone and Harry had to tell her over and over again that she really, really should be glad to return to Hogwarts for another year. That was easy because it was what he wished he could do deep down; and it was terribly hard, because he was so tempted to ask her to join him, when he knew that she shouldn’t. Not to mention that Mrs. Weasley would slay him before Voldemort could if he did.
On Saturday evening, the twentieth of June, Harry was unable to escape anywhere. The Gryffindors had been coaxed into an impromptu party by Fred and George, who seemed to take very seriously their need to keep their reputation for fun and mischief intact despite their present status as Hogwarts teachers. Somehow, an entire keg of butterbeer had been smuggled into the common room and the twins were handing out free samples of their newest line of Skiving Snackboxes. Mark Evans had come out all over with huge purple spots and Dennis Creevey’s right hand had vanished inside an invisibility glove.
Each time Harry tried to slip out, Neville or Dean or Seamus caught him. Neville had returned to the dormitory, and for the first time in over a week, he was seen to laugh. So when he said to Harry, “You’d better stay here tonight Harry or I might just work up the courage to ask Ginny to marry me,”
Harry sat down again immediately and forced a laugh. He was almost sure that Neville was teasing him. He was almost sure that Ginny would make short work of Neville if he did. Harry told himself that Neville knew perfectly well how he felt. Dean had drunk six bottles of butterbeer and was sipping at a flask of Ogden firewhiskey.
“I’ll tell you what, Harry,” he said. “Don’t listen to Neville. He really wants to ask Hermione, only he’s too afraid of her. But you can just sneak out and I’ll ask Ginny instead.” He waved the flask, which by its grimy look, had probably been bought at the Hogs Head, and added, “I’ve been trying to convince her that she can do as well as Fred and George if she skips seventh year. But she keeps telling me you disagree.”
“Here, now,” Fred said indignantly. "George and I are the only ones allowed to encourage Ginny like that. You can’t be giving her bad advice, too.” Everyone laughed at that and Ginny turned bright red.
She refused to look at Harry and he felt furious and depressed all at once, because he couldn’t possible do anything but pretend to laugh and because he would have wanted more than anything to spit at them and say, I’m the one, so just shut up.
At midnight, he went up to his bed in the dormitory and flung himself down on top of his covers still dressed in his ancient jeans and t-shirt. The light of the full moon poured in, pure and pale, illuminating the grounds outside with eternal indifference. He watched the moon soar through the night, wheeling across the starry sky in its ancient dance, and every so often, a wisp of a cloud drifted across its face, a lacy veil to its pristine beauty.
Even after he slept, he dreamed the light shivered across the leafy canopy of the Forest making shadows march down the dark trails, and glinting off rows and rows of eyes: dark goblin eyes; bright human eyes; red, slit-pupiled eyes.
The dream shifted, changed. No longer pure and white, the light darkened to a blood red that struck fiery sparks off of the goblins’ steel tipped arrows. Blazing red, the light forced back the midnight blue curtain of the sky and a black smoke rose into the lightening horizon. Under the sun’s bloody rays, the green canopy of the forest shriveled and burned. Sleep shifted to waking, and Harry was never sure after when dream became reality.
Shivering in the early morning chill, Harry slid out of bed with the eerie feeling that he was still in his dream. The sun rose blood red and smoky black clouds wafted across its face obscuring its fire. From the far edge of the Forest, brilliant red flashed in a straight line through the Forest toward the Castle, leaving a wide, smoky black path in its wake, and the red spread outwards, eating everything it touched. Animals and creatures came bursting out of the Forest. A centaur came, beating at the flames in its mane of hair and a tiny baby unicorn skidded into a heap, bleating in terror. He understood then why the sky was red; the Forest was on fire.
“Ron,” he yelled, “Wake up.”
Ron turned over and mumbled, “ ‘S Sunday, Harry. Go back to sleep.”
He pulled the covers over his head and started to snore again. Harry yanked the covers off and said, “Get up! Everybody, get up! The Forest is on Fire!”
“Not possible,” Neville said yawning.
Ron stumbled out of bed and gawped at the smoke rising over the tops of the trees. “Who do you suppose did that?”
“One of those Muggles coming into the Three Broomsticks?” Dean hazarded. “I saw a couple of ‘em there yesterday. They’re always smoking.”
“No Muggle fire could burn the Forest,” Ron said grimly.
“Well, who, then?” Seamus said. “And don’t say You Know Who, please. Even he wouldn’t do that.”
“He would,” Harry answered. “He has.”
“Go on,” Dean said. “Why’d he do that? He doesn’t need to burn the Forest down just to get to you.”
“No,” Harry replied. “He needs a way to bring his army in. That’s why.” He yanked his boots on, flung open his trunk and pulled out his sword. The others stared at him as if he’d gone mad.
He glared back at them and said, “You’ll all need your swords.”
“That’s just…” Seamus said. “I don’t believe it!”
“Why do you think Dumbledore had us trained to fight?” Harry asked fiercely. “Why’d he have swords made for us? They’re not easy to make and they cost the earth. He knew this was coming.” Harry ran for the stairs and banged on the doors of the other boys’ dormitories as he went, Ron was only two steps behind him.
“I’m going to get Dumbledore,” Harry said. “Wake up the girls and meet me outside. We need to stop the fire to prevent his army getting through.”
Ron stopped at the bottom stair, one foot poised in midair. “You’re sure he’s here?” he asked. “You’re sure you weren’t, erm, dreaming?”
“I’m not dreaming about the fire,” Harry said flatly. “And I’m not dreaming it’s him. I know.” He held Ron’s doubtful gaze a moment and was relieved when Ron nodded. He ignored the Fat Lady’s protests when he slammed open the portrait door and ran headlong as fast as he had ever in his life toward the stairs to the headmaster’s office.
From somewhere, a loud alarm rang, and sleepy students and staff began to pour out of the hallways from each of the four House dormitories. Harry shoved through the people and ignored their questions in his haste to reach Dumbledore. A body blocked him.
Seizing his arm, Filch stuck his angry red face close to Harry’s and said, “What’s all this noise? What prank are you getting up to now? Only a few more days left till you go and you have to make more mess and trouble!”
Harry shoved Filch off him and roared, “The Forest is on Fire. I need to see Professor Dumbledore. Get out of my way!” He lifted his naked sword and Filch shrank back bleating, but Harry had no time to spare for the acid old caretaker’s feelings. He continued at a run, skidding around the corner toward the gryphons that guarded the stairs to the Headmaster’s office. For the second time he nearly crashed into someone, or several someones. Dumbledore was stepping out of the stairway and Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall were coming from the other direction.
“The Forest,” Harry said.
Dumbledore nodded and said, “I know.”
Then he stared at Harry’s sword and asked, “Why…?” But he did not finish. Comprehension and then fear showed in the bright blue eyes. “Voldemort?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
Harry nodded. “I think he’s got his army with him, too.”
Both Snape and McGonagall paled. “Organize your students in their houses, as we’ve planned,” Dumbledore instructed them. “And tell the other Heads to do the same.”
“You were right, Albus,” McGonagall said grimly. “I never thought he’d go after the whole of Hogwarts.”
“It’s two birds at one go,” Snape answered. “He gets Potter and the Headmaster at once, and secures for himself the greatest magical stronghold in Britain, if not in the world.”
They had all continued down to the Great Hall, but Snape paused a moment and said, “It’s as good a day as any to die, don’t you think?” Then he moved at a fast run further down, down to the dungeon area where Slytherin made its home.
In the Great Hall, Dumbledore raised his voice, as he had once before. Silence descended. All motion ceased. Harry had the feeling that the world itself had stopped breathing for that instant, waiting, as he was, on the Headmaster’s direction and reassurance. “Today,” Dumbledore said calmly, “we will fight as we never have before. Each and every one of you must know that this is not just a simple forest fire to be put out. Today, Lord Voldemort has made his move. Today, he must be stopped. Today, finally, we shall put out the deadliest fire of all, the fire of hatred. Today, we must win, or we shall see our world, our magical world, brought down into dust and all of wizard-kind be brought to shame.” He paused again, and surveyed them all, and said softly, “Today, the Four Houses must unite as they never have before, or none shall survive.”
So began the longest day of the year, and what Harry thought was to be the longest day of his life. At the direction of the four heads, the students began an orderly, but fast procession. Just as they had been taught in their Saturday defense lessons, they formed wings, standing side by side in tight formation, wands drawn, and the older students with swords loose in their sheaths ready to be drawn.
More creatures continued to burst out of the Forest. Some were on fire and the flames on them caught at the green grass of the outlying grounds making little patches of fire that could only be put out with great difficulty. As Harry found out quite quickly, a Flame Freezing charm didn’t make this fire harmless. He managed to beat out the flames singeing a patch at his shin, but his left leg felt as though he’d gotten a bad sunburn afterwards.
Hagrid came out of the Forest at a run and behind him was a sight that no other student besides Harry, Ron and Hermione had ever beheld. Grawp, Hagrid’s younger brother and a full giant strode out behind Hagrid, making Hagrid look small for the first time ever. Harry felt his jaw drop and a number of students actually screamed and turned to run, for along with Grawp, who was only sixteen feet tall and short for a giant, was another, a female, who stood easily twenty feet tall. Grawp scooped up a baby unicorn which had been bleating loudly as a patch of fire surrounded it. He stamped on the flames with his bare foot and howled in annoyance. The sound echoed loudly and the stamp of his foot made the ground shake.
Again, some students shrieked and turned to run, but Harry grinned and ran forward to Hagrid and yelled, “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Hagrid smiled at Harry, and Harry saw that a swath of his wiry black beard had been burned off. “Eh, Harry. Was a delicate operation getting ‘er ‘ere. And it took a bit till Grawpy’d talk to ‘her ‘an all.” Then his face turned white as several of the teachers came running back out of the Forest from where they had gone to try to stop the advance of the flames. Professor Flitwick was being pulled along so fast by Professor Sinistra that his short legs barely touched the ground.
The flames licked at their feet as they ran and both of them were thrown forward suddenly out of danger of the flames by a shield spell thrown by Snape, who was a pace behind him. Snape flung himself to the side, rolling over and over to extinguish the fire that had eaten at the back of his robes. Hagrid reached down and hauled him up and beat out the last bit with his bare hands. Then he, too, danced to the side dragging Snape with him.
Advancing out of the Forest was the most terrifying yet one of the most beautiful sights Harry had ever seen. Nearly as tall as the trees themselves, composed of blindingly brilliant red flames, was a beautiful woman. Her streaming hair was made of golden flaming fire, her draperies, like those one might see on a Grecian statue, were scarlet swaths of fire, her face shone gold, with the brightness of the sun. But her eyes were vacant: where seeing eyes should be, a pit of fire burned, molten, dark, lusting to consume. It was like looking into the mouth of a volcano in the very act of exploding. Terror seized him.
“What is it?” he cried, as did others about him. From out of the ranks of the Ravenclaws, Luna Lovegood stepped forward. No trace of fear showed on her face.
Dreamily, she said, “Look, Harry. It’s a heliopath. A spirit of fire.”
“Now there’s a headline for The Quibbler,” Hermione said waspishly. Harry couldn’t help it: he laughed. Only Hermione could be so purely annoyed that something she had thought of as myth, something only Luna Lovegood would believe in, actually existed. He sobered quickly, however, and fear returned when the thing, the spirit, moved gracefully forward and a wave of burning air sucked his lungs dry and burned his throat. More fire spread out from the spirit’s every step. The students were wavering, their tight formations falling apart.
“What do we do?” Harry asked. Hermione threw a Flame Freezing charm at it. For one second, the spirit appeared to be encased in ice. Then its flames burst through once more and it flung a streak of fire back at its attacker. Ron, who had been standing next to Hermione, yanked her to the side. The fire streaked through burning a path so fast that a couple of slower students’ robes caught fire. A wave of noise, high pitched, like a murder of crows cawing, came from the crowd. Professor Flitwick moved forward. With a wave of his wand, the ground before the spirit opened up and the fiery creature sank into a pit of water. The water fountained up, a steaming geyser that evaporated almost at the instant it plumed out. The spirit rose back up, floated aloft by the current of burning air that rose beneath it.
“Fall back,” Professor Dumbledore called. The students that remained in the spirit’s path fell away to the sides, and it seemed to Harry as if they had only formed an honor guard to escort the ravening creature toward its goal, the Castle itself. The heat of its flames was so intense that when it stepped on rock, the rock melted beneath it and then cooled into black streaks and puddles of purest obsidian. Should the spirit reach the Castle, he thought, all of the Castle’s stones would be so transmogrified; creating a fortress that would be made entirely of black glass, perfectly fitting for the blackest wizard in history. Professor McGonagall stood blocking the spirit’s path.
“You shall not enter,” she said. The spirit paused, but no thought could be seen behind the cauldrons of fire that were its eyes. It moved again. At McGonagall’s word, the earth that lay between them sprang up and became giant warriors. More faceless than the creature before them, they advanced toward the spirit and sought to seize it in a smothering hold. From either side, the spirit’s flames were quenched and the creature changed, its draperies seemed to solidify into dark red granite, its face into coppery-gold, like some great brazen idol of old.
Before relief could take hold, though, the endless molten wells of its eyes flamed out and the earthen warriors were blown into thousands of burning fragments that rained down starting new fires where they fell. There was a mad scramble for cover as the wings of students broke again, many crying with terror at the sight of the spirit’s sudden renewed blaze.
Professor Dumbledore moved then, shielding McGonagall and with a lash of his wand, a whip of light flew out to encase the creature with a new, competing fire. Surely, Harry thought, surely this time the spirit must be destroyed. The flames that surrounded the spirit were a cool radiant blue. The spirit halted once again. Eerily, no sound emerged. The surrounding blue flames cooled the blazing inferno that emanated from the spirit. Whipping high, and higher, the blue flames began to rotate and the spirit was forced down into the earth inch by inch. Such was the force of the magic that Harry felt electric-like needles running down his arms and back as though he stood right next to the very flashpoint of a lightning bolt. Surely this time the spirit must be defeated.
Yet, once again, before fear could ease, the spirit rose again, and the blue flames were forced outward. The spirit opened its mouth. Instead of a teeth or a tongue, its mouth was a crater filled with fire. The blue flames were sucked down into its maw and the air surrounding them was drawn down too, so that many nearby gasped for air and fainted in the vacuum that was created.
“How can you kill it?” Harry cried. “There’s got to be a way!”
“There is no way to kill a heliopath,” Luna answered, “because, properly speaking, it’s not alive at all.” Her enormous blue eyes observed the spirit with fascinated, almost ecstatic awe. “They only way to get rid of a heliopath is to banish it to whence it came, or –“
“Or what?” Harry demanded.
Dreamily, Luna replied, “or feed it what it craves, the life that it lacks.”
“How do you…?”
“Banish it?” Luna answered. “I don’t know. The spells for summoning and banishing heliopaths are among the very darkest of all.” Harry looked at Professor Dumbledore. The elderly wizard shook his head. He lifted his wand again, but Luna drifted closer to the spirit. Smiling, her blue eyes seemed to have acquired by reflection the fire that sprang from the burning void inside the spirit. He shouted then, understanding what she meant to do.
She smiled serenely at him and said as she raised her wand, “I always did want to see my Mum again.” She said only, “Accio! Come to me,” and the simple light of a summoning spell whipped out of her wand. The spell encircled the spirit as Dumbledore’s had. Harry saw reflected in the old man’s face horror and sorrow and, oddly, joy, all at once.
The spirit yielded to the spell and swooped in closer to Luna. They swayed together, as though dancing, and then the spirit moved again and its flames began to consume the girl. Luna’s long blond hair was made of flames; her Hogwarts’ robes were draperies of fire; she grew or the spirit diminished, who could tell? Her eyes were serene blue still and the smile of them remained in Harry’s memory long after the flames consumed her and the spirit and the girl together vanished.
There should have been time to mourn, to say something, to celebrate even, the extraordinary bravery of Luna Lovegood. The silence, however, that had descended upon the watching crowd was broken by a deep booming sound, by the thunder of many feet marching, by the harsh jangle of metal upon metal, as out of the burnt Forest came rank on rank of goblins and men and dark creatures, and at their head, hooded Death Eaters, all in black. Panic set in and many of the students turned to flee.
Dumbledore’s voice rang out, “Form up!” and the wavering wings solidified in places. Heartened, Harry seized Hermione and Ron and pulled them back in line waiting for the Headmaster’s orders. As the masses of Voldemort’s army moved forward, though, he could not help feeling that they were surely doomed. Voldemort’s army, he thought, were hardened men and goblins, while Dumbledore had only a few teachers and an army of children. Dumbledore strode majestically forward to stand in front of the four wings of students.
“I shall give you,” he said calmly, “one chance to leave in peace. Be warned, however. Should you attack, the very stones of Hogwarts will rise up to defeat you, and those of you who learned your craft here should know the power that resides here.” A hooded Death Eater moved forward and laughed. Lifting his black hood, Lucius Malfoy regarded Dumbledore with cold amusement.
“The only thing I see here is one old fool with his school of children. Surrender the Castle, Dumbledore, and you will save many from death.”
“Never,” Dumbledore replied. He raised his wand but never had a chance to strike. Malfoy stepped to the side and from behind him; a giant emerged and seized Dumbledore in one enormous hand.
Hagrid cried, “Get him, Grawpy!” but Grawp and his companion retreated. The giant holding Dumbledore must have been twenty-five feet tall and was so large he made Harry think of dinosaurs and living mountains. A necklace of human heads encircled its nearly non-existent neck and the skulls clunked against one another as the giant shook the Headmaster in his huge hand. Enraged, Harry flung a spell at the giant, but it bounced right off of the gargantuan creature.
“A single spell’s not enough,” Hermione cried. As many as a dozen jets of light streamed at the giant, but all bounced off of him. He seemed even more invulnerable than a dragon, and many students had begun to scream and weep and to run back for the sanctuary of the Castle. The Death Eaters were laughing.
They laughed even harder when Hagrid roared out, “Perfessor! Get his eyes!” Dumbledore could not make use of his wand though, as his arms were squashed inside the giant’s grip and Harry was afraid the old wizard had been injured. He stepped forward again out of formation and raised his sword, but Hagrid was there before him. A steel tipped arrow shot its way from Hagrid’s cross-bow and found its target, piercing the giant’s eye. The giant shuddered and fell, dropping Dumbledore as he collapsed over in one slow descent. The earth crumbled beneath him and the noise was louder than a falling meteorite.
The noise was so loud, and the screams of the children so distracting that no one realized at first that their numbers had been fortified by the appearance of many wizards at once. Groups of wizards holding portkeys appeared and sprang in front of the four wings of students. Mr. Weasley had arrived in the first wave along with Tonks, Mad-eye Moody and Lupin. Another group contained some wizards he recognized, too. Mundungus Fletcher was there and Emmeline Vance and Daedelus Diggle. Many others, he did not recognize, and he realized that there were far fewer than one could hope for. The Death Eaters did, too. A green light shot from a wand, and found its mark.
A huge shout rose from the dark army and the attack began. Spells were fired from wands and arrows from goblin bows. All around him, people were yelling, screaming. The noise was incredible. He ran forward again as the two groups clashed into one chaotic mass, throwing out shield spells here and stunning spells there. He saw Hagrid stoop and lift Dumbledore to his shoulder and hoped the old wizard was alive and unhurt. There was no time to think anymore. He could only react as he had been trained and hope it was enough. And everywhere he looked, he looked for the hooded form and snake-like face of Voldemort, the cause of it all.
Chaos reigned. This was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced before. Though he had fought Voldemort before, and at the graveyard after the Triwizard contest, at the Ministry of Magic and inside Hogwarts itself, he had never faced an army of this magnitude. Always before, the battle between him and Voldemort had seemed individual, personal.
Seeing the huge numbers arrayed against them, and the many wizards and other students who fought back, Harry could no longer see the fight as being only about him. For the first time, he truly understood that this was about the hundreds, the thousands, who would be like Alice Longbottom if they failed. On both sides, casualties were piling up and small duels separated out from the larger fighting flanks. He ducked the green jet of a Killing Curse, which left a small crater in the ground where he had just been. He rolled up and saw that its author was Lucius Malfoy. His pale gray eyes gleamed with a furious pleasure as he raised his wand to strike at Harry again. Before he could, a wild yell, like that of a savage in an old American cowboy movie distracted them both.
Neville jumped over a fallen goblin and flung a spell at Malfoy. Its purple fire barely missed the Death Eater, who returned the spell with another Killing Curse. Neville narrowly avoided the curse as he had slipped in the newly formed crater and the curse flew over his head, striking a Ministry wizard whom Harry had never met. He had no time for shock. Neville recovered faster than Harry would have expected and this time his spell landed squarely on its target. The Death Eater's shoulder had been pierced and a small, neat hole blossomed with blood. Harry raised his wand to do a stunning spell, but he was hit by a disarming spell himself.
Wild-eyed, Draco Malfoy screamed, "He's mine. I'll kill him, not you!" Draco aimed his wand at his father, who was kneeling with one hand clapped to his wound and holding his wand in the other. Harry dove for his wand and wished he hadn't.
In the interval, Lucius Malfoy said coolly, "You can't do it, Draco. You've not got the guts or the power to pull it off. And besides, I'm not your enemy. It's Potter who is. You've hated him from the first, and now you're fighting with him. With a jumped up half-blood of no talent and too much luck."
Draco spared a glance at Harry, his wild face filled with torment and doubt, and even as he turned his attention away, Lucius Malfoy struck at his son. The crucio curse threw him flat and he screamed. "I've been too soft with you," the father said, "for too long."
Harry yelled a curse, but missed. Neville had leaped on the Death Eater, his wand and sword forgotten. He drove a fist into the Death Eater's face again and again. Harry tried to aim at Malfoy, but the two were too far entwined and they rolled over and over. Malfoy still had his wand, but Neville's blows landed so fast and so furiously that he could not bring it to bear on his attacker. Harry reached out a hand to help up Draco, who was folded up in a ball, sobbing from the effects of the curse. Instead of taking Harry's hand, however, he drew his wand and a silver stream of light shot out at Harry, slicing a cut through his left arm. Still sobbing, Draco flung another spell and this time, the green light of the Killing Curse spat out.
The spell missed its target by inches, though whether the target had been Lcuius or Neville or both, Harry did not know. Recovering himself, Harry flung a stunning spell and Draco went down, his pale gray eyes still stretched wide like a horse gone mad from proximity to a fire.
Another Death Eater appeared, hooded and masked, and with him came a wave of Dementors. They sucked on the air and the sweat Harry had hardly noticed froze on his skin and the drip of warm blood from the slash on his arm slowed. Wizards from both sides wavered and fled or stopped cold in their tracks. Cold swept through him, absolute and piercing, and the world went dark.
He was falling down a set of cold stone steps in the Department of Mysteries...Bellatrix lestrange flung a spell at Sirius...Sirius ducked and laughed..."You'll have to do better than that"...laughter echoed as another light struck his godfather and his body fell in a slow arc through a black veil into nothingness... The dark nothingness inside the veil enfolded him. Inside him was notingness. Inside him was only despair. The cold was numbing him. He knew he had to do something, say something, but could not think in the utter dark.
Someone cried out, "Lumos," and a small light broke through.
"Harry!" Ron yelled, "Get up! The Patronus Spell! Do the spell!" Harry breathed again and that was so complete that it burned in his lungs. Hooded Dementors were bending over him, bending over Neville, and one was lowering its hood to kiss Draco Malfoy, who was altogeth unconscious still. A silver vapor came out of Ron's wand, but no Patronus came. More Dementors were closing in on him and the vapor died away. Ron backed up, his wand wavering.
From out of nowhere a red flash appeared and the trill of a phoenix rang out high and beautiful. Harry raised his wand and flung out the spell and the great silver stag erupted from his wand, throwing back the Dementors. A second Patronus, joined his, and a third. The Dementors backed away, swooping off to melt into the dark of the burned forest.
"All right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked as he pulled Harry to his feet. Harry nodded. He felt almost light-headed with relief. Dumbledore was there. Everything would be all right. Neville also dragged himself up. His round face was filthy and numerous cuts and scrapes marred his hands. Lucius Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, but more goblins continued to emerge from the Forest and all around them the wizards were being forced back toward the Castle. He looked down at Draco Malfoy, who was still unconscious, and a stir of primitive terror rose. The last thing he had seen was a Dementor about to suck out the Slytherin’s soul.
He whispered, “Enervate,” and was relieved to see the pale eyes open and refocus with hatred.
“Where is he?” Draco asked.
“Escaped,” Harry answered briefly. “Dementors attacked.” He surveyed the field of battle again and the hope he had felt upon seeing Dumbledore died again. There were so many goblins, so many dark creatures and too few opposing them. And more were falling each minute.
Here and there kappas bent to drink the blood of the dead or dying. A knot of Hufflepuffs, aided by Hestia Jones, were fighting off a monstrous creature that he thought might be a manticore. Even the goblins kept edging away from it. He was on the brink of running to their aid when the monster embedded its stinger into a sixth year he knew by sight but not by name. With a flash of his sword, Justin Finch-Fletchley cut off the creature’s tail and at the same time, Ernie Macmillan ran his into the monster’s soft underbelly. Justin dropped his sword and yanked at the tail with the stinger, but it was no good. Harry felt his insides clench with emotion; something unnamed, horror, fear, sorrow, he could not say, rose up in him.
“We can’t win,” he said to Dumbledore. “We’re too far outnumbered.”
Dumbledore’s blue eyes were dark with grief. “No,” he acknowledged.
“We should try to get the younger ones out,” Harry said. “As many as we can.”
“How?” Ron asked.
“The tunnels,” Harry said. “Someone will have to lead them out through the Castle and into Hogsmeade.”
Dumbledore nodded and said, “Mr. Weasley, you are Headboy. The younger ones will know you and listen to you.”
Ron started to nod. Then he looked back at Harry and shook his head. “I’ve got to stay here and fight,” he answered. Harry started to object, to insist that Ron should go, but Dumbledore spared a fleeting glance at Harry and then nodded.
Neville said firmly, “I’m fighting, too. Draco should take them.” Malfoy looked furiously at them and said, “You think I’m a coward. You think I want to run. I’m not going until I find them and kill them.”
“There isn’t time for your private revenge,” Harry said angrily. “Can’t you just once do something to help someone else? They’re children. Little ones.”
Draco shook his head, but Neville drew in his breath at that and said, “You’re right. I’ll do it. But I don’t know where to go.”
“The third floor, where the statue with the hump-backed witch is,” Harry replied. “Tap the witch and say, Dissendium. It’ll take you right out to Hogsmeade.” Dumbledore gave Harry an annoyed glance.
“It’s on the Map,” Harry said, answering the unspoken reprimand without any guilt whatsoever.
Neville nodded and Dumbledore cried out once more, “Form up! All Hogwarts students form up!” His voice carried like the brassy sound of a trumpet and from the swirling mass of chaos, one by one, and two by two, the students joined up in ranks again. They were pitifully fewer, but at Dumbledore’s command the rear lines formed by the youngest students retreated into the Castle.
The opposing army pressed forward eagerly, hoping to take advantage of the retreat. Time seemed to rush by in swoops, sometimes going so fast, that more happened in an instant than was physically or magically possible. At others, it seemed to slow to a stop, and everything moved as if suspended underwater. The Ministry wizards and Order members were trying to hold back the onrushing goblins and Death Eaters, and the older students moved forward again at Dumbledore’s gesture.
Harry stood poised for a moment, looking for Hermione and Ginny, but he could not find them in the press of bodies whirling, striking…falling. Toward the front of the action, Snape was occupied with fending off several Death Eaters. Their wands flashed and spells flew. The Potions Master dodged a curse and flung one back, and then flowed up so quickly with his sword that one Death Eater was spitted on it and fell back his mouth agape. As quickly as Snape moved, though, another Death Eater had aimed again. Without thought, Harry ran forward, drawing his own sword. Seeing he would be there too late and certain that the Death Eater was aiming to kill, Harry cried out, trying to make his voice sound through the noise as clearly as Dumbledore’s.
The Death Eater had heard him and changed his aim at the last moment. Harry threw himself to the side and rolled up again as he had been taught, and the fell green light of the Curse passed him by. He made it to his feet and flung himself at the killers, blinking to clear the sudden tears that accompanied the stinging pain brought on by proximity to the Curse.
***
Bones struggled through a cluster of goblins trying to recall the kind of spells that would be useful in a wizard’s fight. One of them had a wicked looking short sword, which was closer to a large knife on human scale. A Muggle might have found the goblin, which was hardly taller than a ten year old boy, rather comic. Edgar did not. He ducked away from the attack and only barely avoided it. Goblins were wicked fast and had no scruples whatsoever. The second strike followed so fast on the first that he was unable to slip past it entirely. The knife slid across his chest, leaving a shallow, long cut that rapidly turned his dress shirt red and ripped through the buttonhole of his charcoal pinstriped jacket. Cursing, he gave up on magic and fell back on his police training. An underhanded shot with his elbow, followed by a blow to the goblin’s neck flattened the smaller being. His companions bared pointy teeth at him, but retreated when he followed up with a clenched fist that rocked another’s head back and split open the pointy ear.
Catching his breath, Edgar thought that nothing had ever prepared him for this. Not all the childhood years of magical schooling, nor the adult years of police training. He had learned to shoot a gun with fair accuracy; he had learned to fight with his hands; he had learned to subdue murderers and thieves at need. But this was different. Neither his lessons at Hogwarts nor his police training had ever taught him how to deal with a Death Eater’s Killing Curse or a creature like the manticore that had just caught a youngster with its poisonous stinger.
He wished he had a sword like the one the Hogwarts student used to cut off the monster’s tail and that he knew what to do with it as these students did. Not far away, Dumbledore was standing on a small rise of ground with a group of students, an island of calm in the surrounding madness. He called out, and the chaos broke as students fell back into organized wings and retreated toward the Castle. Edgar pushed through another batch of goblins, defending himself reflexively.
He had one thought: get to Dumbledore. With the elderly wizard was the one boy whom Edgar actually knew. Potter’s black hair was wilder than usual, and his fine face was streaked with dirt and pale with stress. His head turned and he reacted to the sight of a clash of wizards with unthinkable speed. He drew his sword, and ran with a fierce yell. The now bright sun flashed off the heart shaped ruby and made the silver blade of the sword run with fire. He ducked a murderous curse and was on his feet again in an instant, driving back a pair of hooded Death Eaters, who turned and fled before him.
Other wizards followed in the boy’s bright wake, and the ruby light of the word struck fear into the opposing side. Another knot of men fled, and another, as a small group of students and wizards struck forward, arrowing into the depths of the enemy troops. The Prime Minister, Bones thought, had no clue what a prize Fudge had sold him. A glance at Dumbledore told him the old man agreed. Pride mixed with some terrible weight of grief lined the Headmaster’s face as he watched his boy fighting like one far beyond his years.
“Do you think, Edgar Bones,” the Headmaster asked, “that I am a very terrible old man to offer up these innocents in a fight that is too large for them?” He asked the first question almost of himself, but when Edgar did not reply immediately, he added, “Do you think I was a terrible old man, when I drew your parents in to fight Lord Voldemort knowing they might be killed.”
“Yes,” Edgar said. He was surprised that it had slipped out of him, that condemnation. But once out, he found a need to say it all. “It’s a terrible thing to use your own courage and charisma to lead others into a fight they cannot win. It’s a terrible thing to see you stand here watching when your own powers outstrip all of them. It’s a terrible thing what you’ve done to that boy out there. You’ve turned him into your own sword and honed him to a fine point, a killing point, hoping he’ll have one more gift of fortune and survive. And you’re afraid that he can’t, that none of us can.”
“Have I done wrong, then?” Dumbledore asked. The weight of centuries, millennia, darkened his light eyes and he looked to Edgar for an answer he could not give.
“I don’t know,” Edgar answered. “Maybe the most terrible thing of all is that he chose this. My parents chose their fate as well. They had faith in you. They had faith in their cause.”
“And you?” Dumbledore asked.
‘I don’t know,” Edgar answered again. “I don’t know anymore whether what I seek is justice or blind revenge. I’ve spent nearly seventeen years fleeing from Riddle and trying, at the same time, to catch him over and over again. If I were you, I might have done exactly as you have, to stop him, the Murderer.”
***
Harry fought on, kept on going, everything blurring about him in a continued whirl of madness. Everywhere he struck he looked to see if the face he threw a spell at was Voldemort's, but it never was. He had stopped thinking about how many wizards, how many goblins he had stunned or worse, how many dark creatures he had avoided. Another giant had come stomping at them just when he had thought they would actually push the enemy back. This one wasn't quite as big as the first, but Hagrid had disappeared, and many fled from the giant's path as it came flattening anything in its path, friend or foe. From behind him, more screams sounded, and the thunder of large feet made the ground shake.
Harry struck at the giant with a spell, but it bounced off of it and knocked flat an oncoming wizard instead. Harry hastily dove out of the way and rolled up again to the best sight he'd seen in an hour. Grawp and his ladyfriend had moved in on this giant. While Grawp wasn't as large as the attacker, his lady was. She swung a huge club, knocking the attacker on the side of its boulder-like head. The attacker wobbled and roared and lifted an arm as large as a tree trunk to strike back. With a roar of fury, Grawp plowed into the other and they fell to the ground, rolling over and over like children in the midst of a playground fight; only where they rolled, the unwary were squashed.
The larger attacker forced Grawp beneth him, raining down blows that dug holes in the ground where they missed, and doing who knew what damage to Grawp when they landed. Grawp's friend struck again, bringing her club down on the attacker's boulder-like skull with such force that it shattered. She swung again, in swiping motion, and the attacker was flung off Grawp, knocking those nearby with the same blunt force, as would a falling tree. For the first time, Harry understood exactly why most wizards were so terrified of giants.Harry felt the breath whoop out of him as something pulled him down to the ground.
"Don't stand there watching like it's a bloody quidditch game," Ron said testily. They both ducked and rolled, scrambling frantically out of the way of wave of trolls. Harry had no thought of leaping on a troll's back this time or trying to shove his wand up one's nose. There were simply too many, all large, all stupidly fixated on doing the maximum amount of damage possible. Spiked clubs smacked the ground where they had been only moments before and they were forced to retreat, flinging spells as they went. Harry could not imagine where Voldemort had got all of them: the dark hooded wizards, the goblins, the trolls, more dementors floating, gliding, freezing the air and the hearts of the defenders. Even in his dreams, he had not seen their true numbers, the sheer mass of them. The trolls advanced, pushing forward. Like the giants, spells seem to irritate them more than anything else.
"Attack together!" Harry shouted. He and Ron hit the leading troll at once, and it collapsed down with a thud. The others simply stepped right on it or over it and kept coming, until a wall of violet flames sprang up and forced the trolls backward. Harry craned his neck to see where the flames were from. On the same rise where he had been over an hour before, Dumbledore was standing with a look of fury on his face. A gesture of his wand sent the flames roaring forward, pushing back the lines of trolls and the goblins that stood in their shadow.
The flames, however, shivered and froze changing from deep violet to a pale lavender and then dying altogether as dementors swooped in again. Dumbledore whipped his wand, and a great shining patronus charged. Heartened, Harry shouted his spell, and the great silver stag erupted from his wand. The dementors were thrown back and back. For a moment, the silver-white stag stood poised, so clear, so real, that Harry could almost think it would transform any moment, and be his father back in life again. The stag tossed its antlered head and bowed, and then vanished.
From one side, a troop of dark creatures moved forward again. At first Harry could not tell what they were. They were hunched over and moved rather like apes, but they had long, wild manes of hair and beards. When they lifted their voices in the most terrifying, unearthly shrieks, Harry knew them for what they were, though he had never seen or heard a real banshee before.
The sound of their voices was paralyzing, filled with a power that froze one to the ground, and made the heart race so fast and so loudly that it seemed the beat and thunder of it would over power the sound of the shrieks, which went on and on, building and building. Nearby, Seamus Finnegan had sunk down to the ground, trembling in terror. He waved his wand weakly and said, “ridiuklus,” but two of them pounced at once, sinking large carnivore canines that were more like fangs into his arm and shoulder. He screamed, and the screamed sounded higher and shriller than that of the banshees themselves.
Harry yelled and flung a spell at them. The impediment spell knocked one off completely, but it diverted the creatures’ attention to him. They advanced with extraordinary speed and he found himself beneath a pile of them. Hungry eyes, pink as the flesh they craved, glared at him, and sharp fangs were bared to bite. They shrieked again, at such a pitch he thought he might go deaf, so high, so far out of the realm of any normal noise that he wondered whether their voices alone could shatter stone or make flesh explode. The spell he had been about to speak died on his lips, and he simply could not move. He was sure that he would have died then, would have gone down, his throat bitten clean through, were it not for the burst of fire that set their wild manes burning.
They shrieked, higher and louder, but their horrid cries were muted beneath a different sound. Soaring, heartrendingly beautiful, inhuman, and full of the beauty of the earth itself, raised the song of the veela. The banshees shrank before it and fell back as a small group of the forest women advanced, singing. Their long silver-blond hair fell in sheets that glimmered in the sunlight. Their eyes were the blue of every perfect summer sky, every cool embracing lake, every petal on every forget-me-not that ever graced a glade.
The tallest one, the queen drew Harry to his feet. The fire in her hand altered from red to cool blue and she brushed it across his face and his arm where cuts bled freely. The pain ceased and the weariness inside fell away. He smiled and thought to say thank you, but she moved away before he could find his voice again. Seamus was staring with a look of awe at his newly healed wounds.
“Beautiful,” he said. “I didn’t know there was anything that beautiful.”
“Oh, yeah,” Harry said. “It’s always there, it’s just so easy to forget, isn’t it, in the midst of the dark.”
Dark, however, was the remaining prospect. It seemed as if no matter how many creatures, goblins or men they dispatched, there were still more; but no Voldemort. He understood that they simply could not win. At some point, soon, they would have to retreat into the Castle and hope that the Castle’s defenses could keep out the advancing hordes. Even as he thought so, a fresh wave attacked, forcing them back and back away from the Forest. A knot of Ministry and Order wizards had formed a line, and their wands spat spells so fast, the light and fire of them was nearly blinding. Near the fore were Lupin and Tonks and Moody. A blast from Mad-eye sent an even half-dozen down, making Harry wish he knew what spell Moody had used. Another batch froze and fell over as Lupin picked them off as fast as he could flick his wand. Tonks had got a goblin squawking with rage as she fired small darts at his long pointy fingers, but she tripped and fell and would have been cut down had Lupin not stunned the hooded wizard aiming for her.
“She’s nearly as bad as I am,” Neville said.
Harry gawked at him and said, “How’d you get back here? I thought you took the lower grades out.”
“I did,” Neville replied. “Only I got Hannah Abbot to go with me and she’s got them stowed safely in Hogsmeade.” Neville’s round face wore that stubborn look, the one that made a rather strong chin suddenly noticeable. “What’re you waiting for?” he asked, and he plunged forward to join the line of fighting wizards, knocking his targets flat with a speed and ferocity and accuracy that were grim testimony of the last several years of hard work in Defense classes. Harry checked and saw that Ron was similarly occupied and that Seamus, having survived his real greatest fear was now fighting with calm competence.
But none of them, not altogether, or alone, could completely hold off the next overpowering wave. Harry had pocketed his wand and drawn his sword again wanting the longer reach and double use of the other weapon. He swung it and flung sheets of red-gold fire from it, forcing pockets to retreat in a mad scramble. But it was not enough. Their defensive line had bunched up and they were now encircled by attackers, spells and arrows coming at them from all sides. Nearby, Seamus fell, a goblin arrow having struck him high up on the thigh. Another witch, one from the Order whose name he couldn’t remember stood over him and knocked back a wizard whose blank glare suggested he might be the victim of the Imperius curse. There were more numbers of those than Harry cared to think about. A shield spell swooped past him, blocking another spell, causing it to rebound onto a leering goblin.
“What is it with you?” Ron asked. “Do you want die or something?”
“Course he doesn’t,” Neville answered for him. “There’s You Know Who still out there, begging to be killed, and Lucius Malfoy with him.” The cold look in Neville’s gray eyes made Harry wonder whether Voldemort had chosen the right one, the one more dangerous to him. He had little time to ponder though, as he ducked the purple jet of light and swung back with fevered concentration.
The enemy line had become a wall of fury, pressing them back again and encircling them once more. There was no time to think, just to react, duck and strike and duck and strike, and try to keep on breathing. On his right side, Ron fought with the same bloody-mindedness he brought to his arguments, stubbornly flinging spell after spell and never minding whether they landed so long as he could still go on for one more. On his left, Neville struck with cold ferocity, and the gray eyes searched constantly, much as Harry's did. A spell rebounded from somewhere, tripping Ron up. Harry moved in fast to stand over him and give him time to get up. For a moment, he nearly panicked as Ron didn't move, but then with an unprintable curse, the long, lanky form unfolded in awkward stages.
"Bloody hell!" Ron muttered. He wiped his hand across his brow and pushed away a streak of blood that had left a small furrow near his left eyebrow. "Just what I need," he muttered again, "A bloody scar to match yours."
Harry laughed. "You are the world's biggest git," he said. His laugh was cut off as he jumped sideways to avoid a purple slash of light and he felt as though he were a matador dancing with a bull, only there were hundreds of bulls, not just one.
A rank of blank-eyed wizards came at them. Unlike the ones who were aware, these had begun to use the Killing Curse. The others, Harry supposed, were too afraid to use it in such close quarters as it was just as likely you'd kill or be killed by one of your own as get one of your enemies. These ones, however, had no choice. A green light sizzled by, missing the three of them, but from the wordless cry of grief behind him, he knew at least one more of their side had gone down for good. Fury engulfed him and he threw a sheet of fire in a great half-circle by swinging his burning sword before him. Many fell, but the blank-eyed ones kept coming. Not even the burning of their robes and flesh able to stir them from their ensorcelled state.
A high pitched voice floated above the jangling clash of the melee. "We is coming, Harry Potter!" cried the voice. An eldritch shriek followed and Harry saw an oncoming wizard's face blossom with bat wings. Next to him, another fell over flat and a third was blasted ten feet away, bowling down those behind him. Grinning happily, Ginny pushed her way through, and Hermione was barely a step behind her.
"Look who's here!" Hermione said. More than fifty small green house-elves had joined the fray, snapping their long fingers and causing havoc among the enemy. Harry gawped. He had quite forgotten just what mischief an angry house-elf could do. Wizards' wands disappeared, goblin arrows turned back on themselves, and a whizzing object bludgeoned any number of them. For the second time in minutes, Harry had to laugh. The whizzing object was a bludger, which stopped cold in the air when it approached him, and then reversed itself to aim directly at an oncoming troll. The troll's face smashed in from the force of it and Dobby clapped his hands happily.
”What are you doing here?" he asked.
"It was Hermione's idea," Ginny said. "We told Dobby you needed him and then he got the rest of them to come."
"I told my friends the must be guarding our masters like good house-elves," Dobby said.
"We is good house-elves," another said fiercely. "No bad wizards are coming in our master's house."
"I'm not your mas--" Harry started to say.
"Hogwarts is our home," Dobby replied. "A good house-elf is always defending his home and his master." Once again, the wild bludger stopped dead before Harry. Then it did a series of flips and knocked a goblin flat. Hermione giggled at it, only her giggle ended with on "oh" when the bludger moved to intercept a green light coming at her and exploded into fragments of nothingness.
Harry returned to the fight, wishing he could see where Dumbledore had got to. But at least he had found Hermione and Ginny. He threw out shield spells and stunners as fast as he could and tried to take a head count, but failed. There was still so many, so very many of the enemy, and despite the elves' arrival, so many fewer of their own.
A thundering deep boom, boom told him more trouble was coming. From the burnt Forest, another giant had arrived, and with him were another rank of trolls and goblins. They would have to retreat, he thought, before things could get any worse. The biggest question was how they could get into the Castle without letting the enemy in with them. He put his wand to his throat, thinking to magnify his voice like Ludo Bagman had during the World Quidditch Cup.
Before he could speak a word, an enormous whistling roar drowned everything out. It was louder than the booming thunder of the giant's feet. It was louder, if possible, than the shriek of the banshees. And it hurt the ears nearly as much as the screetch of an electric guitar feeding back into its amplifier. The whistling sound was accompanied by a blazing crackle of heat as a sheet of flames blew through the new enemy line, frying the giant and half the troop of trools. The goblins turned to retreat back into the Forest, stampeding like animals out of control.
"He's mad," Ron said in a voice of awe. Harry loooked up and saw that the flames had come from a huge black dragon. The dragon had a rather large lump on its back and was turning its head this way and that in absolute fury. Its large saurian tail whipped at people below, though Harry could not be sure there was any purpose to it except to express his rage that he was being ridden. It was Norbert and riding him with a whoop of glee was Hagrid. Nearly everyone stopped to look. Who could help it? The huge dragon and the huge man-- and Harry could hardly tell which one was the more dangerous one.
Not everyone looked though. The blank-eyed wizards still pressed forward, remarking nothing and aiming at everything. Nearby, there was the sound of surprise as a small form crumpled to the ground, her red hair falling about her in a swath of silk. Harry scrambled over to her and dropped his sword. She didn't move. He shook her, but she didn't move, though she was warm and her long hair wrapped itself about him.
"Don't be dead, Ginny," he begged. "Please, don't be dead." Ron was turning slowly, his face changing and Hermione stopped pointing and her wand drooped down.
Neville, however, knelt and touched her neck. "She's alive," he said. "She is."
