43B: The Battle of Many Armies, Continued

Percy snapped the photograph and dashed out of the Gryffindor common room. Molly shook her head. "You're laying it on too thick," she said, clicking her teeth.

Sirius shrugged, tossing the golden cup irreverently onto the nearest table. "Until he's knocking on the door, it's not thick enough." She eyeballed him skeptically, but said no more.

He flopped onto the couch beside Draco, smiling broadly. "Besides, this was the chance of a lifetime." Draco glowered at him through emerald eyes. "Ho ho!" barked Sirius, tousling his cousin's unruly black hair. "Good thing Harry wasn't born a Malfoy! He could stop trains with that glare."

"There's a bit of Polyjuice left, if you're so fond of this look," said Draco sullenly.

"And mess with perfection?" Sirius said, snickering.

Arthur couldn't help but keep a paternal eye on Bill. Greyback was on the grounds somewhere--Bill could feel it. His fists clenched and the cords in his neck tightened at every howl. "Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked his son for the millionth time.

"Enough, Da. Let it rest."

They continued to patrol their section of the perimeter, but it seemed more and more like a waste of time. The Dark Army had sent the werewolves to do their dirty work, and no Death Eater was fool enough to risk his skin with packs on the loose. There was a distant rumbling sound to the east, which neither of them could identify, but it seemed to be attracting a steady stream of howling wolves.

The wind shifted presently, bringing Bill to a sudden halt. Arthur froze too, scanning the surroundings, his wand at the ready. "What is it?" he finally asked in the barest whisper.

Bill cleared his throat. "Blood. Lots of it." Without giving his father another look, he dashed across the meadow, following his nose.

Arthur nearly bowled them both over when Bill stopped again. "A pack," he panted. "They're circling." The rumbling sound roared anew, along with some yelps and shouts. "What in blue blazes is going ON up there?"

Shrugging, Arthur wished he hadn't read the riot act to Fred and George. That blasted Anglia would come in very handy right now.

A silvery dolphin that probably belonged to one of the twins began capering through the air over the source of the sounds and smells. When it faded, Charlie's unmistakable Patronus, a Welsh Green dragon, began chasing its tail over the treetops. Bill and Arthur regarded one another, puzzled. "Family reunion?" mused Bill.

"I didn't get the memo," Arthur said, shaking his head. "They seem... all right. Their Patronuses are certainly... frisky."

They watched Charlie's dragon for a few moments, growing more and more curious, until Bill noticed a speck of wandlight moving away from the gathering. He nudged his father on the elbow and hopped onto his broomstick, catching up to the wand's owner in short order. It was Hermione Granger, stomping toward the castle with a livid expression. "Hello, Bill," she said, though her tone was not particularly friendly.

"Hello. Um, what's going on?"

The witch stopped and pointed her wand at the clump of trees. "You don't want to know. Trust me." She crossed her arms and clamped her lips shut.

By then Arthur had caught up to them. Utterly baffled, he put his hand on Hermione's shoulder and gave her an exasperated look that he normally reserved for his twin sons. "Hermione, not now. Tell me what's happening."

She threw her hands up in disgust. "It's a slaughterhouse! You know, the Death Eaters might as well be taking names, or have a little sign-up table in the back. They can't help themselves under the moonlight, some of them might be--"

Mr. Weasley silenced her with a pained grimace. "Hold on, now. Who's slaughtering whom?"

With an annoyed huff, Hermione started over. "Basically, it's Tonks on slaying. The rest are guiding them in with the Patronuses, or stunning them to slow them down until Tonks can--"

"Them who? Who them?" queried Bill.

"The werewolves, of course!" When this announcement didn't incite any cries of moral outrage, Hermione scowled anew. "She's just killing them! Without any thought to who they are during the day! SHE, of all people!"

Bill and his father eyed each other uneasily. "They're Dark soldiers during the day..." began Mr. Weasley, but Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits and his voice withered and fell silent.

"Oh, you're all the same!" she spat furiously. "Go on then, go on up there. I'm sure they'll be placing bets any minute now. Don't miss out on the fun, by any means. Go on!" She waved them away, then whirled on her heel and stalked off toward the castle.

"She, uh, she shouldn't be alone," noted Bill weakly, and darted after her.

Arthur nodded. Bill despised Fenrir Greyback and all he stood for, but he also felt a certain primordial kinship with werewolves. Realizing abruptly that he shouldn't be alone either, Arthur mounted his broomstick and followed Hermione's original trail until he spotted some light among the trees.

It was quite a scene. A group of wizards huddled ahead, taking turns casting the Patronus charm. The silver glow revealed a ring of wolf carcasses. Tonks stood in the center, gleaming red and holding a Muggle device that was producing the rumbling sound. Apparently it was idling at the moment, as it was fairly quiet. Fred and George stood off by themselves, obviously attempting to Conjure or Transfigure one of their own. One of them held an eggplant bearing the word "Homelite" along its side.

"What's the meaning of this? You're supposed to be at your posts!" Arthur said to the first wizard he recognized, a young Auror from France who was a friend of Fleur. He had the decency to look embarrassed, but the fellow beside him, an Italian official, gestured for patience. "No one but-ah wolves on de grounds now," he said. "We modify our-ah defense so. De pack, it can-ah gang up on-ah one man. So we gang up too."

Arthur sighed. It made sense, and any strategy that kept their soldiers safe was a good one. But Hermione had a point: some of these werewolves might not have come willingly. They couldn't help themselves once they transformed, but by tomorrow, some of them could turn out to be allies. What would Remus do? he wondered.

Reckoning that Tonks was in the best position to answer that question, Arthur edged his way through the crowd. The ground became more and more slippery under his feet, but he made a point of not looking down. "Miss Tonks!" he said crisply, once he reached the edge of the group.

"Yes?" she snapped, barely turning her head.

"Everything under control?" Arthur asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Right as rain... sir," she chirped politely, still concentrating on the darkness in front of her.

"Only I've noticed things are a bit... extreme." He could feel the stares of the wizards behind him.

"Only as circumstances demand, sir." Her voice developed a distinct chill.

What a quandary! he mused. Of course she should defend herself and the castle, that went without saying. But this reeked of, well, unfairness. Some days, being Minister of Magic was no picnic. He stepped up behind her to speak more privately. "Perhaps, Nymphadora," he began, but never got to complete the thought.

In her usual fashion, Tonks glared at him when he used her first name. The instant she broke her concentration, two wolves charged out of the stand of trees just beyond the range of her chainsaw. Arthur Weasley only had time to glimpse his doom, in the form of the gaping jaws of a wolf launching for his throat. Before he could even brace for impact, however, a metallic flash arced across his nose and a dozen Stunning spells flew past him from behind.

The wolf fell dead at his feet as Tonks spun away to see to its partner. She was too late, though; the other wolf, having been knocked backwards by the spells, disappeared among the trees. Scowling, Tonks snapped upright and stared fixedly ahead once more. "You were saying, sir?" she drawled.

He cleared his throat, wishing very much that he could sit down. "Just, uh, just wondering if there was any other way to, uh, handle this situation. Perhaps something Mr. Lupin might, uh, recommend."

Though her eyes remained on the trees, she turned her head and scrunched her eyebrows wryly. "Who d'you think suggested the chain saw?"

Arthur jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, but it was only Charlie. "Come on, Da," said his son kindly. "We didn't start this war, but we have to finish it."

"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good!" said Hermione. The Marauders Map appeared reluctant to unfold, as though it couldn't quite trust the sincerity of her statement, but it quickly relented and filled with names. Mad Eye Moody took it from her, his human eye wide with wonder.

"James Potter... he'd have made quite an Auror," the old man said, shaking his head. He pointed something out to Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Bound the Aperio with a Soleum Veritas counterjinx. Boy was a genius. Too bad he was too moneyed to work for a living."

Hermione blinked at that remark, but let it pass. She peered closely at the map, covered with quivering names like an anthill. It usually had a certain rapport with the viewer and showed only the names of persons of interest, but apparently there were too many strangers around for it to work at peak efficiency. "Who are we looking for, Professor Moody?"

His magic eye looked a bit dazzled as well. "Trouble," he finally replied, cryptically but firmly. "Dementors and wolves could just be a diversion. He wants his toys. Sending in a thief's the way to do it." He scrutinized every fold and flap of the Map closely, but finally set it aside.

Just as he did so, Ginny Weasley dashed into the Great Hall and announced, "Dobby's back."

The little elf looked worse than after his first trip to Siberia, but he came in on his own two feet. "I wasn't taking it to Mr. Riddle this time, sir," he said apologetically to Moody while twisting his ears dejectedly. "They's stepped up the wards on the barracks since this afternoon. I was having to stay outside. But I gived it to Mr. Malfoy when he came to the door."

Moody nodded kindly as Hermione and Ginny each took one of Dobby's hands and jiggled his ears until they unfurled. "Good job, lad," he said. "Just as well to let Lucius see it. Eh?" he grunted at the others when they regarded him quizzically. "The man's a sneak! He sees how bad his master wants those things, he'll try an' smuggle 'em out himself! If it comes to that, better in his hands than Voldemort's."

Exhausted witches began to falter, slumping out of the circle in the Gryffindor common room. New Daughters of Modron would take their places, but to no avail. The enchantment wasn't taking hold, despite all the singing and swaying.

"It's the Dementors," Draco muttered with contempt. "They're interfering with the magic, keeping the witches from connecting."

Sirius had lost his carefree demeanor and was pacing beside his young cousin. "We'll get some people on the roof, sending off Patronuses."

"Won't help, I don't think. They're not that close, even now--there's just too many all around us."

Sirius stared thoughtfully at the younger wizard. "Time to think up Plan B," he finally said.

"Here!" blurted Hermione, pointing to the Marauder's Map. "Greyback! In the castle!"

Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt bolted to the staff table in the Great Hall and followed her shaking hand. The werewolf's name was traveling through an apparently solid wall. "Secret passage--probably Unplottable," said Moody dourly. Kingsley nodded as he scooped up the map. "Good work, missy," Moody said as the two of them dashed out of the Hall and down the steps to the dungeons.

Hermione sat in dazed exhaustion. Most of the Order were now out on the grounds, roaming in small bands to engage the enemies. She'd spent hours poring over the Marauder's Map, but obviously that duty was done, at least for the moment. With a guilty start, she realized she ought to keep moving, but she was so tired. She folded her arms on the staff table and set down her head for just a minute.

When she woke with a start, the Great Hall was completely dark and the ceiling was filled with stars.

Good heavens! Jumping up, she realized she couldn't have slept long--it had been very late when she "rested her eyes" and there was still no sign of dawn. Half an hour at most, she reassured herself guiltily, slipping quietly out of the Great Hall so as not to disturb the enchanted candles hovering unlit over the tables.

Her mouth felt dry and pasty, so she took a quick detour to freshen up. The entire first floor had been turned into a temporary infirmary, so Hermione climbed to the 2nd floor to find a bathroom. She was leaning over a sink, splashing cold water on her face, when she looked up, gasped, then scowled. Moaning Myrtle's face hovered beside her own in the mirror.

As she opened her mouth to rebuke the ghost for startling her, Hermione realized that Myrtle's eyes were wide with fright. The ghost put a finger to her lips for silence, pointing at the door. Turning slowly, Hermione could see a faint shadow from the corridor in the gap below the bathroom door. It moved slowly, then in jerks, as though cautiously scanning as it went along.

Turning only her eyes, Hermione regarded Myrtle. The ghost was crying silently and shivering. Hermione's wand was just inside her robes, but if that was Greyback outside, the rustle of the fabric might as well be a dog whistle.

Hermione twitched her eyebrows pointedly at the door, wanting Myrtle to create a diversion. She only needed a few seconds with her wand to bar the door. Kingsley and Moody had to be looking for the werewolf; if she sent off a Patronus, surely they'd arrive before he could break into the bathroom. A quick spectral swoop through the door, preferably with a haunting screech, would fit the bill perfectly.

Myrtle, however, didn't get the hint. She began to mouth the word "werewolf," obviously trying to be helpful, but utterly missing the point. "I know," mouthed Hermione back. "Go scare him," she said soundlessly, flicking her fingers toward the door. Myrtle looked confused, and made the motions of drying her hands. "You want a towel?" she seemed to ask.

The click of the wolf's claws on the flagstones was now audible, but he was proceeding at an even pace. The shadow widened, filled the doorframe, then passed. Hermione relaxed slightly. A crash and a raucous laugh rang through the corridor. Peeves! she thought gratefully. Perfect timing. Another few seconds and she could--

The door to the bathroom flew violently open, making her leap involuntarily against the far wall. The wolf was bounding toward her before she could even regain her footing. Two somewhat contradictory concepts formed in her head at once, wordlessly, though the meanings were clear: "I'm going to die," and "Remus does all right as a werewolf--I can too." Escaping the attack never even crossed her mind, for it was impossible.

The tiled bathroom echoed with a tremendous racket, but there was no pain. Hermione opened her eyes, fully expecting to find herself as transparent as Moaning Myrtle. Fenrir Greyback suddenly struck her, knocking her down, but did not bite.

It took her a moment to realize he'd landed in two different places.

It took her a moment longer to realize his head had bounced to the other side of the room.

Myrtle let out a blood curdling scream and disappeared down the drainpipe in the center of the floor as though someone had turned on a vacuum cleaner. Naturally, that was the moment Moody and Shacklebolt turned up.

"I'm all right," she tried to say. "That wasn't me screaming." They paid her no attention, both of them shouting and brandishing their wands importantly, trying to assess the situation.

All three spun at the creaking of one of the stall doors. Dobby stared at them in turn, brandishing a glowing blue sword. "Getted him!" the elf said, grinning fiercely.

Tonks, who had her chainsaw in full swing, whirled around and fell over when it failed to strike its target. She uttered a yelp of surprise, expecting, just as Hermione had, for her current way of life to come to an abrupt end. Finding herself still alive a heartbeat later, she scrambled to her feet. A woman lay sprawled on her belly in the mud before her.

The witch raised her head, a dumbfounded expression on her filthy face. "He..." she began, then shook her head in confusion. "He's gone?"

Tonks regarded the other nearby wizards, all of whom appeared equally at a loss. The witch on the ground began to laugh, squealing and shrieking with delight. "He's gone! He's gone!" Similar cries began to ring out around the grounds.

"Merlin's beard," Tonks proclaimed. "The old legend--to free the pack, kill the alpha wolf." She set down her saw. "Remus."

A huge black shape crashed through the trees and flung itself upon her. There was more than one pack roaming the grounds that night. Though her companions recovered immediately and threw Stunning spells with all their might, it was too late. The wolf flipped over backwards, but not before Tonks' scream warped into a howl. Only seconds later, the last sliver of moon disappeared below the horizon.

Grawp stretched his legs, then rose from his seat on the roof of his brother's cabin. Brushing Fang aside with one massive hand, he squeezed his upper body through the front door. "Hagger?" he said, patting the lumpy mass on the bed, making the frame creak ominously.

"Gitcher own breakfas'" moaned Hagrid. "Oi, what is it?" he said a moment later, lifting his head from the pillow.

"Doin' okay?" asked Grawp, eyeing him in concern.

Hagrid let his head fall back. He'd taken a solid beating from a giant three times his size, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so bruised. "Fine," he said, most unconvincingly.

"Moon gone," Grawp pointed out softly. "Woofs is peoples now. Sun comin' soon."

"Day... right. Nnnngh." He struggled upright.

"You stay sleepin'," Grawp said firmly. "I take care of today."

"No, no, I'm good," insisted Hagrid, rising from the bed. "Should'a kep' movin' all night, I should--then I wouldn' be so stiff." He staggered to the nearest chair. He would have knocked it over if it hadn't smashed into the table.

"Bed, Hagger," said Grawp more firmly. "Or I take to castle."

Hagrid shot his baby brother a dirty look with the eye that was not swollen shut. "I'll have none o' tha' talk from you."

Grawp shrugged, knocking over a sack of flour. "Dey say Inferies comin' now woofs is done," he said. "Not good if dey touch hurts. Lotsa germs on Inferies."

Hagrid snorted. "There's no such thing as germs, Grawpy. Yer bein' silly, now get outta my kitchen--"

"Is too germs," the Giant interrupted indignantly. "Hermy said so! You be in bed, Hagger. You not okay to take on Inferies." Grawp nudged his brother toward the bed with a hand like a moving wall.

Sensing that resistance was both futile and painful, Hagrid allowed himself to be propelled into bed with only a token reluctant groan. Grawp picked up the worn quilt between two fingers like tree trunks and tucked Hagrid in, but when he started to extract himself from the front door, Hagrid halted him. "Hang on, Grawpy. I got sumpin' fer yeh..."

Molly Weasley had collapsed twenty minutes earlier. Most of the Daughters were in tears, wondering aloud how the Lady could forsake them. Sirius already had a terse chat with Dumbledore's portrait regarding that question, and the old man hadn't a guess, either. He'd told Sirius to take the Pensieve, of all things, up to the tower and place it in the Circle, but it hadn't made a difference. They seemed to be on their own with the three Horcruxes.

Dumbledore's portrait admitted that he'd destroyed the signet ring with Dark magic, which had been nearly too powerful for him to control and cost him his hand. Both Sirius and Draco could at least comprehend the necessary spell, but neither had ever cast anything like it--and neither were eager to do it once, let alone three times. In the graying light of dawn, however, they stared at one another, unspoken words weighing heavily between them.

Sirius jumped up from the couch, rapping Draco smartly on the shoulder. "Room of Requirement," he said quietly. "Take that." He pointed to the Pensieve. Turning to the nearest witch, he instructed her tersely but kindly to take the Sisters down to the infirmary. "No one's to stay up in the tower, hear? In fact, tell Arthur to keep everyone below the fifth floor."

Sirius checked the boys' dormitories himself to make sure no one remained in the tower. He swore profusely when the staircase to the girls' dormitory converted to a slide the instant he set foot on it, but a feisty old crone from Gwynedd assured him she'd clear out any stragglers. He waited (across the common room) until she reappeared and gave him a thumbs-up before he departed through the portrait hole.

Draco was holding the door open to the Room of Requirement. Sirius tried to identify the setting inside, but couldn't. "Some part of the Manor?" he asked.

Draco shook his head. "The Little Hangleton estate," he said, shuddering. "Darkest place I could think of."

That made sense. "Good show," said Sirius approvingly. "Really sets the mood." He regarded Draco with a piercing look. "Are you ready to die?" he asked, as gently as possible for such a question.

Draco's eyes welled up, but he held his head high. "I'm ready to end this."

With a nod and a quick squeeze of each others' forearms, the two wizards entered the room. The door slammed behind them, immediately vanishing into the wall.

"But you'll be--"

Lucius Malfoy cut off his wife's words by clamping his hand over her mouth. "Don't argue, Cissy. Find the first person you recognize and surrender. No strangers! And especially no Centaurs! Go!"

She stood her ground, however, and gazed at him so imploringly that he relented for another precious moment. "I'm not giving up," he whispered. "I've found a... weakness. I don't know what, exactly, but it's a solid bargaining chip. I have a plan, Narcissa. You must trust me." He pulled her close. "Go. Stay out of sight. Get as close to the castle as you can--the fewer who see you in custody, the better."

The woman was as stubborn as he was, which he both loved and found incredibly irksome. "But Draco! I won't risk him--"

He clamped his hand on her mouth again. "He doesn't have Draco. Draco escaped." He snarled in frustration at the widening of his wife's eyes; there was just no time to explain it all. "I've seen the proof. Now GO!"

Narcissa Malfoy had lived on the razor's edge a long time, but she trusted her husband. He'd taken terrible risks, revealing the Master's diary and deliberately letting that cursed Prophecy escape. The consequences for their family had been horrible, but they had also kept the Master's power limited. That pretentious little brat Potter might actually have a chance at finishing him! More importantly, if anyone could discover a way to unseat the Dark Lord through sheer cunning, it was Lucius. She clasped her husband tightly one last time and darted into the trees.

It was no coincidence that she and Lucius were ordered to enter the grounds through the Forbidden Forest. Lucius could hold his own with his brigade of vile Inferi, but she was meant to be hurt or killed. She stooped over as she ran, not daring to pause long enough even to Disillusion herself. She had to get far ahead of the Dark Army, lest all her potential captors be too busy dueling to arrest her. She hoped she was also quick enough to stay ahead of any creatures of the Forest that might pick up her trail.

She couldn't stop herself from screaming when she was tackled from behind.

Despite her terror, Narcissa didn't drop her wand. When her assailant grabbed her legs and tried to flip her over, she assisted the process, knowing she might only get one shot. His wand was immediately jabbed to her forehead, though, and she knew she had only one hope. She let her wand fall from her fingers. "Surrender!" she gasped.

"Narcissa?" It was still too dark in the Forest for a good look at her captor, but she recognized the voice.

"Lupin. Mr. Lupin," she amended. "Mother of Merlin, thank you. Please. I surrender. Please."

Lupin stared as though she'd spoken in Chinese. She peered at him more closely. "You look terrible," she squeaked.

He blinked a few times. "Oh, I'm fine," he said casually, as if they were exchanging pleasantries outside a cafe on Diagon Alley. He shook his head as if clearing it, sitting back on her legs. "Don't distract me. You're surrendering?"

Wonderful. He's gone barmy. Probably got hit in the head. "Yes, Mr. Lupin. That's right. I surrender. I don't want to fight. Please."

Lupin's gaze hardened. "Convenient timing," he snarled, pressing his wand more firmly against her forehead. "You've become rather polite in the past two minutes, too, I noticed."

Narcissa had endured too much for too long to die at the hands of an overzealous, loopy werewolf. "Remus John Lupin, if you intend to marry my niece, you might give a thought to keeping peace in the family. Will you accept my surrender or not?"

Again he shook his head to loosen the cobwebs. "Accept your... Of course, Narcissa. Of course. You'll have to pardon... I'm a bit distracted. Only it seems I'm no longer a werewolf, and I..." He took a deep breath through his nose. "The air smells wonderful this morning, don't you think?"

"A bit earthy down here," she drawled with forced patience.

When Hermione realized who Viktor was Levitating through the oak front doors, she dropped the box of bandages she'd just Conjured. "Tonks! No!" Her sleeve had been torn off and the bite on her shoulder was obvious.

"No talking," the wizard murmured to his patient, but she ignored him.

"Wotcher, Herms," Tonks said weakly.

Hermione took her uninjured hand. "Greyback's dead! You won't--"

"Yes I will," replied Tonks with a little squeeze. "Different pack got me. S'okay. Reem an' I'll do a little switcheroo." Her head lolled to the side.

Viktor tossed his head meaningfully toward the marble stairs. "Go. Go!" urged Hermione, taking over the burden of Tonks and sending him charging out of the castle.

Elias Ravenclaw put his hand on the Frenchman's forearm. "It's guid. Ami," he said, pointing at Grawp. "One o wirs." He waved until the Giant peered down through the tree limbs and smiled in recognition. "Hou's the brither, Graowp?" said the Scot, when he was close enough to address without shouting.

"Hagger beat up dis mornin'. I put him to bed."

Elias frowned, not comprehending. "Canna be naither eechie nor ochie, na? Be he in baid or oot o it?"

Grawp cocked his head to either side, resembling an animal puzzled by a strange noise. "What dat mean?"

Elias gaped at him a moment. "Nae ken. Is Hagrid abaid, is he no?"

Grawp turned to the other wizard. "What dat mean?"

"Ah deu not undairstan' eizzair zee one of yeu," said the Frenchman. Both Elias and Grawp stared at him.

"Och, tha's a fash. Ah canna be liftin a wird ye say."

"Huh?" said Grawp.

A putrid smell wafted amongst them, restoring some level of communication. The wizards eyed each other in alarm: Inferi! They spun into the wind, wands at the ready, but were both quite surprised to hear the Giant chuckle. "Dis gonna be great," said Grawp, then there was a loud metallic snap. Both of them instinctively hit the ground at the subsequent thunderous pounding on the ground, which was just as well. They were barely cleared by an enormous animal, which sailed over them with more heads than bodies.

"Sic 'em, Fluffy!" shouted Grawp joyfully.

Sirius put all three Horcruxes into the stone basin. "It's the only real working Pensieve there is; who knows? Maybe it's magical enough to do them all at once." Draco shrugged nervously, watching the little Dark Mark weave itself above the Pensieve. Anything that might protect or help them was worth a try.

It took them two hours to prepare the potion, despite the Room's obliging support of their efforts, bringing them supplies and devices from the dungeons. Draco had no wand, of course, but he found a right brilliant copy of their sixth-year Potions text in a cabinet of cauldrons, knives, and scales. Helpful suggestions written in its margins cut their preparation time in half, but they were still lagging behind their agreed-upon time to destroy the Horcruxes. "Only hope Harry's running a bit late, too," Sirius kept muttering.

"Stir it clockwise twenty-seven turns, then pour it over them," Draco instructed the older wizard. He tore the incantation out of a Dark text from the Restricted Section and held it up for Sirius to read, counting down with his fingers until the proper moment. The paper turned icy in his hand as Sirius intoned the spell. Even if I survive, the Lady's magic won't touch me again after this business, Draco thought miserably. He smirked. Remorse and regret were forbidden in Gryffindor Tower, but they would only add to the ambiance here.

At the last word of the chant, the potion turned pitch black and gave off a puff of acrid smoke. "Perfect," Sirius said when he stopped coughing. "Ready?"

"Do it," said Draco. Too frightened to squeak, his voice had dropped into a low monotone.

Together they hoisted the heavy iron cauldron and tipped it over the Pensieve. The potion was thick and syrupy and seemed to deliberately take its time spilling over the rim, the first dollop stretching insolently from a long liquid rope. As soon as it passed the rim of the basin, before it even hit the Horcruxes, the room went blindingly white.

Lucius Malfoy wiped the sweat from his forehead. This was a bloody disaster! The Order was supposed to be significantly weakened at this point in the battle. There had been Giants and werewolves to "soften them up." The Inferi were supposed to march in and, in their usual indifferent fashion, impede the Order's retaliations by acting as "human" shields while the Death Eaters ransacked the castle for Potter.

Malfoy's "troops" were ready. Leaf-mold on the forest floor was good nourishment for Inferi, and they'd had a nice, long slog through it. The first wave had entered the grounds by the Quidditch pitch. They were to form a moving wall, prying through whatever resistance was left outside the castle and clearing a path to the oak front doors. But when Lucius finally came out of the trees, there was no path, no wall. There was, however, a horrible smell, and up ahead, a pack of enormous dogs gnawing on what must have been the vanguard.

"Take Potter alive and whole enough to speak," the Dark Lord had said. "Summon me when he's appropriately restrained. I don't care if the rest of the castle is secure. And, Lucius," he added, "there will be no looting until I grant it. Make sure no one forgets this."

"No looting," Malfoy sneered under his breath. Not much chance of that! They'd be lucky to get in the castle at all. It had to be done, though. Whatever the Master wanted with that gold cup, Lucius was determined he wouldn't get it--at least not before some serious negotiating.

One of the dogs raised his head, some vaguely biological detritus poking from his huge snout. It looked odd, however, and for a moment Lucius wondered if the beast was missing its front paw. The second dog also looked up, and a global picture began to form. Lucius took a few steps back into the forest.

"You coward, where do--" Dolohov's words were cut off as he looked up and spotted the creature, now on its feet. "Oh."

"You were saying, Anton?" said Lucius, backing further amongst the trees. They wouldn't stop the three-headed dog, but they might slow him down a bit.

Malfoy needn't have worried. Fluffy bounded down the hill only until he struck the first row of Inferi. He took up the nearest three into his mouths and promptly shook them to pieces, wagging his tail and capering like a puppy.

The mist was familiar. Sirius looked for the Lady, but there was no sign of her. Nor of Draco, but for some reason he didn't find that alarming. Some part of him reasoned that neither he nor his cousin had enough substance in this place to see one another.

"Elen sila lumenn omentielvo," said a man's voice. "Perhaps two stars," he added, chuckling to himself. "Mortal Men should not walk the shores of Avallonne', you know. Nonetheless, I'm glad you are here. Come!" Sirius had no idea how to follow, even if he could tell which direction was being indicated.

The man laughed, a warm, cheery, welcoming sound. "Forgive an old fool, easily distracted." As he spoke, a human shape with a long white beard and an ornate staff coalesced out of the roiling fog. "I will accompany you back to Amon Gwareth, though many years have passed since I last walked in the East." Although Sirius had no sense of having arms or legs, or even free will, he found himself automatically drawn behind the mystic.

The fog cleared, or faded, and he saw himself and Draco poised motionless with their cauldron, its contents still dangling at the surface of the Pensieve. The old man gazed at the two wizards with admiration, perhaps even fondness. Retrieving the locket from the Pensieve, he examined it carefully and clicked his teeth. "Mischief," he said distractedly. He turned toward the conscious presence of Sirius, not his physical being, and held up the Horcrux.

"Objects imbued with the will of evil," he said, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd see such things again," he continued in a light tone, as though discussing the recent price of coffee. "Not nearly as potent as those of the past, but still quite nasty. The Earth herself had to destroy the first of this kind. Your enemy studied very hard to produce these." He tossed it into the Pensieve with a hint of disgust.

"Now this," he said, stooping to pick up the gold cup of Helga Hufflepuff, "this is most elegant. Very modern." He turned it over in his hands. "And possessing considerably more power, I see," he noted. "He'd obviously improved his technique when he made this one. Nonetheless..." He set the cup back into the bowl more gently than he had the locket, apparently not wishing to mar the softer metal.

Next he picked up the red book reverently, running his fingers over the cover. "Now this one... This is the reason I have come. Such insolence!" He flipped it open, skimming the pages with obvious delight. "A treasure, you know--the written history of this world. Penned by several very dear friends of mine, in fact." He stopped at an illustration of an arched gate and gazed at it for a long time. "Yes," he said. "Many memories."

Snapping the book shut, he smiled again and took up his staff. "I shall take this home with me, to heal it properly. Far too valuable to be destroyed by the malice of one man. Not to worry," he added, apparently sensing Sirius's trepidation, "the bit of soul, as you call it, will not survive, at least as it concerns your world."

But the others, thought Sirius, desperately wishing he could speak. To his great surprise, he heard Draco's voice: "Won't you also take these?"

The old man smiled fondly. "A child of Thranduil, no doubt. I see his light in your eyes. No, child, I no longer meddle in the affairs of men. I came to retrieve this treasure, and no more. This magic is of your own making; it rests with you to unmake it. But fear not," he added kindly. "It can be done--thus the power to do it lies within any one of you."

As abruptly as waking from a nightmare, the mist and the old man were gone, and the two wizards snapped upright, seeing once again through their own eyes. They dropped the cauldron into the Pensieve, which was just as well, since the potion showed no signs of rushing out of its current container. They both staggered backwards, seeking their balance, then eyed one another.

"Bloody helpful tip there at the end," grumbled Draco.

Sirius made a wry face. "S'truth. Only why could he hear you and not me?"

Draco shrugged, smirking. "Age follows beauty."

Scoffing, Sirius peered at his cousin through narrow eyes. "Oi. 'Child of Thranduil,' my arse! You're a Malfoy to the bone."

Lucius Malfoy spotted a small huddle of Death Eaters in the Forest and waved them over. "We're being routed!" spat Rodolphus Lestrange. "The castle was supposed to be open by dawn! What happened to the Giants?"

Malfoy shook his head. "His Lordship didn't say. The werewolves, however... many of them were released. They're all prancing about the grounds sniffing flowers and cooing at butterflies this morning. Fenrir must have taken on someone larger than a child for a change."

"And the Inferi are useless, I see," sneered Augustus Rookwood. "Unless you plan to subdue that monstrosity?"

"Yeah," said Alecto Carrow. "All's you need is music. Why don't you go sing 'em to sleep, Rookwood?"

Rookwood bristled. "Here's a better idea: Let's feed it your filthy flesh and maybe it'll need to lie down and rest its tummy." Both trained their wands on the other in the blink of an eye.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy stepped between them. "By Merlin, save it for the enemy, won't you? The Dark Lord--"

"What about him?" screeched Carrow over Malfoy. "Where's he? Sent us out after Potter with numbskulls for an army--whyn't he by our side? He could shut up that dog with a blink!"

All eyes were carefully trained on the ground after the traitorous remark. "Don't act like you han't thought it yourself," she growled. "Your brother layin' dead beside mine, back there," she said to Lestrange, who clenched his jaw. "An' none's seen Cissy in hours," she jeered at Malfoy.

"And just what do you propose we do about it?" Malfoy demanded, his wand suddenly poised below her nose. "Shall we find a Floo and demand that he join us? Explain that we, his finest captains, have failed to take the castle as ordered?"

"We didn't fail nothing!" said Gunther Goyle. "If Rosier had marshalled his Giants properly--"

"Don't you dare blame Rosier!" burst Carrow. "They were outnumbered! If your soldiers hadn't fallen for cheap parlor magic, crawling around in the dirt hunting pennies--"

Lucius backed away, a clear show of disgust on his face for anyone who might be watching. Inwardly, he was smiling. Let them bicker amongst themselves. The Master thought to give him the hardest task: breaching the castle itself and tracking down Potter. But instead it had given him an ironclad alibi: that the earlier forces had failed to weaken the defenses. If only you'd deployed me sooner, my Lord, he rehearsed in his mind, I would have found the strength to reach the castle. I would have proved my worth and loyalty. But I do bear you this gift...

There weren't many secret passages into the Slytherin dungeons, but Lucius knew where they were. Careful to remain downwind of the giant hound, he Disillusioned himself and made his way to the cliffs above the lake.

"Just eat, Ronald," said Luna, ever calm despite the cast on her wand arm. "There'll be plenty of fight left after breakfast. Your tummy's rumbling." Ron, still bleeding from a gash on his scalp dutifully picked up the spoon and shoveled in porridge as fast as he could. Truth be told, he was starving, but none of his brothers had come in for breakfast, and eating seemed, well, wimpy.

Luna saw the guilty look in his eye as she awkwardly buttered herself a roll. "Don't be fooled. Fred hauls out a bag of scones every time he brings in someone wounded. And Bill keeps grabbing carrots and celery, although all he seems to do is sniff them."

Presently Charlie walked into the Great Hall, hauling Bill and Remus Lupin by the arms. "I could eat dragon chow!" he announced, yanking over a plate of ham and gobbling slice after slice. "Ron, quit playing the hero and get someone to consutum your head. And help me mind these two, will you? Apparently losing your lycanthropy turns your brain to mush."

"That's not fair!" said Lupin. But he immediately lost his train of thought and began twiddling Luna's hair.

"They're just in withdrawal," chided Hermione, joining the group. "They've lost a lot of pent-up aggression. It'll take a few days to be back to normal." She tossed a book down on the table to emphasize her point: a very dusty, small tome titled Unmakyng of Werebeests. "Did you know vampires were classified as were-bats until this century? In other words, wizards infected with chiroptery. But now the Ministry considers them magical beasts!" Her eyes blazed.

"One war at a time, Hermione," said Ron.

She screwed up her face impatiently, but apparently saw the wisdom in that statement and munched, brows furrowed, on a piece of toast. "Honestly, I intend to have a long chat with your father once things--" Her voice cut off with a sharp breath.

"What?" said a chorus of voices, following her stunned gaze to the Marauder's Map, where it lay half open on the table. Using the crust of her toast as a pointer, she indicated the cause of her concern. The name "Lucius Malfoy" skittered under a fold of the map, moving quickly through the passage behind the boys' bathroom on the sixth floor.

"The Horcruxes," said Remus, suddenly coherent. He charged out of the Great Hall, followed closely by the rest of group.

Despite having lost his wolfish tendencies, Lupin outpaced everyone on the marble stairs. Ron, Hermione, and Luna were all proficient climbers, having hiked to their respective towers many times over the years, but Lupin was an entire level ahead of them by the third floor. Hermione fell even further behind, trying to maneuver the map as she climbed. "Seventh floor!" she wheezed from a landing.

Ron rounded the next twist in the stairs, only to come screeching to a halt. "We're cut off!" he bellowed down the staircase, lest any more take the corner at full speed. "Stairs have swiveled," he panted. "We need another way, Hermione!"

Lupin ran on, not caring that he'd lost the others. As he neared the seventh floor, there was no sign of Malfoy or, indeed, any other living being. He shouted out to the Fat Lady from the top of the marble stairs. "Sirius! Where?"

She peeked out from her hiding place behind her frame. "The Come and Go room!" she yelped. Lupin barreled down the proper corridor without slowing.

He stopped short before the last turn to the Room, knowing that Malfoy was most likely stuck outside the entrance and would undoubtedly Stun him if he plowed on into the corridor. Jamming his back against the wall, he poked just his nose around the corner, shouting, "Lucius!"

Malfoy was there, all right. A bolt of red light shot past his face, so close it singed his mustache. He could hear the other wizard scrambling about the corridor, undoubtedly taking cover. He risked a peek around the corner, but Lucius was in peak form. Lupin barely dodged the spell.

"Stand down, Lucius!" he shouted, the side of his face pressed against the cool stone. "You'll never get in."

"I think not," Malfoy said breathlessly. Lupin reckoned he'd probably climbed all the way from the dungeons.

"I captured your wife," Lupin called, trying a new tack. He sensed the other wizard recoiling, but Malfoy recovered immediately and resumed whatever incantation he was muttering. "She surrendered," he added, trying to think of his next ploy. He heard something that remarkably resembled a sigh of relief.

Lupin risked another peek down the corridor, and was promptly struck by an Expelliarmus. Well, at least it wasn't an 'AK', he thought with relief, waving his stinging hand while his wand skittered over the flagstones. "You can't hope to get out of here with them," he shouted. "The whole castle knows you're here. We're warded against Portkeys."

"Lupin, if you'd be so kind, would you either shut up, or duel with me like a man? This conversation is tiresome!"

Lupin shook his head, smirking. "Always the gentleman," he muttered. A new thought struck him. "He won't help you, you know. He's renounced the Dark."

"Do go on," Malfoy snarled sarcastically.

"It's true. His Dark Mark was burned from his throat. He won't--"

"Draco?" gasped Malfoy. Lupin's eyes widened in comprehension. Malfoy didn't know his son was behind that wall.

"That's right. Draco's in there, with Sirius Black. They're destroying the Horcruxes. When your master gets wind of that betrayal, the Malfoy name will be a death warrant."

"Horcruxes?" Malfoy squeaked, his cockiness evaporating.

"Horcruxes," Lupin affirmed. "All of them. They'll all be destroyed as of today. We're making him mortal again, Lucius." He could almost hear the gears whirling in the Death Eater's mind.

"I knew the objects in the photograph were valuable, but I..." Malfoy said, barely loud enough for Lupin to hear. He paused, then resumed speaking in very measured tones. "I'm ordered to bind Potter, then summon his Lordship. If what you say is true, then if Potter's binds were to slip..."

"Harry's not here. Harry's in Tunguska." Lupin bit his tongue as soon as he said it. Malfoy may have hinted at treachery, but it could easily be a trap. All this Slytherin gamesmanship was an affront to his blunt Gryffindor sensibilities. "It might end today, Lucius," he said simply, hopefully. "Your son will be part of the blow. Think, man. Think."

Malfoy was already speaking under his breath. Lupin strained to hear what he was saying. "... my son, I need to see my son, I need to see my son." He bolted around the corner and charged at full tilt toward the door, jamming his wand into the crack to keep it from closing. His wand cracked, but held together long enough for him to get a fingertip between the door and its post. One fierce pry, and he was in the Room of Requirement.

The room was barely lit with a purple gloom that made everything white glow like ghosts. Malfoy was already behind his son, who knelt before... was that the Pensieve? No time for mysteries, though; Sirius was also on his knees, an arc of magic like violet lightning spanning from his wand to the gold cup. His teeth were clenched, also glowing, as though his very skeleton was embattled with the Horcrux.

Remus dashed to his aid, though he had no idea what spell this was or how to augment it. He slammed into his friends' back, willing his magic to pass from his body to Sirius's. Nothing happened, not that he expected anything, really. Dark magic was entirely outside his repertoire.

But not Malfoy's. Draco's eyes were glowing violet, but the minute his father's hand gripped his forehead, they were restored almost to normal. Malfoy pointed his own wand in parallel with his son's and uttered a spell in a language unknown to Lupin, a harsh, glottal tongue.

The locket of Salazar Slytherin melted into a puddle of slag, releasing a puff of sickly green steam that faded and disappeared.

The Malfoys slumped into a loose, blond heap on the floor. Sirius seemed locked in time and space with the golden cup (and where was the red book? some quiet part of Lupin's mind wondered), but stalemate was not an option. Lupin glared angrily at his wand, the center bent at a useless angle, then at Malfoy's. He stretched out his arm for it, but soon gave up the attempt. He couldn't hope to duplicate the spell Malfoy cast, and a failed attempt might make things worse. Wake up! Wake up! he urged in vain.

The lacquer of the wand that was once James Potter's began to crackle and tiny wisps of smoke escaped from it. Lupin recalled Dumbledore's blackened, withered hand and suddenly had a very vivid image of what lay in store for Sirius. He scanned the Malfoys desperately, but they showed no sign of consciousness.

Light defeats darkness. Love defeats hate. All fine in theory, but the situation called for a heaping dose of both, and not in an abstract sense. Lupin gripped his oldest friend more tightly, placing his hand over Sirius's heart. He had an inspiration.

"For Regulus," he murmured beside Sirius's ear.