Harry Potter and the Perseus Castle

By Ahn Na Blue

Standard Disclaimer: We all know who owns Harry Potter. And we all know it isn’t me.

Chapter Six: Perseus Castle

Harry woke up in Ron’s bed with a start, and for a moment, didn’t know where he was. Beyond the drawn bed curtains, he could hear a definite bustling, and snippets of tense conversation. Leaning over, he carefully threaded a finger through the curtains and squinted against the bright light of morning.

On every bed lay an open trunk, most nearly full with belongings, socks hanging out at odd angles, and new Christmas sweaters jammed in without folding. On the bed next to him, Colin Creevey was leaning on his trunk, trying to force it shut.

“What’s happening? What’s happening? Colin, do you know?” Harry heard a small frightened voice ask, and a thin, black haired first year came into view.

“Lean on this for me, will you?” said Colin, his trusty camera around his neck. He wasn’t about to risk it being crushed with the rest of his things. The first year looked at the bulging case uncertainly for a moment before throwing his weight onto it, and the few extra pounds were enough to allow Colin to latch it shut. Then the two boys stood quietly against the scampering of the rest. “I don’t know what’s happening, Benjamin. I have a good idea of it, but-” he laid his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, and Harry thought that he was staring towards Harry’s empty bed. “Look, all I know for sure is we’ve got to get you packed and ready. We’re supposed to be down to the coaches in fifteen minutes to catch the Hogwarts Express.”

Harry let the curtain fall closed again, and plunked his head quietly back onto Ron’s pillow. The students were being evacuated.

“Harry?”

Harry jumped slightly as Hermione’s head came up beside him. Although his arm had been around her, he hadn’t yet registered the fact that she was there. He kissed her softly on the forehead before putting his fingers to his lips and motioning through the curtains with his eyes. She blinked, and then her eyes opened wide as she remembered that she was in the boys’ dormitory. She grimaced and pulled the blankets up over her face.

Harry smiled as he felt Hermione’s hand sliding across his chest as she snuggled closer, still sleepy. It was so tempting to stay there, in the warm bed. With the curtains drawn it felt like they were in another world, even with the sounds of panic going on just a few feet away.

They had only gotten a few hours of rest. After it had become too cold to stay by the lake, they had searched the castle for Ron, but were unable to find him. So, after a bit of puzzling about what to do next, Harry had smuggled Hermione into the dormitory, and they had gotten into Ron’s bed to wait. Eventually, they just fell asleep, and now it was morning. And still no Ron.

But certainly he had to know now, Harry thought. The whole school was being cleared out, except for those fighting. Someone must have found him, and told him.

Outside the curtain, things were quieting down. Harry could hear trunks being dragged down the stairs, and further away, could hear the shouts of the Fat Lady as people crammed themselves through the portrait hole.

“Ron never came back,” Hermione whispered.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Harry?”

“What?”

“I’m-I’m a little glad he didn’t come back,” she said shyly. “I know he shouldn’t be alone just now, but, I’m glad…well…it was nice being here alone with you.”

Harry grinned at Hermione’s blush. He had been thinking the same thing, and feeling a little guilty about it. “I know. Me too.” Hermione squirmed, and beneath the blankets their legs slid against each other’s, where they had been inadvertently entwined. Harry looked around uncomfortably, suddenly very aware that they were in a bed together.

“This bed smells like Ron,” Hermione giggled, crinkling her nose. “Doesn’t he ever wash his socks?”

“Only for special occasions.” Harry smiled and peered through the curtain opening. The other beds were in disarray but had been abandoned. Reluctantly, he lifted himself off the bed and stepped into the morning, holding his hand out to Hermione, who was wrestling against the sheets, still in her full length gown.

“Oh, hey Harry, I thought you were Ron, so I told the others to let you alone. You know how peeved he gets when we wake him early.”

Harry froze, and Hermione’s eyes looked like they might fall out. Neville was sitting on his bed, just a few rows away. His trunk was still beneath it, but he was dressed and his hair was combed. He had his wand out, and was playing with it nervously.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said. He was wondering how he was going to get Hermione out of the dorms; Neville didn’t look terribly keen on moving. But Hermione solved the problem by bursting through the curtains. Harry looked at her, shocked.

“Hi, Neville,” she said with forced normalcy, smoothing some curls down around her face and standing very straight, trying with all her might to look dignified and not like some tart who had just spent the night sleeping in a room full of boys.

“Hi Hermione,” Neville said nonchalantly, and then, “What’re you two doing in Ron’s bed?”

“Well,” Harry stammered.

“We were-” Hermione started.

“Waiting for Ron,” they finished together.

“Oh,” Neville said tonelessly. He didn’t ask any more questions. He wasn’t even looking at them. He was just scared, and pale, and alone. Harry felt for him.

“Hermione, we should get cleaned up.”

She looked from him to Neville, and nodded. “But Harry,” she said with apprehension in her voice.

“No matter what happens, I won’t go anywhere without you. We’ll meet back in the Common Room.” She was looking at him uncertainly, so he added, “I swear.” She walked away slowly, her hand sliding through his down to the fingertips, and then ran from the room, and down the stairs, successfully smuggled.

Harry walked over to Neville’s bed. “Did you have a nice time at the Ball?”

“What?” Neville said, startled as though Harry had just appeared. “The Ball? Yeah. Luna’s great. Weird, but great.” He exhaled deeply. “I never thought I’d be here, Harry. At the end of it all. Me, almost a squib.” He shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“You’re nowhere near a squib, Neville,” Harry assured him. “Your parents were great wizards. And so are you. You just don’t have much confidence. But you remember that year at the Department of Mysteries. You were brilliant.”

Neville didn’t look convinced.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t have chosen you to stay otherwise.”

“I almost wish he hadn’t,” Neville croaked, sounding a lot like Trevor.

“Listen Neville. I’m sorry if I haven’t exactly been a good friend these past few weeks.”

Neville looked up, surprised. “No, Harry, you’ve always been a good friend, I know you’ve been busy…”

“That’s no excuse to forget my friends. You’ve really stuck by me, so, you know,” Harry cleared his throat, “thanks.”

Neville’s chest puffed with pride. “Sure.”

Harry smiled. But speaking of friends, where on earth was Ron?

*************************************

When Harry returned from the showers, he was met on the stairs by Neville, Parvati, and Professor McGonagall.

“Potter! There you are. The members of the D.A. have been summoned to Dumbledore’s office,” said the professor, her eyes shining nervously behind her square spectacles.

Harry’s heart began its familiar pound. “Yes, just a moment, I have to go back to the Common Room-”

“I’m afraid there’s no time for that. Your presence is required by the Headmaster almost immediately!” In a billow of dark green robes, she began to usher him back down the shifting staircase.

He slid past her. He had promised Hermione that he would meet her. She would be waiting. “I’ll be right there, Professor!” Harry called out over his shoulder. “I forgot-er, I forgot the mirror!” Behind him, Professor McGonagall was sputtering with exasperation that Medusa’s Mirror was safely in Dumbledore’s office, which Harry knew, of course, but he had reached the portrait hole.

The Fat Lady stared down at him expectantly as Harry racked his brain. The password had changed frequently during the past week, even more frequently than it had when Sirius had been on the loose.

“Password please,” The Fat Lady said sweetly.

Harry suddenly knew how Neville must have felt all these years. “How about a hint?” he asked hopefully.

“Password please,” she repeated, crossing her chubby arms.

“Oh come on, you know who I am!” He shouted crossly, and then, it came to him, the most simple password of all. “Dumbledore’s Army, Dumbledore’s Army!” he snapped, and pushed her aside.

He almost fell through, into a deserted Common Room. Hermione wasn’t there. She will be, he told himself. But the room felt so empty. There were no discarded books, no half-played games of Wizard Chess or Exploding Snap. Not a hint anywhere that anyone had ever lived there. As the minutes ticked by, Harry started to pace. Where was she? It didn’t take that long to get showered and dressed, and she had left long before Harry had. He paced faster. What if something had happened? What if she had been taken? What if-

“Harry!”

His head spun around as she dove through the portrait hole. “Hermione!” She ran to him, and threw herself into his arms.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” she said breathlessly. “Professor Snape caught me in the hall and tried to drag me up to Dumbledore’s office. It took me forever to get away, in the end I just stepped on his foot, disarmed him and ran…and I talked to Ginny in the girls’ lavatory and no one’s seen Ron, and-”

Harry grinned at her and pressed his forehead against hers. “Slow down, slow down,” he said, and kissed her lightly.

Hermione’s eyes were jewel-like with emotion. “Oh, I wish I could slow down, Harry. I wish everything would slow down. I wish this weren’t happening.”

He kissed her again, lingering this time, inhaling her scent and committing it to memory. He knew that she was doing the same. His hands stole up her back, and she arched into him, and for a moment Harry contemplated finding his cloak and stealing a thestral, and running, to the ends of the earth if he had to, as along as he could be with her, and they would be safe.

“We have to go,” he said.

**********************************************

Harry and Hermione walked into Dumbledore’s office unescorted, their hands linked tightly together. The other members of the D.A., and Draco Malfoy, were already there. Parvati, Luna, and Ginny smiled tremulously at Hermione. Parvati was crying. Draco gave Harry a haughty sneer, but Harry thought that it lacked conviction, that if Draco hadn’t been holding onto Ginny, he would have been shaking like a leaf.

Dumbledore had apparently been in the middle of a speech, and looked up to see them enter, a pleased expression on his face.

“Mr. Potter, at last,” hissed Professor Snape, who was standing to his right, beside Professor McGonagall.

Harry didn’t spare him a glance. “What do we do, Professor?” he asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had none of his usual quirky silliness. He spoke just as he did at Harry’s inquisition at the Ministry of Magic at the start of fifth year. “The Aurors have assembled themselves near the lake. We will join them shortly. Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and Trelawney will perform the incantation with me. We will hold the castle for you as long as we can, Harry.”

“Hold the castle? What, you’re bringing it here?”

“Yes. It will float above the mists of the lake. And once it arrives,” Dumbledore said gravely, “Professors Snape, Moody, Firenze, as well as Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Hagrid, Madame Maxime, Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum, the Aurors, and of course, all of you, will stand against whatever is to emerge.”

Harry looked around at the disbelieving faces. Hermione had started to shake, so he dropped her hand and wrapped his arm around her.

“How many Deatheaters are inside?” Hermione asked.

“We don’t know,” Dumbledore said gently. “We don’t know what is inside.”

Professor Snape stepped forward. “We’ll be blasting cover for you to get into the castle. It’s unlikely that Voldemort will leave the safety of its walls.”

Harry’s palms were sweating. He thought he might drop his wand, and tightened his grip. “But what if I can’t get through? I mean, what if I can’t get in?”

“I think, Harry,” Dumbledore mused. “That we are lucky that Voldemort believes wholeheartedly in the prophecy. I think, that he will want you to enter.”

“Harry,” Hermione said into his shoulder, barely above a whisper, and leaned against him.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked suddenly. No one had mentioned him, and in all the commotion, Harry had forgotten that he was missing.

The question seemed to stun Professor McGonagall, and she seemed embarrassed, that she could have forgotten about one of her own Gryffindors. “I- I don’t know,” she stammered.

“Has anyone seen him since the Ball?”

There were only shaking heads for an answer.

“We’ll have to be a man short,” Professor Snape snapped.

“A man short?!” Harry exclaimed. “Ron’s missing, and that’s all you can say? What if he’s been taken? You’ve never cared about any of the Gryffindors, only your precious Slytherins mattered, it’s a wonder you didn’t just feed the rest of us to Fluffy-”

Professor Snape had turned as red as a Weasley, but he carefully controlled his tone. “Harry,” he said, making Harry’s eyes bug out at the use of his first name. “If Ron has indeed been taken, then he was taken by the Deatheaters, and we will recover him during the battle.” Snape smiled in what Harry thought must have been an attempt to be reassuring, but only made him look like he was baring his teeth. “But you have to be focused on the fight now. Let the rest of us look after Ron.”

“Okay,” Harry said uncertainly, wishing Snape would stop doing that curling lip grin and go back to being his regular, greasy, mean, creepy self.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, and stared into Harry’s eyes. “We must go. Every second we lose is a second that Voldemort gains.” So, one by one, they filed out of the room, with Hermione, Harry, and Dumbledore bringing up the rear.

***********************************

Harry and Hermione clung to each other against the winter chill. “Oh,” Hermione said softly, looking out onto the misty, icy surface of the lake. No less than a hundred Aurors were gathered on the shore.

“Get a good look at each other,” Dumbledore called out. “We don’t want any unfortunate mishaps.” His hands went out to the shoulder of each frightened student walking around him. “Notice that the Aurors are all wearing white scarves; aim your hexes well.”

Ten yards from the bank, Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Trelawney were huddled beneath a tree, waiting.

“This is where I leave you, Harry.” Professor Dumbledore turned to him, and reached into his robes for Medusa’s Mirror. Harry took it, gingerly. He still couldn’t work it. The older wizard looked down on him kindly, and patted his upright hair. “Not even the strongest charm could tame it,” he said, ruffling it fondly. “I will be quite occupied with the holding spell. I won’t be of much assistance when it comes to protection.” He looked from Harry to Hermione and then back again. “I trust you two will look after each other?”

“We will,” Hermione nodded, and Harry watched her proudly. She was standing very straight, her face determined. Even though Harry could see the panic fluttering behind her eyes, she looked to the rest of the world completely composed.

“The brightest and the bravest,” Dumbledore smiled as he walked away.

“This way, this way,” Professor Snape said, leading them towards the center of the group of Aurors. Hagrid, Madame Maxime, and Fleur Delacour were standing off to the right; Harry and Hermione offered up a wave, and then continued. They didn’t want Hagrid to start to cry.

Professor Snape stopped them towards the front, just at the ice’s edge. Moody, Remus, and Tonks were beside them. Remus clapped him on the back. Moody stared straight ahead across the freeze, but his magical eye was spinning at the mirror. Finally, his other eye gave in.

“Any luck with that bloody mirror?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Harry said, his stomach tightening. He tried to look brave. He wanted to be brave; he was a Gryffindor after all, and everyone was counting on him. Hermione was there, standing beside him, and that was good, although he also wished for Ron, and any moment now, something would happen…

“Don’t waste your time on weak curses,” Professor Snape was saying. “Deatheaters are nothing to throw a jelly-legs hex at. They’ll just throw them off. But don’t do anything, unforgivable either,” he added, looking at Draco.

“This is wartime, Professor,” Draco said, smirking. “Surely anything is forgivable during a war…”

Professor Snape had no time to discipline him. As they watched, wide-eyed, the mist began to roll over the frozen lake in earnest. Thick, white mist, like a creeping milkshake swirling on the surface, and swallowing their feet. And on the wind, Harry heard Dumbledore’s clear, noble voice: “Vocate venti fortunate/ ex rege Perseus/ et hic navis flugem regate/ ad orae ubi status!”

The mist lifted, curling like a cloud high into the sky, and there was a collective gasp as it parted all at once, to reveal Perseus Castle, black and hulking.

****************************************

The castle was monstrous. Shadows danced along its walls even in the bright light of day, and its form seemed to shift without moving. It was black, very black, but somehow, Harry thought that the color looked false, that the castle wasn’t really that color at all underneath. The whole place definitely gave him the creeps.

And then the castle opened, revealing its interior with a lowering of a drawbridge of black mist. The silhouettes of countless Deatheaters were lined up inside.

“Wands at the ready!” Snape shouted to the students. Harry barely had time to lift his hand before the first throng of Deatheaters came seething through the mist towards them. The battle cries rose, and at once, curses were flying through the air.

“They’ve got swords!” Moody shouted back to them. “Swords for hand to hand combat! Don’t let them close!” He was snarling, disarming their attackers right and left.

“Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!” Harry could hear Neville yelling from behind him, and turned to see him blasting out curses, catching an enemy every time.

Harry was momentarily frozen. He had subconsciously stepped in front of Hermione as the onslaught began, and then stood there, blinking, trying to see through the mass for a route into the castle. A bright purple light flashed to his left, and he spun just in time to see Parvati struck. She crumpled, dead before she hit the ground.

“Parvati!” Hermione squealed, and started to go to her.

Draco Malfoy got there first. “Avada Kedavra!” he hissed, and the Deatheater that killed her clutched his chest and fell. “Don’t just stand there, Potter! Go!” He stood, flinging another unforgivable curse into the crowd. “And don’t mess up. Don’t leave us dying out here for nothing.” Then he was gone, wrestling through the struggling bodies.

“I have to get in that castle,” Harry shouted to Hermione above the noise. “Can you cover me?”

She shook her head emphatically.

Hermione, he thought desperately, you have to be brave now!

“No, Harry, I’m not leaving you! We’re going in together!” She had grasped onto his sleeve.

“GET DOWN!”

Harry and Hermione ducked just in time to see a green flash of light pass above their heads.

“STUPEFY!”

The Deatheater that had been advancing on them while they spoke fell to the ground in convulsions. Harry turned to see the source of the hex.

“Ron!”

“You’d better watch it, mate, these Deatheaters are a shifty lot,” he grinned, panting.

“Ron,” Hermione gasped happily. “Where have you been? We thought you were gone, that you’d been taken-”

Ron waved her off. “What? And miss the last charge of Harry Potter and his immortal D.A.? Not in a million.”

Harry was beaming. His best friend was back. “The last charge of the Trio,” he corrected, looking at them proudly.

“Right,” said Ron. “Well, it’s not too bright to push through them, what with those swords.”

“Best to go over them, then,” Hermione supplied, and the three of them raised their wands as six dark robed figures descended on them, swords and wands pointed.

“IMPEDIMENTA!”

All six, plus more, were blasted back off of their heels. “Run!” Harry screamed, and bolted, with Hermione and Ron just behind on either side. He could hear Snape and Moody shouting to the others to blast them some cover. They ducked and cast counter curses, sliding on the ice, and threw themselves into Perseus Castle.

****************************************

“Ouch!” Ron exclaimed. He had thrown himself in rather overzealously and had smacked against a wall. Behind them, the drawbridge of mist drew closed with a soft, sucking sound. They stared at it for a moment, the finality of the situation starting to sink in.

“Well, there’s no going back now,” Ron grumbled.

Hermione was looking around. The inside of the castle was the same dank shade of black as the outside, but again falsely, like another color could be seen just below the surface. They were in the middle of a long oval hall, with seven darkened doorways along its sides. Torches of green flame flickered brightly above each one, but the combination of green light against black walls made it difficult to see much of anything.

“You shouldn’t have come with me,” Harry said, squinting at the dismal surroundings. The entire castle felt like one gigantic dementor; just being inside it made him feel like he’d never again see the sun.

“There’s no way I was letting you come in here alone,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “And besides,” she added, looking at Ron. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, although maybe the stupidest team in history,” Ron said doubtfully, looking around and tugging his robes, inching closer to Harry. “What do we do now?”

“Find Voldemort,” said Harry fiercely.

“Better find our Patronuses first!” Hermione squealed, running to Harry and grabbing his arm in fright. He felt Ron also back against him more tightly.

In the green flickering light, all of the dementors that had vacated Azkaban prison were sliding out of the shadowy doorways, quickly filling the room and making it go incredibly cold.

“Where’s the Flammarion Serum when you need it,” Ron screeched, his voice cracking.

“That won’t help. The only thing that will save us now are Patronuses. Do you remember how to cast them?” Harry was fingering Medusa’s Mirror gently. They had backed all the way up to the closed drawbridge.

Hermione nodded, but Ron looked unsure.

“I can’t think of anything happy! I can’t think of anything but madness!”

“It’s the dementors! You have to fight it!” But Harry’s own head was beginning to swim, there were so many, more than he had ever seen, more than twice the number he had faced with Sirius…

“Harry,” Hermione moaned beside him, making his eyes fly open. “Use the mirror, cast your Patronus…hurry…”

Harry drew the mirror out from within his robes. “Hermione,” he said, procrastinating, knowing the mirror wouldn’t work. “You have to cast yours too.”

“I’m trying,” she cried. “I’m trying to think of kissing you, of last night, but it’s too tinged with sadness!”

“Then you have to think of something else!”

“I can’t think of anything else!”

The first dementor was bearing down on them, raising its dead hands towards its hood, preparing for the kiss…

Harry searched his mind desperately, and relived the moment that Hermione had told him that she loved him. “Expecto Patronum!” he shouted, touching the mirror with his wand.

Nothing happened.

Stupid mirror, stupid mirror, Harry thought, as a dementor reached out to grab Ron, who began screaming. It’s over, Harry thought with defeat, feeling the hope leak out of him. It’s all over.

He gathered Hermione close to him, trying to shield her. “I can’t make it work,” he whispered to her as she went mad. “It’s the wrong mirror, that’s why the cave collapsed when I took it off the wall…”

Hermione suddenly came alive in his arms. She appeared to be focusing very hard, and then, “Expecto Patronum!” She aimed her wand at the dementor holding Ron, and a few silvery whisps shot forth, not much, but enough to knock the sick creature back. Ron fell to the floor with a thud.

“Harry, give the mirror to Ron! Hurry!” Harry did as he was told, and Hermione continued. “Ron! Use it. Cast your Patronus!”

Ron looked at Harry doubtfully.

“I know you can do it, Ron,” Hermione said strongly, fighting against the pull of a dementor sliding up beside her.

Harry nodded. “Try.”

Ron looked down into the mirror uncertainly. His face brightened at once. Harry knew what he was seeing: the three of them. Walking and laughing. Together, as they should be.

Ron touched his wand to the mirror’s shining surface. “Expecto Patronum!”

A blinding silver light filled the room, and the dementors shrank back at once. A Patronus, in the shape of a bear, three times the size of a large Kodiak, erupted from the mirror, grasping the shadowy shapes in its massive forepaws.

Harry felt the life return to his limbs. He and Hermione looked into the surface of the mirror. Smiling, they cast their charms as well, and Harry’s stag and Hermione’s otter joined the battle. Within minutes, the dementors had returned to the recesses of the castle, hissing in otherworldly pain.

The stag and otter reared and chattered respectively, and Ron’s great bear gave a mighty roar and slashed the air before they all disappeared.

“That was bloody incredible!” Ron exclaimed. “Did you see that, Harry? My Patronus?”

“Amazing Ron,” Harry agreed.

“It was so obvious,” Hermione was saying. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“What?” the boys asked.

She shook her head at them, exasperated at their cluelessness. “Of course Harry couldn’t use the mirror. He wasn’t the one who found it.” When their perplexed expressions didn’t change, she went on. “Don’t you remember? Dumbledore said that only the person who finds the mirror can use it. And Ron found it. Remember? We were looking at the other mirror.”

“Geez, that’s literal,” Harry grumbled, annoyed at having spent so much time practicing for nothing.

“Rules of magic often are,” Hermione scolded. “That must also be why the cave collapsed when you tried to take it. If Ron had taken it, I doubt that it would have done anything.”

“Well that’s fantastic,” Harry said sarcastically. “I need that mirror to defeat Voldemort. What am I supposed to do now?”

Ron looked sheepish, the mirror in his hand. Hermione bit her lip. “Well, either way, we should get going, who knows how long the others will be able to hold the castle.”

“Right,” Ron said, looking suddenly determined. “I don’t fancy being lost in the mists in this bloody creepy castle, with Voldemort at the helm.”

Harry was staring at the doorways. Each one looked just as shadowy and forbidding as the rest. At the end of one, Voldemort was waiting. And that’s the one that I’m supposed to choose, Harry thought sourly.

“Try the mirror, Ron,” Hermione said, and Ron turned his back to the doorways, flashing the mirror at every one. In the mirrors reflection, the doorways had doors on them, and they were all closed. Except for the doorway just to their left. “That’s the one,” he said, focusing on keeping his voice steady.

“Off we go then,” said Harry.

“What’s the hurry, little ones?” Came a cackle from behind them. They spun to see Bellatrix LeStrange emerge from the shadows.

********************************************

Harry’s scar was burning. “Look we don’t have time for you. We’ve got to go kill your boss.”

Bellatrix looked as though she might explode. “WE?!” She screeched. “WE?! I don’t think so, little Potter! The Dark Lord wants only you. The rest are expendable!” She raised her wand.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled, making it fly out of her hand. “Why aren’t you out helping your cronies?” He advanced on her, thinking of Sirius, ready to hex her into oblivion, or at least immobility. Too late he heard the diabolical laugh behind him, as the Deatheater he hadn’t seen lurking threw a killing curse at Hermione.

She spun and gasped, seeing the light come at her, unprepared. She had been too busy watching Harry and Bellatrix.

“NO!” Harry screamed, and ran, time moving molasses slow, as the curse descended. I’m not going to make it, his mind whined. I’m going to lose her…

“HERMIONE!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron dive, throwing Medusa’s Mirror out in front of him. The curse intended for Hermione reflected off of it, and magnified itself as it rebounded on its caster. Antonin Dolohov burst into flames and exploded.

Harry reached Hermione and snatched her out of the way, his arms around her, feeling her shake. Ron hit the ground hard, and Medusa’s Mirror shattered into a hundred shimmering pieces.

“Oh, Harry, it was just like the last time,” Hermione whispered, quivering.

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he soothed her, kissing her forehead, feeling dizzy with relief.

“Ow, hey mate, are you guys all-”

Ron never got the chance to finish. Bellatrix’s curse caught him full in the side, a red light tearing him apart. Harry heard Hermione screaming as she ran to Ron, but he turned on LeStrange, hitting her full force with “IMPEDIMENTA!”

She flew back into the wall, but he wasn’t done, he kept on stunning her, making her body twitch as though it were being electrocuted. You killed Sirius, Harry thought venomously. You hurt Ron…

She was no longer moving, but he cursed her anyway. “Stupefy. Stupefy. STUPEFY!”

“Harry!”

He turned at the sound of Hermione’s voice, which was frightened and weak.

“Harry, I can’t stop the bleeding!”

He ran back to where they were. Ron was lying in a steadily growing puddle of his own blood, and Hermione was kneeling beside him, trying her best at clotting charms, without much success. Ron was moaning feebly.

Harry knelt across from her and looked down at his friend in panic. Ron was pale, clammy, he was sliding quickly into shock. Harry stared at Hermione helplessly.

“I can’t heal this,” she cried. “The damage- it’s too extensive. We need Madam Pomfrey!”

“We have to get him out of here,” Harry said, looking towards the drawbridge and thinking of possible curses to blast through it.

“No…”

They looked down. Ron’s eyes were open. “No,” he repeated. “You heard Hermione before. They can’t hold this place forever. It’s up to you to finish it, Harry.”

“Ron, you’re hurt.”

Ron smiled. “I’m all right. Hermione can handle it until you get back. But you have to go. You know it.” He looked fondly up at Hermione. “Hey, this is just like first year, remember?”

Hermione was crying openly. When Ron closed his eyes for a moment, she looked at Harry and shook her head.

Ron can’t die, Harry thought stubbornly. It just isn’t possible. But it was Voldemort who did this, Harry realized. And the wizard had to pay. For everyone. And Ron was right. There was no one to do it but him.

“You can’t really be thinking of going!” Hermione cried. She was looking in panic at the shards of broken mirror. “Medusa’s Mirror, it’s-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “Ron was the only one who could use it anyway.” He was staring down the darkened doorway. He had to go. If he didn’t, one day Voldemort would come to kill them all.

He looked across at Hermione, wiped the tears from her face, mouthed, ‘I love you’.

“Oh, bloody say it out loud,” Ron laughed weakly.

“What?”

“I’ve- I’ve been a big stupid git, all right? I know that-” Ron paused, wincing. “Well, I know what you…what you mean to each other. And what you mean to me.” He smiled up at them, and Harry squeezed his shoulder. “So you go and save the world, Harry. And if you don’t kiss her, then I will!” He grinned, and Harry could see traces of blood in his mouth.

Harry didn’t know what to say to Ron. Nothing seemed to be enough. So he leaned across, and did what he was told, kissing Hermione like he had never kissed her before, tasting her, crushing her to him. He broke the kiss once, then kissed her again, finally stopping to rest his forehead against hers, her face between his hands.

“I love you.” He drew away but she threw her arms around him.

“I love you too, Harry. You’re a great wizard, you really are, please, please come back-” she sobbed, and reluctantly released him.

“I will,” he promised. “I’ll be back here for both of you.” He rose, and walked away, not daring to look back. As he disappeared through the door to Voldemort, he heard Ron say:

“You two! I think I almost got a little drool on me!”

“Oh Ron!” Hermione answered, laughing, and crying, and trying to scold him. Just like always.

*****************************************************************

Walking away from them down that dark corridor was the hardest thing Harry had ever had to do. Along the way several disturbing thoughts entered his mind, that there might be more Deatheaters waiting, that he was leaving them unprotected…But he had no other choice.

Ahead of him, the corridor emptied into a very plain chamber, outfitted in the same shade of black. The fire in the fireplace glowed a menacing green. The only piece of furniture was a high backed armchair, facing the fire. Harry didn’t have to guess who was sitting in it.

“You got what you wanted; I’m here on my own.”

“To die on your own.” Harry heard the cackle. “Brave like a Gryffindor. Stupid like a Gryffindor.”

Harry had no patience. He fought to conquer his fear, make his voice steady. “Stinky like a Slytherin. We could do this all night. Are you going to get up, or do you want me to just kill you in that bloody tasteless chair?”

The figure rose with more quickness than Harry could have imagined, and it took all his resolve not to step back. But the man standing before him was his destiny. There would be no running.

Harry studied him in the green light. So different from the young, handsome, Tom Riddle he had met in the Chamber of Secrets. This man was twisted, gruesome with cruelty that shone through his even features. Nothing in him was good.

“I have waited, so many years for this, Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed. “Gaining strength, all the while my only thought, the thought that has kept me from truly dying, was of the joy of killing you.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Harry said flippantly, trying to cover his panic as Voldemort drew his wand. “You, with that thought keeping you alive, when I’m the one who’s going to finally kill you.”

Voldemort cast a hasty curse. Harry dodged it, but barely. His arm struck against the wall, making him wince.

“Pain!” Voldemort announced gleefully. “Yes, pain is what I want from you before you die!” He shot out another curse, and this time he was too fast: it caught Harry in the back and sent him sprawling.

“Foolish boy to stand against the Dark Lord!” He hexed Harry again, twisting his leg this time. Harry cried out in pain.

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person!” Harry said, regaining his feet. But something in him was changing. The pain was making his panic subside. He was thinking of Hermione, of Ron, and knowing that whatever he suffered, he had to win, the pain was nothing, the pain would pass, but those two, his dearest friends, were waiting for him on the other side of the battle. He couldn’t lose.

Voldemort cast his green light into Harry’s body, driving him back against the wall and twisting his heart. Harry thought that the pain would drive him mad. He screamed shamelessly for any help that would come, and Voldemort was laughing, the green light glowing ever brighter. And then, suddenly, Harry wasn’t screaming anymore. His curse faded.

Harry wasn’t even looking at him. He was looking to his left, into the eyes of Sirius, his Godfather. The pain was gone.

“What are you looking at?!” Voldemort shouted, but Harry ignored him.

“This isn’t how it should go, is it, Harry?” Sirius asked him, in his usual confident tone.

Harry shook his head, and smiled, then looked to his right, into the eyes of his mother, and his father.

“You are everything we hoped you’d be,” Lily said, her eyes beautifully bright.

“Everything you need, you have with you,” James added, giving him a wink.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and stepped off the wall, looking at Voldemort at last.

“Who are you talking to?” Voldemort demanded, then smirked as Harry raised his wand. “You cannot stand against me at my full power!”

“If this is you at full power, then death must have really done a number on you. You look bloody awful.”

Voldemort seethed, and Harry felt, rather than heard, Sirius’ laugh. He knew that if he looked, they would no longer be there, but it didn’t matter. They were always there. They had never really left him. The power that welled inside him, that was love, the kind of love that could not be shed. Not by death. Not by anything.

“So many have died for me, because of you,” Harry whispered.

Then he dropped his wand.

“What are you doing? Foolish boy! Have you given up so easily?”

Harry raised his hand, free from hate. He could feel the love of his parents, of Sirius, as surely as if they had been resting their hands on his shoulders. They were with him. Farther away, but not too far, he could feel Hermione, and Ron. This is what Dumbledore had meant, Harry realized with a wash of joy. He had never fought alone. Not once.

“Prepare yourself for death, Harry Potter,” Voldemort sneered, spitting his name.

Harry met him with brilliant green eyes, making the older wizard step back. His hand was raised, and he could feel the power growing within him. It was almost there…He thought of Hermione and Ron, his parents, Sirius…

Harry closed his eyes and uttered an incantation he didn’t know that he knew.

“FULMENOS VENITE!”

Lightning shot from his hand, from his scar, it seemed to emanate from his whole body, surging into Voldemort, making him scream, destroying him in a blast of blinding white light.

Harry smiled as the power flowed through him easily. He didn’t need that mirror. He was the mirror.

*********************************************************************

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked when she saw him emerge, nearly unscathed, through the doorway. She was crying, but she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. With Voldemort dead, the castle was displaying different colors: ivory white with orange gold flames emanating from the torches. “When I saw the colors change, I knew, I knew you were all right,” she sobbed.

He knelt beside her, kissed her lips, her face. Her hands were covered with Ron’s blood. Harry didn’t quite dare look down.

“What?” Came a feeble voice from below. “No kisses for me?”

“Ron!” Harry laughed with relieved surprise.

“You did it, didn’t you,” Ron smiled weakly. “I told Hermione…I told her…Not to be scared…” Ron’s eyes were swimming. His pupils were very large.

“Ron?” Harry said uncertainly.

Ron seemed to snap back. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “Have I told you that yet?”

“You don’t have to,” Hermione said softly.

Harry held Ron’s hand. It was ice cold.

“This is just like first year,” Ron whispered. “When you went on ahead and beat the stuffing out of Voldemort. I played us across the chessboard, do you remember?”

“Yes, Ron, I remember,” Harry said, trying to hold him there, but he was slipping away. “You played us across the chessboard. You saved us. And now again. Just like first year.”

“Yeah,” Ron smiled, and then his chest spasmed painfully. He quieted. “You know, I love you guys, I really do……Mum’s going to be mad, these robes are ruined…” And then his head fell to the side, limply.

“We love you too Ron,” cried Hermione desperately. “Do you hear me?”

Harry could plainly see that he couldn’t. Not anymore. He let out a strained moan, feeling something break inside him that would never be fixed. But Hermione was crying harder, so he tugged her to him, away from Ron’s body, holding her tight.

As he comforted her, he gave one last look into Ron’s fallen eyes, and smiled sadly. There was a peace there that hadn’t been there before. And Harry understood. Ron would never be afraid again. He would never have to worry about not being as good a wizard as Harry. He would never think that he was behind them, in their shadow. Now he would always be walking beside them, and he would always be a hero.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered gently. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” she cried. “He’s dead…”

Harry just held her. He would try to explain to her someday. But for now he just wanted to ease her pain, keep her warm and safe. “Let’s get him out of here,” Harry said softly.

**********************************************************

They were met on the drawbridge by Dumbledore, McGonagall, Remus and Moody, and the scattered members of the D.A.

“You’re not holding the castle,” Harry said to the Headmaster.

“With Voldemort vanquished, there is no need to,” Dumbledore said simply. “You control Perseus Castle now. It is yours.”

Harry nodded, although he wasn’t sure that he wanted it. He was holding Ron’s still form in his arms.

The scene on the battlefield was grim. Bodies were scattered everywhere. Down the bank, he could see Madame Maxime sobbing as Hagrid pulled the body of Fleur Delacour off of the ice, and farther up the hill, lay what looked like a palomino horse. But he knew it was Firenze. Harry looked at Remus. “Tonks?” he asked, and felt a tightening in his throat as Remus shook his head. The battle had cost so much.

Professor Snape was stalking towards them, holding his side and limping, trying to bat Madam Pomfrey away with his wand as she tried to doctor the wound. When he reached them, his eyes rested on Ron, his lip trembling. “Mr. Weasley?”

“He saved us,” Harry said simply watching Professor Snape purse his lips and nod tersely.

“Then he will be honored.”

Harry nodded, looking past Snape to Draco, who was holding an unconscious Ginny in his bleeding arms. Neville and Luna appeared to be breathless, but okay, except that Luna was crying and humming “Weasley is Our King.” McGonagall was weeping openly for her lost students.

“You did it, Harry,” Hermione said, forcing Harry to feel some triumph over all the sadness. He smiled at her, the center of his universe.

“And if he ever comes back, I’ll do it again, I swear it,” Harry said bravely, the wind ruffling his hair.

“I do not think that he will ever come back,” Dumbledore said with wonder in his voice.

Harry looked up. Everyone was staring at him, in a rather strange way.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione gasped, staring at him as well. “In all the commotion, I didn’t even notice…”

“Notice what?” he asked again, and then let his hand follow where their eyes were looking. He gingerly touched his hairline, once, then twice.

He gasped with relief, looking smilingly down at Ron, then over at Hermione.

On his forehead, there was no scar.

THE END