A/N: It's been a long time coming, I know, but I appreciate your patience. There's more-quite a bit more. Despite wanting to post everything at once, I decided to post this bit, else I would have kept picking at it like a scab. Ew. ~Ruth7019

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

Final Battle

Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts, June 1997 (05) ...8:17 p.m.

"Would you mind not doing that? I'm trying to study."

"Fuck you!"

Ah. End of term. Fifth and seventh-years were ripping out their hair by the fistfuls as O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s loomed; everyone else was sweating final exams. The worst of the procrastinators-Ron and Harry among them-crammed frantically in between Exploding Snap tournaments, rounds of wizard chess, or just lazing about.

In truth, all of the castle's inhabitants were desperate for a break. Winter had savaged February, March, and most of April, forcing a late spring. And then there was the unnaturalness of all the hours spent together in classes and in training. It made everyone irritable. The teachers were especially on edge as the more ‘spirited' students, half-wild from being penned up in the castle until the first weeks of May, got up to their noses in troublemaking.

Over the past month, Filch had asked Dumbledore to cast a Locator spell on Mrs. Norris more times than he dared count. The headmaster always graciously Summoned the cat and made the obligatory requests for students to leave off harassing the patchy old narc, but Filch knew it was to no end, knew the sadistic little sneaks would obey the headmaster's directive as readily as they always did where he was concerned-which was to say, not at all. But he coped, trolling the corridors day and night, muttering about "Exacting some punishment, Umbridge-style."

While Filch, exams, and summer hols proved worrisome, none of them held a candle to Voldemort. Few were naïve enough to dismiss the inevitability of a showdown with the dark wizard, but hoping to avoid it remained a generally held outlook-though with a week lift in term, nothing was taken for granted.

After the lakeside attack, many students chalked up frequent sightings of various Weasleys to familial overprotection; other, more practical-minded souls gathered and whispered, certain the attack was the calm before the storm, the Weasleys presence a quiet massing of Dumbledore's ‘Real' Army.

Strangers were spotted round the castle, too. Neville swore on Gryffindor's sword that he saw Dumbledore chatting with a goblin, but no one believed him. That sighting had come after a long turn in Greenhouse 6 where Neville, Theo, Professor Sprout and Tracey Davis had spent the better part of a Saturday disguising the spiky dark red vines of Venomous Tentacula to resemble juniper shrubs. When they then set about organizing the deadly plants around the grounds and courtyards, no one questioned why. Many pitched in to help.

But not everyone proved so civic-minded. Vincent Crabbe, Millicent Bulstrode, and fellow Slytherin, Willie Jugson Jr.'s disruptive behavior meant they attended more detentions than training sessions. In April, Snape chucked them from the sessions altogether after catching them interfering with the Devil's Snare Sprout had prepared for the tunnels.

Dumbledore wasn't fazed by such behavior. He knew the students got into mischief. He also knew that Millicent and her crew's behavior had little to do with being mischievous, yet he left their punishment, along with the other mischief-makers', to their Heads of House. He chose to focus on ensuring that life in the castle carry on as normal as possible. Thus, framed by a brilliant red-gold sunset, players from all four Houses were engaged in a scratch Quidditch match on the pitch.

Students ignored House divisions to sit where they pleased, so Hufflepuff's stands were halfway full with Gryffindors and a smattering of Slytherins; Ravenclaw had a healthy mix of bodies, too. Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Pansy, Theo and Blaise sat clustered together near the middle of Hufflepuff watching Harry and Draco. As the teams' Seekers, they made perfect spectacles of themselves, more interested in performing lethal turns and dives than in keeping an eye out for the Snitch.

"Show'em how it's done, Draco!" Theo boomed through his cupped hands.

Draco dipped his Nimbus 2001 to whiz by the group, all teeth and swagger.

"Oh, Draco, do stop messing about!" Pansy griped. "We've been out here for hours already! ...And there're bugs!" She squealed, swatting at a moth as it flitted past.

"Oy! Don't kill it!" Newt Krause of Ravenclaw crushed an anonymous foot-"Ow!"-in his mad scramble to catch the insect. "Sally, loves'em..."

"Sally?" Someone said.

"His salamander." Someone else answered, with an obvious eye roll.

"Neville, darling, let's go!"

"Pansy, it's barely been forty minutes," Neville muttered, sweeping his Omnioculars back and forth, taking in the action.

"And that's quite long enough! I'll never understand the appeal of tearing about like lunatics on a broomstick to chase a nut with wings!"

"Ball, love."

"Ball, barnacle, whatever... I'm bored!" Pansy pouted against Neville's neck, which made him shiver. He lowered his Omnioculars, turned to face her, and leaned down to nibble on her bottom lip. Then he pulled back, put his Omnioculars to his eyes and became engrossed in the match, again. Pansy stared at him as she touched a fingertip to her lip. She then slipped her arms around his waist, rested her chin on his shoulder, and sat quietly, a smile quirking her lips, her eyes following his every move. Hermione shook her head in wonder.

"Not me! I'm looking forward to Draco's party after the match!" Colin Creevey piped up, only to cringe, turtle-like against the wave of boos and shouts of ‘Gormless wanker!'

"Bloody - Creevey!" Blaise growled as he cuffed Colin's messy head. "Are you really that daft or do you spend hours perfecting it?"

"Sorry..." Colin whinged, but Draco beamed.

"Chin up, Creevey," he drawled. "It's not as if I didn't already know."

"Draco!" Hermione slammed her copy of Monster Book of Monsters closed as he smirked at her.

By nature Draco was curious, curiosity-killed-the-cat-curious, so when Harry, Blaise, Pansy, and Hermione began meeting in the evenings, he wanted to know why; once Ron got involved that curiosity ratcheted into overdrive. The group met in spare classrooms, and never the same one twice. Not that it mattered; Draco tracked their movements with the Marauder's Map, then used Sen Privatus to listen in. It's how he learned that Harry had approached Dumbledore with the idea for the party. The headmaster had then offered up the Great Hall to hold it, heralding it a "Splendid way to buoy spirits!"

Theo laughed. "Well, now that the kneazle's out of the bag, hurry up and win this thing!" He raised a hand in defense when Hermione turned to glare at him. "What? You Gryffs really thought you could keep a secret from him? Especially something like a party? In his honor?"

Hermione scowled and whipped back around when he lowered a long-lashed eyelid in a cocky wink. "Arse!"

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled. "Get back up here! You runnin' scared?"

"‘Runnin' scared?' Potter, the only thing I find remotely frightening is the way you murder the English language! Oh, and that hair!" Draco hooked his broom about sharply. He would have smacked a third-year Hufflepuff in the face had the girl not had the reflexes of a cat.

"Draco!" Snape bellowed. "Watch what you're doing!"

The Potions master was sitting a few rows down from Hermione and the others, Fang draped over his feet. Aberforth, having journeyed from the Glass Hoof at Harry's request, sat beside him, Crookshanks perched on his lap, curled up like a seashell as the old wizard dragged gnarled fingers through ginger-colored fur.

"Oy! Is that the Snitch?!" Neville nearly put Pansy's eye out as he jabbed a finger toward the empty Gryffindor stands.

Harry spun around to look. The winged ball was there, fluttering above the topmost rows of Gryffindor. Not wasting time to check, but hoping Draco was still distracted doing something stupid, he shot off after it.

Twenty seconds from target...

Harry grinned picturing the scowl on Draco's face once he realized the match was over.

Ten seconds...

He leaned forward. The Snitch was just... right...

Then incredibly, Draco zipped down, knocked Harry off course, and flashed the Gryffindor a grin before speeding away. Harry growled and put on a burst of speed, pitching and weaving recklessly, aiming to retake his position, but he knew it was hopeless. Same as he knew Draco would be an insufferable gasbag over the next month. Or year. Even so, he couldn't hold back a wry smile as the boy reached for the Snitch.

But before Draco could get his fingers around it, three things happened in rapid order: Bill Weasley and Hestia Jones ran out onto the pitch firing powerful spells into the four corners of the stadium; sheathing his wand, a smirking Vincent Crabbe slunk unseen from behind Slytherin's stands and headed back toward the castle at a hurried, ugly shuffle; lastly, Draco yelped as he went soaring, upended off his Nimbus, its bristles ablaze.

Voices in the stands screamed in chorus: "Draco!"

He was a blur, spinning toward the ground at a speed that suggested gravity wasn't the only magic at work. Harry tipped his Firebolt, giving chase. As he went, a tornado of brooms erupted around him. Frightened of being shot out of the air, the players were racing to land. Ron fell into a death spiral as well, but instead of flying to ground with his teammates, he flew at Draco, except Harry was already there, grabbing for Draco's outstretched hands. He missed when a surge of red heat jolted his shoulder, nearly rocking him off his broom.

A raspy "Protego!" came from the stands.

"Cheers, Papa," Harry whispered.

Using that rush of protective magic, he regained his balance and made a quick motion with his hand, aborting Draco's fall. Draco's screams stopped and he flailed about midair. Then Harry was beside him. Without a word, Draco clambered onto the broom, fingers digging into Harry's sides. Ron came to a sharp stop beside them, eyes locking with Draco's.

"All right?" he said, voice hoarse and frantic.

Harry felt Draco nod behind him, but there was no time for that.

"Down, Ron!" Harry stabbed a finger at the ground. "Now!"

Below them, the normally unflappable Hooch wasn't so much urging students to evacuate the Ravenclaw stands as she was shrieking at them to "RUN!" her arms flailing in a mad dance. In an infinitely more sedate fashion, Snape was making quick work of clearing students from Hufflepuff while keeping a sharp eye on Harry and Draco. Then in a sudden flash, he leveled his wand at them.

Something loud erupted behind them. They ducked. Harry risked a look back and nearly peed his pants. A sheet of water, as tall as Grawp, was holding back a cyclone of fire. Harry took a second to rejoice that Snape was on their side, then hunched over his Firebolt, driving it at a speed that under normal circumstances Snape would have strangled him for attempting. Seconds later they hit the ground running. At the stadium's exit, Harry scanned the tide of people for Hermione, Snape, or Aberforth.

"Harry, we should have kept flying ‘til we reached the castle!" Ron said. "We're totally exposed running like this!"

Just as Ron stopped talking, Michael Corner crashed face first into the ground, blasted off his broom by a curse. He had been trying to make it to the castle instead of fleeing to the broom sheds like they had been trained to do. The sheds housed tunnels that were linked to the castle. Dumbledore had tasked Charlie with digging them out after Charlie agreed to fill in for Hagrid. It had taken September, October, November and a twenty crews of Nifflers, enticed by Leprechaun gold, to get it done.

Someone ran to Michael: Seamus's girlfriend, Megan Jones. She fell to her knees beside him and gently took the dead boy's head into her hands. Within seconds blood began to seep through her fingers. Her screams rang out like the peals of church bells.

Bill ran into view. He looked at the sobbing girl and her red hands and with a speed that boggled Harry's mind, he conjured a stretcher, got Michael on it, then yelled at Megan and a dazed assemblage of Ravenclaws and Slytherins to, "Head to the sheds!" Checking for stragglers he spotted his brother. "Ron! Harry! You lot get to the sheds! Now!"

"Have you seen Snape?" Harry shouted.

"He can take care of himself! Now get going!" Bill growled before running off.

When Harry continued to look about, Ron called to him. "Harry! Let's go!"

Harry looked up at him. Of course. He wasn't the only one with family out here. He nodded and they started toward the sheds. What looked to be about twenty or so students were jamming into the shed nearest the Slytherin changing rooms; Parvati Patil was shouting instructions at them, her long, black plait whipping from shoulder to shoulder.

Then it got quiet, like all the sound in the world had been sucked up into a vacuum. Harry frowned.

BOOM!

The boys flew backward, landing what felt like a mile from where they had been. Shock made Ron and Harry bounce up into a sitting position. They grimaced and shook their heads, trying to rid themselves of the banshee-like ringing in their ears, then Harry realized he couldn't see.

"Glasses." He croaked, leaning over to paw at the ground. He snatched his hand back when he nudged something gristly and warm. "Accio glasses!" They thumped him in the chest, mercifully unbroken. After settling them on his face, he wished to lie back down and stay down.

Long, deadly-looking splinters of wood and a charred arm lay next to his feet. He choked on a cough and a sob and scrambled as far away from them as he could. As the dust and smoke began to thin, Harry saw Draco lying on his side working his jaw, much like Muggle airplane passengers do when bothered by an abrupt change in altitude.

"Oh, Merlin! Oh, Merlin! Oh, Merlin!" Ron chanted tonelessly.

A long pair of legs ran into view. Well-worn dragon-hide boots peeked out from beneath faded blue jeans and a set of navy blue Cursebreaker robes. Bill's lips were moving, but the boys couldn't hear a thing. He dove down and grabbed Ron by the shoulders, pulling him up into what looked like a painful embrace. Ron let Bill hold him; it was the only way he was managing to stay on his feet anyway.

A moment later, Bill pulled back. Ron stood, unmoving, as his brother's hands flew up and down his body, checking for injury. Satisfied Ron was all right, Bill's lips began moving, again, but the more he talked, the more his features creased in frustration. Then his face went slack with horror. He shook Ron, testing something out, but Ron's confused expression never wavered. Finally, Bill put his lips to Ron's ear. After a time, Ron's head began to move in a slow up and down motion. He then linked his arms around Bill as his brother gripped him in another smothering embrace.

Hestia Jones and two barrel-chested, black-haired men ran up to them. Bill's grip on Ron slackened nominally as he listened. Ron, with his chin resting atop Bill's shoulder, kept frowning and hitching his shoulders up to rub at his ears, likely trying to stop the infernal ringing in his head. Digging his fingers into his own ears, Harry sympathized. In a burst of desperation, he wished the noise away; within seconds it was gone. He cocked his head.

"...round the other side," he heard one of the men say.

Draco staggered to his feet and Harry went to him. The boy had his hands over his ears, still trying to chew the deafness away. Harry pulled them down. Draco jerked back when Harry tried to cover his ears, then realizing his intention, closed his eyes and let Harry carry on. Seconds later he tapped Harry's hand, then they jogged over to Ron and Bill. Harry knocked Ron on the shoulder. When he turned, Ron's blue eyes were streaming. Harry knuckled some of the tears away and just as he'd done with Draco, he covered Ron's ears until Ron nodded.

"All right?" he asked. Ron shook his head, eyes roving over the carnage surrounding them.

Hestia spoke: "As none of you can Apparate, and the sheds are gone, you'll have to take your chances on the grounds." Her raspy voice reminded Harry of that American actress, Demi Moore. "It's going to be full dark before you know it."

"Bill?" Ron said. Bill stared at his brother, the one he still thought of as his baby.

When Ron was born, Molly had had her hands full with the twins, Percy, and Charlie. Bill did what he could to help, but once Charlie started walking at age two, he decided he didn't need Bill so much; Percy came out of the womb with the Ministry of Magic's regulations tucked under one arm and a CV in the other, and Fred and George had each other. When Ron arrived, Bill had someone, again. When Ron was hungry, Bill fed him; when Ron began crawling, he crawled to Bill; when Ron skinned his knees, Bill tended them; when Fred and George turned Ron's teddy bear into a spider, Bill pulled them into their father's shed and threatened to cut their hair with a Muggle hand mixer. He even charmed it to run just enough to catch up the ends of their red locks in the beaters. And Ron had called him ‘Mummy' until Percy set him straight. Bill still hadn't forgiven Percy for that.

"Bill... maybe you should go with'em," said one of the black-haired men. Bill swallowed and gently swiped his thumbs over Ron's cheeks.

"No. I'm in charge here."

"Right, but we understand if you -"

Bill said, "Ron, leg it up to the castle, fast as you can. Don't stop for anyone or anything, and don't think twice about blasting the bloody fuck out of someone you don't know!"

"Bill! John! Stu! Hestia! A little help here!" Another man had emerged out of nowhere.

"Run, Ronnie!" Bill yelled before dashing back toward the stadium. "Run!"

*WO

Hogwarts Grounds ...8:58 p.m.

The boys ran, holding as straight a line for the castle as they could, but inexplicably, Draco began to lag, slowing until he stopped moving altogether. When the blood drained from his face, Harry worried the boy had been hit with a spell. He doubled back and grabbed Draco's arm.

"You hit?"                       

Draco's head wobbled; Harry didn't know if it was a ‘yes' or ‘no' wobble.

"Draco, we have to -"

"S'Lucius..."

"What?"

Harry and Ron jerked around. Lucius Malfoy, masked, but marked by the distinctive white-blond hair flapping handsomely about the edges of his hood, was sprinting away from the stadium. He was flanked by Death Eaters and a host of dark creatures Harry feared to guess at.

Looking at them, he had a second to wonder at Bill and Hestia's fate before Lucius shouted: "Harry Potter! Run boy! You three get out -" was all he managed before a flare of green light struck him in the back.

Draco shrieked and started running. Ron took off after him, grabbing him around the waist before he got too far.

"No! You can't!"

"Let me go! Let me go, you fool!" Draco twisted in Ron's arms and pounded at his hands in a fury. "I - I have to help him!" He gasped when Ron's grip tightened. "Weasley! Unhand me this instant!" When he landed a nasty kick to Ron's shin, the redhead groaned and his grip loosened momentarily. Draco nearly shimmied free, but Ron was quick and bloody strong.

"Stop it, Draco!" He roared. "STOP IT!" Ron nearly dropped him when Draco fell limp in his arms. Winded, he huffed into the nape of Draco's neck. "You can't help him now. It's done."

"B-but, he's just lying there, w-what -"

"Ron's right," Harry said.

Lucius was down, but his mob was still coming. And they were closing the gap fast-so fast Harry was able to make out what some of the "dark creatures" were. Feral-looking men. Werewolves. Their eyes burned golden, even from this distance, and their lips rippled around canines that Harry swore lengthened with each step as the horde alternated between running upright, like men, and using their hands in tandem with their feet. Like dogs.

Good thing there wasn't a full moon tonight.

"Shit!" Ron cried. "It's a full moon tonight!"

"What?!" Harry gaped at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! Remember Charlie saying how the Blast-Ended Skrewts were a massive pain in the arse around the full moon?"

No, as a matter of fact, Harry did not, but if Ron did, well, they needed to get the hell out of there.

Suddenly the indigo-colored heavens eating up the skies in the east foreshadowed more than just the close of another day. And though Harry would rather lick a skunk's arse than give Voldemort credit for anything, he had to admit the bastard had a knack for timing: By waiting to attack on this night, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had guaranteed himself a crew of real-life bogey-men to murder at will.

Fantastic.

"Harry!" Ron yelled. "We need to go!"

"Yeah... Gimme me a sec," Harry muttered as he fisted his hands at his sides, then he raised his right foot high off the ground. Pulling Draco along with him, Ron took several big steps back just as Harry stomped his foot down.

"STUPEFY!"

The world shivered, violently-at least that's what it felt like as the reverberation radiated outward and outward and outward. The bad guys roared their surprise; many stopped running to stick their arms out in a useless, but comical balancing act as the earth juddered beneath them. When he heard the House stands clattering, Harry knew the spell had done its job, and then some.

He then directed his hand out in front of him and began to chant: "Cave Inimicum! Protego totalum! Salvio hexia!" Moving his arm in a great sweeping arc he cast a Shield Charm ranging from the destroyed broom sheds to just past the southern end of the stadium.

A small band of Voldemort's people were beyond the point where the shield began, but a great many were still on the other side. Unable to put the brakes on in time, they plowed into it full force, then were crushed by those stampeding along behind them. Bodies crumpled to the ground in a heap of bloodied noses and, Harry hoped, shattered bones.

He turned to Draco. Ron had released him, but remained close by his side. The boy's gaze was still fixed on Lucius.

"Let's go," Harry said. Again, Draco didn't move and Harry's hatred for Voldemort swelled like an infected gut shot. He knew what it was to see a parent murdered, and he didn't want to be an arse, but they had to move. He didn't know how long the shield would hold, and he wasn't keen on sticking around to find out.

He called to Draco again. No response. He pinched his lips and raised his hand. The crack of his palm connecting with Draco's cheek echoed. 

"What the fuck - Harry!" Ron rushed to stand between them.

Harry ignored him, moving until he could see Draco. "Draco, look at me. We need to get to the castle, report what happened here. Find Snape!"

At that, Draco blinked, as if emerging from a fog. He frowned.

"You hit me..."

Harry winced, eyeing the red outline of his hand on Draco's face. "Well - you were catatonic or something."

"I -" Draco's eyes found Lucius again; he began to tremble.

"Oh, damn it!" Ron growled. He lifted his hands toward Draco, then let them fall back to his sides. Inhaling deeply, he brought them up again, cupping Draco's face. "Draco, look at me." Draco did. "Your father is dead." Draco's eyes filled with water and he closed them. "No! Look at me!" Ron stroked his cheek and Draco's eyes fluttered open. "We can't stay here. We'll die if we do. All right?"

Draco nodded.

"Okay?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Draco said.

Harry clenched his jaw against a curse. Chalk up one more for Voldemort. Draco's snooty upbringing only ever allowed that he respond with a nasally ‘Yes', but there was nothing for it now, they had to go. He started running and was relieved when Draco followed, but as they closed in on the grounds proper, his stomach seesawed: Hermione was racing toward them.

"Hermione! NO!" He shouted. He waved his arms crazily, signaling for her to go back.

But she kept coming, her face the picture of terror as she raised her arm, pointing at something off to their right. The boys stopped, looking into the west.

The sun. Its fire was fading.

The dark was rising.

*WO