Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

Honeydukes, Hogsmeade ...4:07 a.m.

"Proudfoot!" Williamson growled. "Stop with the fucking pacing, man!"

Proudfoot arched his brows and nodded at their companions; Williamson winced: "A thousand pardons Madam Rosmerta... Flume."

Madam Rosmerta sat looking out the big window Death Eater's had blown apart in February. From outside Honeydukes appeared ruined and deserted, but like the window, most everything within the shop had been repaired-not exactly to its original state, there was a considerable lack of sweets-but then it wasn't acting as a sweetshop at the moment. Rosmerta chuckled and waved a hand at young Auror. "Willie, in my line of business the trick is to not have heard language that would peel paint. I'm hardly the wilting rose."

"Hardly wilting," Flume said quietly, "but there's enough of a bloom left to be pleasing."

Williamson chuckled at the man. "Flume, you old goat!"

"Shouldn't we have heard something from Arthur or Kingsley by now?" said Proudfoot. "They must have -"

"Alecto!" A voice boomed outside, travelling the length of the street. The men raced to join Rosmerta at the window.

"Check the Three Broomsticks and the post office!" Bram Nott shouted, though the village was so quiet, speaking in a normal voice would have worked just as well. "Amycus, search Gladrags, the quill shop, and Madam Puddifoot's. You others, round the corner down there and check the Hog's Head and the shops near it. I'll take Zonko's and the sweetshop."

"What do you imagine they're sniffing round ‘ere for?" Madam Rosmerta whispered, watching the lighted tips of the Death Eater's wands bob and weave eerily up the street as they carried out Nott's orders.

Flume said, "Someone gave us up."

"No one could have," said Williamson. "No one knows we're here."

"Someone must have said something," Rosmerta said. "Why else -"

The door to the sweetshop banged open. Nott stepped through, his bear-sized frame filling the entrance. "You lot all right?" he asked.

"Fine," said Williamson, coming to stand before their visitor, his hand out. "What in bloody hell you doing here?"

Nott shrugged and shook Williamson's hand. "Potter."

Madam Rosmerta put a hand to her chest. "What? Is he here?"

Proudfoot said quietly: "No, but he was in the room when we were discussing strategy, wasn't he? In fact, half of it was like a nursery for all the young ones tucked up in there, wasn't it?"

"Even so, Harry Potter wouldn't have just told You-Know-Who we were here!"

"That's exactly what he did," said Nott. "Oh, I don't think he meant to do it, but he's rather reckless when being challenged, isn't he?" He looked outside at the sound of glass breaking and Alecto's shrill voice calling for her brother. "Listen, I can't linger."

"Off to the joke shop then?" Williamson teased, but he could get away with it; Nott was his godfather.

"Cheeky toad," Nott muttered. "I chose it because it's close and I wanted to look in on you." He pointed at something on Williamson's chest. The instant the young Auror looked down, Nott flicked the tip of his godson's nose with his finger, a thing he had done since Williamson was a toddler. It tickled Nott that the man still fell for it. "Have you any word from Kingsley, Arthur or anyone at the Ministry? Olympe?"

"No. We've heard nothing, but in light of our guests outside, shouldn't we change up our plans a bit?" Flume asked.

"I'll handle those fools," Nott said, tipping his head toward the street. "After I leave, though, send a Patronus to Minerva... and Dawlish, too. Let them know all is well here."

"Will do," said Proudfoot.

"Bram..." Williamson began.

"I'll be fine." Nott smiled and patted Williamson's cheek. "Three of them, the ones I sent round to the Hog's Head, they're with me. Now, do I as say, all right?"

"Yes, sir." Williamson's eyes followed his godfather's broad back as the man left the shop. "I should trail him, make sure nothing happens. I don't trust those Carrows."

"You follow him, they'll cut you both down," Proudfoot said. "Just, wait a bit, Willie. If he gets into trouble, we'll know."

"Five minutes," Williamson said. "I'll wait five minutes then I'm going after him."

*WO

Snape ...4:15 a.m.

"Severus, at last... And using the boy's Invisibility Cloak to slink about. Even now, at the end of things you can't resist trickery and deceit. Accio, Severus's wand." Voldemort caught it deftly as it soared to him.

Snape dropped to his knees, seemingly unfazed at being disarmed. He then folded forward until his nose nearly touched the ground, the picture of submission as Voldemort descended the steps. "My lord, take me in his place," he said.

"What!" Harry yelped, twisting his head as best as he could to see Snape. "What are you doing? You can't -"

"Quiet, Potter."

"I wasn't talking to you!"

"Hold your tongue, boy!" Voldemort lifted a finger and the Death Eaters drew the thestrals forward a step; Harry gritted his teeth against a scream as the bonds tautened, breaking skin. "Let the adults have a word."

"Dad, d-don't -"

"Harry, do as he says! I don't need your help!"

"But why -"

"So insolent!" Voldemort hissed, then flicked his wrist. The stretch of the tethers sounded like wailing. When Harry moaned, Snape broke form, scrambling toward him.

"Don't you dare touch him," Voldemort said coldly. Snape froze so abruptly, Harry wondered if the man had stopped on his own, or if Voldemort had cast a spell.

Harry's eyes found Snape's: "Dad, I'm o-okay..." He lied. His left shoulder ached terribly; it might be dislocated.

"Look at me Severus," Voldemort said. Snape was engrossed, watching Harry, lips thinned, the way they did when he knew Harry was lying. "I said look at me!"

Snape grimaced as the dark wizard clawed his fingers into the back of his neck to yank Snape's head around. Their eyes met; it was just as Voldemort has expected-Snape's expression was passive, as eloquent as a slab of concrete. Voldemort turned to Harry, red eyes making a slow circuit of the Gryffindor's face. Finding nothing there but an impotent, childish rage, his eyes returned to Snape; then they went back to Harry. He did this for several minutes, gaze bouncing from wizard to wizard. Irritatingly, every time Snape and Harry's eyes connected, something a glittering, piercing thing, passed between them. It was stifling and...pestilential. Voldemort equated it with hate-except this ‘thing' was radiant, buoyant and pure. He nearly snorted in disgust.

Love.

Its presence set his teeth on edge, made him burn as if a colony of fire ants had burrowed their way beneath his skin, but he laughed softly, feigning nonchalance. He began toying with Snape's hair, letting the silken stands slide through his fingers. Harry's eyes widened in horror as Snape's eyes closed and his head fell back, settling into Voldemort's palm.

Voldemort twitched in surprise. Ah, so the game was still on.

One of the reasons he had taken Severus into the fold, had prized him above the others was because, unlike many of the other Death Eaters, who had come from privilege, Voldemort knew Severus, the sallow-skinned, reedy thing with black eyes that blazed with a greedy intelligence, had not. Voldemort knew that just as his own twisted start in life had molded him for his destiny, Severus's had as well.

Severus had come to him, painfully distrustful and vicious-qualities Voldemort had understood and encouraged, but Severus had been vulnerable too. Raw from a near deadly run-in with a werewolf, then having his plea for justice brushed aside by Albus Dumbledore, the boy's rage had burned hot. But even with all that rage and pain to play with, it had irked Voldemort that he had never been able to fully enthrall the boy. Severus had proved an exemplary Death Eater. He had followed orders to the letter, had learned how to please Voldemort when entrenched within the dark wizard's bedchamber, yet he had always held a bit of himself back, hoarding it as jealously as goblins hoarded gold. No matter what degradations Voldemort subjected him to, Severus never surrendered it to him-but he'd surrendered it to Potter.

Voldemort almost wanted to understand it, but truly, he was more intrigued at how far Snape would go to save the boy. Would he sacrifice himself for Potter?

"...Convince me, Severus. Why should I spare the boy?"

"Think how useful he could be if you kept him alive, my lord." Snape paced his words oddly, dragging them out. "Think - Think of the goodwill that would gain you once you have conquered -"

"Goodwill?" Voldemort snorted. "Goodwill is for fools! For weak-minded, corrupt, self-loathing twats desperate to remain in the good graces of those they rule so that they can retain their ineffective little offices. ...However, obedience... Obedience can be most satisfying for everyone involved." Voldemort pressed Snape's face against his thigh, inches from his groin. "You recall what it is to be obedient, don't you, Severus?"

Snape paled. His eyes opened and his mouth became a hard line. "My lord, you are the most powerful wizard -"

Voldemort wrapped Snape's hair around his hand, then jerked the man's head back. "Spare me! Your false reverence does nothing to stoke my ego! It only makes me want to snuff out the boy's light this very second!" He yanked Snape up to stand, then dipped his head, putting his mouth close to Snape's. "You were ever the silver-tongued tempter, Severus, but I too have talents. Do I need to refresh your memory of how I reward those who deceive me? You remember that night last summer in the forest? You remember my wrath after your double-dealing was exposed?" When Snape said nothing Voldemort shook him. "Answer me!"

"I remember." Snape said tightly. He twisted, as if to ease Voldemort's grip, though truly, he sought to spy the skies beyond the Owlery.

Voldemort continued: "You recall your screams? My god they were sweet, even sweeter than the cries I pulled from you the nights I took you in my bed..."

Snape tensed, saying nothing. Having things he had never wished to share with Harry about that part of his life among the Death Eaters so carelessly revealed shamed him.

"Oh, there, there. There's no need to be shy; Potter knows. He wasn't as surprised as I imagined he would be, but why should he be surprised? All that time spent tucked away in those dungeons. Why wouldn't you have trained him as I trained you?"

Snape closed his eyes against the sudden urge to vomit.

"Think of it, those knowing fingers of yours stroking -"

Ignoring the pain of Voldemort's tight grip on his hair, Snape twisted his head sharply. He made sure Voldemort was looking him in the eye, then he spat. The discharge landed high up on the dark wizard's temple, beside his right eyebrow. After taking a second to absorb what had happened, Voldemort's hand moved like a whip, leaving a dark red, five-fingered impression on the left side of Snape's face. He shoved Snape away from him, then dragged a hand down his face, wiping off the Potions master's sputum. Eyeing the wetness coating his fingers, he aimed his wand: "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"

Snape's screams shattered the night. Unable to cover their eyes and ears, many in the crowd lowered their heads, closed their eyes, screwed their faces up as if to block out the sound.

"STOP IT!" Harry shrieked and thrashed, struggling to see Snape. "YOU BASTARD! STOP!"

Voldemort stopped. He looked over at Harry. "Was I straining your attention, Potter, or are you really so eager to die?"

"LEAVE HIM ALONE! JUST LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

"I see." Voldemort smiled coldly. "Fine, then. We'll do you first."

"N-N-NO!" Snape screamed hoarsely, body still spasming from the aftershocks of the Crucios. "My l-lord, p-p-please, I will d-do whatever you ask! Don't hurt him, please!" He said, his speech slurred and convulsive.

Voldemort laughed humorlessly. "Oh, Severus." He leaned over, taking hold of Snape's hair. He dragged the man along the ground behind him like a disobedient dog. Moving next to Harry's shoulder, he crouched down, head tilted as he eyed the boy, slowly taking him in from head to toe. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "perhaps you are right, Severus. Perhaps he can be of use to me. After my victory, I would welcome a spot of...relief. He is quite a lovely thing... Those striking green eyes -"

"Fuck you!" Harry spat.

"And that profane tongue..." Voldemort held a hand above Harry's mouth, so close he could feel the angry puffs of the boy's breath, but he had turned his gaze onto Snape, who looked murderous. He looked back at Harry. He began moving his fingers sinuously, tracing the outline of Harry's lips without touching them; Harry's eyes watered, his face reddened with hatred. "However, should I decide to keep him, I should like a preview of the goods. Shall I strip him now, or later, Severus...in private?" Voldemort reached to unclasp a button on Harry's Quidditch jersey.

"T-Touch him," Snape said coldly. His still tongue lagged a bit, so it took the fire out of his words, but the submissive air had vanished. "...T-Touch him and I'll burn you alive."

Voldemort chuckled and drew back, giving Snape an appraising look. "I wondered when you'd tire of your little game, especially as you know that I will not allow him to live. Tell me, why this charade, Severus? Why tax my patience?"

"I needed time." Snape nodded to the southwest, towards Hogsmeade where an immense glowing phoenix of red, gold, silver and blue hung in the sky: Dawlish's signal-the Order's own Morsmordre.

Voldemort rose slowly. He stared at the Mark, then jerked Snape to his feet, red eyes narrowed maliciously. "You believe they are coming to save you?"

Snape laughed, his mouth red with blood. "To save me? No. Harry already has."

*WO

Draco, Ron, Fred and George, Garden Gate near the North Tower ...4:18 a.m.

"Where are they now?" Ron asked.

Fred opened the map; George aimed a muted Lumos at it so Fred could see. "...A quarter of a mile, that way." Fred pointed south, toward the entrance gates.

Before Dobby Apparated the boys out of the Entrance Hall, the map had shown at least ten Death Eaters roaming near (but a fair distance away from) the garden gate on the east end of the castle. The gate opened onto a small courtyard, which lay tucked between the Divination and North Towers. George had judged it the sanest place to go because it had the smallest number of moving dots. It was even truer now that the Death Eaters had spread farther out, but that had not been the only reason Apparating here made sense. The main courtyard, where Harry, Voldemort, and most everyone else was lay to the west of the smaller courtyard. Apparting to this spot provided prime access to the battle and, since Voldemort's people had seemingly deserted the area, the boys had the element of surprise.

"Wonder why they moved on?" Ron said as Fred folded the map.

"Who cares so long as they're away from here," George said, then added: "We should split up."

"What?" Ron gawked at his brother. "Why?"

"We can't stay bunched up all together," George told him. "If we all get captured or killed, there'll be no one to carry on."

Ron frowned. "You have to say it like that?" He mumbled, uneasy because suddenly, he didn't want to be separated from his brothers.

"George is just being a dramatic twat, Ronniekins," Fred said lightly, reading the anxiety in his brother's face. "And while I may not be as pretty as your princess here, I'm still far too pretty to die tonight."

"Asshat," Ron muttered when Fred poked his lips out as if for a kiss.

George said, "Fred and I will go after the roamers, unleash some Fanged Frisbees -"

"Maybe see if we can scrounge up a Skrewt or two while you and the princess here -"

"Stuff it, Weasley!" Draco snarled, fed up with Fred's digs.

"Oh ho!" Fred winked at the Slytherin. "You're not part of this family yet, Princess. Mind your manners."

"Leave off him, Fred!" Ron growled, though Draco had stepped forward, right hand twisting his wand between his fingers, ready should Ron's brother keep antagonizing him.

Fred raised his eyebrows. "Blimey, he puttin' out for you already? S'kinda quick, even for -"

Ron punched Fred in the mouth, knocking him back a couple steps. All three brothers looked at each other, stunned. They had gotten on better than ever this year-though that was mostly because Fred and George were no longer at Hogwarts.

When they were younger, Ron and the twins had had their share of scrapes and squabbles, and while Fred and George were older, Ron had always been taller-his main advantage once he finally began to master his unwieldy body. Before that, a look from Bill had always been enough to cow Fred and George, but once Bill left for Egypt, Ron had had to fend for himself. Even still, he had never hit any of his brothers, not like this.

Fred had a hand to his mouth; he kept checking his fingers for blood. Ron was grimacing, cradling his hand to his chest. His blue eyes glistened with regret, but it didn't last long.

"Nice!" Fred spat. "We're at war against people like this one's father," he gestured angrily at Draco, "and you want to hit me for telling it like it is?"

"Keep it up and I'll do it again." Ron took a step forward, but George grabbed him around the waist, hauling him back.

"Oy! Belay that shit! You hear me?"

"Tell him to watch his mouth!" Ron said. "He'd act a right arse if I said something like that about Angelina!"

"Angelina's not a Malfoy!"

George glared at Fred over Ron's shoulder. "Fred! Shut up! Why must you always -"

Something big flew overhead. The boys looked up.

"What the -" Fred began, then ducked as it flew past again-or was there more than one?

Ron crouched down, peeking up through the crook of his elbow. "Oh crap!"

"What?" Fred said.

"It's those birds! The Adar Llwch Gwin, or however you say it. Hermione must have found them!"

"So... what? She sent them to kill us?" Fred shrieked and threw himself flat as another of the birds soared above him making a raucous honk-screech as it passed.

"I don't think it's us they're after," George said.

"Then why are they flying so low?" Ron asked.

George moaned. "Oh, bloody hell..."

"What now?" Fred said. Being a twin had its benefits: secret language, finishing one another's sentences, pinching girls' bottoms while sporting your twin's monogrammed jumper, and your twin always inherently understanding how you felt; alternatively, you always understood how your twin felt and the fear and dread in George's voice at that moment made Fred want to go cry out for his mum.

"Werewolves!" George shouted. "Run!"

Ron and Draco whipped around, searching, too panicked to take George at his word. Then Draco saw them, seconds before Ron and Fred did. One was charging at Ron's back; Draco screamed, "Ron!" and threw himself at the redhead. As Draco collided with him, a loud, heavy flapping noise filled the night. The airflow around them seemed to stop, suffocating the boys for an instant. Then something tore at Draco's shoulder, sharp and agonizing; he cried out.

A werewolf howled, but then stopped abruptly, like a needle being dragged across a vinyl record in the middle of a song. "Oh, gods! Oh, gods!" Ron chanted. He rolled so that he was on top of Draco, wanting to protect the boy, but his weight drove the Slytherin's injured shoulder into the ground, making Draco cry out. Ron pressed a quick, soft kiss to Draco's temple in apology, then he looked out at the grounds, to the right of Draco's head. "Shit," he said.

A werewolf, likely the one whose howl had been interrupted, lay in two untidy pieces-its torso upwind, its bottom half some twelve feet in the opposite direction. When two identical screams pierced the night, Ron shifted his head to check on his brothers, but McGonagall shouting from high above distracted him: "Alastor, to the south there! Werewolves!"

"I see'em!" Moody shouted back. "You tend to this lot!"

Ron's eyes followed Moody as the man sped southward, grizzled gray hair flapping out behind him as he went. McGonagall cruised close to the ground then leapt cat-like from her broom. She dashed to Ron and Draco, sharp black eyes taking in everything at once. The Adar Llwch Gwin's team of four had split; two had flown south, likely leaving little for Moody to clear up; the other two were still nearby, clawing at the bloody remains of what McGonagall hoped were werewolves and not Hogwarts students.

Ron and Draco lay clasped together, faces white as paste. Ron appeared unharmed, but Draco worried her. The silver Slytherin embellishment at the left shoulder of his Quidditch robes was ripped and black with blood. "Damn," she muttered. "All right! Up with you now!" She coaxed the boys to their feet, positioning herself and Ron so that he never saw Fred lying lifeless behind her.

"Professor, my brothers..."

"I'll locate them in a moment. Help Mr. Malfoy along, won't you?"

"They can't be far. They were with us when -" Ron started to look behind him.

"Mr. Weasley! Don't argue with me! We don't know how many other hostiles may be about. Now, do as I say!"

Ron opened his mouth to protest, then as if on cue, Draco moaned and slumped against Ron's chest. That got Ron moving. McGonagall hustled them to the garden gate, then took a moment to Disillusion them. "Get inside. Hide in the shadows, and keep quiet!"

"Yes ma'am," Ron said. He pushed the heavy iron gate open, far enough for him and Draco to squeeze through. Once inside his chest tightened in dismay. The courtyard was a disaster of bodies and rubble. He pushed the gate closed then leaned against it, pulling Draco with him. "You okay?" He asked.

"No...but I've been worse." Draco shuddered. The dark, the bodies, and the fear, it took him back to when the Dark Lord had come to Malfoy Manor.

"Fred can be a real prick sometimes, but he and George had better be all right. Where does McGonagall get off treatin' us like toddlers? I say we go back -"

"No!" Draco said, determined to spare Ron. He had seen what McGonagall hadn't wanted the Gryffindor to see: George kneeling next to Fred, Fred's insides on the outside, a ruin of blood, flesh, and intestines. George's face had been pale and slack beneath red-black splatters of Fred's blood; George's chest had heaved as though he was screaming, but no sound had issued from his mouth. "I know you're worried about your brothers, but I think we should head toward the main courtyard; that's where the fight is."

"But they -"

"By now McGonagall has probably taken them to another part of the castle, or somewhere else safe."

"Well, what about your shoulder?"

Draco frowned. "I can still fight, Weasley. I'm not helpless."

"I know..." Ron said quickly. "It's just - This - This really sucks," he said hoarsely. "Bloody war, all these bodies... How many you figure we know? Think Millicent Bulstrode is here? Or Seamus? Ja -"

"Stop!"

"I - Sorry. ...Gods, I wish I could see you." Ron gently shifted his fingers, feeling around until he found Draco's mouth. Draco turned his face into Ron's palm and kissed it, and Ron knew in that instant that anything Draco ever asked him to do, he would do. "I -" he began.

"Don't!" Draco said harshly. "The second this is over, and the Dark - The second he's dead, you can say it."

Ron leaned forward to press his forehead against Draco's. "I-I've never said it to anyone, not Lavender, not even Luna."

"I know."

*WO

Courtyard, Hogwarts ...4:25 a.m.

Screams and howls bled in from the east, from the garden gate entrance. Voldemort said, "Gibbon! You there...and you! Run and see what our werewolf friends have turned up."

"As you wish, my lord!" Boomed a raspy voice-Gibbon.

"Yes, my lord."

"Right away, my lord."

Harry recognized those young-sounding voices, Derrick and Higgs. They had been in school when Harry came to Hogwarts. Derrick, who had been in Percy Weasley's year and was cursed with an asthmatic wheeze that could be heard for miles, was instantly recognizable.

"What do you think is happening, my lord?" Wormtail wrung his hands and stared at Harry, his rattish eyes wild, insane. "Do you think he's summoned the others? The werewolf, Black?"

Voldemort ignored him, seemed not to even hear him. The captives had become restless, again, questions and suppositions bouncing from row to row: "I ain't seen McGonagall of late. Ya think it's her givin'em what for?"

"Could be ‘er. Ya gotta figger there's more o' us out there..."

"If there is they need to do something quick fast and in a hurry!"

"I hear you, man. I hear you."

"Shut them up!" Voldemort snarled at his people. The buzz petered off as chokeholds tightened and threats of death muttered. At least two were carried out.

That clinched it for Rolanda Hooch. Her body burned from her neck to her toes. Her arms, trapped behind her back, and her legs, folded beneath her, were numb and useless. Being on her knees was not only a misery because of the chill, unforgiving ground, but because being at the feet of this lot revolted her. And listening to Voldemort threaten Harry and Severus made her want to claw the dark wizards eyes out then spit in the empty pits after driving the stiletto heel of her boot into them.

Earlier, she had cursed Dennis Creevey a stupid boy when he spat at Voldemort. She thought he had acted too soon, too rashly. Everyone had still been in shock, coming face to face with Dark Lord, the spectre of the wizarding world for all these long years. No one had had it in their mind to fight back-but now, with Harry tied to those thestrals and Snape at Voldemort's feet, people had reached their limit, resentful at being treated (and behaving) like sheep.

Hooch kept the scheme simple. She sniffed, then inhaled sharply as if about to sneeze. Her Death Eater dug the tip of his wand deeper into the bruise he had created hours ago. "I have to sneeze you gormless twat!" She hissed at him, then inhaled sharply again, rocking her head back, before imitating a loud sneeze.

The Death Eater's grip had grown lax and cramped in the hours they had been out there, so his fingers slipped easily from the neck of her robes as she jerked forward. The instant he leaned to reclaim her she drove her upper body back. Ignoring the steely numbness in her legs and arms she slammed her head into his belly, then she hooked her elbow back, targeting the jiggly bits between his legs. She made the blow even more painful by angling down, then jamming her elbow upward, using her left hand like a piston.

The Death Eater (who had difficulty urinating for months after) didn't have the breath to shriek. He simply collapsed red-faced and wheezing, crushing her like a hen's egg beneath a walrus. Hooch grunted, then using what was left of her strength she twisted from beneath him, plucking his wand from his hand in the process. She wavered on her deadened knees as she aimed: "Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, but a stronger curse had already been loosed. It hit her between her shoulders, dropping her on top of the Death Eater.

Hooch lay dead, but her scheme had worked. Things spiraled with a quickness as people began to rise up.

*WO

Hermione, Savage, and Buckbeak, Skies Over Hogwarts ...4:31 a.m.

Hermione steered Buckbeak over the rear of the castle, piloting him toward the main courtyard. Savage sat behind her, decidedly more comfortable on Buckbeak now; a number of Adar Llwch Gwin flanked them. Once she and Savage located the beasts it had taken a long, frustrating hour to convince them to help. It might have been easier earlier on, but after losing their Elder, the creatures did not look favorably upon witches and wizards or their petty contest. The only reason they didn't kill Hermione and Savage on sight was Buckbeak's presence.

"Oh, god!" Hermione said, eyes widening in horror when Hooch fell over dead. Then the courtyard erupted into chaos and she spotted him. "Harry!" She screamed, so piercingly Savage looked down.

He winced. The Potter boy lie spread-eagled, his arms and legs stretched out by the lines tied around them. Screaming, Hermione threw herself forward, arms outstretched, oblivious to the fact that they were hundreds of feet up in the air. Savage grabbed her as she slid sideways. "Hang on, girl!" he barked. Then he spotted Snape. The man was on the ground next to Voldemort, curled in on himself. As Savage watched, Voldemort stooped down to get a grip on Snape's hair, then pulled the man up roughly. "Bloody fuck..." Savage growled.

"Harry!" Hermione struggled against Savage's hold.

"Aderyn!" Savage called. The Adar Llwch Gwin's newly crowned elder dipped her wings to edge in close. "Do you think you can free the boy? Rip into those tethers?"

Aderyn turned her head toward the others and shouted. "Fulton! Avis! The black winged beasts, free them of those tethers! Let no harm come to the plentyn!*"

"Aderyn!" Savage called again. "Tell them to be careful of the man in black. He's the boy's father!"

"We heard him, Gwr-teyrn!*" Avis shouted.

"Have the others reached the grounds?" Savage asked. Aderyn flapped her wings and soared skyward. She released a loud, brittle cry, like an ill-used bicycle horn. When a similar cry sounded from the east side of the castle, she shouted at the Auror, "They have arrived and attacked, Baron Brân Savage!"

Savage had begged the animals not to address him so formally, as no one beyond anyone in the Auror Corps knew of his title, but being Welsh born themselves the Adar Llwch Gwin insisted on respecting Savage's ancestral lineage. Acknowledging the elder with a nod, Savage grasped Hermione to him and swatted Buckbeak's hindquarters. They needed to land.

*WO

The Giants ...4:40 a.m.

The instant Harry and Snape left Dumbledore's office last June the headmaster set up meetings with a cross-section of magical creatures. The Merchieftainess in the Black Lake was first on his list. The next day he strode into the Forbidden Forest to speak with Grawp. Having the giant stay on had been Hagrid's idea; Dumbledore had agreed, seeing the wisdom in keeping him close.

Following the disastrous end to the Triwizard Tournament, Dumbledore began a monthly correspondence with Olympe Maxime. She had pledged to assist if ever Dumbledore summoned her. His call to action had been Hedwig bringing the news of Hagrid's death. The news had devastated Maxime. At Dumbledore's request, she journeyed to the Pyrenees-giant country, what was left of it. Her ties to the giants were strained, barely enough to get a meeting after years of keeping her distance, of downplaying, often outright denying her roots-but she managed.

Convincing the Gurg that the coming war should worry him took a fortnight. In their coarse, guttural speech she told him: "Sit out this battle if you want, but should the dark wizard win, come next spring, maybe even as early as this winter, you and your giants will be ash, your bones pieces for Muggle scientists to puzzle over. You think he's harmless now because he is across the mountains, across the water, but know that the instant he conquers Britain, Portugal, Spain, and your precious mountains are next. Unless he's stopped, he'll leave nowhere to retreat, nowhere to hide."

Giants had a long storied history of fighting amongst themselves like rabid dogs, but no tiny, red-eyed wizard was going to make their race extinct. So it was that five of the Gurg's fiercest giants emerged from the Forbidden Forest chanting, "Fram! Fram! Fram!"

Grawp, some twenty feet shorter than the others, had a tiny pink umbrella tucked into the wide battle belt slung over his right shoulder. Madam Maxime, her hair pulled back into a sleek chignon, her hawkish gaze radiating cold, sat atop a palomino Abraxan near Grawp's calf. Like Grawp, she sported a souvenir of Hagrid's-the tie he had worn to the Yule Ball. She had looped the gaudy yellow, polka-dotted material around her neck like a chic scarf. Instead of looking ridiculous, she managed to look like royalty about to set out on a fox hunt.

"Passavant li meillor!*" She bellowed before driving her heels into the sides of her steed. The animal reared back on its hind legs, its muscular forelegs peddling the air. Then it charged forward. The earth trembled as the giants followed at a run.

*WO

Draco, Ron, Garden Gate near the North Tower ...4:42 a.m.

Ron and Draco released one another when they heard the loud beat of wings near the Divination Tower. A moonbeam pierced the thickening cloud cover, temporarily illuminating two shapes: one large and man-sized, and one small, with bushy hair. They were dismounting a hippogriff.

"Herm -"

Draco elbowed Ron sharply. "Don't call attention to them!" He hissed. "Let's get closer."

They held hands to keep track of one another as they maneuvered over the rubble and bodies to get to Hermione and Savage.

"Those were some friends of mine that took care of them." Ron and Draco heard Savage say as they came to a stop.

"Oh, aye, my lord? Sounded bloody." Another male voice responded.

"It bloody well better have," Savage said and Draco realized Savage was talking to a statue, the lone survivor of Sir Iacchus's guard. It sat propped up against the spell-pocked castle wall, its left arm gone, as well as a chunk of its head, made the left rear of its skull look as if it had been neatly sheared off at a fifty-degree angle.

"Hermione!" Ron called.

She and Savage whipped around, Savage swinging his wand, searching for a target.

"Wait!" Ron said, holding out  his right hand, as if to ward off Savage's attack.

"Ron?"

"Yeah... It's me. And Malfoy. McGonagall Disillusioned us."

"Ron? And Draco?" Hermione began pawing at the air in the direction of Ron's voice.

"Yes, Granger!" Draco snarled.

"Well, where are you?" Hermione jumped when she felt a hand take hers. "Brân, they're here!" She held up her hand.

"Finite," Savage said, and Ron shimmered into sight. He said it again, aiming at Ron's hand, and Draco appeared. Hermione threw her arms around Ron.

"What's happening in there?" Draco asked Savage, pointing toward the main courtyard.

Having watched Draco interact with Harry and Snape in the staff lounge, Savage knew the boy would be annoyed by anything less than the truth. "They've got Potter trussed up to four thestrals," he said.

"What!" Ron shouted as Hermione began sobbing. "Why?"

Draco had fallen back a step as if he was about to pass out. Savage moved to steady him, grasping his uninjured shoulder. He nodded at the bloodied one. "That needs looking after."

"I'm fine. W-What about Severus? Is he out there?"

"Aye." Savage growled. "Voldemort had his hands on him..."

Draco moved toward the main courtyard. Savage gripped his shoulder again to stop him. "We have to get them out of there." Draco glared at Savage, daring the man to contradict him.

"Yes, but we can't go in half-cocked," Savage said.

"If ye'll help me to my feet, I'll be glad to take the for'ard position, milord," said the statue.

Savage turned to the statue. "Your valor is appreciated, but you're not exactly in fighting shape. I couldn't ask you -"

"Beggin' your pardon, milord, but you're not askin'. Thing is, I'm tellin' you I'm goin'. I been a steward of this castle since Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin laid her first stone and it'd be a crime again' the four of'em for me to sit here and watch young'uns do the work I was cast to do." The statue held out its right hand.

Savage shook his head, then turned to Ron. "Give me a hand." Ron pushed, Savage pulled until the statue was standing.

"Fine work, young sir, milord," the statue said, steadying itself. "I'm called Fearghas."

Savage nodded. "It's an honor, Fearghas. And please, I'm no lord."

The statue looked at him. Savage just managed not to squirm beneath Fearghas's blinded gaze that saw much, regardless. "My apologies fer distressin' you milord, but I can tell a nobleman a county away."

"Someone's coming!" Draco hissed. He had moved up to peer around the Divination Tower.

Savage dashed forward, followed closely by Fearghas. Savage darted his head out to see around the tower as Draco had. Three Death Eaters were running toward them. "Get behind me!" He hissed.

"No!" said Draco.

"He's right," said Hermione, wiping away tears as she ran to join them, her wand out. "We've trained for this."

"Training and doing are two different things!" Savage said as Ron trailed Hermione.

"We've no time to debate it, good sir," said Fearghas. He cocked his head. "A hundred paces, they're but a hundred short paces from us."

Savage made a noise of irritation. "Damn it! No one move until I say so!"

*WO

Hogwarts' Gates ...4:47 a.m.

The Death Eater sentries at the entrance gates never knew what hit them. The deafening crack of numerous people Apparating at once raised the alarm, but too late. Madam Rosmerta, Ambrosius Flume, Aurors Williamson and Proudfoot, alongside Bram Nott and three other Death Eaters already had their wands out, spells flying. And they had help.

*WO

Lucius ...4:52 a.m.

The Dark Lord was looking for him. Lucius knew this because he had killed the poor bastard sent to find him. When he saw the giants slog out of the forest, and when Bram Nott-Bram Nott!-and the others took out the guards at the entrance gates, Lucius knew the battle was done.

He had wanted to win this war, had even believed they had been destined to win this war-but unlike the Dark Lord, he had learned never to underestimate Harry Potter. The boy was young and laughably unskilled, yet his dumb luck always won out. It seemed this battle was no exception. However, Lucius had decided that he wouldn't be rounded up and sent to Azkaban; he wouldn't have his mind and body rot year after year in that dementor-infested madhouse until death was a mercy, and nor would he stick around to be killed. Life was too precious, his more than most.

This battle had been lost, but he would survive to fight another day-even if the Dark Lord didn't. And if it came to that, he had work to do, followers to cull, to groom. Without a backward glance he whipped off his mask and turned on his heel disappearing with a crack.

*WO

Hogwarts' Gates ...4:57 a.m.

"Did you hear that? Someone Apparated!"

"S'hardly a concern. If they're gone, good riddance," said John Dawlish. "Let's just get shut of this lot, shall we?" He waved his wand at the unconscious Death Eaters.

"Dad?" A voice came out of the dark.

"Bill? Bill!" Arthur embraced Bill hard when his son ran up to him. After a moment Arthur pushed back to look at him. "Have you seen Ron, Fred, George...your mother?"

"Saw Ron hours ago when things first started popping, nothing since then, though."

"Was that you that Apparated?"

"No -"

"Did you hear that?"

"What now, Proudfoot?" Dawlish snarled. "Faeries flitting about?"

"No, you arse! I heard growling, from over there..." Proudfoot pointed toward the lake.

"Could be a giant," said Madam Rosmerta.

"No, I heard it too," said Nott, squinting into the dark. "Sounded like the Dark Lord's dogs."

"Werewolves?" said Arthur.

"Aye," said Marcus Flint, one of Nott's Death Eaters. "I'd know that sound in my sleep. Sounds like they're on the run-but the battle's back at the castle."

"Damn." Someone muttered.

Kingsley spoke: "Look, there are thirteen of us. We spread out, take down whatever we find, but someone needs to stay here, look after the gates, see that no one slips through. Rosmerta, Flume -"

"And Williamson," said Nott.

"What? Why?" Williamson gaped at his godfather.

"Because I said so."

Kingsley knew the relationship between the two men, and while he disagreed, (he had trained Williamson after all) they didn't have time for family squabbles. Besides, staying here might be more dangerous than pursuing the werewolves. Should the beasts make it past their net, they might flee to the gates for a way out. The more Kingsley thought about it, having Williamson remain here might work out for the best.

"Williamson, stay," he said when the young Auror opened his mouth to protest.

"But, sir!" Williamson cried.

"Selby," said Nott, in the voice he had often used when Williamson's behavior was out of bounds-not that Williamson needed it; Kingsley's disapproving scowl was enough.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly. "Staying here to guard the gate, sir."

"Bill, Proudfoot, and I will take the lake. Arthur, you and you -" Kingsley pointed at the other two nameless Death Eaters who then volunteered their names, Davis (Tracey Davis's dad) and Jugson, "- take the middle. Bogrod, Bram, Percy and Flint, head east."

Bogrod the Bearded lifted the ram's horn hanging from his belt. He put it his lips and blew out four sharp blasts. Goblins, a host of them, began popping into sight. Bogrod shouted something in Gobbledygook and the short, dark-skinned creatures fanned out, so quickly, even Kingsley lost track.

"Are we to hang about here with our cocks out, waiting for the others to arrive, Shacklebolt?" Bogrod asked snidely.

"Assuming you've got a cock, no." Kingsley narrowed his eyes at the goblin, questioning, not for the first time, the wisdom of involving the wily creatures. "All of you stay sharp!" He quickly added when Bogrod opened his mouth in retort. "And get rid of those Death Eater masks!"

*WO

Harry ...5:10 a.m.

Wormtail had snapped.

"Why are you here? You can't be here! I killed you! I killed you!" He shouted, then he kicked Harry, landing a perfectly devastating blow to the boy's right ear. "All those years you let Sirius belittle me behind my back, to my face! You let him treat me worse than a house-elf!" He kicked Harry again. "How I hated you for that. But I showed you, James, didn't I? In the end, I showed you!"

When Wormtail kicked him this time Harry saw flashing pinpricks of white light; nausea and a high-pitched whine ringing in his ear accompanied that light. His body spasmed and he threw up, but because he was flat on his back he couldn't empty his mouth; he began to choke.

Agony. His magic began ballooning inside him. Wormtail's kicks had hurt; Snape screaming for him hurt; choking on his own vomit hurt; yet none of it compared to his magic bursting free. The thestrals, terrified by the chaos of the battle and the impossible pull of Harry's magic, pranced, putting more strain on the tethers, wrenching Harry's arms and legs in increasingly painful angles.

As the thestrals pulled and Wormtail drew his foot back for another kick, Harry closed his eyes.

*WO

Hedwig ...5:13 a.m.

Hedwig spotted Harry. Wormtail was steps away from the boy's head; Harry was looking up at him, confused. When the man's face twisted and he kicked Harry in the head, Hedwig let out a strangled, infuriated screech. She dropped into a dive, slicing through the air like a bullet, wings tight against her body. Wormtail kicked Harry once more. Feet from the man's balding pate she spread her wings, then she abruptly slowed her speed, switching direction, coming in feet first.

Wormtail shrieked and collapsed to his knees as Hedwig's talons dug into his forehead and scalp, peeling away strips of flesh and wispy strands of gray hair. He fell to the ground wailing, trying to curl into a protective ball as Hedwig danced on his head, loosening more flaps of skin with each step. He brought his hands up to cover his head, but Jarek, Hedwig's handsome snowy mate, attacked, clawing at Wormtail's hands. When the man tried batting the owl away, Jarek used the opening to rip at Wormtail's face. After two attempts, he quickly blinded the sobbing man by tearing out his right eye.

*WO

Snape ...5:13 a.m.

"Harry!" Snape croaked, voice wrecked from shouting the boy's name. Peter Pettigrew was raving at Harry; then the wizard kicked him in the head.

Snape reeled as the world flashed white. He couldn't move, but various ways of killing Pettigrew came at him in a rush: He saw himself mauling Pettigrew's throat with his fingers, shredding the cartilage, grinding it into powder. He saw himself propping a funnel into Pettigrew's open mouth, pumping the wizard full of a cocktail of Acromantula and Black Mamba venom until it seeped out of every orifice. He saw himself sawing off Pettigrew's privates with a dull rock, then stuffing them down the man's gullet with the business end of a flanged mace. Yet, he could do none of those things lying on the ground, still weak from Voldemort's Crucios.

Instead, he watched, stone-faced as Hedwig and another snowy owl lit into Pettigrew. Snape didn't fault the birds for only blinding the man and making a meal of his skull; they had limits, but the little maggot was still writhing and squalling, still breathing.

Snape had an idea. He didn't know if he could do it without his wand, but he whispered the words anyway, putting every bit of the icy hatred he had for Pettigrew behind them: "Avada Kedavra!" His eyes followed the green light's path, impressed, as it sliced into Wormtail's paunch. The bloody craters that used to shelter the cowardly wizard's eyes seemed to widen in surprise as he fell backward.

*WO

Harry ...5:17 a.m.

Harry didn't see the owls on Wormtail; he didn't see the man fall dead either-he had his own worries. Since learning of his wandless magic he had never plumbed its true depths, content to use no more than was needed for whatever spell, charm, or curse he wanted. He had, essentially, domesticated it, and now, it flared wild, unstoppable, and all-consuming. He didn't know if he would survive it-but he wanted to find out.

Right then, he thought. What can you do?

The spread of it burned with a heat that shocked a breath into him and cleared his mouth and throat of everything he had sicked up. His body jerked and he cried out as his magic shot out from his heart, radiating into his stomach, his arms, legs, hands, and feet. He lost his voice when it exploded out of his mouth in a shockwave. It disintegrated the tethers binding his wrists and ankles, then lifted him up to stand.

Fighting in the courtyard stopped. People recoiled, shielding their faces from the blinding bluish glare. The thestrals took flight, but they didn't leave; they circled overhead, like black omens caught in a maelstrom. Harry felt a pang, wondering if his magic had trapped them there. But then he felt himself rising, too.

He looked down. Everyone was looking up at him; Snape and Voldemort had the same gobsmacked expressions-but Voldemort's was odd, nearly indecipherable. Harry eventually realized it was fear.

Voldemort was scared.

*WO

Voldemort ...5:25 a.m.

Voldemort's mind flooded with questions: How was Potter flying without a broom? What else could he do? And why hadn't he known? He burned for an explanation, but instead of dwelling on it, he took flight, following in Harry's wake.

Once he was in the air, though, he wondered if he shouldn't have stayed on the ground. He now had a bird's eye view of his people falling (and fleeing) in alarming numbers. As he flew higher, a massive vibration rumbled through the night air, coming from the southwest: "Fram! Fram! Fram!" He turned. Giants. Damn it! He had sent two envoys to the Pyrenees-one last summer following the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, and another in January. Both had transmitted word of their arrival, but owls from the Riddle House requesting their progress had come back, the requests unopened, the parchment red with blood.

The tide of the battle had shifted. The horrid caw of the Adar Llwch Gwin sounded way off in the east, far from captives they should have been decimating; the flying catapults had been set ablaze, disabling them; and in the main courtyard, captives were turning on their Death Eater guards. White masks slew more than a score of the rebels. They were wandless and had resorted to Muggle-style fighting in defense, but they were soon joined by more rebels Apparating in. A mix of brown Auror robes, with robes of gray, evergreen, blue and violet from other Ministry departments appeared first. Unbelievably, four Death Eater cloaks came next, Bram Nott at the fore. And Merlin, were those goblins?

A smaller number of invaders infiltrated from the east, from the direction Gibbon, Derrick, and Higgs had gone. Draco Malfoy was among the group, his blond hair so starkly obvious it was like spotting the Golden Snitch. The boy's left arm hung limply at his side, but he still fought; a tall red-haired boy was at his back hexing anyone that strayed close to them. Another Auror, accompanied by a bushy head of chestnut-colored hair, threaded his way through the melee, downing every white mask that got in his way; he was heading for Snape, it seemed; the girl was looking skyward, her eyes on Harry.

Losing the war would stick in Voldemort's craw, like an anaconda choking on a mouse, but he didn't dare leave Potter alive. It would be akin to lying down and offering the boy his throat. There would be no surrender. Potter had to die.

"Avada Kedavra!"

*WO

Harry ...5:28 a.m.

Like any rational person, Harry flinched as the green light raced toward him, but then something queer happened-his magic absorbed the curse like parched land devouring a drop of water. Afterwards a burning sensation dragged at his attention: Lily's medallion. It was suddenly scorching his skin. He hissed and opened his fist as if to drop it, but the second he tilted his hand, the burning stopped. The coin still glowed red, but the searing heat was gone; it now felt coolly innocuous, as if he had just pulled the metal from his pocket.

Without knowing why, he wrapped the chain around his fingers and cupped the medallion within his palm. He then thrust his arm forward, toward Voldemort, palm out. Voldemort didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed in wary expectation. He waited, eyes tracking the swinging motion of the coin as it dangled from the end of the chain. After several minutes of nothing happening, he burst out laughing.

Harry frowned, pulling his hand back to look down at the medallion. He stared at it as if for answers. Then it pulsed golden, and people-everyone that had loved, protected, and died for him-flashed through his mind like the flickering of a movie projector: Sirius, tall, grinning, and breathtaking transformed into Padfoot. James, messy-haired and twenty-one years of age, stood with an arm around Lily's shoulders. Tonks, head topped with electric-blue hair, doubled over laughing as Padfoot streaked off after an even more massive canine shape that had startling amber-colored eyes.

Then Hagrid appeared. The big man threw an enthusiastic wave at Harry then put his dust bin-sized hands to his chest, as though giving thanks-or an apology, Harry realized. Grief steamrolled him as he recalled Hagrid's last words to him: "Yeh'll see me Harry, promise. I'll be here when term b'gins." Harry smiled at him, tears streaming down his cheeks; he shook his head, letting Hagrid know it was okay, that he understood. Hagrid grinned and nodded then tossed a stick for Padfoot to fetch.

Dumbledore joined the group last. Harry reached out as Dumbledore reached out to him. Newly dead, he was more present than the others-and Harry could hear him: "Love, Harry, remember, love..." Dumbledore said before fading away, fingers inches from Harry's.

The sound of Voldemort still laughing brought Harry back to himself. He opened his eyes and the medallion reacted again. The tiny lightning bolts representing Snape's initials blazed silver.

"Touch him-touch him and I'll burn you alive," Snape had said to Voldemort.

Harry looked up into Voldemort's laughing face. Burn. Would it work? There was only one way to know. "Please let this work," he whispered hoarsely. This made Voldemort laugh harder, long body rocking back and forth with vicious glee. When the wizard rocked forward, Harry slapped the medallion against his forehead.

The Dark Lord fell silent, mid-laugh.

*WO

Snape ...5:21 a.m.

Snape watched terrified. Harry was flying. His hair stuck straight out, like a black, prickly halo as he held the medallion to Voldemort's skin. God, Dumbledore had been right. The boy was powerful beyond anything he had ever seen, but powerful or not, he was still Snape's son. He was still the sixteen year-old who sometimes needed to be carried to bed after falling asleep on the sofa; he was still the klutzy thing who tripped over a bit of lint; and he still had a stubborn streak the size of the cosmos. But more than anything he was the boy Snape would gladly give his last breath to protect.

Feeling a bit steadier, Snape focused on Voldemort. "Avada Kedavra!" The green light wended its way toward the Dark Lord, but just as Harry's magic had absorbed Voldemort's Killing Curse, Snape's curse rebounded off their combined magic, knocking him off his feet.

*WO

Courtyard, Hogwarts 

Spellbound. Everyone stared up at the two wizards, many wondering: Could Harry Potter finish what he had started sixteen years ago? Could He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named be killed once and for all?

*WO

Voldemort ...5:31 a.m.

Pain.

The medallion seared a one-inch diameter into Voldemort's skin, but the pain scattered, cleaving onto every nerve ending in his body. As the sensation swept through him, thick red tears began streaming down his cheeks. When the coin suddenly burned white, he doubled over and hacked up a dark clot of blood. Horrified and confused, he raised his head to stare at Harry, who stared right back. The dark wizard moaned, tormented when he began coughing up a gray powdery substance.

At Hogwarts, he had been an exceptional student, "one of the most brilliant", according to Dumbledore, so when he saw the powder, he understood what was happening.

"NO!"

He pressed his hand to his stomach as something large assembled itself in his gut. Once the thing took shape, it quickly traveled up, its clawed edges snagging holes into his esophageal lining before lodging in his throat. His eyes bulged. He couldn't breathe. He raised his hands, digging at his neck, dying to empty his gullet, despite the thing still forcing its way up. He retched when something wriggling filled his mouth, scratching at his tongue, thumping against his teeth, wanting out. He looked down as it passed his distended lips: fingers. He tried to scream but he could only heave as he vomited them up in a long, squelchy gob, until a pale hand with a severed wrist emerged. As the hand plummeted to the ground, it turned black with decay.

Sapped of energy, Voldemort gasped, hung his head. "No," he whispered weakly. He had nothing more to give, he thought. But his chest constricted, one last time. A band of iron seemed to surround his heart, crushing it, forcing him to wheeze out a spray of fine red droplets. The droplets fell upon his exposed skin making it sizzle and melt. He screamed then. His regal silver robes turned black, the tailored lines distorted as the silk sagged, blood-logged. Harry recoiled, gagging. The stench was like that of a thousand rotting corpses as the Dark Lord expelled everything he had taken from others to revive his body two years ago.

He screamed, "NO!", until his flesh disintegrated, until it became desiccated and flaky, like dried, discarded corn husks.

*WO

Snape ...5:39 a.m.

Dead. The Dark Lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was dead. Snape staggered to his feet, his head tilted back, his eyes on Harry.

*WO

Harry ...5:40 a.m.

Dizziness, nausea, and exhaustion hit Harry with the force of ten Bludgers. All he wanted was to close his eyes and sleep for a week, forget the sight of Dennis falling dead, of Michael Corner crashing face-first into the ground, of Parvati's swinging braid as she ushered children into the sheds-but he forced them to stay open. He had to be sure there was nothing left of Voldemort to resurrect. Between wearied blinks his eyes followed the dark wizard's fragile ash-like remains as they drifted. He allowed a small, tired smile when the wind gusted, hastening their fall.

Seconds later, Harry fell, too.

*WO

*Plentyn - Welsh for child.

*Gwr-teyrn - Welsh for over-leaders.

*Passavant li meillor! - Let the best pass first! War cry of the counts of Champagne.