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SIYE Time:8:29 on 29th March 2024
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Grey Maiden V: Sacrifice
By Chris Widger

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, General, Romance, Tragedy
Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Violence
Rating: R
Reviews: 114
Summary: After 13 years, Lord Voldemort has risen again, and set his sights on conquering the Wizarding world. All that may stand in his way is Harry Potter, who must heal, train, and learn the lessons of life on the fly, while friendship, romance, alliances, and his own life hang in the balance. On top of all of this, Harry must cope with the consequences of his guardian’s inevitable fall into Darkness, and a Ministry determined to bury the truth.
Hitcount: Story Total: 92797; Chapter Total: 3831





Author's Notes:
Do try not to get too angry with Harry in this chapter, H/G shippers. This story wouldn't be on SIYE if it wasn't an H/G pairing.




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Chapter 14: Choices

Time passes rather slowly when you are anxiously awaiting the fall of your government, Harry mused. It had been two days since his covert meeting with Scrimgeour had sealed Fudge’s fate. His remarkably uneventful return had been much easier; the office had been empty when Harry arrived (he had, of course, used a charm taught by Remus to make sure that was the case); with Umbridge still away cleaning up the monumental mess the Weasley twins had left in their wake. And what a mess it was: a fully formed swamp in one of the most frequently used corridors in the castle. And a smelly one, too, meaning that more than just the actual swamp was inaccessible to human beings. There had also been the celebratory near-riot in the immediate aftermath of the Weasleys’ dramatic escape. Harry wished he could have seen it.

In response, Umbridge had imposed truly draconian measures, including setting curfew immediately after dinner and requiring professors to report whenever they met with a student for any reason. She was looking for some way, any way, to regain control of the situation. Harry smiled at the irony. Any day now

He wandered silently down around the lake, for about an hour, staring out over the cold, misty waters on this chilly January day, not really thinking about anything in particular. After finishing a massive essay for McGonagall, he had decided a mental break was in order. While he often found himself on the shores of the lake to agonize or mope, he went there in those cases because he found the solitude he could achieve out there surprisingly relaxing. Harry let a bit of his magic prod behind him, searching for other souls. He found none. He was almost surprised that Umbridge hadn’t assigned him a tail.

As he reached out further, he did find someone. He couldn’t tell how far he or she was with his rudimentary mental skills, but there was definitely another sentient being who might have the same idea - to seek some solitude. Curious, Harry continued to circle the lake. Eventually, he found what he’d sensed. A day of painful memories came rushing back as he quickly realized who she was, and why she was here. Somehow, he’d forgotten what day it was.

“Hello Fleur,” Harry said quietly.

Either she hadn’t heard him, or she was deliberately ignoring him, because she didn’t move a muscle or say a word. A part of Harry told him to leave her to her grief and go back inside to warm up. For whatever reason, he ignored the impulse.

“You came back,” Harry said, slightly louder.

“I did,” Fleur Delacour replied simply, her accent not quite as heavy as it had been the previous year. “Surely you know why.”

She turned to face him. She wore a black winter coat and scarf that somehow failed to obscure her magnificent form. Her brilliant silver hair fell straight down, with a few stray strands hanging in front of her face. Her blue eyes were clouded with grief, and the redness of her cheeks stood out starkly against her otherwise fair skin. She was gorgeous.

Harry tried to take his mind off of that and moved closer. Fleur moved away, but stopped when she reached a large boulder a few feet away and sat down gently, staring out at the lake. “So young. I don’t even remember what it was like to be zat age. Her life, her dreams ahead of her. Her first time out of ze country, come to support her grande soeur.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is? And how could they not be? My sister died because I failed to rescue her.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry replied, his voice rising a bit in intensity. “If anyone of us is to blame for what happened, it’s me.”

“‘Ermione did not die. Cedric’s girlfriend did not die. They were stronger than me. They reached their hostages. I did not. And Gabrielle paid ze price.”

“You would have been killed too.”

“Potter, zat bomb was meant for you, but it did not trigger until you had arrived. If I had been faster than you, no one would ‘ave died.”

Harry grimaced. He couldn’t really argue with that. Fleur wasn’t done. “And I should have been. You were just a boy. Perhaps more than I first thought, but I was the pride of Beauxbatons. You weren’t even the champion of your own school. I came in dead last. I would have been humiliated if I could have spared the care. If I hadn’t already lost the only thing I cared about.”

Fleur stood, flailing herself about in a circle, as if mad, arms outstretched. “She was such an energetic child, so full of joie de vivre. Everyday was an adventure to her. It was too much for my parents sometimes. She was a Delacour, after all. Childish fun and games were fine for the time being, but sooner or later, she’d ‘ave to grow up. And yet there was nothing that I loved more than playing hide-and-seek with ‘er on our estate. She was quite the tree climber.” Fleur finally stopped spinning about and collapsed to the ground, bringing her head down to her knee like a drunken ballerina. Harry moved closer, somewhat concerned. She noticed, staring into his eyes from underneath her left arm. “What have I become, Harry?” she asked. “I came ‘ere to remember Gabrielle, to do honor to her memory. My parents do not even know zat I am ’ere. Madam Maxime allowed me to leave without informing them; I’m working at the school now, you know. And here I am, falling to pieces once more.”

“You are allowed to mourn, even after you feel that you shouldn’t. You never get over death, really.” Harry supposed that his comments weren’t exactly encouraging. But Fleur seemed to understand what he was trying to say, even though it didn’t seem to help.

“Ze time for mourning has come and gone. Gabrielle was so full of life…she would have wanted me to move on and make the best of things. To live the life for her that she didn’t ‘ave the chance to live.”

“You’re certainly putting a lot of pressure on your own shoulders. How can you go about everyday trying to live like that?”

“No one said it would be easy. It can’t be easy. But facile or non, I will do it, Harry. Because I have no other way to make it up to her. I cannot say sorry, I cannot apologize for being weak and foolish. I cannot reassure her that everything will be alright, because I don’t know anything about that.”

Fleur’s voice was rising in emotionally intensity, and tears glistened in her eyes. “Would you like me to go?” Harry asked quietly.

Surprisingly, the older girl shook her head. “Non. Please stay. I do not want to be alone right now. I don’t know what I might do with myself.”

Harry moved closer. He supposed he rather preferred helping someone else with their own problems to constantly dumping his own on his friends. It helped even out some kind of cosmic emotional scales. He dropped to one knee next to her, then sat, his feet outstretched toward the chilly lake. “Harry,” she asked, “how did you grow up without your parents? Do you remember them? Do you miss them?”

It was a very personal question, but nonetheless Harry didn’t terribly mind answering it. “I don’t really know. I have some memories of my parents. Images, smells, noises, a feeling of warmth and security that just can’t be duplicated by anyone but your own blood relatives. Daphne was a mother to me, and she made my life so much more bearable. She treated me as if I were her own son, and I suppose that made losing my parents not seem quite as bad.”

Fleur nodded, blinking as a tear traced down her cheek. “Do you miss them?” she asked again.

Harry pondered that, and came to a surprisingly decisive conclusion. “No. I really don’t. I miss Daphne dreadfully, but that’s a rather different story.”

“Of course. Things weren’t perfect between you, ne sont pas?”

They were now getting into a very sensitive area. Truth be told, Harry had done his best not to think about his history with his surrogate mother, good times and especially the bad ones. He had to be objective, he had to be ready to let Daphne suffer the punishment for her deeds, was it deserved, when and if Scrimgeour and the legal authorities judged it to be necessary. He had a feeling that one of the major things that led to Scrimgeour agreeing to stage a coup was his willingness to look at the greater picture and not ask justice and order to be compromised for the sake of a loved one, something very few people of Harry’s age could do. Even now, he wondered if he’d made the right choice. Sure, securing Scrimgeour’s support was crucial, but was it, or indeed anything at all, worth betraying the only family he had left, the only person he knew he could trust absolutely? For as much as he loved Hermione and Ginny they couldn’t offer the same kind of undying loyalty to him that burned in Daphne’s heart…for good reasons, obviously…

Fleur was staring at him now. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. It is not my place at all.”

“It’s okay,” Harry replied finally. He found himself having to fight back tears and grimaced. Not now!

Fleur had moved much closer to him, a realization he hadn’t made until he could feel her warm breath on his cheeks. Up close, her beauty was intoxicating, but there was more than just the looks of a girl descended from Veela. Fleur knew loss in a way that so few did. In her, Harry saw not so little of himself…

The kiss happened blindingly fast and yet in slow motion, as both participants tilted their heads and leaning forward like puppets on strings. The touch of his lips upon hers was electric; a jolt of energy seemed to course through his body, washing over his senses. Fleur deepened the kiss, and Harry’s body did not hesitate to respond. He moaned softly. At that moment, the image of a heartbroken redhead lying in a hospital bed crept into his visual consciousness, and as if a switch had been flipped, suddenly his body shut down into a deep freeze. Fleur felt it, and didn’t resist as he abruptly pulled away, staring wide-eyed at her. She looked down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, breathless. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But it did,” Harry replied, similarly breathless. He wondered if anyone might have seen them, but decided not to look up to check. He shivered, his heart pounding in his chest. “Fleur, I…”

She looked…disappointed, maybe. In any case, her next words just made things worse. “I know. Ze redhead. Soul mates, I suppose ze two of you are.”

“No!” Harry yelled, considerably louder than he meant to. “No, that’s…that’s not it…Ginny and I…we aren’t…”

“But you are,” Fleur observed sadly. “I am sorry. I should have known. Perhaps there is too much of my grandmother in me.”

“No, Fleur, that isn’t…”

“You may not believe it now, but such things exist. My parents, for example. They were meant for each other. Both of them were able to find their way out of arranged marriages. They met on a country road in Burgundy. She was fifteen, picking apples with her younger sister. He was eighteen, running about the countryside with his best friend Andre. Two years later, they were married.”

“Maybe that was destiny, or fate, or what have you,” Harry conceded. “But that doesn’t mean that there was anything more than just your average teenage relationship between me and Ginny.”

Fleur actually laughed. “You try so hard to deny it, when I have not even said that it was true. I am not passing judgment on you and the redhead, what you had together. These things cannot be known until they have come to pass. But perhaps you should consider the possibility that there was something greater.”

Harry shook his head. No, he told himself. This ‘soul mate’ business was nonsense, utter nonsense. My parents getting together was highly unlikely too, that doesn’t mean there was anything more to it. Daphne loved Edmund more than life itself. Who’s to say my mother’s love for James Potter was more intense or special somehow?

Fleur giggled this time, her cheeks flushing a bit with embarrassment. “Harry, consider the physical evidence. There are not many men that would be able to stop themselves at that point. Indeed, I don’t believe that has ever happened before.”

“It’s a romantic notion,” Harry finally got out. “That doesn’t mean it has any relation to reality.”

Fleur sighed. “Then perhaps I am a romantic. It’s not such a bad thing.” She got up, her cheeks flushed again. “I should be going. I’ve been here long enough.” She began to move off, presumably intending to clear the wards and Apparate back home.

“Fleur?”

She turned. “Oui?

“This…all of this isn’t going to…” he laughed nervously, like a child whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar. “It doesn’t…”

Non,” she said, with what might have been a trace of regret. “It means whatever you want it to mean. If that is nothing, than it is so.” Her eyes were slightly downcast, although whether it was from disappointment or embarrassment he couldn’t be sure.

She walked off into the distance, leaving Harry sitting on the frozen shore, even more baffled than ever. Could Fleur be right? Was their something more that had drawn Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley together?

He really didn’t have an answer to that one.

 


Aiden Greengrass let out an enormous sigh of relief as he appeared back within the walls of his own manor. It was done. It had been like pulling teeth, but perhaps he’d finally made the progress he’d been working at for so long. Perhaps he and the rest of the Dark families could unite and look past their differences, to the point where Scrimgeour could at least count on them to act as one, for better or worse.

“That was quite the performance, my friend.”

Aiden spun round, hand flying to the pocket where his maple wand was kept. He relaxed slightly when he saw who it was. It didn’t mean he was any less surprised to see Stefano Zabini. “What in the bloody blazes are you doing here?” he hissed. “No one can follow me inside my own wards. I saw you not five minutes before I left.”

“Yes, you did,” Stefano replied, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “And all wards can be circumvented with the right expertise and a little creativity.”

Aiden took in a deep breath. There was no point in being outraged over this. He needed to save his energy for more worthy adversaries. “I believe I’ve suffered enough for one day. If you are here to torment me further, I most insist that you leave.”

Stefano raised an eyebrow. “Torment you? I wouldn’t dream of it, my friend. I was genuinely impressed. By the gall of those calling you a traitor to us all, that is.”

“Yes, that was quite rich coming from Davies,” Aiden agreed. “The man practically ran for the hills when the Dark Lord came calling last time.”

“As did my wife and I,” Stefano acknowledged with a shrug. “They called us cowards at the time, but I have never been terribly attached to this little Island, or its wizards. I was merely protecting my own family, and my line.”

That stung, though Aiden wasn’t sure if it was meant to, or if Stefano had, as he was occasionally wont to do, merely spoken without thinking. Not that he’d ever apologize publicly even if he felt that was the case. “Perhaps you made a wiser choice than I,” he said softly. “In any case, I never professed loyalty to the Dark Lord.”

“No, you merely managed to avoid making a statement one way or the other until the very last moment,” Stefano replied. “But this line of argument is rather pointless. I’ll leave you to your delusions.”

“Thank you,” Aiden said. He moved to the bar. “Would you like something to drink? I have a feeling you aren’t just dropping by.”

“That sounds wonderful, actually. Your choice.”

Aiden considered giving him some of the extraordinary potent stuff that had once nearly killed one of his houseguests, but decided to be charitable. Firewhiskey it was. He chilled the glasses with a quick spell, and handed one over to his guest. Zabini looked at it suspiciously. “I trust you haven’t poisoned this.”

“Stefano, trust me, if I wanted to, I could find far more satisfying ways of killing you than poisoning your drink.” Without inviting him to do likewise, Aiden sank into an armchair. He felt like he’d run a marathon. His heart was certainly beating fast enough.

Stefano dragged another chair over, the legs scraping against the polished wooden floor. “So, friend,” he said, taking a sip from his firewhiskey, “how do you think that went?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Aiden quipped. “It could have gone better, but it most certainly could have gone worse. The bottom line is that most of the families I wanted are on-board, and more importantly, the others aren’t going to stand in the way. I’ll write Harry and Scrimgeour in a few days, once I’m sure things are relatively settled, and let them know that this is as good as it is going to get with Voldemort around.”

Stefano looked curious. “Who were you hoping to get?”

Aiden tried to recall the mental list. “Well, you and your wife, obviously, though I doubted that would be a problem, given your son’s closeness to Harry. I badly wanted Radetsky and Lynch, and they were surprisingly little trouble. I did lose Davies, though I expect he’ll come around; he won’t stand to be out of the action for so long. I already knew I had Wilkes and the Burke brothers. I’m honestly not sure if their joining up had a positive or negative impact. The Moorwoods were a tough sell. I thought I might have lost Terrence the second I opened my mouth. I just hope I’m able to keep my promise about their old estate. I don’t want them coming after me.”

“Hell, if the Ministry wins, I think Scrimgeour will be willing to do just about anything within reason. He’s a pragmatist through and through. Why upset us when appeasing us isn’t all that costly? Fudge is afraid to tread on the toes of some of his allies in government. I don’t sense that Rufus has any such inhibitions,” Stefano reasoned. “And,” he said with a dark smile, “if it all goes to hell, I have a feeling that you won’t be around to see it.”

“You are correct about that one. The Dark Lord owes me a debt, a debt of blood. The blood of my family. And I will collect that debt, or I will die in the effort,” Aiden declared, a bit more forcefully than intended.

“Relax, friend. We’ll all get our chance at martyrdom soon enough. Who else were you betting on? McKinnon? Byrnes? Morgan?”

“Absolutely,” Aiden said. “In fact, if I couldn’t secure their support I was just about ready to end the meeting right there and then.”

Stefano looked surprised. “You’re joking? You would have gathered everyone together, heard a few nays, and broken it up?”

“How exactly am I supposed to unite the Dark purebloods if I can’t secure the support of the foremost Dark families in Scotland and Wales? I know that the families have gradually moved back into England over the years, but that is our heritage, our heartland. Byrnes was absolutely essential. And I might say the same of Morgan.”

“Interesting. Neither of them came easily.”

“No, they didn’t,” Aiden agreed, taking a long, thoughtful drink from his tumbler. “Since we were at Hogwarts together, as a rule, Jackson Byrnes and I have not agreed on anything. The man sabotaged a half-dozen potential alliances once just to foul up some negotiations between myself and Lucretia Bulstrode. And I’ll be damned if he didn’t think it well-worth the effort.”

Stefano nodded. “So how did you manage it this time?”

“Simple. I threatened him.”

“With?”

“The release of some documents that he and his family would very much never want to see the light of day. Oh, you saw him grandstanding, calling Potter a fraud and me a hopeless, ignorant bastard, going on and on about the feud between his family and Scrimgeour’s, but it was all posturing.”

“How did you know?”

“Because Jackson doesn’t grandstand unless he’s trying to convince someone of something. He’s amazingly good at it. But if you’ve know him long enough, you see right through it. I knew I had him the moment he cut me off.”

Stefano smirked. “That was quite a line…what was it…‘Our very survival depends on someone who would see us imprisoned and marginalized?’”

“Something like that. I hadn’t exactly written a speech. I guessed, correctly as it turned out, that I’d be deviating quite a bit from what I had prepared. I can’t believe that Gamp was arguing the issue of immunity. He knows that Scrimgeour can’t offer that. He didn’t care.”

“Do you worry about him?”

“Not terribly. We got his vote because of Elizabeth Castlegard. He’s targeting her for his son Dagon’s wife in a year or two.”

“Dagon attends Durmstrang, right?”

“He did. Samael withdrew him without explanation last year. There’s another small school in Prussia that I think he attends now. Samael’s second cousin, Johan Krantz, runs it.”

“I’ve heard some about it. How big an operation have they managed?”

“Maybe a score of students, a couple of instructors. It’s not much, but Johan’s attempting to market it as a more ‘practical’ alternative to Durmstrang. I believe that Sean Moorwood finished just last year.” Aiden took another swig of his drink. “In any case, Gamp is of little concern. I would not trust the man farther than I could spit, and even then, I’d be careful to make sure he never saw my back. He’s one that Harry needs to watch out for. If you know him, you know he’s scum, but he makes rather different first impressions.”

“How well do you know the young man, Aiden?”

“We’ve spoken a few times, and I sent him a letter recently that seems to have done him some good, according to Daphne. A wakeup call, I suppose it was. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

“You are referring to this new defense club being run under the nose of Umbridge?”

“That’s the one,” Aiden said. “Basic defensive magic, I expect, but it’s better than what they were getting from the Ministry program. I sometimes have trouble understanding our Minister. He knows that the Dark Lord has returned. It’s one thing to deny it in public, it’s another to facilitate the slaughter of the next generation of British wizards by leaving them utterly untrained.”

“I am also quite displeased by that. Most of the students I care about can take care of themselves, but I have no tolerance for negligence and complacency, especially amongst the young. That is how we got into this mess in the first place. The First War was a distant memory, and magical warfare was a thing of the past. The most challenging assignments the Aurors had were tracking down smugglers. And then it all came undone.”

Aiden finished his glass, and rose to pour another. “The bottom line, Stefano, is that we both recognize the greatest reason that we have to, this once, support a man that would see our freedom to practice the old ways and the magic that is our heritage confiscated, is because if Fudge remains, most of us will be dead before he gets the chance.”

“War makes strange bedfellows. I recall my father cursing the earth upon which Lawrence Scrimgeour walked when I was a boy.”

“How are your parents, by the way?”

“They prosper, as always. They have no intention whatsoever of ever leaving Sardinia. Though perhaps it would be polite to warn the Dark Lord that if he ever ventures over to that place, he should be wary around the trees. Venture too close and they might break his neck. My father takes such matters rather seriously. And he ought to avoid the local cuisine.”

Aiden smirked at that, despite the gravity of the situation. Arabella Zabini hadn’t put Stefano’s family on the map, but rather, merely added an exclamation point to a legacy begun with her husband’s parents. In their day, Fiona and Phillipe Zabini had been renowned, the latter for his spectacular and rare ability to manipulate trees like puppets, turning them into living weapons and the former for a knowledge of poisons and creativity of mind so great that it was said several men had died from the very fear that one of her exquisite agony-causing potions had been sprinkled on their food. But both had retired about 10 years ago, intending to live out the rest of their lives in peace and serenity. It was an odd exit for a once so electric duo. With the Dark Lord having returned, perhaps they’d been prescient.

“I’m certain that your parents are more than capable of looking after themselves. The question is the newest generation. We cannot forget that even if the Dark Lord is defeated, if the cost to our children is high, he may yet succeed in erasing the presence of wizards and witches from the British Isles. We stand on the edge of a demographical precipice, Stefano. The fact is that, if we lose a significant number of the younger generation in this war, unless there is widespread breeding between wizards and Muggles or large-scale immigration of magical populations from mainland Europe, our people will die out,” Aiden said.

“I do not mean to sound accusatory, Aiden. But I did not take you for a bigot.”

“You refer to my comment about breeding with Muggles, no doubt,” Aiden said. “I have nothing against non-purebloods, Stefano. While I believe that pureblood families produce stronger wizards and witches, the evidence is more ambiguous. But Muggles and Muggleborns pose a threat to us in that they threaten the survival of some of the oldest magical families. It is they who carry the torch of the previous generations, our traditions, our heritage. How can Muggles or those born of them do the same? They live partly immersed in another world, a world without magic. We live in the world of our parents. It is up to us, and to our sons and daughters, to preserve the rich history, wealth, and power of wizards. We are meant to be greater than Muggles, Stefano, of that I am absolutely certain. Why else would we have been given such abilities, such power? I believe in the separation of the magical and Muggle worlds, but I also believe in, well, call it a clandestine dictatorship, if you will. Muggles cannot be allowed to threaten our way of life. And the only way to insure that does not happen is to stay one step ahead of them. And the only way that can be guaranteed is if the power structures that exist today are preserved.”

“A nuanced position, though slightly more extreme than I was expecting.”

“And you, Stefano? Where do you stand on the issue?”

“I do not know, Aiden. The difference between you and me is that I believe that the path of the Wizarding world is fiercely unpredictable, that it is subject to forces we cannot control or account for.”

“I suppose that is fair. Are you talking about destiny? Fate?”

“Perhaps that is what I see at work. I believe in the freedom of the individual, Aiden, to make choices, to have the power to forge one’s own destiny. Some are born to make choices with greater consequences, but they remain free to dictate the course of their own life and those of others.”

Aiden nodded slowly. “I think I understand.”

“Good. Then we can move on. Aiden, I spoke of those born to make more important choices. There is one in particular that we should be greatly concerned with.”

Aiden nodded. “Perhaps we could guide him along, but I’ve resisted so far because we may lose any chance of cooperation with Scrimgeour if it looks like we are meddling outright in Harry’s life.”

“Again, true, but not what I meant to emphasize. We are not the only ones that understand his importance. In gathering support, sounding Potter’s clarion call, you have drawn attention to him. He is in great danger, Aiden. Harry’s greatest power over the Dark Lord right now is that of uncertainty. The Dark Lord has seen him perform some incredible feats, and at times appear as helpless as a newborn child. Sooner or later, he will seek to determine which of these is closer to the truth.”

“You believe he will start setting challenges for Potter.”

“There is some other thing going on here. I’ve heard rumors of a prophecy, though I don’t know what to make of them.”

Aiden nodded. He’d heard the same rumblings. Prophecy was a tricky concept. Occasionally, they could define an era or change the course of history itself. Other times, they could be ambiguous, even meaningless. It was because of the former that the word “prophecy” still held such grand importance. But all too often, it was the latter than proved to be the case. And the field of Divination itself, in Aiden’s mind, was unreliable at best, its effectiveness ruined by false visions and egotistical frauds. To make things worse, reliable Prophecy sometimes came from what would seem to be the most unreliable of sources. “You think his life may be in danger? How is this not to be expected?”

“He will always be a target, of course. But I have heard reports, some of them from people I would trust with my life. The Dark Lord is planning something, and Harry is at its center. We need to be ready, for I do not believe that he is.”

“I agree. What do you suggest? Should we alert Harry?”

“What will he do with such a warning? Eventually, he has to face the worst the world has to throw at him. What we need to do is insure is that the first time he fails is not also his last.”

“I don’t like this. Harry is not our champion. He’s a young man with much growing left to do. You are suggesting we leave him oblivious to the increased threat to his life?”

Stefano finished his firewhiskey. “Yes, Aiden. That is exactly what I am suggesting. We cannot continue to coddle him. Providing a safety net is not the same thing as fighting his battles for him. Perhaps he will be up to the challenge. It is as important for us to know where he is in his stage of development as it is for the Dark Lord, Aiden. Like him, we are making bets without knowing what cards we have in our hand. We’re gambling with our lives, and the sooner we understand if we guessed right or wrong, the better things will be.”

Aiden closed his eyes. “I could never do this to Daphne,” he said softly.

Stefano started to reply, and then hesitated. Aiden wasn’t surprised; Blaise Zabini had been under a tremendous amount of pressure from his youth. Would Stefano gambling with his sole heir’s life? Probably not. Would Arabella? That was a very interesting question. “Fortunately, my friend, it is not our own blood that we are risking.”

“I disagree,” Aiden said. “If Harry dies, then my line will end. I will not run away again. I cannot bear the shame.”

“And if your line is extinguished?”

“Then perhaps that is how things were meant to be,” Aiden remarked.

Stefano gave his friend and ally a look of the utmost respect. “Then I will pray for you,” the staunch Roman Catholic replied.

Aiden didn’t identify with any particular religion. But that didn’t mean he saw such a gesture as meaningless. “Thank you, my friend.”

 


There was little in the world that Severus Snape hated more than ceremony. It didn’t particularly matter what the context was; any man that would insist upon it revealed a bloated sense of self-importance, to the extent where he or she wished to have an event quite literally scripted around them. He’d had to endure his fair lot of the grandstanding lately; Dolores Umbridge was relishing her new role, and it seemed only a matter of time before she attempted to push Dumbledore out.

At least it could be said that the ceremony surrounding Umbridge was meaningless and little more than a balm to her ego. He could certainly not say the same of the individual he was about to encounter for the first time in almost 14 years. He had known this day would come; he’d done his best to give the Dark Lord no reason to suspect his loyalties might be suspect. After all, it had been he who gave Voldemort the piece of information he’d been so intent to gain. Peter Pettigrew may have betrayed the Potters, but Severus Snape had set the hunt in motion. It was something he hoped to keep secret the rest of his life; indeed, there were times when he looked upon his miserable existence as penance for the sin he committed that night, the sin of allowing the woman he loved to die. Now the child that she had given her life to protect had become his student, and he one of the child’s mentors. The irony of the situation was painful. As much as Harry probably despised him for the sins of his school years, he wondered if he would be able to escape the room alive were Harry ever to learn that it had been he who by sheer fate, managed to overhear the first part of the Prophecy. Perhaps it was misleading to call it fate; he knew something was going to happen, or more specifically, his master had reason to believe that was the case. In any case, he had been there, at the start of it all. He’d been present at the moment that the birth of the child of a lowly Muggleborn witch and a brainless wizard jock had taken on truly monumental importance.

Snape reeled in his thoughts and tried to let his past fade back into the recesses of his mind; it did not do him any good to be distracted and off-balance during an audience with the Dark Lord. Snape was a damn good Occlumens. If the Dark Lord were intent on ripping the truth out of his mind, Snape would probably be unable to stop him. However, the trauma such a struggle would cause would surely kill him, and at this moment, he was fairly certain that Voldemort wanted him alive. There was no doubt that the Dark Lord doubted his loyalty - the man, or whatever he had become — was no one’s fool. What he did not know; indeed, could not know, was the extent to which he could trust Severus Snape. Severus knew he walked a very fine line between double agent and dead traitor, and yet, at times, the lines that seemed to blur the worst were the lines between double agent, and triple agent.

Snape wanted to believe in Dumbledore. The man, for all his faults, and there were many, had given him a second chance, one he thoroughly did not deserve, and Severus had in many ways rewarded him by remaining the same man he once was. Severus had never been inclined to participate in the more visceral Death Eater thrills; he’d never hunted Muggles like animals, never raped a helpless woman, never murdered children in front of their parents, and parents before their children. He’d merely stood by and watched as others committed those acts. Once, Rudolfphus Lestrange had ordered him to hold down a young Muggle girl while he had his way with her. Then, without warning, he’d killed her. It was one of a few times that Snape had questioned his decision to join the Dark Lord. Yet his past had left few options. No one else would have him, or, to be more accurate, no one else would value him.

But the fact remained that Dumbledore’s coddling and warm approach to just about everything had proven at times woefully ineffective. There had been one thing, once that Severus had valued above himself — the love of Lily Evans Potter. With her death, nothing mattered more to him now than staying alive. And despite his hope for Harry, hopes often challenged by the boy’s surprising bursts of immaturity, he remained unsure of which side offered him the best chance of survival. Severus’s punishment for being on the wrong side of the last war was that he was a second-class citizen, dependent on Dumbledore for support and freedom from those that would see him in Azkaban, or worse.

“Ah, Severus, fancy seeing you here? So rarely you crawl out of Dumbledore’s hole,” Bellatrix Lestrange said scornfully. “How nice to see you again."

“And you, Bella,” Snape said, although he’d rather be just about anywhere but in the presence of this woman. Bellatrix was his opposite in many ways, not the least among them in that her Lord and his plans took much greater precedence than her own life. And yet the woman was trapped in a paradox; Bellatrix would have liked nothing better than to have been martyred to advance the cause of the Dark Lord, yet she was so capable and valuable that such an asset that she would likely never get the chance to die a martyr’s death. Bellatrix was a skilled operative, quick on her feet when her emotions didn’t get the better of her, a fearsome duelist, and a ruthless and effective torturer. Snape had heard some surprising rumors concerning her latter talent; that she was grooming an apprentice. No knew if that were true or who it could be, but the possibility of another Bellatrix was certainly alarming. Still, she was getting up there in years, and since she was childless (Snape suspected that Rudolphus was infertile), it made a certain degree of sense to see her take another under her wing.

“Our Lord had spoken of your work highly, Severus. He is grateful for the loyal and dutiful service you have performed for him, and the courage and intelligence you have shown in your role.” Bellatrix was ramping up the expectations on him, trying to flatter him to the point where he might stop being terrified that the Dark Lord thought his loyalties suspect. It wasn’t going to work; indeed, Bellatrix had to know that Snape was not so easily distracted when something like his life was at risk.

“That is truly the highest praise, although I doubt I am worthy of it,” Snape replied cautiously.

“Perhaps that is so, but far be it from me to question my Lord’s words,” Bellatrix countered. Severus could tell that she was trying to ensnare him in a conversational trap, but the nature of it he still wasn’t sure of. “He has seen more than we could ever imagine. He has seen things beyond human understanding.”

“I am nothing in his shadow,” Snape admitted with what he hoped was convincing humility. It was time to end this contest of wills. “Bellatrix, as much as I relish the chance to speak with you, I was called here to see only one man. I cannot afford to be absent any longer than is necessary.”

“Of course, Severus. Do not let me keep you.”

Snape nodded to her, and she strode off, leaving Snape alone in the antechamber. Beyond the oak door lay the one man who really frightened him. Snape took in a deep breath, and knocked twice. The lock clicked and the door swung open of its own accord. The Dark Lord’s Throne Room, as it was called, was an expansive circular chamber carved out of solid rock, lit softly by torches along the walls, and candles beside the ebony seat of power set on a raised platform at its center. It was several thousand years old, built by a clan of Welsh Goblins wiped out during a major rebellion in the 15th century, during the height of England’s involvement in the Hundred Years’ War. It had been used as a staging area during the last war, and seemed an ideal temporary headquarters; though the Dark Lord would inevitable crave something far more majestic. The walls were covered with murals of terrible battles, and strange runes and symbols of a sort that Severus had never encountered.

A cold wind whistled through the chamber. The torches and candles flickered, and the door through which the Potions Master had entered swung shut. “Master?” Severus asked. The dais was not well lit enough for him to make out anything more than the basic outline of a throne.

“I am here, Severus. And I welcome you back to your true home.”

“I…I am honored, and grateful to be received so well. Even after I heard of your return, I was uncertain if I was still welcome among the Death Eaters.”

“I assure you that it is the case, Severus. Your skills are valuable, and you are one of my most capable - and conscientious — agents.”

“Conscientious, Lord?”

“Indeed.” The Dark Lord rose from his throne, as he did so, the room became brighter, as if the flames illuminating it had been holding back some of their light. Severus got a good look at his Master’s new form for the first time, and had to fight a wave of revulsion. He beheld a cross between a skeleton and a snake, eyes burning a fiery crimson as they had when his anger had been aroused in the past. But at the moment, Voldemort was smiling. “I am not offended, Severus, by your reaction to seeing me for the first time. This body suits my purposes, perhaps more satisfactorily than the one I once had. But it does take some getting used to.”

“I…appreciate your kindness, my lord.”

“Think nothing of it, my dear Severus. Now, though I have missed your presence at my side, I did not ask you to risk your cover merely so we could chat about old times. As I was saying before, you are one of, if not my most, conscientious agents. That is not a criticism, indeed, it is a high compliment. You see, Severus, I excel at inspiring loyalty, indeed, fanaticism, in others. Often they do excellent work. But in some cases, a scalpel, and not a battle-axe, is called for. You were always as restrained as you were loyal, Severus. I seem to rember that you saved a number of your comrades from certain death in Auror ambushes by using that mind of yours instead of charging blindly ahead.”

“I…I feel you overstate the point, Master, but I am honored that you think so highly of me.”

“Not at all, Severus. It has been a long time since we have seen each other, but from what I understand, you did everything you had to do to survive and remain in the old fool’s trust. And most laudably, you did so without sacrificing any of your comrades. The same cannot be said of many that once swore fealty to me. Igor, for one, has paid the price.”

Karkaroff had been found dead in a shack in Norway, his body disfigured almost beyond recognition. How he’d gotten there, what he was doing, and who killed him all remained a mystery, but the message sent by the brutal slaying was unmistakable.

“I am ready to serve, my Master. Merely give me orders, and I shall carry them out.”

“I am sure you feel that way, Severus. However, these orders are not to be taken lightly. For they concern one of your own students.”

“Potter.”

The Dark Lord nodded. “What is your impression of the boy, Severus? I hear that you have been a mentor to him at times.”

Severus was getting nervous, “My lord, I was merely fulfilling my duties as the boy’s Head of House.”

Voldemort laughed, a high, hissing sound that made Snape involuntarily shiver. “No need to pretend here, Severus. I know you. I know that what matters most to you is your own skin. Indeed, I certainly share that sentiment. I am not angry that you chose to, however temporarily, stake your survival on Potter and the old fool. Your true Master was gone, driven into hiding, and if you lost Dumbledore’s trust, you would likely be condemned to Azkaban, where you would lose any usefulness you might have had. These were logical decisions, Severus, and completely acceptable given the circumstances. Since you have worked with the boy, I am certain you have some insights worth sharing. Please, go ahead.”

Snape swallowed. The lines of loyalty were blurring again. The answer to the question Whose side am I on? was rather simple: Severus Snape was on the side of Severus Snape. But the reality was that he had to keep up the appearance of serving two masters. Inevitably, he’d favor one over the other. The question he faced, the terrible question, was which one he thought was going to win. “The boy is extraordinarily gifted. I do not know precisely how he acquired such power; he showed no signs of it when he first came under my tutelage, but some of the feats he has performed since his possession during his second year have been truly astounding for a boy of his age. He comes from a line of capable wizards, but this power cannot be inherited.”

“No, indeed, it was not. I do not understand how it happened, but it seems exposure to my old diary resulted in Potter’s power being multiplied tenfold. I must admit, Severus, that I was not at all prepared for the show of power he put on during our last meeting.”

“He remains weak in a number of areas. Raw would be a charitable description of him. He approaches his situation with a combination of over-confidence and anxiety, the result being that he often find himself over his head. So far, he has not seen that come back to haunt him, but I suspect it is a matter of time.”

Voldemort hissed with displeasure. “It seems an old enemy of mine has taken Potter as his champion. I should have killed the fool when I had a chance. Do you know that he intends to break my control of the Dark wizards? Or that is his aspiration, at least. He has been strong-arming some of my supporters into a loose alliance, predicated upon support of Potter. I may have underestimated him at first, for his efforts have proven far more successful than I anticipated. It is all merely a temporary problem, though. If Potter were to fall, then the alliance would fall apart. The same might be true if something were to happen to Aiden Greengrass, although I am not willing to gamble on that just yet.”

“I appreciate your situation, my Lord.”

“I’m sure you do, Severus. This is why I have a new mission for you. I wish to kill two birds with one stone, as the adage goes. I have been quiet for too long. It is time to make a statement. I also wish to see just what Potter is capable of. He is raw, as you say, but with some luck on his side, he can be quite dangerous. I need to determine just how much this is so before I can proceed. My initial plan to arrange a meeting between us has proven ineffective for a number of reasons. Still, I am confident that Potter will be at my mercy before Hogwarts is out, and dead shortly thereafter.”

“I do not understand.”

“Of course not, I’m being rather vague. Am I correct in saying, Severus, that Dolores Umbridge has lifted the restrictions on Hogsmeade weekends, now that more Ministry personal are available to spy on the activities of her students.”

Snape really didn’t like where this was going. “Yes, Master, that is the case.”

“Then I believe my opportunity has come. I intend to launch an attack on Hogsmeade tomorrow. The objective of the strike team will be twofold: to cause rampant destruction, and to kill or abduct Mr. Potter.”

“What is it that you wish me to do?"

“Do not sound anxious, Severus, I will not ask you to take place in the attack itself. You are most valuable to me in your current position. What I would ask you to do is to signal that Potter is going to Hogsmeade. If he is not going, the mission will be aborted. What are the odds he will go?”

Snape tried to calm his racing heart and give the Dark Lord an accurate answer. “He’s been rather frustrated of late, and has been taking a number of strolls outdoors, including some after hours. I anticipate he will take advantage of the chance to go somewhere else for an afternoon.”

“Thank you, Severus. You will not be solely responsible for keeping us updated; I have others in position. But your help will make the chances of our success much more likely. Obviously, if word leaks out, and Dumbledore institutes extra security precautions, you are to inform me at once. This is in some ways a training exercise. I have many men and women itching to see their first combat. This will be their first chance. But I will send along enough of my best to ensure good odds of the mission being completed. They will be instructed to limit casualties amongst the students; I do not want to suddenly be facing a united front if the magical heir of a leading Light family were to be accidentally cut down.”

Snape remained silent. “You do not have a problem with these orders, do you, Severus? I would like to assure you in the most unmistakable terms that I trust you. But I should not need to warn you that if my men show up facing squads of Aurors without warning from you, I will have to question that trust.”

“I will not let you down, my Lord,” Severus said with as much confidence as he could muster. He desperately tried to keep his knees from shaking. He looked down at the floor, taking in deep breaths. He had no idea what he should do. He didn’t even know what Dumbledore would want him to do.

“I know you won’t, Severus. That is all. Return to Hogwarts and begin monitoring the situation. Await further instructions.”

“Yes, Master.”

The Dark Lord smiled gently, an expression that lost much of its tenderness because of the visage it marked. “You are dismissed, Severus.”

Snape nodded, turned on his heel, and marched out of the room. He kept going, past several clumps of chatting Death Eaters, heading for the entrance. He saw Lucius, who attempted to flag him down, but he strode past his friend. As he passed the wards, he disapparated, appearing again just outside the wards of Hogwarts. He wandered off the beaten path, heading for cover in the woods. Once out of sight, he began to rage.

And to weep.

 


Harry wandered the streets of Hogsmeade. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t alone. The surprise came from who was accompanying him.

“You oughtn’t frown so much, you know. It spoils your appearance.”

Harry turned and looked at his companion, amused. Her cheeks were red and she was looking as though she wasn’t sure why she had said that. “I guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

“He says, frowning.” She giggled, recovering quickly. “You’re like my father, always tramping around like his dog was shot.” Making fun of his demeanor seemed to be her default icebreaker.

“Giselle, can we get back to the business at hand?”

“Oh very well, if we must. So you are looking for something for Valentine’s Day...sort of. Something that will convey that you are sorry and still care for her, but not make you appear clingy, or even desirous of starting over.”

“If such a thing exists, then yes, I’d like to give it to Ginny.”

“Alright, let’s see what there is…”

The raven-haired girl bounded past him. He marveled at the transformation that had taken place over a year, though on reflection, perhaps it hadn’t been so much a transformation as that he’d actually had a chance to speak with her for more than five minutes after she got comfortable with her new surroundings. He’d had every reason to be deeply suspicious of her. Hogwarts rarely received exchange students. She’d been Sorted into Slytherin almost instantly. She’d sparred with him in the Library, her words enigmatic, and her answers almost defensive. And even her surname put him on alert; it didn’t take an anagram genius to realize that if you switched a pair of letters, she was suddenly related to one of Voldemort’s fiercest soldiers and Edmund Dressler’s murderer.

But as he’d studied her behavior this year, same of the assumptions he’d made suddenly began to collapse under their own weight. He’d seen her Nott-esque observation of the Slytherin dormitory, and immediately suspected that she was stealthily studying her surroundings, with some kind of malevolent intent. She’d seemed older and wiser than she appeared. But in the end, it seemed the word he’d been looking for and stubbornly deciding to ignore in favor of pegging her as a secret agent of the Dark Lord come to kill him in his sleep, was “shy.” Once he stopped looking at her as if she was the daughter of Evan Rosier, suddenly he started to see someone very different.

Giselle Reisor was quiet. Demure. Reserved. Pretty bright, but almost embarrassed when she answered a question correctly. Not terribly talented with a wand. Somewhat sickly; she often missed classes, and while Harry had suspected duplicitous reasons for it, he’d often see her curled up in a corner of the Common Room by the fire, with a blanket and a Muggle fantasy book, pale and coughing. The more he thought about it, the more that behavior looked genuine, and her first few days looked like a performance of false confidence. Her grades were almost exactly average. She would sometimes stay up late in the Common Room reading. He’d seen her speaking quietly to Peter Lowry a few days ago, and whatever she said seemed to help. The boy had been avoiding Harry of late. It was tough to blame him. Harry scared himself these days.

But despite all of these things, Harry was still inclined to think that something was strange. He’d heard of her father almost every conversation they had, however brief. But he had no idea who her father was, where he lived, or if she had any other family. He figured she probably had a few friends, particularly amongst the younger Slytherins, but she ate silently on the rare occasion she emerged from the dungeons and made it to a meal.

There was one thing of which he was certain. She had a major crush on him. That, or she was doing an amazing job of pretending that was the case. And it wasn’t as though he’d decided that his initial impression had been completely wrong; she was still an enigma, and that made her potentially dangerous. But Hermione said she was going to spend the day with Lisa Turpin, whom she hadn’t spoken to in some time, Ginny rarely spoke a word to him, Luna was on a date with a rather befuddled Neville, and Blaise was engaged in…well, the best way to describe it was a prolonged flirting session with Elisha Moon, who was tolerating it for the time being. So when he encountered Giselle leaving a clothing store, and she smiled warmly at him (though her cheeks went red), he’d been grateful for the company.

For now, at least, he decided to just leave it be and enjoy her company. They entered a store specializing in magical trinkets of greatly varying quality and price. Giselle vanished for a few minutes, probably using the loo. Harry was trying to find something clever, something that might make Ginny have a happy moment associated with him for the first time in a while. He didn’t know what had happened during her vacation, but he imagined there had been a whole lot of crying. And he was helpless to do anything about it, because he truthfully didn’t know how he felt anymore, and more importantly, didn’t know how to handle this situation. At least this was something.

“Check out this, Harry,” Giselle said brightly. Harry smiled when he saw what she was holding. It was brilliant stuffed dragon, enchanted with a simple spell that made it appear to shimmer and move, occasionally shooting a burst of fire into the air, though it was utterly harmless. For most girls, that might have been a good choice. But given Harry’s history…

“Maybe not,” Harry said, putting the dragon back on the shelf. Giselle looked disappointed. “It was a good try, but, you remember last year.”

She smacked her forehead with her palm. “Oh bugger, of course I do. How thoughtless of me. I can be really clueless sometimes.”

Harry stared at her for a moment. “Giselle, I appreciate the help, really, I do. But why?”

The girl looked a bit taken aback. “Why? Well, I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t like you Giselle…well, I think I like you. And that’s the problem, really. I don’t know you at all. Last year…”

“Oh, bugger last year,” the girl exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I’ve really messed this up. I just…Dad told me I had to be strong, had to make him proud and I didn’t want to disappoint him and look like an idiot. So I said things, I acted in ways that aren’t me.”

Harry blinked. Well, that seemed to confirm a number of his suspicions. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked like that.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No…just, forget what I said…this is fun. It’s nice, relaxing, casual. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen to me all that often.”

“Oh, okay,” Giselle said. This was rapidly spiraling out of control. Why had he bothered to open his stupid mouth in the first place?

Seeking to change the subject, Harry asked something else he probably didn’t have any right to ask. “Giselle, why are you in Slytherin House? What do you think made the hat choose this for you; if I recall, it happened pretty damn quickly.”

“I know I may look like a nervous wreck that will never amount to anything, but that’s exactly what I don’t want to happen. I don’t want to be anonymous, I don’t want to be an unknown. I want to make something of myself. Dad…our family really isn’t that historic or important. The whole family traditions thing…it’s just an act, a ruse to keep my father’s self-esteem up. Since Mum left him, just ran off, he’s been desperate to find something, anything to be proud of. I’m it.”

Harry smiled. “You aren’t alone in that. A lot of Slytherins, and even some that aren’t, have these massive legacies to live up to, real or imagined.”

“No, no, you don’t get it,” Giselle insisted, her eyes shining brightly. “I don’t want to live up to a legacy. I want to make a legacy.” Her expression fell. “Of course, at the rate I’m going, average in everything, I don’t suppose there’s much chance of that.”

“You can surprise yourself sometimes, with what you are capable of. And what you aren’t.”

“Easy for you to talk. You, taking those Crucios in the graveyard like it was nothing. Watching your friend executed. And your arm getting ripped up, and you still got up and fought-”

“I…you don’t understand what that was like…it wasn’t…”

Suddenly, something occurred to him. “Wait, how did you know about the-”

A massive explosion rocked the store, shattering the windows and sending merchandise flying off the shelves. Screams were heard, and more explosions. “What in the name of the inferno was that?” Harry asked, surprising himself by using one of Daphne’s old euphemisms.

“I don’t know,” Giselle said, picking herself up. Suddenly she looked different, more composed…more than should have been possible. There was an intensity, a focus, a confidence…She blinked, and just like that, it was gone. Harry had no time to figure it out. He grabbed her hand and hauled her out of the store, drawing his wand and scanning the street for threats. He saw columns of smoke rising all over Hogsmeade, screams of the terrified and the enraged, hideous laughter…

Hogsmeade was under attack.

“Come on!” he yelled to Giselle. “We need to find some…” He looked back. She was gone, vanished into thin air. He hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t holding her hand until that moment. “Giselle!” he yelled. “Giselle!”

No one answered but more explosions, more screams. He had to hope she could fend for herself.

Harry moved into the street, trying to ascertain exactly what was going on. All he could see was chaos. What should he do? Should he run for safety, protect himself at all costs? Should he try to help? Should he try to fight? He knew what Hermione, and indeed, Snape’s answer would be. But he couldn’t run. Not this time.

You are being an idiot, Potter. A glory-seeking Gryfindor-esque idiot! He hesitated. At the next moment, spotting the nearest column of smoke, he ran headlong into the action.

 


Albus Dumbledore watched the columns of smoke rising from Hogsmeade, shock paralyzing him momentarily. As he pondered what he might do, the door to his office was thrown open. Severus Snape stood there, looking as terrified as Albus had ever seen the man. In an instant, the older wizard knew what had happened, why, and what his Potions Master was going to say. “You knew.”

Snape nodded. “I’m sorry, Albus. I wrestled with this decision. But I had no choice. This is the best that I could do.”

Albus closed his eyes. “Tell me what you know, at this instant.” His voice was firm and angry, thought the anger was not directed at the man before him.

Severus complied.

 


Three Third Years hurried by, one of them supported by a pair of friends, blood covering his robes from what looked like a leg wound. Harry let them go; they were Hufflepuffs he didn’t recognize. Their faces were masks of abject terror and confusion. None of them had been prepared for this. Harry silently cursed Fudge and Umbridge, and moved on.

The attacking forces had spread out, setting more fires, destroying more homes and businesses. Harry had seen remarkably few bodies, and, thank Merlin, none of them had been students. He suspected that the Dark Lord wanted to avoid killing the heirs of prominent families, and had ordered his men to be careful around people wearing Hogwarts robes. Still, he’d be shocked if they all made it out alive. Soldiers had a tendency to forget orders when the curses started flying.

More students hurried past, ignoring a wounded elderly man crying out for help. His leg had been broken by falling roof tiles, probably dislodged when the first explosions hit. Harry wanted to help him, but knew he didn’t have the time. He pressed on, spinning round corners to check if there was anyone coming. He nearly killed Madam Rosmerta when she popped out from behind a door, streaks of blood on her dress. He yanked his wand upward. She gave him a look, and ran past.

Potter, what are you doing? His mind thundered. Was it Kalas? Maybe, but Harry was never terribly surprised to hear more than one different voice in his head. You are going to get yourself killed, running into a battle you had every chance to escape…

Finally, emerging into a mostly deserted street, he ran into a student he recognized. Ron Weasley yelled for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to hurry up, looking back the way they’d come. He looked terrified, and yet horribly guilty. “Come on you fools!” he screamed, nearly hysterical. As he turned back, he saw Harry. Relief, of all things, showed on his face. “Thank Merlin. Dean, go! Potter, over here, now, please!”

Harry hustled over. “What’s going on, Ron?”

Ron swallowed, tried to say something, and then shook his head. Tears were in his eyes. “Her…Hermione.”

Harry’s blood froze in his veins. “Hermione? Hermione what? Ron, answer me!

“She’s back there…tried to fight, I don’t know what happened, she and a couple of others…I think they made it out…I couldn’t…” he broke down again. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Pull yourself together, Ronald Weasley!” Harry bellowed.

Ron stopped blubbering. “Good. Now tell me these things: where is Hermione, what condition was she in when you last saw her, and what do you think her condition is at this moment. Come on!”

“Okay…she’s…she’s two…three…maybe four…blocks that way,” he said, pointing south. “Oh Merlin, Potter, they were everywhere. I’m supposed to be a Gryffindor, I’m supposed to be brave. But I couldn’t…I just ran, I saw Hermione lying there, and I just…”

What did you say?” Harry whispered with deadly intensity.

“She…she fell…dunno if she was hit, or just lost her balance. It was chaos, Potter, people screaming, and Dean was trying to get me out of there. Some courageous heroes we are.”

“Well, Ron, the good news is, you aren’t dead courageous heroes.”

“Ron!” Seamus yelled. “Are you coming or what?”

“Go on without me!”

“Are you mad!”

“Just go!” The Gryffindor looked back one more time, and then disappeared down the alley.”

Harry looked Ron right in the eyes. “What in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?”

“I’m…I’m not leaving her…I’m going to help you rescue her…”

“Ron, this isn’t a game! This isn’t some fantasy where you can ride in and rescue the damsel in distress! This is real! Those curses are real!” Harry couldn’t believe he was arguing this, and was realizing he really didn’t have time.

“I’m going!”

Harry didn’t have time to talk him out of it. “What about Ginny?”

“Huh?”

“Have you seen her? Or Neville? Or Luna?”

“No…yeah, yeah, I did. I saw her…well I think I did. She was running. Can’t miss that red hair, though.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, Weasley, time to be a hero. Watch me. Don’t do anything stupid, like I’m sure you want to. I’m not getting you killed too.”

“I won’t,” Ron said, uncharacteristically ignoring the slight. There was fire in the Gryffindor’s eyes. He was ready, whatever the hell that meant.

“Let’s go!”

 


It had been a long time since Aiden Greengrass had been in the heat of battle. And damned if he didn’t miss it. He blasted one juvenile Death Eater that couldn’t have been more than twenty into a wall, knocking him out. He pivoted and ducked, dodging one hex and then deflecting another weak attempt to bring him down. A Blinding Curse took care of one, a Crucio quickly brought down the other.

Children, Aiden thought to himself. The Dark Lord has sent children to do his dirty work. No match for any trained foe, but then, he turned them lose on a town of storekeepers and students, hadn’t he?

A pair of Stunners put both of his remaining adversaries out of the fight, ceasing the screams of both. Aiden usually didn’t hesitate to kill Death Eaters. But these boys were not Death Eaters. They were cannon fodder, meat shields, expendable troops. These were probably some of the more inept of the lot. They’d been looting some abandoned stores when Aiden had discovered them, Apparating into their midst.

Checking that the first was indeed unconscious, Aiden looked around. He saw the flash of magic being used, heard explosions. He confirmed his initial suspicion. Yes, the first place he’d seen was more active than the rest. That’s probably where he’d find Harry, then. Either the young man had decided to play hero…and Aiden considered that partially his own fault, setting such an ultimatum that Harry prove himself worthy of the attention Aiden paid him. Aiden was not just here to protect an investment. He was here to protect someone that had grown increasingly important to him.

He emerged into the next square. Four bodies, several fire, and scorch marks marked this as a former hot zone. Two were clearly dead, two might be alive. He suddenly saw a very tall figure next to one of them. It was Albus Dumbledore. They locked eyes.

“We have to hurry,” Aiden told him. “Harry is their primary target. All the rest is just a distraction. There’s fighting taking place north of here. I’m pretty sure that’s him.”

Albus nodded. “A strange day it is, Aiden. You’ve come home.”

“Maybe I have,” the former Gryffindor whispered. “But I’ve come for a reason.”

“And I as well. The rest of the Faculty is managing the evacuation. The Aurors are coming, but they are being delayed. I’m sure you know by who.” There was a look of rage in the old wizard’s face that was rarely seen.

A scream split the air. It sounded like a student, though not Harry. Of course, as young as they were, it could be a Death Eater.

Dumbledore gestured, and ran. Aiden followed.

 


“Oh hell!” Ron whispered. Harry shushed him, studying the situation. They’d ended up next to Zonko’s, which looked a little worse for the wear.

“That looks like her, right next to the door. Wonder what she was doing there.”

“Don’t mind that, what are we going to do?”

“I’m trying to think of something.”

“Think of something? How complicated can it be?”

Harry silenced him with a glare. “Alright, I see four of them, mingling around, talking, waiting for the rest of their lot to get back, maybe. This is a bad angle, so I’m going to assume there are others we can’t see.”

“Way to be pessimistic.”

“Shut up.”

Hermione’s was not the only body splayed on the ground. The man Harry suspected was Zonko himself was sprawled next to the fountain, his stomach a red ruin. A middle-aged witch was also clearly dead, her wand drawn, as she’d tried in vain to fight the Death Eaters. Her eyes were open. Killing Curse, then, Harry decided. These weren’t all green recruits, or, at least, they were dangerous green recruits. He’d already brought down two looting Death Eaters, a young woman and an older man. He’d gotten the latter in the back with a Stunner, but the former had put up a fight. Ron and Harry had worked together to bring her down. Ginny’s youngest brother was annoying as hell, but he wasn’t entirely helpless with a wand. He noticed what might have been a student hidden in the shadows to an alleyway. The felled girl appeared to be a Ravenclaw, maybe, maybe Lisa Turpin, although he couldn’t even tell if she had blue trim or not. Might have been red.

Two of the Death Eaters started to move forward. They kicked Zonko, and his body fell over. One of them laughed heartlessly. Then he moved toward Hermione, and Harry had a feeling of terrible foreboding. He kicked her, and she groaned, coughing. “Hey, Franz, this one’s alive!” he called back to one of the others. He laughed. “Looks like a pretty one. Come help me with her!”

Harry’s stomach roiled in revulsion as the Death Eater kicked up the bottom of Hermione’s robes with his boot, his other hand reaching for his belt. Not on your life… “Ron,” he whispered…too late.

Stupefy!” the Gryffindor cried as he flew around the corner. His spell flew wide, missing the target by four feet. He did succeed in gaining the attention of the rest, who drew their wands and quickly retaliated, sending deadly curses their way. One flew down the alley Harry was hiding in, a Slicing Curse that nicked his right leg.

Ron sensibly dove for cover, letting lose a pair of Stunning Spells that that nearly hit the one standing over Hermione, who had now dropped to a crouch next to her still form. Harry moved out, firing a barrage of curses, one of which hit Hermione’s attacker in the center of mass, sending him sprawling, blood flying from a major chest wound. At that moment, his danger sense flared, and he ducked as a hail of literally a dozen curses flew over his head, ripping up walls of the house behind him. Where did those come from?

He blasted three curses as suppressing fire, then spared a quick glance. Fuck. Fuck, Fuck, FUCK! he cursed. Of course, of course they would do this. It was much too perfect, or rather imperfect from Harry’s perspective. They’d followed him, they must have. They knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to stay hidden if his friend were about to be assaulted. And some of them would have recognized Hermione; surely his inner circle of friends were known to Voldemort at this point. She made the perfect bait…and he’d just walked right into a trap. Death Eater lined the rooftops, maybe a score of them in total. He thought he recognized Rabastan Lestrange, but a second barrage prevented him from confirming that.

The curses now being thrown his way indicated that they weren’t looking to take him alive. A Killing Curse roared past, blasting a hole in the cobblestone street. He rolled, grabbing Ron, who appeared to have been hit, and hurling him behind the fountain, into a relatively safe position. This seemed to wake him up, and as Harry obliterated the balcony position of two of his enemies with a massive Demolition Curse, he staggered to his feet. By some sheer dumb luck, he managed to wing one with what might have been a Cutting Charm. Little Ronnie had drawn his first blood. An explosion from a near miss sent the Gryffindor sprawling. He cried out in pain.

Harry kept moving, kept firing, aiming more by instinct than any sensory input. He heard groans and yells that indicated that maybe he’d gotten lucky. Actually, he heard a lot of them. More than was possible…what?

A blur of motion in the corner of his eyes caught his attention — someone was trying to sneak up behind him. He spun round, a curse on his lips…and found his wand practically up the nose of Aiden Greengrass. Behind him was Albus Dumbledore. He spared a glance around…Death Eaters lay sprawled in heaps all over the place. Aiden abruptly raised his wand. Harry looked to see Rabastan Lestrange, bleeding from his left arm, standing on the roof of Zonko’s. He reached for a pendant around his neck, and grasped it just as a Killing Curse from Aiden bore down on him. He vanished, along with the rest of the downed Death Eaters. The green bolt flew harmlessly into the sky.

“Linked portkeys,” Aiden growled. “Wouldn’t want to be leaving prisoners to interrogate. I suspect the rest have gone as well. The live ones, at least. The dead were probably left behind.”

“Professor…Aiden,” Harry breathed. “Thank you.”

“You seemed to be doing a fair job yourself,” Aiden remarked with some admiration, pointing to the massive smoking crater that had once been the balcony of someone’s home.

“I don’t think I could have kept it up for long,” Harry admitted. “They had me trapped like a fish in a barrel.” He shook his head, trying to clear it as he tried to calm his body, which was saturated with adrenaline. “The others,” he sent, indicating the bodies before them. Dumbledore checked on Ron, who groaned, indicating his presence among the living. Harry dashed to Hermione’s side. Her eyes opened as he knelt next to her.

“Boy am I glad to see you,” she said softly.

“Me too,” Harry replied, trying not to think of what had very nearly happened to her. Yes, the situation had been staged. But the lust of that Death Eater? That was very real. He hoped she’d never find out about it. He’d need to talk to Ron to make sure. She didn’t need to know.

“Is everyone okay?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know. Dumbledore’s here. And Aiden. The Death Eater have gone.”

“Oh, good,” she said, sounding distracted and confused. Harry saw that her eyes weren’t really focusing on him. She probably had a concussion. The parts of her hair on the right side of her head was matted with blood. But she was alive.

Lisa!” Hermione suddenly cried. “Where is she? What happened to her?”

“I’m okay, Hermione,” the girl cried back, staggering forwards. She also looked to be woozy. She gave a brief smile, and then dropped to her knees and vomited. Aiden grasped her shoulder, steadying her.

Another form raced into view, emerging from the same alley that Harry had taken. It was Snape.

Harry saw his eyes. And instantly, he knew.

“You knew this was going to happen. You knew, and you did nothing.” Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand, and rose angrily.

“I did, Potter. I had a choice to make. And I made it.”

“And people died because of it! Hermione was nearly…” he caught himself.

“This was about you, Potter. It was all about you.” Snape sounded desperate, pathetic even. But his words hit home. This had happened because he had been here.

Harry closed his eyes. He heard more movement, and Giselle suddenly appeared, dashing up the road. “Harry? Harry! Are you alright?

She ran up to him and hugged him. Hermione looked baffled.

“I’m fine, Giselle. Are you alright? You disappeared…”

“I thought I saw a friend of mine, and I wanted to see if she was okay. I got knocked over and then just decided to hide. I couldn’t see you.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said, squeezing her back. Her let her go. Over her shoulder, he could see Hermione’s mouth open in astonishment. Later, he mouthed.

“Harry…oh Harry, you’re bleeding!” Giselle’s sleeves were red. Harry looked at his right shoulder. A deep gash was bleeding rather badly. He felt nothing.

“So I am,” he said lifelessly. Harry hung his head, as Hogsmeade continued to burn around him.

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