Severus arrived at the designated place. It was a warehouse, on the outskirts of a muggle town, a town Severus knew.

Severus smashed back the memory of the charred village devoid of living people as he made his way to the side door of the rickety structure.

He risked glancing to his left, finding the lights of the village glistening brightly against the night's darkness. It had been there, on those streets, where Minerva had fallen. He and the others had arrived too late, and she had been too stubborn to flee. She had chosen to stand her ground and hold back the vengeful flames of the fiendfyre for as long as possible to allow others to escape. She would have succeeded too, if it hadn't been for Bellatrix.

Quelling the risen rage within him and placing a wall as thick as a mountain in front of his emotions and thoughts, Severus entered.

The area before him had been cleared of all muggle things from the warehouse, but in its place were molten remnants of a cauldron and a tall thin man standing at the edge of it, facing an assembled group who were predominantly made up of guilty faces. Evidently, the Dark Lord had already given his irate speech about loyalty and faithful followers and had reprimanded them.

Moving forward, Severus surprised himself. He had thought he would have to focus on keeping his heart from pounding loudly against his ribcage; instead, he was having to keep his eyebrows from rising in surprise.

Voldemort had hair.

If the situation were not so serious, he may have even been amused, but there was nothing funny about the glint in the Dark Lord's red eyes.

"Ah, Severus. My faithful one has come," Voldemort said, turning to him as he waved his pale, thin hand toward him.

Severus went forward, keeping himself from hurrying or being too slow. He had to show the proper reverence after all, especially as it was obvious he was the last to arrive (not to mention late).

"My Lord," he said, kneeling a pace from Voldemort's feet. "I have been anxiously waiting for your return. I apologize for my tardiness."

Severus knew better than to ask for forgiveness or to give excuses.

"Rise," Voldemort said, pleased and saying nothing about his late arrival.

Severus was grateful as he stood, keeping his posture completely submissive. Voldemort motioned him back, and Severus joined the rest of the group.

"So, my Death Eaters," Voldemort said. "As not all of my followers have been idle, we have some things to do tonight, and, perhaps those of you who have disappointed me will begin to repay your unfaithfulness."

Many people about nodded eagerly.

"Kamalia, Ardolf," Voldemort called.

Severus frowned. He knew those names, of course, but they had not joined the ranks until much later, as they were werewolves under Greyback and had not allied themselves with Voldemort until after the destruction of Hogsmeade.

Kamalia Rendall and Ardolf Lowell came forward and knelt before him. "Yes, Lord?" they asked.

"Select a few addresses Yaxley acquired from the Archive and, each of you, take three of my Death Eaters. It is time to show the Wizarding World my power. Leave no survivors in these residences."

They quickly created two groups before standing at the ready to depart to the homes of muggleborns.

"We will free our friends tonight and gain powerful allies before I reveal myself fully." He paused and looked to Kamalia and Ardolf's groups. "And who knows, perhaps I will have some fun before paying a visit to the Ministry," Voldemort hissed mysteriously before turning to Severus. "Severus," he said. "I want you to return to Hogwarts. You were able to regain my approval and know of the coming attacks on the mudbloods. Warn Dumbledore of them. I want no aurors or blasted Order members interrupting my other plans."

"Yes, my lord."

"Now, the rest of you, come with me. Tonight, we show why I, Lord Voldemort, am to be feared!"

O o O o O

Nicholas hurried down the hall toward Harry's room. The wards had reacted to an intense influx of magic mere moments ago and he knew, instinctively, something was very wrong.

Perenelle was right on his heels as they made it to Harry's door. Not bothering with pleasantries, he slammed the door open and hurried in.

Coral was right by Harry's side, hissing up a storm, clearly worried and agitated.

Harry was hugging his knees and pressing himself against the bed's headboard while tightly holding his eyes shut.

Nicholas could smell bile and glanced at the side of the bed on the floor. Whatever had upset Harry so had caused him to lose his dinner. With a sympathetic grimace, he waved his wand at the floor, vanishing it, as he made his way to the bed.

"Harry?" Nicholas asked softly, lifting his wand now lit by a silently cast Lumos.

Coral slithered out of the way but continued hissing at Harry, as if trying to get his attention. It didn't seem to be working.

Nicholas came to the side of the bed and touched Harry's knee while Perenelle stood back and allowed her husband to decide the best course of action, for now.

Harry startled, squinting his eyes open. Nicholas could tell he was in some kind of pain.

"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked.

"Bad dream, and my scar, it hurts." He closed his eyes again and pressed his palms against his face with a moan, his entire form trembling.

Nicholas frowned, quickly moving his free hand forward and prying Harry's hands away.

"Let me see, Harry. Let me help," he stated. "What did you dream?"

"Voldemort. Something's happening. We need to warn them . . . we need to get them out!" Harry said, his previously pained and sluggish speech quickly becoming urgent and strong.

"Just calm down. I need to help you before we do anything," Nicholas said firmly as Perenelle approached as well. "I think I know what is happening."

"He's going," Harry said, not really paying attention to what Nicholas was saying as his breath caught. "He's going to kill people. Please, Mr. Flamel, we need to do something!" Harry gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as a hot wave of pain flashed in his scar and a surge of dark thrill rushed through him. He grabbed at Nicholas' wrists as he shuddered.

"Focus on my voice, Harry. I need to dampen this connection if we are to help anyone. I need you to try to ignore everything else right now."

Harry clenched his teeth as Nicholas placed his right thumb over Harry's scar and closed his eyes.

"You are feeling Voldemort's emotions, Harry. I am going to muffle the connection now, so try not to fight me. This is going to feel quite odd," Nicholas warned.

Nicholas muttered the spell, guiding his magic forward, ignoring the greasy feel of the foreign power leaking from the scar and pressing against Harry's magic. Choosing to be deliberate rather than gentle, he entered Harry's mind. He knew his intrusion had not felt pleasant, but he knew time was of the essence. Harry's young mind could only endure so much concentrated ill-will.

"Harry, I want you to help me if you can. Give me your magic to use here; otherwise I'll be fighting your magic as well as this intrusion from Voldemort."

With that, he heard a faint ''Kay. . .' in the boy's mindscape.

Confident in what he had set out to do, Nicholas went to work, cloaking Harry's mind with his magic and using the lad's as reinforcement. This protection would not be Occlumency shields, but they would be the next best thing. Instead of being like castle walls, this would act as a moat. Anything attempting to get into Harry's mind would be slowed, weakened, and distorted.

Finished, he eased back, finding Harry's slumped form against his chest and his wife offering her assistance.

"Thank you, my dear," he said as she helped lay Harry back.

Harry wasn't unconscious, but he was dazed and exhausted.

"You did well, Harry," Nicholas said. "The connection is still present, but it should be muffled now."

"I will floo Albus, now, Nicholas," Perenelle said, hurrying out of the room.

Harry blinked heavily, fighting off sleep; all the while a faint pain echoed in his scar and a weak feeling of sinister elation seeped into his senses.

O o O o O

Voldemort relished the feeling of flight, confident this would not take long.

He was right.

Upon arriving on the island of Azkaban, the Dementors immediately yielded to his presence before swiftly freeing all those within Voldemort desired.

Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Mulciber, and many others rejoined his ranks and claimed new wands he had previously procured for them. And then it got all the sweeter when the Dementors joined his side, deserting Azkaban prison to follow him to richer feeding grounds.

It was a glorious moment, and he was eager to continue on to the next stage of the plan.

He was back, and ready to show the world.

O o O o O

Mal Turner was a reasonable man with respectable endeavors. He loved his wife and his son, so when some weirdly dressed people showed up at his residence (which resided near the heart of London in Westminster) last week, he was quick to grab a weapon. However, thankfully, it turned out that his precautions were unnecessary, no matter how strange the visitors had first appeared.

After proving magic was real and they weren't (completely) mad, they had had a long and in depth conversation. He was still trying to wrap his mind around most of it, but he did take a few of important things away from their disclosure. His four year old son was a wizard. Well, that certainly explained a few of the bizarre events over the years, particularly the ice cream sundae that refused to get any smaller, no matter how many bites were taken. His boy had been three.

But the visiting wizards had also disclosed other things — unsettling things — such as the recent kidnappings involving a crazed group of werewolves targeting young 'muggleborn' children. With that bit of news, he had immediately set up a few of his own precautions once the 'aurors' had departed, even though they had given him a magical coin to contact them if something happened.

One could never be too careful, as Mal was about to prove.

Mal sat up, hearing a bell he had rigged to ring under his bed if the front room was breached. Never underestimate the ingenuity of pulleys and strings!

"Honey," he whispered, waking his wife. "Someone has opened our front door without setting off the alarm system. Get Matthew and get to the safe room. I'll handle this," he stated before his wife hurried to their boy's room.

His training from the military was in play as he took out his pistol from the drawer beside his bed and squeezed the coin that that Shacklebolt fellow had given him, before pocketing a second clip into his PJ breast pocket.

Hopefully help would arrive before things got too ugly.

Heading toward the front room, he stayed low and listened. There were people in his house, all right, and they were moving quickly. He only hoped his wife and son were well on their way into the safe room.

Suddenly, he ducked around the wall and entered the kitchen, the sound of movement now very close.

"Bombarda!" a cruel voice shouted, blasting down the wall.

Mal rolled under the kitchen table as the debris showered down and his wife's favorite dishes shattered across the linoleum.

"Show yourself, we know you're there," another said.

There were at least three of them. He could see their robes despite the darkness.

He answered.

With gunfire.

BANG-BANG-BANG!

The first shot clipped one in the shoulder. The second hit an arm, and the third struck another right in the eye — that man would not be getting up again.

Spells rained down upon him, and he barely managed to turn the table on its side for cover as he felt himself being slammed back by it and into the cabinet behind him.

"That little piece of—"

BANG-BANG!

Mal was not out of bullets yet and he did not miss taking out the fourth wizard who had just come around the corner; however, he did not see the other that had appeared on the other side.

"Crucio!"

Pain coursed through him, stronger than anything he had ever experienced. It was sharper than a stun gun, rougher than being shot, more violent than a car crash, and longer than any pain should be.

The only thing that made it worse was that he couldn't control his body. He spasmed as the pain grew heavier and heavier.

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-click-click . . . click.

He was out of bullets.

Finally, the pain ended, and he looked up to find a man standing over him.

A man with red eyes.

O o O o O

The Headmaster apparated to Westminster soon after Kingsley alerted him that a family there had sent a distress signal. It was very likely the attack was still in progress.

He didn't need to look far to have this verified.

He heard four loud bangs over a man's echoing screams coming from the home to his left. He didn't hesitate to run in, the front door ajar, even as he heard sirens in the distance and the cracks of arriving aurors.

Silently casting a disillusionment charm on himself, he went forward, knowing the aurors outside were now placing a perimeter. Continuing in, his eyes adjusted to the low light as he made his way through the front room.

Suddenly, he stopped, finding a scene all too similar to ones from the last war.

Voldemort standing over a trembling muggle.

"Think you are brave, little muggle?" Voldemort hissed.

Dumbledore eased forward, noting the two motionless bodies just outside the destroyed kitchen. He couldn't see much else beyond that except Voldemort and the pinned muggle, as he only had a direct line of sight to the Dark Lord and nothing else in the kitchen.

Suddenly, the sound of fighting echoed in from outside. Evidently, there were more Death Eaters and they had just engaged the aurors.

Voldemort smiled, not at all bothered by the arrival of opposition.

"Kill any one you see! We shall have a bit of extended fun here!" he declared to the remaining Death Eaters before looking back to the man on the floor. "Avada Ke—"

The old Warlock summoned the microwave from the nearby countertop, bashing it into Voldemort's arm. And then, rushing through the newly created hole into the kitchen, he spotted more Death Eaters and immediately sent a barrage of spells at them.

Keeping his disillusionment charm up, it was easy pickings, but Voldemort was not about to allow his advance to continue unanswered.

Voldemort swept his wand about, gathering his magic before releasing it violently.

The massive pulse of raging magic blasted the entire front half of the house. It was all Dumbledore could do to remain on his feet and not follow the splintered boards and walls into the street as his disillusionment charm fell.

Knowing he had to get out before the top portion plummeted down, he followed Voldemort out of the rubble, hoping the muggle man would have enough sense to get out on his own and find a safe place.

Charging out onto the street, they were confronted by the last thing they expected.

"FREEZE!"

On the right side of the road were police cars, all with spotlights glaring onto their robed forms. Voldemort lazily waved his wand at the closest car. The two policemen taking cover behind the car doors were slammed back as their patrol car morphed right before their eyes.

The huge snake reared up before turning its attention on to the cops. All the while, Aurors and Death Eaters dueled throughout the long street and on the lawns and rooftops.

Horrified, the police opened fire on the snake, annoying it more than anything else.

Dumbledore fired a spell at the snake, freezing it in place before canceling Voldemort's spell entirely. The car plummeted onto the street, yards in front of the police line as he blocked an incoming spell from Voldemort.

"You would protect these pitiful creatures, old man?" Voldemort asked as he fired another spell, one Albus dodged, allowing it to strike a parked car behind him. "Let's see how well you protect them from each other!"

CRACK-CRACK

Voldemort disappeared before appearing on top of the roof overlooking them all.

"Imperio, Imperio, Imperio!"

Dumbledore's blue eyes widened as three policemen turned their guns toward their fellow officers. Triggers were pulled.

Albus reacted as quickly as he could, but he was not fast enough.

BANGBANGBANG!

Two public servants instantly lost their lives before Dumbledore was able to disarm them with a wide expelliarmus. Several guns clattered to the ground before Dumbledore fired three stunners in quick succession.

Understandably now in shock, the police wisely began pulling back with their casualties to allow for the arrival of the SFO units (Specialist Firearms Officers) who were already en route. However, the police's attempt for escape was halted by spells from blood thirsty Death Eaters who had just recently received their freedom. The cops ducked behind their car doors, although that only provided minor protection, before returning fire with their pistols.

Seeing this, Dumbledore apparated to the top of the previously transfigured police car and flicked his wand in the direction of a front lawn before casting a shield charm over himself to block a gray spell just fired from Voldemort above.

Shrugging off the dark energy that cascaded down his silver shield, three huge forms came forward from the yard to his left and advanced quickly toward the horrified police. Suddenly, green spells were fired at the officers from nearby Death Eaters, but the animated garden gnome-giants intercepted them, protecting the astonished officers.

Voldemort was not amused by Dumbledore's advanced spell-work and unleashed a fiery serpent from a conjured firestorm to show his displeasure.

It was even larger than his transfigured one; its head was above the tops of the trees and its coiled body covered the street in front of two homes.

Voldemort laughed.

Dumbledore swung his arm up to deflect the fiend's bite, but was forced off the vehicle as a result. Rolling to one knee, he thrust his wand forward and up, gathering the entire mass of fire and forcing it to rise above him in a gigantic fireball before blasting it right back at Voldemort.

The sphere of fire exploded just beyond the roof, barely singeing the Dark Lord's robes as the dying flames rose high above the neighborhood in an ominous mushroom cloud before dissipating.

In pure pandemonium, spells continued to be exchanged between the Death Eaters and Aurors dueling one another, while the police shot back at the bolts of light being fired upon them.

Voldemort stood proudly at the edge of the roof, enjoying the destruction below him as Dumbledore took the opportunity to quickly stun two Death Eaters in view.

Suddenly, a loud beating sound came from behind Dumbledore, high above the roof tops.

"DIFFINDO!" Voldemort shouted, slashing his wand toward the sound.

Dumbledore turned, not sure what Voldemort had just cursed, just in time to see the tail of a flying machine careen into a nearby tree as monstrous spinning blades with some sort of capsule beneath them plummeted from the sky, twirling horrifically. There were people inside.

Albus stepped forward, dodging spells from a few Death Eaters hoping to land a lucky hit as he threw a well aimed spell at the ruined sky machine, halting its descent with a powerful immobulus. It bobbed slightly in the night air as he was forced to defend his back from a crippling curse from Voldemort.

With a silent apparition, Dumbledore appeared on a neighboring roof before catching the sliced helicopter once more and gently setting it onto the street; however, its part in the duel was far from over.

Voldemort summoned the blades, snapping them from the top of the fuselage and swinging them toward his First Enemy.

Albus slashed his wand before him, transfiguring them into silk ribbons before whipping them around right back at Voldemort. Voldemort deflected one of the silver ribbons, but the other three wrapped around his dark form like boa constrictors. He nearly toppled over the side of the roof before he managed to aim a precise diffindo, freeing himself.

The Dark Lord sneered, blasting a bolt of lightning at Dumbledore who redirected it into a tree. The tree split down the middle and the crack of thunder and exploding wood echoed through the neighborhood as more vehicles approached . . . this time pouring out SFOs, part of Scotland Yard's specialist firearms unit, CO19.

Voldemort vanished and reappeared loudly on the street in front of Mal Turner's damaged home, as if daring the better equipped muggle police to do something about his presence. For good or ill, this sudden move did cause the fighting around him to pause.

"SURRENDER, YOU'RE SURROUNDED!" an officer who had just arrived bellowed, choosing to ignore the three giant-gnome sentries nearby.

"Surrounded? I don't think so, but it is time to move on," Voldemort stated, his tone informing Dumbledore the eventful night was not over.

Dumbledore apparated onto the street, deciding his best course of action would be to follow the Dark Lord directly to his next target. He had to prevent any more damage from occurring. Too much had been lost already.

It happened quickly. A lightning strike may be considered easier to follow.

Voldemort began to twist to disapparate as a completely unexpected shot rang out from the destroyed house of Mal Turner.

Mal had reloaded and was livid.

The first bullet did not miss before Voldemort vanished into thin air with a loud, bold CRACK. Dumbledore hurried forward even as Mal continued firing furiously into the black mist Voldemort's sudden departure had left. Waving his wand before him, Dumbledore conjured a foggy magical shield to deflect the projectiles coming at him. Bullets ricocheted into the road and curved around him magically, though the foggy shield thinned as he began casting at the area Voldemort had just vacated.

Latching onto the Dark Lord's apparation trail, knowing he only had one chance to get this right, he rotated on his heel as the foggy shield faded further, not knowing where he would reappear as Mal emptied his clip with one last single . . .

BANG!

Albus felt a sledgehammer-like force strike the side of his brow as an explosion of light overtook his vision.

CRACK!

Dumbledore vanished, leaving behind only a splatter of blood on the middle of the muggle street.

O o O o O

Reports were coming in from everywhere. It was pure chaos and there was no sign that it would slow or stop anytime soon. If anything, it was getting worse.

Madam Bones had already sent out three-fourths of her task force to the locations hit. Unfortunately, they had yet to get much information about any of the attacks. All they did know was that magic was being cast in plain view of muggles, and likely at muggles in most of those places. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was in serious danger. The only fortunate thing was that this was occurring in the dead of night instead of broad daylight. Hopefully the cover story of there being a powerful terrorist group setting explosives in neighborhoods and such would work. So far, the muggle authorities 'in the know' agreed to stick to that and contain the truth.

However, what was worse were the reports coming in of dementors on the loose, which only led her to believe Azkaban had been gravely compromised.

Suddenly, alarms blared over their heads.

O o O o O

Dumbledore fell to his knees as he tried to shove the painful throbbing away. He knew he had been hit by a bullet. He had been struck once before, in the 1940's. It was a memorable sensation.

He shook his head, feeling blood running down around the side of his head and into his beard.

While finding Voldemort's trail, he had not been able to fully maintain his bulletproof spell; however, thankfully, it had still taken the brunt of the force, acting like a Kevlar helmet. It still bloody hurt though, but he knew it could have been a lot worse. He also had a feeling he had his innate magic to thank for lessening the damage further, but by how much, he wasn't certain.

Vaguely, he couldn't help but wonder where the bullet was now. Had it landed on the street he had just left? Had it fallen into the layers of his robes? Or, dare he imagine, was it lodged somewhere under his scalp, or worse? Pushing such random and rather grotesque thoughts away, he was fairly certain he had, at the very least, a concussion.

Forcing himself to take in his surroundings, his eyes focused a bit, allowing him to quickly realize where he was.

The Hall of Prophesy.

Comprehension dawned in his pain-clouded mind. Voldemort had come for the prophecy.

Suddenly, he looked up to find a blurry figure several shelves away who could only be Lord Voldemort. He was on his way toward the prophecy. In fact, he was only a pace away.

"Ah, Dumbledore," Voldemort said, turning slightly as he stretched his hand out toward the prophecy. "A little worse for wear, I see."

His red eyes seemed to gleam as they took in the gaping wound near Dumbledore's right temple.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as Voldemort's bloody hand closed around the prophecy.

He reacted.

"Rumpere!"

With a great sweep of his wand, a wave of penetrating sound rushed forward, shattering every single piece of glass in its wake. All of the orbs in front of Dumbledore crumbled, ghostly figures rising from them, including the orb in Voldemort's grasp.

Instantly, the entire hall was resonating with a sea of voices. Not one could be long distinguished.

"They will be bold and—"

"The world thirsts for—"

"—Death will be waiting in—"

"—knows not—"

"—is a master of none but—"

"Life of the peacemaker shall—"

"—beware of the wiles of liars—"

"—the power to—"

"—dark seeker and war maker—"

"He shall be hated but will only love—"

Voldemort was enraged, having failed to make out what was coming from the ghostly woman in his hand.

He threw curse after curse at Dumbledore, holding nothing back.

Dumbledore forced himself to his feet, expertly weaving the spells he could away from him while dodging or physically blocking the unspeakables with yet-to-be-broken orbs on the shelves beside him.

"Crucio!" Voldemort screamed, only for his spell to be intercepted by an old prophesy.

"It shall come to pass, a child of lust and lost hope—"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"The son of a noble and a father of a shepherd—"

Voldemort had had enough. Rage fueling his actions, he threw his hands up, failing to hide a flash of pain the sharp movement had caused as he summoned the glass fragments and began gathering them all up in front of himself.

Dumbledore flicked his wand forward, pressing his magic into his wand, even as a dull pain behind his right eye began to mount. And then he let the spell go.

A mighty beam of power surged from his wand, striking the mass of glass.

The glass warped, twisting violently, the sound of grinding glass slipping into a sloshing echo. The glass became liquid and now appeared to be a spherical, molten mirror.

But Dumbledore was not through. Fighting through an odd growing fatigue, he jabbed his wand forward before yanking it back hard.

The liquid orb fell, being jarred from Voldemort's control, splashing loudly onto the floor and shelves.

Finally, it settled, and Voldemort, like Dumbledore, had conjured a bubble around himself to prevent the melted glass from touching him.

"I will not leave here with nothing," Voldemort snarled furiously, before disappearing with yet another CRACK.

Not about to just let him go when it was clear he was not finished, Dumbledore apparated forward before latching once more onto Voldemort's trail.

He vanished with a faint crack.

O o O o O

He felt a rush of hateful magic coming right at him and dived to the side just in time.

Apparently, Voldemort had anticipated Dumbledore would be right behind him.

Deflecting another curse, Dumbledore quickly took in his surroundings.

He was in a large room. The lights were on and there was a motionless body of an auror beside the fireplace at the far end of the room. Papers were scattered all over the floor. This was the Minister's office.

It is getting really hard to concentrate, Dumbledore mused absently as he looked to Lord Voldemort and Cornelius Fudge behind a large desk.

"Albus, help me!"

Voldemort was holding the Minister like a shield while pressing the tip of his wand into the bumbling man's neck.

"Are you so determined to stop me, Dumbledore?" Voldemort asked.

"I would have thought that was obvious by now, Tom," Dumbledore answered.

Voldemort sneered before he smiled maliciously. "You can't stop me," he said, digging the tip of his wand into Fudge's neck.

Fudge choked back a sob before giving a whimper as Voldemort seemed to make shushing noises in his ear.

"Now, now, Minister, if I had wanted to kill you I would have already," he said soothingly.

Dumbledore remained where he was, remarkably calm considering the situation and his injury. He also took note of how Voldemort seemed to be favoring his left side.

"Please, what do you want?" Fudge asked, on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Ah, I simply wanted to show that I have returned. I am not an enemy of true witches and wizards, Cornelius. Aren't you tired of how tainted blood has become in recent years? I have."

"Tainted blood, Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked, his words slurring ever so slightly as he selected a plan of action despite his muddled mind. "I recall your father, Tom Riddle, was a muggle. A muggle your squib mother named you after."

It got the desired effect.

In a fit of unrestrained fury, Voldemort banished Fudge to the side toward the door and charged Dumbledore, his eyes glowing bright-bright red. Fudge landed with a dull thud before scurrying to the door and rushing out of the room, horrified.

It was just as well, for in that moment fiendfyre poured from Voldemort's wand like a vengeful demon, its rage matching the red of Tom's eyes. It expanded in intensity, growing and growing until . . .

CRACK!

Voldemort was gone.

There was nothing for it, as Dumbledore knew he couldn't simply leave and let the fire escape the room. With the amount Voldemort had called, it wouldn't be easily contained if it reached the halls.

So he sealed the room, casting the same spell Severus had used to ensure the poison from the Black Death spell wouldn't spread to the rest of the school. And so, the fire could not escape and neither could he.

He held the fire back as long as he could, unable to take control because there was too much and he was too dazed to even try. Wondering if he would finally begin the next great adventure, he suddenly heard a song he was very familiar with but would never get tired of hearing.

His spirits now soaring, he felt Fawkes' claws grip his shoulder as his strength began to fail completely, the unforgiving flames inching nearer as he was engulfed with fire of a different sort.

He welcomed its heat, allowing it to wrap around him before. . . .

He appeared in a bedroom in a column of flame that instantly collapsed back into Fawkes. His knees buckled beneath him and he was dimly aware of Fawkes now flying circles above him in concern.

"Albus!"

He wasn't sure, but it sounded like Minerva. He tried to turn his head toward her, but his muscles didn't seem to want to cooperate, so he just sat there.

Well, at least I had not fallen on my face, he thought, frankly amazed he had managed to land upright at all, albeit on his rump. I probably look like an absolute mess. Where am I?

"Merlin, Albus, what happened?" she asked, her voice thick with worry.

He felt her hands on his back as he began to tip forward.

Catch me, my dear. I don't fancy tasting the floor.

Thankfully, she must have heard the first part of his silent plea as she prevented a fall that would have been rather embarrassing. Gripping him by the shoulders, she looked at his face.

"Ank-oo, ma-deer," he slurred horribly.

"Albus, you're bleeding!" she gasped, before quickly conjuring a cloth and pressing it to the oozing wound. "What happened?"

He winced, her sharp voice suddenly making his head pound harder as she guided him back, laying him down on her rug.

"Shot. Ent'fer 'Oldemtort."

Why did his words sound funny?

"I'm sending for Poppy," McGonagall stated, flicking her wand and producing a patronus which she quickly sent to Madam Pomfrey.

"I fink I 'abe uh con'ushin, M'erva. 'Arm uhs 'eeken'd. 'Ullet hit me."

Minerva's face inched closer to his, trying to make sense of his garbled words.

"Albus, I can hardly understand you. Were you hit with a curse?"

"No, uh bullt."

"A Bolt?"

"No, 'Ugel gun."

"A gun? You mean a bullet?" she asked, appalled. "You were shot by one of those muggle weapons?"

"Ya," he said, relieved she had finally gotten it as expanding black spots were now peppering his vision.

Suddenly, Madam Pomfrey exited the fireplace, hurrying forward before Severus appeared from the green flames behind her.

Hmm, does Minerva know her center lamp is crooked? Dumbledore wondered, staring up at the bright ceiling fixtures before all coherent thought finally fell from his grasp.