Chapter 6
Remus had told him to come to the Hog’s Head after dinner to meet Severus. The fact alone that the professor wanted him to sneak out of the Castle was enough to make Harry realise just how important this was and he even forgot to scowl at hearing Snape’s name. Remus had also told him that it would be best not to mention his night-time stroll to anyone.
Hogsmeade at night was different. The streets were empty, and the only lights came from the apartments above the shops, and from inside the Three Broomsticks and the Hog’s Head – the latter being almost empty as far as Harry could tell. Sirius let him in through the back door and led him straight to an empty room on the first floor, the stairs creaking under their feet and the air smelling like something very old and very mouldy.
Harry’s heart was pounding wildly in his chest and the blood rushing through his ears was the only thing he could hear, completely drowning out Remus’ and Snape’s voices as they talked about what was going to happen.
There was a bed in the corner, the sheets were stained with something Harry couldn’t identify which was probably a good thing, and on the chest of drawers next to the bed was a simple wooden box.
That’s it, then, he thought slightly hysterical, that’s where the soul fragment will go.
A hand landed on his shoulder, almost making him jump. “Harry,” Sirius’ voice said from behind his back, “It’s going to be okay.”
Harry couldn’t speak. There was a lump in his throat that kept only getting bigger, nearly choking him, but he did his best to nod his head, wanting to believe that Sirius was right.
It’s going to be okay.
Snape gestured towards the bed, and with shaking legs Harry stepped up to it and sat down.
“You will have to be conscious for this,” Snape informed him, “Your guardians assured me that your Occlumency skills are proficient which will make it easier to extract the soul fragment, I will penetrate your mind and you will guide me towards it, then, you will let go of it so I can transfer it to its new, temporary vessel, understood?” Again, Harry nodded. “Very well, please, lie down.”
Harry took a deep breath and calmed his mind. All the doors were closed, but Snape had said that Harry would have to lead him towards the piece of Voldemort in him. Slowly, carefully, Harry searched the rooms – the cupboard under the stairs, aunt Petunia’s frying pans, the back of uncle Vernon’s hand, a train ride into an unknown future, red hair and sticky fingers, bars covering his window, a massive black dog, hot chocolate in front of the TV, Ron and Hermione by the fireplace, Remus’ arms holding him tightly, the Dragon, the Merepeople, the graveyard, Draco –
“Are you ready?”
No, Harry thought frantically but it was no use, so instead he nodded a third time and almost immediately felt Snape’s presence while everything else around them faded away. He hadn’t let anyone in like this in a while, the sensation entirely foreign, uncomfortable, wrong – a burning desire to push back, but Harry ignored it, instead inviting Snape in even further, past the cupboard and the Dursleys, past the Hogwarts Express, the Burrow, Hogwarts, home, towards a door at the end of the corridor, a door that had been shut for a long, long time, a door that was heavy and dark, radiating pain, fear, and hatred, and Harry did not, could not, open it.
Let go.
Let go.
Let go.
The voice resonated through his mind, his body, urging him – no, compelling him – to open the door and slowly, he did.
The pain was blinding. Distantly, Harry was aware that someone was screaming, that there were hands on his arms, holding him down, that more doors flew open as he slowly lost control, emotions and memories alike breaking free and clouding his mind as the dark cloud from The Room was dragged down the corridor, towards the forefront of his mind, further, further, further and –
Gone.
It was gone.
“Harry?”
“Urgh.” Harry thought he might be getting sick, nausea taking over his pain-addled brain.
“Harry, can you hear me?”
“Urgh,” Harry said again. He thought it was Sirius holding onto his hand and pressing something cold and wet onto his forehead, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe he’d died. Maybe this was some kind of afterlife. Maybe he’d never get to see Remus and Sirius again.
“Potter.” This voice was different. Sharper.
“Urgh.”
His throat hurt, as if he’d been screaming, his body sore and he was shaking violently, as he tried to push himself up, eyes blinking open. The room was blurry but he could make out the shapes of three men leaning over him.
“Harry?” Remus’ voice asked.
“Yeah,” Harry croaked, “I’m good.”
“Here.” Something was pushed into his hand. A glass. Harry took a sip, revelling at the cold and soothing feeling of water running down his throat.
“Thanks.”
“How are you feeling?”
How was he feeling? Physical weariness put aside, there was a certain kind of relief, as of something heavy had been lifted from his shoulders, something he hadn’t even known had been there until now that it was gone.
“I – I feel fine, I think,” he answered, taking another sip of water. The room was slowly coming back into focus and he could see the concern on Remus’, Sirius’, and Snape’s faces, before glancing at the wooden box next to the bed. It was shattered into a dozen pieces, a black, gooey substance seeping out, like blood. “Is it gone?”
“Yes.”
A breath of relief. A silent tear. Two pairs of arms embracing him with care.
“Thank you, Severus,” Remus’ said from somewhere above Harry’s head buried in his shoulder, or maybe it was Sirius’ shoulder, Harry didn’t know.
There was no verbal answer from Snape but Harry could hear footsteps walking past and towards the door.
“Snape.” The footsteps stopped at the sound of Sirius’ voice, turned around, waited. “I’m sorry.”
“Take care of your godson, Black.”
And then the door opened and Snape was gone.
Harry, Remus, and Sirius went back up to the Castle together, Harry and his godfather safely hidden underneath the Invisibility Cloak, still feeling somewhat wobbly on his feet with Sirius supporting his weight. The way was long, longer than Harry remembered and by the time they finally arrived at the Entrance Hall, he was all but sleepwalking, barely aware of his surroundings.
“Let’s get him up to the Common Room before –” Remus cut himself off, looking at something near the staircase before motioning to Harry and Sirius to wait and stepping forward. “Theodore? What –”
“Stupefy!”
Harry watched as Remus’ unconscious body hit the ground, and just like that he was awake. More than that, he could feel the adrenaline cursing through his blood, alerting his brain, having him ready to draw his own wand and fight whatever was waiting for them in the darkness of the Entrance Hall but Sirius held him back. Theodore Nott stepped out of the shadows, sparing a last glance at Remus before hurrying up the stairs.
“Enervate.” Sirius’ wand lit up bright red as he kneeled next to his partner, waiting for him to wake up.
“He attacked me,” Remus pointed out once he had opened his eyes.
Sirius chuckled darkly. “He sure did.”
The Werewolf pushed himself up, wincing slightly as he looked around. “Harry?”
“Here.”
“Go up to the Common Room and stay there.”
“But –”
“Please.” Remus’ voice allowed for no discussions while Sirius helped him stand up. “Whatever is going on, we can deal with it.”
However, Harry remained stubborn. “Let me at least get McGonagall,” he argued, “Or – or Dumbledore.”
“He’s got a point, Remus,” Sirius said, “I’m not letting you run around here on your own.”
Remus wasn’t happy with it. Harry could see the conflict in his eyes, but he also knew he’d won when the older man let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Okay.” he conceded, “But, you stay under the Cloak and you go straight to your Dorm afterwards.”
“Okay.”
Harry rushed up the stairs towards the first floor, hoping that McGonagall was in her office, his mind racing.
Why would Nott attack Remus?
Was he the one sent to kill Dumbledore?
What was he doing sneaking around the Castle during the night?
Where was he –
“Mr. Potter?” Minerva McGonagall was standing in the door to her office, wearing a tartan night gown, her hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Professor, I’m sorry, but something’s wrong,” Harry said before explaining what had happened as fast as possible without leaving out any relevant details.
McGonagall nodded, her face stern and determined. “Thank you for telling me, Potter,” she said, flicking her wand and a second later she was fully dressed in her usual immaculate robes even if her hair stayed loose and open, “You better come with me.” Without waiting for Harry, the Professor had stepped out of her office and started walking down the corridor, her robes bulking behind her in a way that rivalled Snape’s, while Harry scrambled to keep up. The Castle was quiet, eerily so, the shadows long and dark and alive as they moved through the empty hallways.
Too empty, Harry thought, where are the ghosts? The prefects? The teachers?
Harry knew that there was increased security this year, more people patrolling throughout the night and yet they saw no one.
What did Nott do?
“Professor,” he whispered urgently as they walked further up the stairs, “Shouldn’t we…” Alert Dumbledore? Wake the others? Get more teachers? He didn’t know, just that they should be doing something, something more, something –
BANG
The crash sounded through the night, echoing off the walls, coming from above, and before Harry knew it, he was running, his feet pounding against the floor as his heart against his ribs. Faster. Faster. Faster. He had no idea where McGonagall was, if she was following him, but he found he didn’t particularly care. He reached the landing of the seventh floor, jumping out from behind a suit of armour and ready to find out what was going on, when suddenly a hand covered his mouth, another grabbing his arm, pulling him back, back into the shadows.
“Harry,” someone hissed into his ear.
Ron? The mere shock of hearing his friends voice was enough to make Harry freeze, letting the other boy lead him away, towards the Common Room, but why –
“Quid Agis.”
“Oh, thank, Merlin.”
Harry blinked, not quite understanding what was going on. Before him stood Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Seamus, and Dean, all looking ready for a fight.
“What –” Harry began but was cut off when Ron thrust a piece of parchment into his hand, and not just any piece of parchment – the Maurauder’s Map. There they were, all assembled in the Gryffindor Common Room, and there was Nott, walking down the corridor Harry would have been in, had Ron not pulled him away, and there –
Holy shit.
There were names, names that should have never shown up on the Map – Bartemius Crouch, Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Greyback, Corban Yaxley – seemingly appearing out of nowhere, but Harry knew better. They were coming out of the Room of Requirements. Frantically, Harry started searching the Map again, looking for Remus and Sirius, and letting out a breath if relief when he saw them in a secret passageway hallway between the sixth and seventh floor, going down.
Good.
“What do we do now?” Neville asked, breaking Harry’s increasingly panicked train of thought.
He looked up from the Map, looking at his friends, seeing fear but also determination, wands at their ready.
Now we fight, he wanted to say, he would have said – in another life, in another time, in a situation where his family wasn’t out there, counting on his to stay safe.
“We need a plan,” he said instead, just as the portrait of the Fat Lady opened and Remus and Sirius walked in.
“Oh, thank, Merlin!” Sirius echoed Hermione’s words from earlier as he rushed towards Harry, “We didn’t know if you – Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Harry answered, returning the hug Sirius gave him, “But there are –”
“We know,” Remus said, “We saw.” He looked ragged, despite the new moon, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “We sent word to the Order, they’re on their way. We also alerted the teachers. Filius, Pomona, and Horace are talking to their Houses as we speak and Minerva has gone to Albus’ office. All those of age may choose to fight if they wish, everyone else will stay in their Common Rooms.”
“But –”
“Harry, please.”
But this time, Harry couldn’t let it go. “I can fight!”
Remus looked at him, his eyes softening a bit. “I know you can,” he said,” But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?” Harry demanded, “I’ll be 17 in a few months, what difference does it make?”
“It makes all the difference.”
“I want to fight!”
Remus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and when he opened them again, the decision was made. “This is not up for discussion,” he told Harry before turning towards the others, ignoring the teenager’s outraged expression, “Hermione, Ginny, would you please wake the girls? I need to tell them what happened.”
With a hasty nod, the two girls turned around and hurried up the stairs, while Remus took the boys dormitories.
Harry could feel Sirius’ gaze on him and when he turned to look, he saw sadness in his godfather’s eyes, regret, but also pride. “You’re going to sneak out there, aren’t you?” he asked, making it clear that it wasn’t a real question when he didn’t wait for Harry to answer but instead nodded his own head, “Take the Cloak and the Map, and stay close to me.”
It was chaos. It seemed to every student and teacher there were at least two darkly clad figures in masks. Curses were flying through the air, as people screamed. Cries of pain could be heard, of fear, of anger. Harry stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall, hidden by his father’s old Cloak, and watched as his home was destroyed. There, Hermione and Ron where fighting back to back, here Professor Flitwick duelling three Death Eaters at once. Cho, Blaise, and Katie fighting side by side with Slughorn and Sinatra. Harry could see the motionless body of Madam Hooch lying by the foot of the stairs, could see Dean drag a bleeding Seamus out of the line of fire, could see a seventh year Hufflepuff whose name he didn’t even know be hit by a spell and hit the wall with a sickening crack.
There was a laugh that cut through the sounds of battle, high and cackling and slightly hysteric, a Death Eater that cast most of the nastiest spells and enjoyed every second of it, a manic woman that had currently picked Draco as her latest victim.
Draco.
Harry was moving before he had a chance to think about it, weaving his way through the bodies, pushing Death Eaters out of the way with a simple flick of his hand, Draco’s bracelet sitting comfortably around his wrist.
“Protego!” Harry’s shield was enough to knock Bellatrix Lestrange back several feet while Harry closed the gap between himself and Draco.
“Potter!” Harry blinked, looking down at himself, and noted that the Cloak had slid off his head and shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“Saving your life,” Harry snarked back, grateful for the piece of normal even if Draco seemed to be thinking the exact opposite, “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Dodging a particularly nasty looking curse, the blond grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him into the shadows, down the staircase that lead to the dungeons.
“You should be in your Common Room,” the Slytherin hissed.
“Why? Cause I’m still 16?”
“No, idiot, ‘cause you’re Harry fucking Potter.”
Harry frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“They want you.”
“No. They want to kill Dumbledore.”
Draco gave him an exasperated look and said, “Do you really believe they need an army to assassinate one man? The Dark Lord must have noticed by now that his Horcruxes are gone, which means he’s scared, he’s desperate, and he wants you dead more than ever, which means you can’t be here.”
“But I have to fight,” Harry argued.
Shaking his head, Draco replied, “What you have to do is stop being brave and start being smart.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked again, quitter this time, trying to understand what Draco was saying.”
“Do you still have the Felix Felicis?”
“What?”
“The Felix Felicis,” Draco repeated slowly, “The one you won at the start of the year.”
“Yes,” Harry answered, still not entirely sure what Draco was getting at, unless –
“Good. You’re going to need it. Let’s go.”
He was right, of course, they were going to need some luck, and Harry could have kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier. As the two boys used one secret passageway after another to make their way up the Gryffindor Tower, Harry also realised something else – Draco was scared. Why that came as a surprise, he had no idea. In fact, it would be far more concerning if he wasn’t, except during the last few months, Harry had learned just how well Draco could conceal his emotions, constructing a mask that gave nothing away, and now that mask was cracked, allowing Harry to see the boy underneath, a terrified child that tried to survive at any cost.
They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and it occurred to Harry that bringing Draco inside the Common Room was probably not the best idea, not with all the younger students waiting inside fearing for their lives.
“Wait here,” he whispered, giving Draco the Cloak while he slipped inside. The Common Room was filled with people and deafening silence.
“Harry!” Ginny stepped out of a group of first years that looked pale and like they had been crying not too long ago. “What’s going on out there?”
“It’s fine,” Harry said, “I just need to get something. You stay here. It’ll be over soon.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He knew Ginny was more than capable to hold her own in a fight, and he knew, if it had been him stuck here while everyone he loved was out there risking their lives, he would have hated every second of it but it was better this way. It was better to keep here safe.
“Harry –” Ginny called after him, but he ignored here, already sprinting up the stairs to his dorm to get the potion. When he came back down, Ginny was nowhere to be seen. His hope, that she had gone back to comforting the younger students or maybe up to her own dorm, however, went up in smoke as soon as he stepped back outside.
“The she-Weasel just sneaked past me,” Draco informed him.
“Ginny?”
“Unless there is another one that I don’t know about, yes, her.”
“And you let her?” Harry asked, his voice high-pitched and panicked while Draco simply shrugged as if he couldn’t care less that an underage teenager had just run headfirst into a battle, but Harry knew him well enough by now, to know that it was more than that. It was a deep understanding to allow people their own choices, a conscious decision to distance himself from anyone he didn’t know, didn’t trust, didn’t count as a friend. It was self-preservation. And while Harry might have disagreed with that, he also understood that this was not the time or place for that particular discussion. Letting out a shaky breath, Harry instead pulled out the vial with the potion.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to Draco who rolled his eyes.
“It’s not for me, Potter.”
“I’m Potter again, am I?”
“When you’re being an idiot?” Draco asked, “Yes.”
It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes this time. “Come on,” he said, “There’s enough for everyone.”
He waited patiently for Draco to make up his mind even though he already knew what the answer would be.
Knowledge.
Trust.
Friends.
Self-preservation.
“Fine.”
Harry had to supress a smile. He had never really noticed before – five years of adversity, enmity, rivalry – but Draco was ridiculously predictable. Not that he would tell him that.
It was a bit like being drunk again, Harry thought after taking a swig from the Potion, leaving enough for Ron and Hermione in case they ran into them, like being drunk but softer, somehow. Subtler. It was euphoric and light, an open door to the world of opportunities and Harry had stepped right through.
Maybe it was the potion, maybe Harry was feeling brave, or maybe it was the light falling onto Draco’s face, making his skin seem almost white – You’re beautiful, he thought except his mouth was moving and the words came out and it was okay. He was feeling lucky.
Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure that wasn’t love potion?” he asked half-heartedly, his tongue poking out as he wet his lips almost nervously.
“Very sure.” It was the right thing to say, he knew, nothing could go wrong. Not right now. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but they were standing so close together and it really wouldn’t take much to –
“I’m not kissing you until this is over,” Draco whispered. He sounded regretful but determined nonetheless.
“So you are going to kiss me?”
The nervousness was gone, so was the regret, replaced by a cocky grin. “I guess you’ll have to survive to find out.”
Harry wasn’t sure when exactly the Order had gotten there but when he and Draco slid back into the Entrance Hall, Tonks was fighting alongside Kingsley and McGonagall, the entire Weasley family built a united front near the door, and Alastor Moody was shooting hexes and curses after everything that wore a mask and still moved. The chaos had spread out, into the Great Hall, out onto the courtyard, up into the first-floor corridor.
“Harry!” Hermione’s cry cut through the noise and Harry swivelled around to see his two best friends running towards them. They were on the first floor, standing amongst broken suits of armour and shattered windows, droplets of blood covering the floor. Relief flooded through Harry at seeing Ron and Hermione alive and unharmed – or mostly unharmed anyway. Ron, Harry could see now, had a nasty gash on his forehead, dried blood sticking in his hair. “Where have you been?”
Harry opened his mouth to tell his friends about Felix Felicis, to ask them to drink it as well, but before he could, a masked figure rounded the corner, wand raised and aimed at Ron, ready to shoot Merlin-knows what kind of curse.
“Stupefy!”
The stunner soared past Harry and narrowly missed Ron before hitting the Death Eater dead in the chest, leaving Ron frozen in place, his eyes wide.
“You’re welcome, Weasley,” Draco’s voice drawled from behind Harry.
“You were with him?” Ron asked, the accusation clear in his voice.
Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Can we not do this now?” he pleaded, reaching into his pocket for the vial, “Here.” He held the potion out for Ron to take. “Drink the rest.”
But Ron didn’t move, simply stood there, staring, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Tonight, Weasley.”
“Shut up, Malfoy.” But it had worked. Ron took the Felix Felicis and put the vial to his lips before handing it to Hermione who drank without complaint or hesitation.
“Let’s go,” Harry said, “Before it wears off.”
He turned to go back to the staircase, ignoring Ron’s muttered, “Bloody hell, this is great,” and threw himself headfirst into the fight.
Fighting with Felix Felicis coursing through his system was like nothing he had ever experienced. No spell seemed to be able to hit them, while their own aim was always true, and Harry didn’t think it had ever been this easy to cast non-verbal and even wandless spells. It also helped that he had three less people to worry about. Hermione and Ron made a good team, covering each other’s backs even though they probably didn’t even need to but, of course, it was always better to be on the safe side, while Draco was a force to be reckoned with. His reflexes were unbelievable, and he clearly wasn’t above playing dirty, not that Harry was surprised, he was a Slytherin after all.
Out from the corner of his eye, Harry could see Sirius fighting Dolohov and Rookwood, making him wonder where Remus was.
Please let him be okay.
But there was no time to look, not now, not when Theodore Nott, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle ran up the stairs from the Dungeons.
“Expelliarmus!” Three wands flew through the air, straight into Harry’s outstretched hand. “Go back to the dungeons,” he warned the three boys, “You don’t need to get hurt.”
“Get lost, Potter,” Nott snarled, but Harry could also see the fear in his eyes. He was wandless, in the middle of a battle, surrounded by people he had betrayed by letting the Death Eaters into the Castle, however he had managed to do it.
“Go back.”
For a second it looked like they would, Nott’s lips pressed into a thin line, his face showing nothing but a mixture of fear and hatred – and then he charged forward. Both Crabbe and Goyle let out a shout and tried to grab Nott’s arms, to hold him back, but Nott was faster.
So was Harry – Locomotor Mortis, he thought, careful to only aim one of his four wands at Nott, making him stumble and fall face-first to the floor.
“Go back,” he said one last time, giving Crabbe and Goyle a long look before purposefully turning his back, just in time to watch a massive man with matted grey hair jump Sirius from behind, however, before Harry could react a second man joined them, smaller but not any less vicious-looking, pulling the first man off Sirius and all but throwing him against the wall. Harry could hear low, rumbling growl coming from Sirius’ saviour, but he still couldn’t see his face, even though there was something familiar about him, something he knew, something that made his heart ache. Sirius let out a long, agonising groan, and Harry rushed forward, trusting that his luck would hold and none of the wayward spells hit him.
“Sirius.”
His godfather was lying on the floor, robes slashed by long, sharp claws, showing the deep gashes in his shoulder and chest, all the way up to his neck.
“Alright, cup?” Sirius croaked, his mouth pulled into something that Harry was sure was supposed to be a smile but that merely looked like a painful grimace.
“You’re hurt,” Harry pointed out.
“Don’t worry about me.” He was trying to move, to sit up and look at the two man that were now fighting a few feet away from them, while Harry tried to keep him still. “Remus,” Sirius whispered, and suddenly it hit Harry. His head whipped around. The man that had saved Sirius, skin covered in scars, brown hair greying at the roots, robes barely more than shredded fabric covering his torso – Remus. Which meant the other man, the other Werewolf, because that’s clearly what he was, was Fenrir Greyback. Harry had never seen him but he had heard enough stories to recognise him now. Greyback was taller than Remus, stronger, in a constant state of half-transformation, his teeth long and canine, his fingers ending in claws, but Remus was the one overcome by rage, by fear for his partner, his lover, his mate, by the protectiveness that ran deep and knew no limits. Harry watched in muted horror as they fought, his fingers pressing down on Sirius’ wounds, wishing he could heal them.
“You’re hurt,” he choked out again, tears welling up in his eyes. He felt helpless, the euphoria of Felix Felicis nothing more than a distant memory in the back of his mind, “We need to find Madam Pomphrey.”
Ignoring Sirius’ protests, Harry hoisted Sirius up to his feet, slinging one arm behind his back to take most of his weight, before pulling him away, towards the Hospital Wing. He just hoped that Madam Pomphrey was actually there, that there was something she could do.
The way was long – he had never quite realised how big Hogwarts was until now when there was no time – and Harry had no idea how he had gotten there in the end, his own body protesting under the weight of Sirius.
“Oh dear, another one?” Pomphrey asked, immediately taking Sirius from him and leading him to the only free bed in the room, “Greyback?”
Harry nodded numbly, his eyes scanning the room. Lavender Brown was lying in a nearby bed, her face barely recognizable underneath the cuts and bites, there were two Ravenclaws with burns covering their bodies, a Hufflepuff who only had one hand, Trelawney was lying motionless on a bed by the window, and next to her –
Harry’s heart clenched.
Ginny.
She looked peaceful, her skin was pale, her hair even more vibrant than usually, and she was breathing.
Forcing himself to avert his gaze, Harry turned his attention back to Pomphrey who had laid Sirius down on the bed and was now cleaning the wounds.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter,” Pomphrey answered, “Wounds from Werewolf claws are nasty, they can’t be healed by magic but will have to close up naturally. All I can do is keep them clean and bandaged and hope for the best.”
He knew that already, of course, but somehow hearing it now was worse. So much worse.
“Thank you,” he said, turning around to leave. There was nothing he could do.
I have to check on Remus, he thought frantically as he ran down the hallways, I have to tell Ron about Ginny.
He was on the first floor again, the Death Eater Draco had Stunned earlier nowhere to be seen – And then Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into his path. Her mask must have gotten lost at some point or another, there was a crazed look in her eyes, her hair standing up in all directions, and when she grinned, Harry could see the blood in her mouth. Her wand was raised and pointed at him, leaving Harry no time to react as the spell hit him.
His luck, it seemed, had finally run out.