Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 26: The Power He Knows Not
Author: Fae Princess
E-Mail: fae.princess@gmail.com
Summary: Harry returns for his final year at Hogwarts and his love for Hermione is deeper than ever. Which is good; because dark clouds are hovering once again. H/Hr, D/G. This is a sequel to "Snow".
Chapter Summary: Trelawney's predictions have led Harry to this point, but will he and the others accomplish what they're bound and determined to do, or is it already too late?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, and all related names and phrases are either copyright and/or registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and/or their respective owners. This is a fanfiction, no copyright infringement is intended.

Note from Fae: Well, it appears that my last update was almost a year ago. I can't believe that -- I seriously thought I had posted during the holidays. Well, I don't think an apology will suffice, so without further ado, I bring you the next installment of Circle's Close. Some things to note about this chapter: I didn't write it. This entire chapter was written by my awesome friend, Stoneheart (who is also my beta). He is a lot better at writing action scenes than I am, which is why he offered to write this chapter, and oh my god, is it ever amazing. I've never read anything more spectacular and I'm truly honoured that Stoneheart wrote this for me. It's actually a chapter I had to read at least three times in order to digest everything. It's so multi-layered that it's extremely easy to miss something important that happened. I did it many times.

Anyway, go read it. It's long, but extremely worth the read. It's better than any previous chapter in this story, so if you can sit through one of my boring chapters, you can definitely take the time to read this one! Let Stoneheart know what you thought (and me, too, of course).

Enjoy!

In nearly seven years as a wizard-in-training, Harry thought he had seen and done enough fantastic things so that nothing could ever surprise him again.

Well, I reckon your arrogance has been sorted out right enough, hasn't it, Potter? a voice in the back of his head mocked.

And so it had. The fire of determination that had churned his blood into something resembling volcanic lava was ebbing away, and Harry was coming to grips with the realization that he and his friends were embarking on a journey from which none of them was likely to return.

Oddly enough, Harry did not seem to dread the possibility -- indeed, the probability -- of his own death as much as the death of his companions. Granted, they had chosen to accompany him of their own free will. They, like himself, were all of age, legally empowered under wizarding law to act of their own volition, whether wisely or foolishly. And Harry was beginning to realize in the pit of his stomach that the mission on which he was leading them must certainly fall into the latter category.

But what else was there to do? Sit back in the comfy chairs in the Gryffindor common room and wait placidly for the most terrible Dark wizard in history to be resurrected? No. Whatever the odds against them, that was not an option.

But from a realistic standpoint, what hope had four student wizards against an unguessed number of merciless Death Eaters? Their enemies would have no compunction against using the darkest of magicks against them, including the Killing Curse, the one spell against which there was no defense. The odds against the success of such a mission were incalculable. Not even Ludo Bagman at his most desperate would have wagered so much as a Galleon on such an outcome. Yet here they were, clinging precariously to the backs of four dragons -- dragons, for Merlin's sake! -- winging their way toward a confrontation which must ultimately, inevitably, end in death for them all. If that wasn't the height of foolishness, he'd bloody well like to know what was!

Harry knew that it would require but a single command from him -- spoken in parseltongue -- to send the four dragons winging their way back to Hogwarts. They would resist, the instinctive drive to seek out their lost mother warring against Harry's command. But he knew they would obey. A few miles farther out -- a few miles nearer to their mother -- and he doubted even his strongest command would alter their course. But if he gave the command now, they could turn around and all land back in the clearing behind Hagrid's cabin, there to turn the dragons loose to fly off on their own, leaving Harry and his friends safely behind.

But Harry knew that he would not -- could not -- give that command. There was no force on earth, magical or otherwise, that would prevent him from doing everything in his power to forestall the return of the wizard who had murdered his parents. And where he went, his friends would go. He would have to stun them, or place a Body-Bind on them, to prevent them from coming along. Not only was that a distasteful and borderline cowardly action to contemplate, it would be nigh impossible to accomplish against Hermione, who, like Harry, now possessed the rudimentary skills of an Auror. Given the thoroughness of the training they had received from Sirius and Remus, Harry doubted that there was a junior Auror in all the Ministry who could match himself and Hermione skill for skill.

But would that be enough when they went head-on against the cream of Voldemort's Death Eaters? Deep in his heart, Harry knew the answer. It would not be enough. There was no way they could pit themselves against such odds and prevail. Unless...

But Harry shoved that thought to the back of his mind. There was time enough for that later. Now, in the time it took them to reach their destination (wherever that proved to be), they had to plan. They had to prepare.

As his thoughts cleared, Harry took note for the first time of their surroundings.

It was difficult to estimate their height (though perhaps Hermione might be able to, being better at geometry and measuring distances than Harry), but they must be miles above the rocky ground of Northern Scotland by Harry's rough estimate. At this height, they were not likely to be spotted easily by Muggles. So tiny would they appear to an onlooker on the ground, they would be mistaken for migrating birds or somesuch. (Did birds migrate North at this time of year? Harry had no idea.) In addition, the wild country over which they were flying was inhabited mostly by animals. The far edges of the British Isles were inhospitable places for humans to try to exist (which was the primary reason why Hogwarts had been placed where it was by its four founders). Then, too, if they kept on traveling in this direction, they would leave the land behind altogether. Even as he thought this, Harry peered ahead and saw that the horizon was changing from green and brown to a dull green-gray. The North Sea was fast approaching.

Well, Harry thought fatalistically, if we fall off over water, at least we won't be smashed to a pulp. We'll only drown is all.

Perhaps Harry's greatest surprise was that he did not feel as cold as he expected to. At the height they were flying, the thin air would render the sun's warmth feeble at best. He had learned this the hard way when he would practice high-altitude flying on a warm day at Sirius's house and forget to fetch his warm cloak from the living room cupboard. None of them could have taken their cloaks with them today, of course, as that would have looked suspicious to anyone observing them leaving the castle. What use had one for a cloak on a warm, cloudless May day? He'd thought they would simply have to endure the cold as one of the unavoidable hardships of the situation.

To his surprise and great relief, he discovered something about dragons that he was sure Hagrid (and, quite probably, Hermione) could have told him had he been inclined to ask. The internal fire by which dragons breathed flames caused their bodies to radiate heat like a stone fireplace (an apt analogy, given the stony quality of their hides). In addition, jets of heat radiated from their nostrils, sending a warm breeze into Harry's face. In this regard, he was grateful that the fledgling dragons were not yet old enough to breathe fire. The most they could do was emit a burst of sparks now and then. Even that might be enough to set their riders' robes smoldering if a particularly fierce burst were to catch them. But dragons seemed disposed to breathe fire only in anger, or as a means of attack when they felt threatened. Fortunately (and thanks in no small part to Harry's repeated vocal assurances in parseltongue), their mounts appeared quite content now as they flapped their leathery wings with graceful ease, riding the air currents as their homing instincts drove them inexorably on toward their goal. Harry saw no hint of fire or smoke from his dragon or any of the others.

His own contentment being (for the moment, at least) the equal of his steed's, Harry craned his neck and surveyed his strange party. The dragons, he saw, were flying in wedge formation, like migrating geese. Hermione had once explained that this was aerodynamically efficient, allowing the lead bird (or, in this case, lead dragon) to cleave the air for his fellows, easing their labors somewhat. Following an instinct as old as time, the formation would shift regularly so that each member of the wedge took a turn at point. Even as Harry thought this, the dragons began, subtly but unmistakably, to alter the rhythm of their flapping. Presently, Harry was in the lead, with Ron on his right flank, and Hermione and Draco on his longer left flank. With a smoothness as if they were gobstones moving across a gigantic board, the dragons began to swing around in a sort of broken circle. Harry's dragon shifted to the right as the left flank moved up. The change in position was completed before any of the riders could so much as cry out in surprise. Hermione was now in the lead, with Harry on her right and Draco on her left. Ron had slipped back and swung into place at the end of the left flank.

Harry looked over his left shoulder to see how everyone had weathered the shift in position. His greatest concern was Hermione, who hadn't taken flight in any form since the night four years ago when the two of them had flown Buckbeak up to Professor Flitwick's office window to rescue Sirius. To his relief, he saw that she was still firmly astride her dragon, though her face looked as white as he had ever seen it.

He had little worries for Ron and Draco, as they, like himself, were skilled Quidditch players, as at home in the air as they were on the ground. Nevertheless, neither of them looked too happy at having been swung into their new positions with no warning. It was difficult to see any change in Draco's face, as his skin was rather pale to begin with. But the change in Ron's normally ruddy complexion was striking. He looked like an ice sculpture with freckles as he gripped the horns protruding from his dragon's head with white-knuckled fingers.

Once their new positions had stabilized, Harry reckoned that the next shift would not be for at least another ten minutes. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. Drawing his wand very carefully, lest the wind tear it from his grasp and leave him weaponless against his enemies, Harry pointed it in Hermione's direction and shot a burst of red stars across her line of sight. She turned immediately, and Harry thought to see the color return to her cheeks as she smiled over her shoulder at him. He gestured with his wand, and she nodded and drew hers.

Harry signaled Ron and Draco as he had Hermione. When everyone's wand was out, Harry gestured in an exaggerated manner, indicating that everyone was to copy his actions. He brought the tip of his wand to his mouth. Ron and Draco imitated him with a shrug of uncomprehension. Hermione smiled knowingly, waiting for Harry to continue. Harry gave his wand a tricky wiggle. The tip glowed briefly, the wand humming for a moment. Instantly, the tips of the other three wands glowed similarly. Smiling at the confused look on Ron's face, Harry placed the tip of his wand against his lips.

"Can everyone hear me?"

He had not shouted, as might be expected, what with the wind rushing in their ears. He had spoken as naturally as if addressing someone over one of the House tables in the Great Hall. But the surprised look that sprang into Ron's eyes revealed that he had, indeed, heard Harry's question with no difficulty in spite of the roaring wind.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, and Harry heard his mate as clearly as if the pair of them were sitting side by side in the quiet of the Gryffindor common room. "How did you manage that?"

"It's basically the same spell that makes the WWN work," Harry said. "Not as strong, of course. That requires really powerful magic. But we only need to communicate over a short distance -- a few hundred yards at most."

"But how can I hear you over the wind?"

"Actually, you're not," Harry said. "Can you feel the wand vibrating? The sound of my voice is traveling as vibration. It goes straight up your arm and into your head, where it makes the bones of your inner ear resonate. You're actually hearing my voice inside your head."

"Remember what I told you six years ago about hearing voices, Harry!" Ron laughed. But his laughter died as he asked, "Can anyone else hear us? I mean, when we're sneaking up on those Death Eater blokes, won't they hear us over their wands?"

"No," Harry said. "Remember when I touched everyone's wand before we took off? I harmonized our wands so that only we can communicate. Even if someone else was clever enough to use the same spell, they won't know what frequency we're using. Just like tuning a radio."

Even Draco was clearly impressed, his cool, indifferent mask melting away. "How did you come up with this, Harry?"

"Hermione suggested it," Harry said, smiling in the direction of the lead dragon. "We've been training against a possible Death Eater attack on the school, and we needed a way to stay in touch in case we got separated. It was important that we be able to talk silently in a critical situation. Just before we took off, I realized it would come in handy here. There's no way we could make ourselves understood with all this wind rushing about."

"Brilliant," Draco said.

"Actually," Hermione said, her voice ringing musically in everyone's ears, "I got the idea from you, Draco."

"From me?" Draco said in surprise.

"Remember when you were talking to Rita Skeeter, during the Triwizard Tournament? We all saw you talking into your hand, and I said it looked like you were using a Muggle walkie-talkie. Well, I realized, why not? Anything the Muggle world can do, the wizarding world can do, I say."

"You sound like a pureblood," Draco laughed.

"High praise, coming from a Malfoy," Hermione returned, her eyes twinkling.

"Right, then," Harry said, his tone suddenly serious. "We need to discuss tactics before we arrive. We have no idea where we're going, or how long it'll take us to get there. We need to be prepared. We can't just rush in like a charging Skrewt. We'll have the advantage of surprise, but that won't last. We need something concrete."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Harry," Draco said in an apologetic tone (which in itself made Ron's mouth go slack in surprise), "but I sort of thought you had a plan when you all set off."

"Actually," Harry admitted, "there wasn't time to do much planning. I suppose I was trusting to my Auror training to help me come up with something. But being as we're all risking our lives here, I think everyone should have a say. In the end, I'll take the responsibility of making the final choice. But I can't do that until I've heard what everyone thinks. So -- what do you think, Draco?"

All eyes turned toward Draco -- even Ron's, though with a trace of suspicion not present in Harry and Hermione.

Draco lowered his eyes thoughtfully. Following his action without thinking, Harry saw that the land had disappeared beneath them, having been replaced by an endless expanse of water. The Scottish mainland was no more than a misty blur behind them.

Raising his head until his eyes met Harry's, Draco said, "My dad didn't tell me anything outright, but I was able to pick up certain things here and there. I heard him joking with one of his mates one night when they were drinking wine at the Manor. He said that when the time came, the Aurors would never find him. He said he'd be hiding in plain sight, right under their noses where they'd be too stupid to look.

"You've noticed the direction we're going. North by Northeast. It's not rabbited about, but Azkaban fortress is somewhere up ahead." This news gave everyone pause. "The island is protected by spells so that Muggles can't see it, and if they get too close, they suddenly head off in the other direction. There's no place in the wizarding world that the Ministry scrutinizes more closely than Azkaban. Therefore, it's the last place they'd expect their enemies to be hiding."

"The ceremony is taking place on Azkaban?" Ron goggled.

Draco resisted the urge to respond with a scathing rebuke. Harry could see the muscles of his jaw tighten and relax in the space of a few moments.

"The island where Azkaban was built is just one of many," Draco said in a controlled voice. "What better place to hide under the Ministry's nose than on one of those islands?"

"That makes sense," Hermione said. Ron flashed her a disapproving look, as if agreeing with Draco were the next thing to treason.

This news seemed almost welcome to Harry. "I was hoping we weren't flying all the way to the mainland. I don't know if we could have made the journey in time. If it's an island up ahead, we just might get there in time."

"You sound like you know exactly when the ceremony is taking place," Draco said, sounding both jealous and impressed. "Father wouldn't have told me that in a million years."

"You could say we're uniquely qualified in that area," Hermione said. "It was the Friendship Ring that destroyed Voldemort exactly one year ago. Ideally, the spell to resurrect him should take place on the very moment of the anniversary of his destruction."

"Which is when?" Draco asked.

"Less than an hour from now," Harry said, looking at his watch. "I only hope we can make it in time. Taking on Death Eaters is one thing, but I don't fancy facing down Voldemort. It's vital that we arrive before the ceremony can take place."

"And what do we do when we get there?" Draco asked, a trace of his old drawl creeping into his voice.

"I'm open to suggestions," Harry said.

To everyone's surprise (including his own), it was Ron who spoke up.

"You know why you always lose to me in chess, Harry?"

The unexpectedness of this question left everyone speechless, and Ron smiled confidently as he plowed on.

"It's because you don't use your chessmen as a unit. You don't consider the ramifications of letting one piece attack without others being in place to run interference. A chessboard is a battlefield, and you have to use the pieces together, like an army. And that's what we have to do here. We have to coordinate our attack so that we all work together as a seamless unit."

Another silence (respective of the wind rushing in everyone's ears) fell, to be broken a moment later by Draco.

"Bloody hell, Weasley, I know you'll eat anything that isn't moving, but it sounds like you swallowed a bleedin' dictionary."

"Let's say I've been paying attention lately when certain people," Ron grinned over his shoulder at Hermione, who smiled back, "go on about the value of education." But his face grew serious immediately as he said, "That's what we have to do here. We have to work as a team, watch each other's back, protect each other from blindside attacks. And we have to do everything we can to keep them from doing the same thing. In chess, a divided board is a weak board. We have to keep those buggers divided while we all work together. If we do that, we -- we may have a chance of pulling this off."

Everyone was staring at Ron as if he had just given a speech in parseltongue without realizing it. Harry and Hermione exchanged a look before regarding Ron with a newfound respect. But before either of them could respond to their friend's declaration, another voice spoke with quiet forcefulness.

"I agree," Draco said, and there was no trace of his former bored drawl in his voice. "Death Eaters are clever and dangerous, but they don't know how to think for themselves. They follow orders well, but when they're surprised, they revert to type. They'll abandon their mates and look after their own skins at all costs. My father is the worst of the lot," he added scathingly. "He cares for no one but himself. The only reason he's doing this is so he'll have his master back to give him orders again. Left to his own devices, he's a coward."

"How are you going to feel," Harry asked cautiously, "facing your own father in a life-or-death situation? Can you put your animosity aside and be a team player, as Ron said?"

"That's a fair question," Draco answered. Turning alternately to his three companions, he said in a cold voice, "Like you, I'm here to do what needs doing. But I won't deny it would give me immense satisfaction to be the one to bring my father down."

"Then you'd better get to him before I do," Ron grunted. "If I turn around and see him standing in front of me -- " Following a tense pause, he said, "Not for myself. For Ginny."

Harry saw Ron's eyes lock with Draco's. The insult of having been made Lucius Malfoy's tool in the theft of the Friendship Ring still burned hot in Ron's blue eyes, but there was something more there, something deeper. Harry understood what it was, and he was sure that Draco understood as well. Six years ago, Draco's father had clandestinely given Ginny Tom Riddle's diary, nearly resulting in her death in the bowels of the Chamber of Secrets. Ron had hated Draco the more deeply since then, despite the fact that Draco had been quite ignorant of his father's plan. Now, at last, Ron could transfer that hatred from Draco onto the one who had truly earned it. Draco could see this as well as he stared into Ron's eyes across the short distance separating them, and it seemed to give them a kind of kinship that swept away their vast differences like smoke from the surface of a cauldron.

"Agreed," Draco said simply, and Ron gave a short, fierce nod.

"Right," Harry said, his thoughts clearing for the task at hand. "We won't have much time to scout the situation. I'm hoping they'll all be busy with the ceremony, and feeling too smug to be watching their flanks too closely."

"What do we do if they spot us first?" Draco asked reasonably.

"Everything depends on their not spotting us," Harry said. "Without surprise, we're dead before we start. But I'm counting on one of their number being easy to spot at a distance."

"The mother dragon!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I don't care how good they are at taming dragons," Harry said. "A Bulgarian Devil's Bane isn't going to be curled up at their feet, purring like a kitten. Quick as we hear a roar or see a jet of flame, I'll have our 'rides' drop down out of sight so we can jump off before we're spotted."

"I thought nothing could stop these buggers from going for their mum," Ron said with a nod at his dragon.

"I don't want them to change direction," Harry said. "Just altitude. I reckon I still have enough control over them for that."

Harry wished he felt as certain as he sounded. The truth was, the closer the dragons got to their mother, the more powerful their instincts would be to drive relentlessly on. Harry gripped the horns upon which his hands rested, applying a firm pressure that would be translated through the dragon's thick skull and into its brain. I'm giving the orders, Harry thought as his eyes bored into the back of the dragon's misshapen head. You'll do as I say. He hoped, when the time came, those would be more than just idle words. Their very lives depended on it.

The sky ahead of them was quickly deepening from pale blue to indigo to black. The farther they flew, the more quickly the sun receded behind them. Harry wasn't sure whether this would serve them for good or ill. If the darkness fell swiftly enough, it would mask their arrival and enable them to surprise their foes. But if they arrived too soon, the setting sun would illuminate the black outlines of the dragons, casting them into sharp relief on the crimson tapestry of the sky. That would make it all the more critical for him to maintain command of the dragons until the very last minute.

Lifting his wand to his lips again, he said, "Even if we come in unobserved, we're going to have to leave the dragons before they actually reach their mother. There's no way we can stop them from joining her, short of killing them. I don't think a Stunner will work on them. Even young as they are, their hides are too thick. And this breed is particularly resistant to magic in any case."

"That'll be tricky," Ron said. "We'll have to jump on our brooms and fly off without getting knocked silly by these buggers' wings."

"And don't forget," Harry reminded Ron, "you and I are the only ones with brooms. Quick as I'm safely mounted, I'll have to ease my broom over so Hermione can get on behind me."

"Hang on!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes swiveling up toward Draco. "Are you telling me that I have to ride double with -- him?"

Draco looked back at Ron and grinned in exactly the same way Ron had earlier.

"Where's that Gryffindor courage you were going on about, Weasley?"

Ron lapsed into a surly silence, and Draco swung his head back around with a wink at Harry.

"When the time comes to engage the enemy," Harry said, "we'll have to split up. If we're all grouped together, we'll be too easy a target. But we still have to stay in sight of each other," he added with a nod in Ron's direction. "Like Ron said, we have to work together without actually being together. We need to stay on the move, hit hard and then move on."

"Have you worked out a plan of attack?" Draco asked.

"Nothing concrete," Harry said. "That'll depend on the situation we find when we arrive. But even when we're apart, we'll have to work as a team. Hermione and I have been undergoing Auror training. We've learned a few things that should come in handy. So even while we're separated, we'll work as a loose team, with Hermione and me as the leaders. Whichever of us is closest to someone else will have full authority. That means when Hermione or I give an order, it has to be followed immediately. Even a moment's delay might give our enemy an opening, and we can't allow that, not outnumbered as we are.

"So, for the record, Draco," Harry said as casually as he could manage, "will you have any problems taking orders from Hermione?"

Though his attention was fixed primarily on Draco, Harry was watching both Hermione and Ron peripherally. Ron seemed keen to hear Draco's response.

"Well," Draco said in his best lazy drawl, "that all depends, doesn't it?"

"On what?" Harry asked as Ron shot a reproachful glance at Draco.

"On whether she intends to hog all the fun for herself." Draco cast an appraising eye at Hermione. "From what I hear through the grapevine, she's a damn good duelist. I mean, she is going to leave a few Death Eaters for me, isn't she?"

Draco smiled at Hermione, and she laughed lightly as Ron settled back with an approving look on his face.

"I promise not to show off too much, Draco," Hermione smiled back at him. "But I'd advise you not to lag back. Do you think you can keep up with me?"

"Well," Draco drawled, "if I can't, Weasley will never let me forget it."

"Too right," Ron said, and Harry was relieved to see that his mate was smiling without rancor.

For the next thirty minutes, Harry and Hermione took turns mapping out loose battle strategies, answering questions as they went. At Harry's suggestion, they had all tucked their wands into their robes so that the points were against their throats. This allowed them to communicate freely without having to use their hands (which were much better employed in holding onto their mounts). It was far and away the strangest conversation Harry had ever seen, much less participated in, as the discussion went back and forth amongst the four participants. Harry and Hermione necessarily dominated, their Auror training prompting them, but they readily accepted input from their companions. They listened attentively when Ron or Draco made a suggestion, and sounded each other out on their strengths and weaknesses.

"I have a blind spot on my left," Draco confessed when the subject of dueling was broached. "I discovered it when Father and I started practicing about a year ago."

"Right," Harry said. "Whoever is on Draco's left, be on guard."

"If we keep our heads and stay coordinated," Hermione said, "we should always be in sight of one of the others."

"Unless one of us steps in front of the Killing Curse," Ron observed wryly.

"I don't think they'll be stupid enough to use anything really deadly in close quarters," Harry said, "for fear of hitting their mates. But -- "

"I don't know," Draco said skeptically. "I think my father would gladly sacrifice half his mates just to boast that he'd got you in the bargain."

"Well," Harry shrugged uncomfortably as he continued on, "once we start thinning them out, the danger of encountering deadly spells will increase. The trick is to keep moving, don't give them a stationary target to aim at. Even so, we can't dismiss the possibility that one of us will go down. If that happens -- "

Harry's voice caught for a moment, during which none of his audience so much as blinked.

"If that happens...the ones who are left will have to close ranks and carry on. Nothing matters but stopping that ceremony -- nothing -- and no one.

"Ron," he said sharply, and Ron jerked his head directly at Harry. "I mean it, mate. If Hermione or I go down, don't try to help us. You said it yourself when we were going after the Sorcerer's Stone -- sometimes you have to make sacrifices to win the game. And this is the biggest bloody game of all."

Ron's eyes flashed challengingly, but a moment later he closed his mouth and lowered his head. He nodded once, which action was mirrored in turn by Hermione and Draco. Harry acknowledged in kind, and as his eyes found and embraced Hermione's, a thought sprang unbidden into his mind.

Did my dad have this same conversation with my mum and Sirius and Remus when they went out on missions for the Order of the Phoenix? If he came out of this in one piece, he promised himself to confront the two wizards on that subject. He wished they were with him now. He wished --

He shook his head fiercely. With a reassuring smile at Hermione, he turned his face into the wind and inhaled a lungful of the tangy, salt-flavored air. In an instant his mind was swept clean of all such maudlin thoughts. There was no place for them in the here and now. Turning back to Hermione, he communicated a silent I love you with his eyes, which she returned in fashion more eloquent than words.

When no one could think of anything more to add to their battle strategy, the foursome settled into a quietly contemplative state, enhanced by the hypnotic effect of the wind rushing in their ears. The dragons continued to shift in formation like clockwork, and every change prompted Harry and Hermione to lift a cautious arm so as to note the time on their wristwatches. Would they arrive in time to stop the ceremony?

"How much farther do you reckon?" Ron asked after a position change, his eyes scanning the horizon fruitlessly.

Harry shook his head. He had been occupying his time by casting his mind out in brief Apparative jumps, trying to catch a glimpse of their destination. He did not expect to "see" where they were going, as with true Apparation. Hermione had argued reasonably that the island to which they were flying would be protected by concealment spells not unlike those cloaking Azkaban, including, perforce, anti-Apparation spells. It was, Harry could not deny, a clever plan on Lucius' part. Who would expect to find a nest of Death Eaters hiding right next door to the wizarding prison from which many of them had barely escaped confinement when their fellows were apprehended and sentenced? The Purloined Letter, indeed.

But that barrier was not without trapdoors of its own. Its strength (beyond its purely magical properties) lay in the absurdity of its positioning. No wizard searching for a Death Eater hideaway would think of looking so close to Azkaban. And even if they had been disposed to look, the most sophisticated detection spells would be fooled as easily as any seeking nearby Azkaban. But simpler, more basic magicks might reveal secrets undetected by more complex safeguards. For instance, the Death Eaters' base must certainly employ basic Muggle-repelling spells, even as Azkaban. A Muggle boat suddenly veering away from a seemingly empty expanse of ocean should raise a red flag to anyone alert enough to observe it. In like manner, an Apparating wizard inadvertently intersecting the hidden island's position would encounter the anti-Apparation barrier and find his intended journey inexplicably stymied. This was what Harry was counting on. Any resistance he might encounter to one of his mind-jumps would clearly indicate the presence of a concealment spell where none should be expected. But so far, he had sensed nothing, no smallest resistance or deflection of any kind.

With the last shift of the dragons' flying formation, Harry was now on the left flank with Hermione behind him, Draco on his right and Ron at point. As he stared past Ron at the red and purple sky, Ron loosed one of his hands from his dragon's horn and plunged it into his robes. A glint of a foil wrapper in Ron's hand prompted a smile from Harry. Ron opened the Chocolate Frog deftly and bit its head off. Looking over his left shoulder, Harry saw that Hermione wore a smile not unlike his. But he was surprised when Draco's drawling voice broke the stillness in a manner decidedly less than amused.

"Merlin's beard, Weasley. You'd eat on the way to your own execution."

"Who says I'm not?" Ron returned soberly, his voice muffled by his mouthful of chocolate.

Struck by a sudden inspiration (and wanting to salve Ron's wounded ego), Harry said, "Do you have any more, Ron? Only I think we could all use a little energy boost about now. It's been ages since dinner, and I'm starting to feel a bit peckish."

Uncertain whether Harry was merely being charitable, Ron nevertheless found three more Frogs and sent them unerringly into his companions' hands with a series of Banishing Charms. Harry quickly opened his Frog and sought out the card within even as he savored the chocolate in his mouth.

"I got Merlin," Harry announced. Looking to his left, he asked, "Who did you get, Hermione?"

"Circe," she replied, her voice slightly muffled as she ate.

"I got Dumbledore," Ron grunted. "Got enough of him to wallpaper Gryffindor Tower."

"Don't litter!" Hermione said sharply as Ron made to throw card and wrapper over his shoulder. Shrugging, he stuffed them into a pocket of his robes.

Turning away from Hermione so she could not see his broad grin, Harry asked, "Who did you get, Draco?"

He saw that Draco was staring intently at his Chocolate Frog card. Either he did not hear Harry's question, or he chose not to reply. Sparing himself, perhaps, a reprimand from Hermione, he slipped the card into his robes and stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Harry was staring ahead as well, but unlike Draco, his face was not set with contemplation. Lines of worry began to crease his lightning scar as he glanced between his watch and the darkening sky creeping ever closer over his shoulder. Though she was behind him and unable to see his eyes, Hermione seemed to sense his worry as she, too, looked at the indigo sky with growing alarm, checking her own watch even as he.

"Harry," she said calmly, though even the rushing wind could not conceal the slight tremble in her voice.

"I know," Harry said without looking around.

"What?" Ron said, looking over his left shoulder at Harry and Hermione.

"We're running out of time," Harry said, his calm as forced as Hermione's. "Wherever the Death Eaters are, they're farther away than we reckoned."

"You mean," Ron said, his voice tinged with dread, "we're not going to get there in time?"

"Can you sense anything, Hermione?" Harry asked without looking around.

Harry was sure that Hermione, like himself, had been "sending" her mind out periodically, searching for their hidden destination. That she had not spoken up was indicative that she had enjoyed no more success than he. Nevertheless, he could not stop himself from asking the question, though he knew what the answer would be.

"Nothing," Hermione said.

"That's it, then?" Ron said in a ghostly voice. "It's over? You-Know-Who is coming back?"

"No," Draco said savagely. "We can't let my father win!"

"You got any suggestions, mate," Ron said, "I'm all ears."

"No news there," Draco drawled.

A terrible silence wrapped itself around the travelers. None knew what to say to sweep away the terrible reality that they had gone to such extreme lengths, only to fail. And more than that, what would happen to them when they finally arrived at their destination? If Trelawney's prophesy were as dead-on as her previous two, they would find a resurrected Voldemort waiting for them, surrounded by who knew how many Death Eaters all eager to do his bidding. Harry realized with a cold dread that his worst fears were about to be realized. He had led his friends straight to their deaths.

Maybe I can do something to make it right, he thought. Maybe -- maybe I can stun them just as we're getting there, chuck them off where no one will see them. I'll let Voldemort think I flew here on my own. He always said I was arrogant, not wanting to ask others for help. He'll believe I came alone. And -- he'll be too chuffed at the prospect of killing me to give it another thought.

A chill ran through Harry despite the heat radiating from the body of the dragon. He was going to die. He was going to be with his parents. A hard, pale smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, which expression, he thought gratefully, Hermione could not see from her position behind him.

If I can't stop him from killing me, he thought, -- and I doubt that I can -- at least I can save my friends.

Playing the hero again, Harry? echoed a voice in his head that sounded disconcertingly like Ron's.

Bugger off, Harry told the voice. It's the only way.

He's right, Harry, Hermione's voice reprimanded. This is our choice. It's not yours to make for us.

Harry's reverie was broken by a renewed shift in the dragons' formation. He was now in the lead, with Ron on his right and Hermione on his left. He turned to Ron, only to find that Ron was not looking at him. Harry was about to say something to draw Ron's attention, but Ron spoke without warning -- not to him, but to Draco, at whom he was staring fixedly over his left shoulder.

"I need to know something, Malfoy," Ron said in as sharp a tone as Harry had ever heard him use.

"What's that?" Draco said just as sharply.

"If I'm going to snuff it," Ron said in a voice curiously devoid of fear, "I don't want to die without knowing everything."

"Everything about what?" Draco returned, mystified.

"Everything about you and Ginny," Ron said. "I want to know how she hooked up with..."

"With the amazing bouncing ferret?" Draco said unexpectedly. He laughed, not his usual drawling, condescending laugh, but a bright laugh of genuine humor.

"Uh," Ron said, caught distinctly off-guard by this response. "Yeah."

Harry and Hermione were now looking at Draco with as much interest as Ron. He laughed again.

"It all started over the holidays at the end of last term," Draco said, and it seemed to Harry that he was almost grateful to tell the story. "You remember how last term ended, don't you, Harry?"

Caught off-guard in his own turn, Harry stammered, "Uh -- yeah -- I mean -- Hermione and I had just -- just destroyed Voldemort."

"Exactly," Draco nodded. "You were feeling pretty happy about that, I imagine. Well, most everyone was, weren't they? Except for one person."

"Your father," Harry said immediately.

"My father," Draco said. "Oh, he was in a state, let me tell you. The Dark Lord was gone, and all his plans to rule at his master's side were up the Floo, just like that. Only -- " And suddenly Draco's eyes narrowed reproachfully. "Only he wasn't giving up, my father. Oh, no. He had a plan, you see -- a plan to bring the Dark Lord back. Well, I thought he was barmy, to tell you the truth. And I told him so."

"Bet he liked that," Ron said. Draco grinned at Ron.

"He wanted me to help him, see. Wanted me to help him bring the Dark Lord back -- said I'd be rewarded, become a Death Eater like him. The Dark Lord himself would put the Dark Mark on my arm." He snorted, giving his head a toss at once dismissive and aristocratic, the latter a mark of the Malfoy pride that his conversion over the past year could not wholly erase. "I told him the Dark Lord was gone, and I wasn't about to waste my time banging my head against a stone wall trying to bring him back. I had better things to do with my life than grovel in the dirt and kiss the Dark Lord's robes. I told him that damned mark on his arm was nothing more than a slave brand, and if he wanted to waste his life as a glorified house-elf, fine, but he could ruddy well leave me out of his mad schemes. Well, you can imagine how that went down with my father."

"But how does Ginny fit in?" Ron asked, his demanding tone noticeably softened.

"Funny thing about that," Draco chuckled as the memory of that day came back to him. "Father and I had wandered toward the edge of Knockturn Alley, and when I finished telling him off I turned straight in and left him behind, still fuming. But I'm not two steps inside when who do I see leaning against the wall, her red hair blowing in the wind and a big, freckled smile on her face."

"Not Ginny!" Ron burst out. "What in the bloody hell was my sister doing in Knockturn Alley?"

"I never did find out," Draco said. "I think she might have been doing something with your brothers, you know, for their joke shop. Well, the look on her face, I mean to say..."

Ron continued to look on anxiously, nor were Harry and Hermione a step behind him in their own eagerness to hear.

Sighing reminiscently, Draco said, "So, she just stood there, looking at me. And I looked at her. We didn't say anything, neither of us. But it was all too clear that she'd heard everything I'd said to my father, or at least the last bit of it where I told him off."

"And what did she do?" Ron said, the ultimatum in his voice now completely eroded away.

"Well," Draco smiled, "as I said, she just stood there. It's like she was looking down on me from some great height -- no mean feat, since I'm a bit taller than her. I'd never had anyone look at me like that. It's like -- like she was opening me up and looking inside me. And then she nodded. That's all, she just nodded. And I couldn't tell if she was nodding at me, or at herself, as if she'd come to a decision or something. And I bristled a bit, actually -- I mean, who was she, or anyone, to pass judgment on a Malfoy? But," he added with a note of fondness that would have seemed out of place in his normally bored voice, "there was something about that smile that -- I can't explain it -- it just made all the anger I'd been feeling for my father melt away."

Draco sighed again, and Harry saw a confused look spread across Ron's face, as if he had no idea how to process what he was hearing.

"Anyway," Draco said, "she nodded once, and then she walked right by me -- didn't even look back. But -- she was still smiling -- even with her back to me, I could sense it on her face. It was almost like an aura surrounding her. I didn't know what to think. What was that all about? And then I began to wonder, what was she going to do with what she'd heard? Was she planning on telling everyone at school that Draco Malfoy ran scared when his father wanted him to become a Death Eater? Was she going to take the mickey out of me for all the foul things I'd done to you lot over the last six years?"

"But she didn't," Harry said.

"No," Draco said. "The next time I saw her was at the Welcoming Feast last September. After Dumbledore dismissed everyone, I looked over at the Gryffindor table, and there she was, giving me that ruddy Cheshire Cat smile again. Well, I couldn't stand the suspense. She was talking to a couple of Ravenclaws, and when they split off to go to their dorms, I cornered her. I asked her what she intended to do about what she'd heard in Diagon Alley."

"And what did she say?" Ron said.

"Nothing," Draco said.

"She didn't say anything?" Ron said.

"No," Draco said with a shake of his head. "That was her answer. She said she wouldn't tell anyone about what she'd heard between my father and me. She said it would be our secret, that it was up to me if I wanted anyone else to know."

"That's it?" Ron said in disbelief.

"There was one more thing," Draco said, and for some reason neither of them could explain, both Harry and Hermione leaned closer (though this in no way increased the volume of Draco's voice vibrating through their wands). "She stood up and kissed me on the cheek."

Ron sat back on his mount, shaking his head. Harry and Hermione exchanged a smile.

"It all sort of snowballed from there," Draco said. "We didn't talk much at first. I'd see her by the lake, looking out over the water, and I'd walk up beside her and just stand there. After a minute, she'd get up and start walking, and I'd fall in beside her. One day -- I don't know why I did it, really -- I reached out and took her hand. I expected her to pull away, but she didn't."

Draco fell silent, as if he didn't want to open the door of his feelings any wider. Harry spotted this before Ron did and he stepped in quickly, encouraged by a nod from Hermione.

"You don't have to say any more," he told Draco. "There are some things a bloke shouldn't talk about behind a girl's back." Harry didn't think Ron was ready to hear about the romantic interlude between Ginny and Draco at the Halloween Ball, as revealed to Harry's eyes through Colin Creevey's clandestine photos. His best mate had enough of a load on his shoulders already without taking on a few extra stone just now.

In a flash that was startling in its abruptness, Draco snarled, "There has to be a way to stop the Dark Lord from coming back! There has to be!" Turning his ashen eyes on Harry, he said almost pleadingly, "You've got out of tough scrapes before now, Scarhead. For the love of Merlin, isn't there something you can do now?"

Harry was about to respond with a helpless shrug, but suddenly his eyes flew open as if an electric shock had surged through him. He clapped a hand to his scar. Seeing this, Hermione cried out in a thrill of excitement.

"Harry! Can you -- can you sense Voldemort? I know he isn't in a real state now, but is it possible -- ?"

Harry jerked his head away from Hermione's pleading eyes and turned his own eyes straight ahead. He'd had no danger warnings by reason of his scar in ages. But he had been taking Occlumency lessons from Sirius and Remus, trying to block out his premonitions. What if -- what if the two were connected? What if --

Harry closed his eyes and cast out his mind as he had before. But this time his senses were attuned to his scar, reaching out, searching for some sign, some vibration, some echo that would make his head throb as of old with the pain that only Voldemort could inspire.

There are barriers around the place where they are, his mind argued. You can't get through.

There are barriers around Hogwarts, too, came the counter-argument. That never stopped your scar from hurting whenever Voldemort was near, or feeling hatred for you.

"He's out there," Harry murmured, his jaw muscles quivering with the effort of his concentration. "We know he didn't die, just like he never died the first time. I sensed him before, when he was attached to Quirrell's head. I sensed him when he was a vile slug sitting by the fire in his parents' house, boasting to Wormtail about his plans for the Triwizard Tournament. He doesn't have to have a body for me to find him. I can do this. I can do this!"

And suddenly Harry cried out, his head snapping back as his hand smote his forehead hard.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, releasing her dragon's horns to cover her own face with her hands.

"He's there," Harry gasped. "I can feel him. He's there."

"He's back?" Ron said in horror.

"No," Harry said as he leaned forward, shaking his head. "I saw it. For a moment, I saw everything, in my head. They're on an island, like we figured. There's a -- an altar of some kind. The Devil's Bane is there. Mulciber is shooting spells at it, trying to weaken it so he can control it with the Imperius Curse. They need the dragon. They can't bring Voldemort back without it."

"Are we close enough?" Draco demanded savagely, his cool eyes flashing.

"No," Harry said, trying to mask the defeat in his voice. "It's too far. We can't -- "

But Harry's voice broke off suddenly. He continued to massage his scar as he turned his head and looked around him at his three companions.

"Yes," he said softly. "Yes." Though his voice rose scarcely above a whisper, yet it carried to the others' wands, and thence to their ears, as if he had been sitting next to them in a soundless room.

"What?" Ron said, his voice both eager and fearful.

"Hermione," Harry said, his eyes finding hers and locking thereon. "There's only one way we can get there in time to stop them from bringing Voldemort back. We'll have to Apparate."

It took a moment for Harry's words to penetrate Hermione's brain.

"Harry, we can't! You know as well as I do that the Death Eaters will have erected anti-Apparation barriers around the island. If we try it, we'll bounce off and be hurled into the sea, if we aren't killed outright by the impact!"

"I think I can get through," Harry said. "Because of this." He indicated his scar, the pain of which was now abating, allowing him to think clearly again. "My scar is linked directly to Voldemort. We know that nothing can interrupt that connection. Besides that, we know from first-hand experience that no magical barrier is foolproof. House-elves can Apparate within the castle, despite the anti-Apparation wards; Fawkes can transport Dumbledore from his office and back in the wink of an eye. If -- if I focus on Voldemort, to getting where he is, I think I can slip past the defenses."

"You think?" Hermione nearly shrieked.

"I know it's a dodgy thing to be risking one's life on," Harry agreed. "But if we arrive after Voldemort's return, he'll kill us all. I don't reckon I have anything to lose, do you?"

For a moment, Hermione did not reply. Then, in a determined voice, she said, "We'll both go."

Harry turned his head sharply. Though he had spoken in the plural, his determination had been to make the journey alone. Seeing the resolve in Hermione's eyes, he knew better than to try to dissuade her from an emotional standpoint. He needed something founded on reason and logic; anything else she would deflect as easily as a Skrewt would shrug off a Stunning spell.

"I'm the only one who can get through," Harry said. "I'm the only one connected to Voldemort."

"That's true," Hermione said calmly, and for a heartbeat Harry thought he had triumphed. But his victory celebration proved premature. "I may not be connected to Voldemort," Hermione said. "But I am connected to you. We can link our minds, using the techniques we learned in Apparation training, and in Occlumency lessons. Remember, I was the one who broke into your mind during all those practice sessions in the castle. When you connect with Voldemort, I'll just 'hitch a lift' and go with you."

Harry knew there was no arguing her out of it. And in truth, there was no point to it. If Voldemort returned, all their deaths were certain. With Hermione at his side, their chances -- slim though they might be -- would be greatly improved. At the very least, they might kill a few of Voldemort's most valued servants, delaying his return to full power by however long it took to replace them. In that time, the Order of the Phoenix might have the chance to build up their strength to the point where they could finish what he and Hermione would start. It was a slim hope, but it was better than none.

Putting on a brave face, Harry said, "The two of us, then."

"The three of us, you mean," came a voice from behind them. All eyes jerked around in the direction of Draco, whose face was set with determination equal to Hermione's.

"You can Apparate?" Harry said in mild surprise.

"Father trained me over the holidays last year," Draco said.

"But," Hermione put in, "why did you use the Floo when you came to Harry's house so you could spend the Christmas and Easter holidays with Ginny?"

"You what?" Ron shouted, his eyes flashing blue fire at Draco.

"Letting the kneazle out of the bag then would have led to a lot of embarrassing questions I wasn't prepared to answer just yet," Draco said apologetically, avoiding Ron's scathing look. "Father pulled some strings to get me my license before school started. He thought I'd be useful to him, being able to come and go from Hogsmeade with messages about Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix." Draco's face twisted into a hard smile. "The laugh's on him, isn't it? I hope I get the chance to tell him. I want to see the look on his face."

"Have you ever practiced Occlumency or Legilimency?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco said. "But I'll take my chances. Why should you lot have all the fun?"

"HANG ON!" Ron bellowed, his wrath now turned from Draco onto Harry and Hermione. "You can't leave me behind! You can't!" He was almost sobbing with frustration, his magically magnified voice making Harry's scar throb again.

"Sorry, Ron," Harry said, the nervous edge in his voice diminishing the earnestness of his sincerity. "Voldemort has to be stopped, and this is the only way." Turning away from Ron, he added in a low murmur, "I'm sorry, mate."

"I'll make you a promise, Weasley," Draco said as he, following the example of Harry and Hermione, essayed to negate the Sticking Charm holding him in place on the dragon's back. "I promise I won't kill my father -- unless I absolutely have to. You can even use the Cruciatus on him. I promise not to tell the Ministry." He barked a hard, fierce laugh before turning his attention fully on Harry.

A sudden thought struck Harry. "Here," he said, and promptly sent his Firebolt straight at Ron with a Banishing Charm.

Employing his Keeper's instincts, Ron caught Harry's broom almost without realizing he had done so. He stared at the broom for a moment before his eyes rose questioningly toward Harry.

"It won't do me any good where I'm going," Harry said. "It'll just get in the way. And Apparating is difficult enough without carrying extra baggage." He flashed Ron a hard grin. "Now none of us can get back without you. I'm counting on you, Ron. I know you won't let me down."

Too stunned to speak, Ron nodded mechanically.

"Right, then," Harry said. He was having difficulty steadying himself. Having negated the Sticking Charm under him, he was remaining in place solely by his grip on the dragon's horns and the pressure of his knees on its flanks. He said a silent prayer that a sudden gust of wind would not prompt his steed into an unexpected maneuver. (He wished he could remember how long it had been since the last position shift.) In a voice bristling with command, he said, "Hermione, Draco, concentrate on your wands. Let your minds travel through them and into mine. Don't talk. I'll know when the connection is made."

An ominous silence descended over the foursome, seeming to swallow up the rushing wind. Harry relaxed his mind, and a blast of white-hot pain exploded on his forehead. Setting his teeth painfully, he opened his mind, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes. He reached out with mental fingers, groping blindly for the source of his torment.

It seemed to nudge him inside his skull, as if he had blundered blindly into a wall. It built slowly, yet with alarming speed. It was as if a flame had been kindled in a dark room, a pinpoint of light glimmering feebly in an ocean of black. Harry pushed his mind forward, and the light grew and expanded, along with the pain. It was as if a black velvet curtain were being drawn back, and as Harry concentrated with all his might, the images hidden behind that barrier grew clearer.

The pounding in Harry's brain was disturbed abruptly by a faint voice that echoed in his ear as if the speaker were sitting right behind him.

"I can see it," Hermione whispered, her mental voice filled with awe.

"And I," Draco said a moment later. "But can we get through? I'm trying to Apparate, but it's like pushing against a stone wall."

"You can't get through on your own," Harry gasped, his head pulsing fit to burst. "Don't look all the way ahead. Focus on my mind. You need to get inside me, mentally, so I can take us all through."

Draco did not reply in words, but Harry sensed rather than heard an acknowledgment that transcended the verbal plane. An even stronger wave of assent told him that Hermione had heard as well and was applying herself to the task.

Without warning, Hermione shrieked in pain. At nearly the same moment, Draco gasped and swore.

"Bloody hell, Potter," he said breathlessly. "This is -- ahhgg!"

Even as Draco cried out, Harry heard Hermione whimper as she partook of the searing waves of pain filling Harry's mind. It was now or never.

"Get ready," he gasped. He was barely able to speak over the pain, but he knew his voice would be carried directly to everyone's ears. "On my signal."

With a tremendous surge of will, Harry leaped forward. The action was purely mental, but as his mind made the jump, his body followed. One moment he was seated on his dragon, his knees clamped desperately to its flanks. An instant later, he was lying face down on hard ground, his face buried in tufts of something thick and wiry. His head felt like a cauldron that was two seconds away from splitting under a white-hot flame. His lungs emptied in a labored hiss, and he drew and expelled a ragged breath and lay still.

How long he lay thus, he did not know. It could have been hours; he prayed to heaven that it had been no more than a minute. Trembling slightly, he bent his arms, set his hands upon the surface whereon he lay, and pushed. Feeling his every muscle and joint scream in protest, he heaved himself into a kneeling position. He looked around in blank confusion for a moment, then his mind snapped alert.

"Hermione!"

He whirled around, taking in his surroundings abstractedly. He was surrounded by scraggly trees, through which the crimson glow of sunset sought in vain to penetrate the dusky shadows on all sides. Tufts of thin, emaciated grass muffled his movements as he struggled to his feet and looked around desperately. Where was Hermione? Had she been able to come along? Or had his brilliant plan failed, was she was still miles away on her dragon -- or worse, floating somewhere in the cold waters of the North Sea, the Apparation stymied by the island's protective wards?

A soft moaning sound jerked his head around, and he nearly cried out in joy and relief. A black-robed figure lay face-up in the underbrush, limbs askew, bushy brown hair scattered in all directions. Harry scrambled over and knelt beside Hermione. He patted her face, and she opened her eyes and smiled up at him weakly.

"We made it," she said, the triumph in her voice only slightly diminished by her gasping breaths. "Where's Draco?"

"Here," came an answering voice from behind Harry. Draco stumbled forward, his right cheek bleeding, his white-blond hair rumpled in a fashion that playing Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team had never accomplished.

Harry and Draco helped Hermione to her feet, but before any of them could speak, a low chanting reverberated from beyond the ring of trees.

"The ceremony!" Harry said. "It's starting!"

Their aches forgotten, the trio moved with cautious haste toward the chanting sounds. Harry led the way, while Hermione lagged behind Draco, her wand out, her senses alert as she watched to see that they were not surprised from the rear. Seeing this, Draco nodded approvingly as he fell in behind Harry.

Harry stopped suddenly, holding out his hand. He fell to his knees and crawled forward, Draco and Hermione imitating him. They peered through the thick shrubbery, their eyes wide and their mouths slack.

The trees had been cleared away to expose a great circle on the forest floor. The light of perhaps a hundred torches painted the hard-packed ground with a dancing golden glow. These were set atop a ring of twelve-foot poles surrounding an altar the like of which neither Hermione nor Draco had ever seen. But Harry had seen its like before, in the depths of the Chamber of Secrets beneath Hogwarts.

Carved from some nameless green stone, the altar was wrought in the shape of a gigantic snake. It looked for all the world to Harry as if the basilisk he had killed five years ago were reborn in stone. Coil upon coil of the carven snake's body mounted up, each layer forming a step leading up to a platform upon which sat an enormous bowl hewn from what appeared to be obsidian. The neck of the stone serpent reared up behind this, its monstrous head looking down on the bowl's contents with eyes the color of rubies. The carven jaws gaped wide, exposing foot-long fangs and a long, forked tongue.

Wrenching his eyes away from those hypnotic orbs, Harry saw that there were at least a dozen Death Eaters within the circle of light. They were arranged in a semi-circle before the altar, their knees bent in almost worshipful reverence as they chanted rhythmically in a language Harry had never heard before. They were all looking up at the carven snake, and Harry found himself moving forward instinctively, his wand held before him. Nor were the thoughts racing through his brain without companion.

"We'll never have a better chance," Draco hissed, his wand in his hand and his pale eyes reflecting the flames from the torches. "They're all looking away. We can run in and stun the lot of them!"

Harry was of a mind to do just that, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve, pointing to a place beyond the ring of light just above the snake's head. Harry looked, and his blood ran cold.

A horned, scaly head blacker than the shadows was tossing back and forth angrily, a low growl rumbling in its throat as it struggled at the end of a chain whose links were thicker than a man's wrist. The Bulgarian Devil's Bane appeared dazed. Its slitted eyes, red as those of the stone snake, were unfocused. A wizard was just visible over the edge of one of the altar's coiled flanks, pointing his wand up at the dragon. Harry knew this must be Mulciber, whose speciality was the Imperius Curse. Harry did not wonder that Ron had succumbed so readily in Hogsmeade. What Dark power must this man have to reduce the most terrible dragon in the world to such docility?

But Harry saw at once that this condition was not what Mulciber wanted, nor was it difficult to understand why. The swaying dragon seemed in no state to do that for which it had been spirited away months ago. If Hermione were correct, it was the dragon's fire which the Death Eaters desperately needed. But only feeble wisps of smoke could be seen issuing from the dragon's nostrils. Mulciber seemed to be cursing the dragon with every blasphemy he knew, but his words were drowned out by the incessant chanting from his companions.

"He's bitten off more than he can chew," Hermione whispered fearfully in Harry's ear. "No one can tame a Devil's Bane."

"Don't bet on it," Draco said. "Mulciber is the best there is. If anyone can do it, he can."

And as if Draco's words had been a prophesy, the dragon reared its head majestically and sent a long stream of fire into the sky. Hermione felt Harry stiffen in her grasp, and Draco surged forward, his wand held high.

"Mulciber won't be able to control it for long," Draco said. "We have to do something now or the game's up."

At that moment, the chanting ceased as at the waving of a maestro's baton. The Death Eaters rose as one, and from among them a solitary figure glided forward. He threw back his black hood, revealing a head of long, silver-blond hair. Draco hissed a curse under his breath, but though his wand quivered in his hand, he remained motionless.

"Master!" Lucius cried, his eyes on those of the giant snake. "In days past, you chastised us, your loyal servants, for abandoning you in your hour of need. You were right to do so, for we were remiss in our duties, forgetting our oath of everlasting fealty. You forgave us that night, and now we will prove worthy of your mercy. Your orders have been carried out, Master. The plan which you, in your boundless wisdom, prepared before your fall will now bear its fruit. The stars are nearly in alignment. Soon you will be back among us, that we may serve you once more. We are your humble servants, Master! Ever and always, we are yours!"

Lucius bowed his silver head, and Draco spat on the ground, startling Harry and Hermione by his vehemence.

"Where is your Malfoy pride, Father?" he hissed disgustedly. "Our old house-elf had more backbone than you. You say I'm no longer your son? So be it. From this moment, I have no father."

Harry was studying the scene before him, his eyes moving this way and that, taking in every detail. He turned to Hermione, whose own attention was as focused as his. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped. Harry's eyes flashed a silent apology, and she placed her hand on his reassuringly.

"What do you reckon?" Harry said, trying his best to smile.

"I've been thinking about what Ron said," she replied, her eyes sweeping the clearing again. "Divide and conquer. We're going to have to split up. We'll be spread a bit thinner than if Ron were with us, but there's nothing else for it."

Looking around, Harry pointed just over Hermione's shoulder.

"See that big tree over there -- the one with the split trunk?" Hermione looked where Harry was pointing and nodded. "You'll Apparate behind there. That will put you at their backs, in a position to break their ranks."

Hermione nodded, and Harry turned toward Draco, who stepped forward, his wand still at the ready.

"See that big rock at the edge of the clearing, to the left of the altar?" Draco nodded sharply as he followed Harry's pointing finger. "You'll station yourself behind there. That puts us at roughly three, six and nine o'clock. We'll have a clear view of everything and of each other. When the moment comes -- "

"What signal?" Draco said eagerly.

"We're well outnumbered," Harry said, "so we need them to be distracted. Unfortunately, the only distraction big enough will be the ceremony itself."

"Cutting a bit close, aren't you?" Draco said, his pale eyes flashing.

"No help for it. If we rush in now, they'll all respond in an instant. But they're so keen to bring their master back, they'll be thinking of nothing else once the ceremony begins."

Harry gripped his wand and surveyed his companions intently.

"One of us has to get to the top of the altar and blow up that bowl. If I'm right, that's where Voldemort's ashes are. They've probably been here all this time, right on Azkaban's bloody back doorstep. They've been sprinkling them with unicorn blood to keep him alive. If we can scatter them to the winds, they'll never collect enough of him to bring him back."

"So what's the problem?" Draco said. "We just Apparate straight to the top and hit it with a Reductor Curse."

"We can't," Harry said. "When I sensed the altar earlier -- when I touched Voldemort's mind -- I could feel waves of Dark magic radiating from it. You're right, we can Apparate here -- the barrier around the island only prevents people from passing through uninvited. But if we try to Apparate anywhere near the altar, we'll be splinched into a hundred pieces. The closer we get, the greater the field of disruption. We'll have to do it the hard way."

"Didn't you say the ceremony has to take place at the exact moment when the stars are in alignment?" Draco said. "If that's the case, all we have to do is delay them long enough until the stars move on. The ceremony will be useless."

"But that would only postpone Voldemort's return, not prevent it," Hermione said. "They'll go somewhere else and wait until next year and do it all again."

"So?" Draco returned. "We found them once, we'll find them again."

"We only found them this time," Harry said, "because the baby dragons flew us here. Until then, no one had any idea where they were. Even Dumbledore couldn't find them. And we got through the magical wards because of my connection to Voldemort. They won't make those mistakes the next time. If we let them escape now, they'll go someplace else where no one will ever find them. This is the only chance we or anyone will have to stop Voldemort from coming back. It's now or never."

Sighing resignedly, Draco gave a short nod. "What's the plan?"

"Our attack will be threefold," Harry said. "First, we hit and run, take out as many Death Eaters as we can in the shortest time. We have to hit them like human Bludgers -- strike fast, don't give them time to organize. If we can confuse them, they'll be hampered by their own numbers. And they won't be able to use any really dangerous spells straight off."

"From your mouth to Merlin's ear," Draco drawled.

"Second," Harry said, "we watch each other so no one can blindside us. We'll form rotating teams of two, working with whoever is closest to us at the moment. Whichever of us is nearest Draco," he said to Hermione, "will watch his left."

Draco nodded appreciatively at this, and Harry returned the gesture.

"Third, and most important," Harry said, "we work our way toward the altar. Whatever happens, one of us has got to get up there. We'll each look for an opening, trusting to the others to clear a path for us."

Harry paused, and his eyes swept past Draco to fall on Hermione.

"I know we're supposed to watch out for each other," he said, his throat constricting. "But if one of us gets close enough to destroy that bowl, it's a new game. Ignore everything else. If a mate is in trouble, and you can either save him or destroy Voldemort -- "

Harry saw Draco nod over Hermione's shoulder. She hesitated for a heartbeat before giving a reluctant nod.

"The same goes for whichever of us is left behind. Our lives are important only insofar as fulfilling our objective is concerned. I know that sounds hard, but -- "

"We understand," Hermione said, speaking for Draco, who again nodded his affirmation behind her.

Harry's throat felt as if he were choking on stinksap. Placing his hands on Hermione's shoulders, he said, "We have to be strong, love. This is bigger than either of us. Our lives -- "

"You're not going to quote Bogart from Casablanca, are you?" Hermione smirked. Stunned speechless, Harry stared into Hermione's deep brown eyes as a smile crept onto his face.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you," Hermione said.

As Harry pulled his eyes from Hermione's, Draco shifted his wand and extended his right hand toward Harry.

"Sorry it took us so long to see eye-to-eye, Harry," he said. "You told me seven years ago that you didn't need any help telling the wrong sort. If I'd listened then -- "

"All potion down the plug hole," Harry said as they shook hands.

"I won't let you down," Draco said.

"I know you won't."

Without warning, Hermione leaped up and kissed Draco on the cheek. He stared at her in astonishment, his hand touching the place where her lips had touched his skin.

"Good luck," she said. "To all of us."

"Watch for my signal," Harry said. "I'll size up the board," he grinned at his unexpected use of Ron's chess terminology, "and pick my spot. When you see the first spell, jump in wherever you think you can do the most damage. But remember -- "

He pointed his wand meaningfully at the stone bowl.

"Off you get."

Draco Disapparated without a word. Hermione looked at Harry for a moment, then reached up and took hold of the hair at the back of his neck. She drew his head down and kissed him, felt his arms encircle her waist. They separated quickly.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," Harry said softly.

"Bloody well right I am," Hermione said, the loving smile on her face the antithesis of the steely determination in her eyes. She Disapparated.

Harry now bent low and peered through the brush, watching as the Death Eaters began to move with a new sense or urgency. He knew that the stars must shortly align themselves, returning to the exact position where they had stood one year ago when the Ring Spirit had reduced Voldemort's mortal body to dust. But though his physical body was no more, his mind lived on, kept alive through the same Dark magicks that had allowed him to cheat death nearly seventeen years ago. The dust which had lay unheeded on the earth of the Forbidden Forest now resided in the stone bowl at the top of the serpent-altar. Somehow, Voldemort's mind, his spirit, remained in that dust, undying, waiting for his loyal Death Eaters to carry out the contingency plan he himself had set up. He had admitted his foolishness to Harry in the cemetery in Little Hangleton, confessed his ill-preparedness for the fate that befell him on that Halloween night so long ago. But the Dark Lord was not one to make the same mistake twice. This time he was prepared, and his servants were on the verge of restoring their master to terrible, vengeful life. Harry must prevent that at all costs -- even his own life.

Harry saw that the Death Eaters were all in motion, each moving with sureness of purpose, as if following a well-rehearsed plan. He was now able to make an assessment of their number. There were fourteen in all, Mulciber included. Harry wondered at the reasoning behind this. Eliminating Mulciber, who was busy with the dragon, that left thirteen. Harry remembered something about that number from one of his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Ceremonies related to the zodiac typically required an acolyte to stand at each of the twelve points to form a mystic circle. The thirteenth member would be the High Priest, at whose direction the ceremony would proceed. Since it was Lucius who, alone of the party, had spoken earlier, he was undoubtedly cast in this key role. It was he who had stolen Hermione's ring, and as such it would be he who would use the artifact which had been his master's downfall to undo that which it had wrought exactly one year ago.

But if Harry's supposition were right, then he and his friends must act with all haste and surgical precision. When the twelve spread out to their assigned positions, there would be no angle by which an attack could be launched unseen. The attack must come before that dispersal if it was to have any chance of success. His nerves humming like piano wires, Harry watched the unfolding drama, alert for the moment to strike.

Two masked wizards had detached themselves from their fellows and melted into the shadows beyond the ring of torches. They reappeared now, and the dark host divided as the pair mounted the steps to the top of the altar. One of them, Harry now saw, bore a small cauldron, the other, a ladle. As they stood before the stone bowl, the one tipped the cauldron carefully to allow the other to insert the ladle. This implement came out brimming with a silvery substance that glowed in the shadows like liquid moonlight. Harry knew this could be nothing but unicorn blood, harvested from the body of the unicorn Hagrid had found on the edge of the Forbidden Forest months ago. As he watched, the ladle scattered droplets of silver blood over the surface of the ash-impregnated earth filling the bowl. This, Harry knew, was the means by which Voldemort had staved off final death over the past year. But even that remedy could not serve indefinitely, could it? Was Draco right? If the ceremony could be interrupted, pushed past the time of alignment, could Voldemort survive another year, even nurtured by unicorn blood? That was a gamble Harry was unwilling to take, not with the fate of the wizarding world at stake. Better to destroy those ashes tonight so that the ceremony could never be attempted again.

The two wizards had evidently completed their task, for they began to descend the snake's coils. As they did so, other Death Eaters appeared in the circle of firelight. Harry had been so intent upon the two atop the altar that he had not seen these others disengage themselves from their fellows. They were four in number, laden from first to last with burdens which they cradled in their arms as mother would a child. The shadows from the dancing torches, coupled with the distance separating them from Harry, obscured the finer details, but he did not need to see clearly to know what they must be carrying. Wood. The cursed wood from the Hanging Tree. Their intentions were obvious. They were going to mount the altar and lay that wood upon Voldemort's ashes. Mulciber would then direct the dragon to breathe its terrible fire upon the wood, setting it alight and releasing the spirits of hundreds of executed witches and wizards. Their dark hatreds, fueled by centuries of imprisonment within the ancient tree, would pour a veritable ocean of Dark magic over the essence of Voldemort. And though Harry knew not the nature of the ceremony Voldemort's followers had performed, which chanted incantations he had heard reverberating from the surrounding trees, he did not doubt that it would do what Voldemort intended that it should. Just as the potion containing Harry's blood and Wormtail's severed hand had restored Voldemort three years ago, so would this ceremony resurrect him again, more terrible and vengeful than before. There was no doubt in his mind that this ceremony, like the one before it, would succeed -- therefore it must not be allowed to succeed.

Harry knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for. Fully half of the Death Eaters were laden with burdens which made their wand arms useless. The others were staring expectantly, hungrily, up at the stone bowl, their imaginations no doubt envisioning their master rising from his ashes in triumph, a dark Messiah come to crucify the world on the tree of his arrogance and vanity. Harry swept the scene with a practiced eye, calling upon his many training sessions with Sirius and Remus. He found his target and, before he could summon the presence of mind to hesitate, leaped from cover and ran in a low crouch directly toward the altar.

"Reducto!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the wizard on the lowest step. The cauldron in the man's hand exploded, showering him and his companion with unicorn blood. Both wizards staggered, their eyes blinded by the silvery blood. The remaining Death Eaters turned in the direction from which the spell had come. The ones unburdened by the cursed wood reached for their wands. Having spied a shadow detaching itself from the perimeter, Harry ignored them, concentrating on the wood-bearers.

"Expelliarmus!" cried a high-pitched voice from the Death Eaters' left. The two wizards closest to Harry recoiled as their wands flew from their hands, sailed over the torches and vanished in the darkness. Hermione dashed forward, her hair dancing about her shoulders, her face set, her eyes hard.

Two of the remaining Death eaters began to circle Lucius, their sole function apparently to shield him with their bodies against attack from any direction. This was a complication Harry had not foreseen, but there was no time to dwell on it now. The pair who were still armed turned toward Hermione, bringing their wands to bear. She hit one with a Stunning Spell, but the other pointed his wand and opened his mouth to call out an incantation. Instead, he screamed as a hard-edged voice barked, "Reducto!" Bones in the man's hand shattered, and he continued to scream as his wand fell from lifeless fingers.

His long legs having covered the intervening distance in a few swift strides, Draco dived behind the stone serpent as the Death Eater guarding Lucius aimed a spell at him. The beam of red light chipped the green stone.

"Do not destroy the altar!" Lucius screamed.

Harry heard Lucius' words only distantly; with the two blood-bearers still blinded, his primary attention was focused on the wizards carrying the wood. He felled one with a Stunning Spell, but the others quickly cast aside their burdens and drew their wands. Harry rolled as a jet of purple light flashed through the place where his midsection had been a moment before. Another Death Eater began a Curse, but before the first syllable had been given voice, Harry drew a hurried symbol in the air and the Curse rebounded, hurling his attacker back with a startled cry. Harry Disapparated and reappeared behind his foes, but before he could strike he saw something that caused his heart to skip a beat.

Draco was racing around the altar toward the coiled steps, thinking that the way to his goal was clear. But one of the blood-splashed Death Eaters was pointing his wand as he continued to wipe at his eyes with the sleeve of his dripping robes. Draco seemed not to have seen this threat. Harry remembered with alarm that Draco was handicapped by a blind spot on his left. He whipped his wand around and pointed it at Draco's unseen attacker.

"Impedimenta!"

The wizard was hurled off his feet, his wand flying from his hand. Another spell narrowly missed Draco's head, but he raced up the steps toward the bowl, heedless of his own life.

"No!" came a scream from Harry's right. Lucius Malfoy was pointing his wand at his son. Draco was jerked backwards through the air, landing with a thud on the hard-packed earth. Harry opened his mouth to utter another incantation, but his peripheral vision caught a flurry of motion in front of him, and he wheeled to find himself facing the three former wood-bearers, wands at the ready. The one he had stunned had been revived, and their eyes burned behind their black hoods. And beyond them he saw the face of Lucius Malfoy, his icy eyes filled with recognition and hatred.

"Kill him!" Lucius screamed.

Keeping his head, Harry drew on the hundreds of practice hours he had put in under the tutelage of Sirius and Remus. He dodged the first Curse hurled at him, deflected another. He heard Lucius Malfoy barking orders, restoring order from the chaos. A voice shouted, "Accio wands!" The wands lost to Hermione's Disarming Spell flew back into their owners' hands. Harry erected a shield before him with a complicated wave of his wand. It glowed red as three spells hit it together, but it held. Unseen behind the brilliant light, Harry Disapparated and appeared to his foes' left. He saw that Lucius was now binding Draco with thin cords spun from his wand like spider silk. At that moment, the Death Eater who had borne the cauldron of blood ran toward him. His hood had been discarded to facilitate the cleansing of the blood from his eyes, and he screamed a Curse at Harry. But the man's vision must have been damaged by the unicorn blood, because the beam from his wand missed Harry and struck one of the Death Eaters Harry had been dueling. The man screamed and fell against his companions. Harry upset the half-blind Death Eater with a Trip-Jinx before stunning the other two.

Finding himself suddenly without an adversary within striking distance, Harry jerked his head around as he took in sharp, quick gasps of air. To his right, he saw that Hermione wad dueling with two Death Eaters. She was holding her own, blocking spells as quickly as they came. But her opponents were obviously skilled fighters, and she could not hold out for long. Even as he thought this, his breath caught in his lungs as one of the wizards pointed his wand at Hermione and screamed the one Curse against which her shields were useless.

"Avada -- "

In the moment that the first syllable left the wizard's lips, Harry acted. With a savage jerk of his wand, he uprooted one of the torch poles and sent it hurtling toward the wizard. In the same instant that the word Kedavra rang out, the pole slammed into the Death Eater's back like a gigantic cricket bat. As he careened forward, his wand arm spasmed so that the jet of green light missed Hermione by inches. She was just able to fall flat as the pole swept the second wizard off his feet. She glanced at Harry for a moment, then her head dropped and her wand fell from her hand.

Harry had taken two steps toward Hermione when his attention was arrested by a sound from his left. It was the sound of laughter, cold and cruel, and marked by a hard-edged drawl. Whirling about, Harry saw Lucius Malfoy standing at the foot of the serpent-altar. His two bodyguards (from their heavy builds, they could be none other than Crabbe and Goyle) were guffawing sycophantically as Lucius directed his wand at a point some ten feet above the ground.

Draco was hanging puppet-like in mid-air, and he was cursing his father with language that would make the clientele of the Hog's Head blush. He struggled defiantly against the thin cords binding him, but his fruitless efforts only served to increase the laughter. None was laughing louder than Lucius, who was amusing himself by sending needle-thin jets of fire from his wand that singed his son's face and hair. The three tormentors were all looking away from Harry, no doubt believing that any threat he might represent was inconsequential, if not nil. It was a mistake for which they would pay.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried. Lucius' wand flew from his hand. As the Death Eaters spun about, Draco spat savagely in the face of the one nearest him, wringing a string of curses from the wizard. Harry stunned the other before he could raise his wand, but Lucius snatched the wand from his companion's hand before his senseless body fell limply at his feet. The wizard blinded by Draco was bringing his wand to bear a moment ahead of Lucius. Harry stunned him summarily, expecting to find himself staring at the point of Lucius Malfoy's appropriated wand. But Lucius was not pointing his wand at Harry.

"Drop your wand, Potter, or I'll kill him," he said coldly. The wand in his hand was aimed directly at his son's heart.

"I don't believe you," Harry said.

"He'll do it anyway, Harry," Draco said, his dignity undiminished by his helpless state. "Kill him."

"Potter does not kill," Lucius said smoothly.

Harry saw a fine shimmering in the air before Lucius, and he knew that the wizard had erected a shield around himself that a simple spell could not penetrate. The Disarming Spell, the Stunning Spell, were useless here. The Killing Curse would penetrate such a barrier, of course -- no spell could block that most terrible of Curses. Harry hesitated for a moment, then, to Draco's disgust, lowered his wand.

"You see?" Lucius said triumphantly. "Gryffindors are all alike. Spineless and weak. They cannot -- "

"Impedimenta!"

Lucius pitched forward as Hermione appeared. Her hair was in disarray, her robes torn and her face smudged with dirt and blood. But when she smiled, Harry had never seen her look more beautiful. She picked up the wand dropped by Lucius and threw it away.

"You should have erected your shield all the way around you," she mocked as Lucius glowered up at her. "Don't you know that the first rule of combat is never to leave your flank unprotected? And now, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Harry had lowered Draco to the ground and dissolved the magical bonds holding him. He handed one of the fallen wands to Draco, who pointed it at his father as Hermione used a Summoning Charm to draw her stolen ring from a pocket of Lucius' robes. Holding her ring in her hand, she gave Draco a hard smile and said, "Shall we let Harry do the honors?"

Harry saw Hermione and Draco inclining their heads toward the stone bowl at the top of the altar. Gripping his wand firmly, Harry mounted the snake's coils until he reached the top. High over his head, the ruby eyes of the stone serpent glimmered evilly. Tearing his own eyes away, Harry looked down on the sight for which he and his friends had dared all. A pile of dark, rich earth filled the bowl, dappled with gray ash and droplets of silver blood. Harry could feel ripples of evil emanating from this foul detritus. Backing away so as to have room to extend his arm, Harry pointed his wand and cried out, "Protego!"

The resulting explosion slammed into Harry's brain like a sledge hammer. His last conscious thought as darkness overwhelmed him was that of a harsh voice hissing snake-like in his ear: "Fool!"

When Harry opened his eyes, he found that he was looking down on the clearing from a considerable height. There was a burning pain under his arms, and a quick examination of his situation revealed the answer. He was tied to a high post, not unlike those atop which the torches burned. He was suspended by ropes looped under his arms, which likewise bound him so tightly that he could not move. A glance around him confirmed his worst fears. Hermione was suspended in like manner as he, hanging on a pole on his right. He did not need to turn his head to his left to know that he would find Draco there in a similar state. He cast his eyes around the clearing, and his heart seized in his chest. The Death Eaters were arranging themselves in a circle around the altar. Some of them staggered as they walked, bearing the marks of their encounter with Harry, Hermione and Draco. When they were in place, only two figures remained apart. One stood off to the right, his wand pointed at the grotesque head of the Bulgarian Devil's Bane. The other stood before the altar, his arms outstretched in supplication. He bowed low, then rose and turned to face Harry with a triumphant sneer on his pointed face. "Did you think us complete fools, Potter?" he called up. "Did it never occur to you that the place where our lord and master awaits his restoration would be protected by Dark magicks of his own devising?" He laughed, the sound reverberating from the surrounding trees. The echo was still ringing in Harry's ears when Lucius turned in a gesture of dismissal and faced the altar again.

Harry strained at his bonds, grunting with the effort.

"It's no use, Harry," Hermione said in a very weak voice.

Harry looked over his right shoulder. Hermione appeared to be holding onto consciousness by force of will alone. It seemed to take all of her remaining strength merely to keep her head erect.

"When the explosion threw you back," she said, "we were caught off-guard. Lucius must have known what would happen, because he grabbed my wand before I could stop him. Draco fought him, but Lucius hit him with what must have been a very powerful spell. He still hasn't regained consciousness."

It sounded to Harry like Hermione was only moments away from succumbing herself. He felt a sickness in his stomach. Not only had they failed in their mission, but Ron would be arriving soon to join them in death without even the satisfaction of having put up a fight. Harry strained against the binding cords again, knowing it was hopeless. As he had done three years ago when bound to the tombstone of the elder Tom Riddle, he could do naught but watch helplessly as the most terrible Dark wizard in history was snatched once more from the jaws of death and loosed upon an unsuspecting world.

The Death Eaters in the circle were chanting now, muttering the incantation which would open the door for Voldemort's return. But no, that wasn't right. The ring was the key which, in the words of Trelawney's prophesy, would "unlock the door to set Death free."

Even as he thought this, Harry saw Lucius mount the coiled steps and stand before the stone bowl. The contents of that crucible had altered since Harry's last glimpse of it. The wood from the Hanging Tree had been arranged in a runic pattern upon Voldemort's ashes. He saw Lucius place something in the center of the rune, something so small that it could not be seen. But there was no doubt in Harry's mind what that object was.

Lucius backed away reverently and descended the steps. When he was on the ground, he signaled to Mulciber, who immediately shot a spell directly into the dragon's eyes. The Devil's Bane roared in anger and defiance. Flame shot from its nostrils, arching into the sky. Mulciber fired another spell, and the dragon wagged its head like a drunkard outside a public house. At another blast from the wizard's wand, the dragon let out a thundering roar and sent a stream of fire directly onto the crown of the serpent altar. A billow of smoke and flame erupted from the bowl, shooting straight up into the sky. Harry blinked as the light dazzled his eyes. When he looked again, he hoped that the sight that met his eyes was merely an illusion brought on by his distressed optic nerves. But he knew that hope, as every other hope he had dared this day, was in vain.

Faces were dancing in the flames, terrible faces with bared teeth and twisted lips and eyes burning with hatred hotter than the fires surrounding them. He heard them screaming and cursing, and above those voices rose one before which they all paled. A high, shrill voice steeped in venomous evil.

"Yes!" the voice screamed. "Yes! Give me your strength! Pour your hatred out so that I may feed upon it and grow strong!"

Harry could now see the face to which that voice belonged. Thin, serpentine, with unblinking eyes and a mouth like a knife-slash across bleached, brittle parchment.

And now a new element entered the drama. A tiny point of light was growing in the midst of the flames. It expanded until it glowed brighter than the flames encompassing it. And as Harry watched, the white light -- the light from the Friendship Ring -- began to stretch and morph. It slithered in and out through the flames, like luminous ink etching itself across a sheet of blackened parchment. It began to assume a shape, long and thin, with extensions that reached out above and below. It was becoming a body, approximating that of a human being, yet as far removed from humanity as a sane mind could imagine.

The image of Lord Voldemort hovered in the bosom of the flames. But he did not step out of those flames and into the world of the living. Harry was suddenly struck with a thought that had been hovering in the back of his mind since the revelation that Voldemort's return was imminent. On the occasion of the Dark Lord's previous resurrection, the potion containing Harry's blood and Wormtail's hand had not created a body for Voldemort out of nothing. He'd been living inside a rudimentary body for most of a year, a tiny, slug-like thing that was yet composed of flesh and blood. Reduced to simplest terms, the potion had done no more than build upon the body that Voldemort had already possessed. But how was the Dark Lord to assume physical form now, when he appeared to be composed of naught but flame and Dark magic, and held together solely by the force of his terrible will? Where was Voldemort to find the corporeal matter with which to build himself a true body?

And even as the question burst in Harry's brain, the answer came, swiftly, horribly.

Threads of flame leaped from the magical pyre. They resembled spell-energy, yet there was a will about them, as if they were an extension of living mind and thought. The glowing threads arched like a fountain, each one falling unerringly upon a black-hooded Death Eater. And as the magical tendrils transfixed them, each emitted a scream such as Harry had never heard from human lips, nor hoped ever to hear again.

It was as if their bodies were on fire, yet they did not burn as human flesh burns. Harry saw uplifted hands dissolve, the skin and muscle melting away to leave only naked bone. Some of the Death Eaters tore their masks off, and Harry saw faces shrivel and wither like slugs on a hot stove. Liquid flesh ran like wax over bare bone and teeth grinning mirthlessly. Like potion drawn through a tube, the Death Eaters' flesh was being sucked from their bodies and drawn into the fiery heart of the magical pyre. And Harry's chest seized as he saw the figure of Voldemort increase, the lines defining him deepen. Here, then, was the answer to the mystery. Voldemort was building himself a body composed of the flesh of his most loyal servants.

And that, Harry realized with a thrill of horror, was the answer -- the answer to a question voiced nearly three years ago on that most terrible night of Harry's life. On that dread night when Voldemort returned from the jaws of oblivion, Barty Crouch Jr., posing as Mad-Eye Moody, had demanded of Harry whether the Dark Lord had "forgiven the scum who betrayed him." By all appearances, Voldemort had done just that as he stood surrounded by the fearful, trembling circle of his just-summoned Death Eaters. But that appearance was now revealed to be illusion. The Dark Lord, it was ever said, rewarded those who served him well -- and punished those who failed him. These Death Eaters encircling the serpent-altar were perforce those who had escaped Azkaban, buying their lives by denying their Lord and claiming bewitchment. They had no doubt thought themselves absolved of their sins by their master. But who more than they should have known the true heart of Lord Voldemort? Their debt had not been discharged that night, merely postponed. Now, at the moment of his choosing, Voldemort was collecting his due. Having pledged to serve their master unto death, they were fulfilling that pledge now in such fashion as they could not have imagined when those words first passed their lips.

Alone of the Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy seemed immune to the withering tendrils devastating the ranks of his companions. There was no sign of Mulciber, who must have Disapparated, leaving the dragon struggling groggily against its chain as it blinked its great red eyes stupidly.

"Please, Master," Lucius was whimpering, his hands covering his head as he pressed his face to the ground. "Please, have mercy, Master! Have mercy!"

"Mercy?" a cruel voice repeated.

Lucius looked up to see that which had already arrested Harry's attention. A figure was walking down the stone steps, its pale skin glowing in the light of the torches as the flaming pyre vanished. No longer snake-like, Lord Voldemort glided forward on strong, healthy feet that made no sound as they padded nakedly across the space separating him from Lucius. His nude body was vigorous, with lithe muscles that rippled smoothly beneath flawless skin. It was as if a babe had been Transfigured into an adult. Voldemort admired his strong, healthy hands, his robust arms, his powerful chest, his knotted thighs and calves. Standing before his High Priest, Voldemort looked like a Greek god come to visit his wrath on the world of mortals. And if the light burning in his eyes were any measure, that wrath would ultimately prove terrible beyond comprehension.

"Stand and face me, Lucius."

Lucius obeyed, standing before his master on shaky legs.

"You ask me for mercy, Lucius?" Voldemort purred. "Do you deserve the mercy of Lord Voldemort?"

"N-No, my lord," Lucius said fearfully.

"You speak truly," Voldemort said. "You betrayed me at my first falling, telling the Ministry that you had been bewitched, that you never served me willingly. Do you deny it?"

"N-No, my lord," Lucius repeated.

"And yet," Voldemort said smoothly, "I cannot deny that you have served me well since. When I fell for the second time -- "

Voldemort surprised both Lucius and Harry by opening his hand and revealing the Friendship Ring. It shone brightly in the torchlight, having taken no hurt in the fires wherein Voldemort had been reborn.

"You followed my plan exactly as I commanded," Voldemort said. "You gathered everyone here, at the propitious moment, to restore me to life. You secured the instrument of my destruction (he brandished the ring again) so that it could undo that which it had wrought. You have done all that I have commanded. So yes, Lucius, I will show you mercy...one last time. For you shall be my herald, to bear witness to what you have seen this night. You will tell those who enter my service that the vengeance of Lord Voldemort is terrible beyond imagination, and that serving me faithfully, even unto death, is far better than the alternative."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius sobbed in relief. "Thank you, my lord."

"And now," Voldemort said, turning about gracefully, "there is one more item of unfinished business before we set about to rebuild our New World Order."

Harry could feel Voldemort's eyes burning into his. The Dark Lord raised his hand, and Harry felt his bonds loosen. He drifted easily to the ground, where his numb legs crumpled under him.

"Fetch my robes, Lucius," Voldemort commanded. Lucius disappeared beyond the ring of torches, returning hastily with a set of robes folded across his arms.

"Robe me."

Voldemort's robes were of crimson silk, embroidered with gold thread. He examined them, nodded his approval, and turned toward Harry.

"Bring me Potter's wand."

Lucius hastened to obey, and Voldemort took the wand and examined it.

"Very like my own wand, is it not?" Voldemort said lazily. "A shame my wand could not be resurrected along with me, lacking as it did a binding spirit to serve as a core whereupon to build anew. But for the nonce, this should serve nicely in its place. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry said nothing. Voldemort laughed.

"In short order, I shall go to the continent and seek out Gregorovitch. He will supply me with a new wand worthy of my fine, new body. In the meantime, I think I shall enjoy using your wand, Harry. I shall use it in ways you never dreamed, nor would have the courage to attempt. I will sow ruin and despair; I will torture and destroy -- and kill. Has your wand ever killed anyone, Harry? No? Then we must baptize it, as it were. I shall begin by killing you. Does that not seem appropriate?"

"Kill me and get it over with," Harry said, standing as defiantly as his trembling legs would permit.

Laughing, Voldemort turned to Lucius and said, "It was my command that my Death Eaters carry a Restorative Draught at all times, to enable them to recover more quickly and thus serve me tirelessly."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius said. "We used it to restore some of our number so that they could participate in the ceremony."

"Give me yours," Voldemort ordered. Lucius complied with haste, pressing a small metal flask into Voldemort's hands. The Dark Lord examined it briefly, then used Harry's wand to Banish it across the clearing. Harry caught it, his eyes never leaving Voldemort.

"Very good," Voldemort said. "Never take your eyes off your opponent. You have come far since we dueled at my father's gravesite three years ago. We shall see how much you have learned. Drink!"

Harry complied. If he was to fight Voldemort, better to have even a slim chance of survival than none. The Restorative Draught raced through him, healing his aches and sending renewed strength through his limbs. It was very much like the effects of Fawkes' tears. Harry drained the small flask and tossed it aside carelessly.

"Am I going to fight you wandless?" Harry said peevishly.
Voldemort mused for a moment, then said to Lucius, "Give him the Mudblood's wand. It should suit him better than this one."

Lucius grudgingly retrieved Hermione's wand (he knew his son's wand by sight, so choosing the other was simple) and sent it flying toward Harry, who caught it deftly.

The feel of Hermione's wand in his hand was not as strange as it might be. In their many practice duels in Hogsmeade, they had exchanged wands any number of times. You need to practice with wands not your own, Sirius had said, in case your wand is lost or destroyed. An Auror must develop the skill to use whatever wand is at hand in a crisis. Perhaps Voldemort thought Harry would be handicapped by having to duel with a strange wand. But in fact, it was Voldemort would have to get used to a strange wand (notwithstanding their common cores), while Harry was well-versed in the nuances of Hermione's wand. It was a small advantage, to be sure, but it was enough to kindle a spark of hope in his chest where none had been before. Maybe he had a chance after all. Not to escape. That would mean leaving Hermione behind to face Voldemort's dubious mercies, to which the smoldering corpses that had been his Death Eaters bore mute testimony. Harry did not doubt that he would not live to see another sunrise. But maybe -- just maybe -- he could give his death meaning -- by taking Voldemort with him.

"Are you ready to die like a man, Harry?" Voldemort asked.

In answer, Harry raised his wand arm in a formal salute. With a silent laugh, Voldemort mimicked the gesture. The pair bowed, neither removing his eyes from the other.

As had been the case three years ago in the old cemetery, Voldemort struck first with inhuman speed.

"Crucio!"

But if Voldemort expected this duel to be a duplicate of their previous encounter, he was soon set to rights. Harry's arm moved so quickly that it seemed no more than a blur. But the shield that appeared before him was no illusion. The Curse ricocheted away, hitting one of the torch poles and shattering it. Mindful that Hermione and Draco were still bound to similar poles, Harry Disapparated. A second spell from Voldemort's wand (his wand) shot harmlessly into the brush.

"Excellent!" Voldemort cried, his face a mask of elation. "Well done, Harry! Let the contest begin!"

Voldemort vanished silently, leaving both Hermione and Lucius to stare stupidly at the suddenly empty space where the combatants had been. The clearing was suddenly filled with a flurry of motion as the duelists appeared, vanished, reappeared, each seeking advantage over the other. Spells lanced the darkness, none finding its intended target. The colorful jets of light either passed through empty air or rebounded from magical shields.

Voldemort was almost giddy with delight as the sparring continued, covering nearly every square foot of the clearing. In the shadows behind the serpent-altar, the dragon was shaking off the effects of Mulciber's mind control. It shook its ugly head, sending plumes of smoke from its nostrils. Seeing this, and struck with sudden inspiration, Harry set about to maneuver Voldemort into position by a series of carefully planned Apparations. Using Ron's chess analogy, he danced from square to square until his opponent appeared just where he had predicted. Painting an angry look on his face, Harry feigned a stumble and sent a spell flying over Voldemort's shoulder. The Dark Lord laughed and raised his wand, but the next moment his head whirled about in surprise. Harry's spell had struck the Devil's Bane directly on its sensitive snout, exactly as he intended. The dragon roared in pain and outrage. Remembering that a dragon's eyes were its weakest point, Harry knew that the Devil's Bane would not be able to see its attacker clearly in the smoky torchlight. Reacting purely from instinct, it would retaliate in the direction from which the attacking spell had come. And lying directly in that path between the Dragon and its intended target was a stunned Voldemort.

Surging forward, the dragon sent a column of flame from its jaws that completely engulfed the Dark Lord. Would the same magical fire that had helped to create Voldemort's body also have the power to destroy it? That was Harry's feeble hope as his adversary was swallowed up by those terrible flames. Roaring its triumph, the Devil's Bane spread its mighty wings menacingly as it strained against the chain holding it fast to the ground. Its horned head jerked up, its nostrils belching twin jets of fire, and Harry's face blanched as he realized that Hermione was directly in its path. He conjured a shield with a furious wave of his wand, and the flames bounced away harmlessly as Hermione's mouth worked in what must have been a soundless scream of terror. Whirling around, Harry pointed his wand at the quivering chain and cried, "Reducto!"

The heavy links parted with a sound like a gunshot. Propelled by its thrashing wings and its forward momentum, the dragon leaped into the air and soared over Harry's head. One of its leathery wings caught the top of the post on which Draco hung, snapping the wood at the base like a matchstick. With a hurried "Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry lowered the still unconscious Draco to the ground as the dragon disappeared over the edge of the trees and was gone.

Harry desperately wanted to free Hermione, but his rescue of Draco had wasted precious seconds and forced his attention away from Voldemort. He jerked his head toward the spot where Voldemort had stood, hoping rather than expecting to see the charred remains of the Dark Lord's body. But all he saw was a large circle of blackened earth at the place where the dragon's flames had struck.

Without warning, a peal of insane laughter split the air. Harry's head snapped up, and his chest tightened. Voldemort was standing atop the altar, his legs spread so that his feet were braced on either side of the rim of the stone bowl wherein he had been reborn only minutes earlier.

"Splendid, Harry!" Voldemort cried. "How sweet it is to test my new body on a truly worthy opponent. I regret that you must die. I could keep you alive as my servant and plaything, that is true. But you would probably shake off the Imperius in time, and I would not trust any prison cell to hold you. I would be a fool to let you live, and whatever may be said of Lord Voldemort, he is no fool. You have fought well today, Harry. To prove to you how generous Lord Voldemort is in victory, I promise that I shall show your companions the same courtesy I show you. They will not be tortured, but will die quickly and painlessly. No doubt Lucius will bemoan this, as he no doubt entertained thoughts of dealing with his rebellious son in his own way. But the will of Lord Voldemort may not be gainsaid. I have spoken."

Harry knew that the game was up. The Dark magicks surrounding the altar would not permit him to close to a distance whereby he might take the fight to his opponent. Voldemort might be able to function within that sphere of Dark energy by reason of his unclean powers, but Harry could not Apparate anywhere near that structure, nor employ any spell of sufficient power to serve his purpose. But there was one spell that no power could deter.

As Voldemort lifted his wand, Harry broke into a run -- not away from the altar, but straight toward it. The Dark Lord was surprised for only a moment, but that respite was all Harry needed. His eyes watching Voldemort's mouth, Harry drew breath and cried out at the very moment as his foe so that the two voices rang forth as one:

"Avada Kedavra!"

The two beams of green light met with a sharp report, fusing into one. There was no phoenix song to accompany the collision, no golden cage bursting around them, as had occurred before when brother wand met brother wand in violent conflict. Instead, the Dark magic surrounding the altar began to pulse like a gigantic heart composed of green light. With each rhythmic throb, the nimbus expanded, spreading out to fill more and more of the clearing. Recognizing that deadly sphere and what it portended, Lucius Malfoy screamed and fled, scrambling like a frightened dog until he was beyond the circle of torchlight. The sound of his flight followed after as branches snapped and brambles tore at cloth and flesh. Harry felt his own panic rising, though his differed substantially from that lending wings to Lucius' heels. He knew that the perimeter of death would keep spreading until it engulfed the entire clearing -- and Hermione. But there was a simple way to arrest the wanton growth of that deadly circle. Like a blind slug, it was reaching out hungrily, seeking to caress the one who alone could sate its hunger.

His wand arm shaking from the intensity of his concentration, Harry walked forward with slow, purposeful steps until he passed through the curtain of light as through an emerald waterfall. Instantly, he felt the magical sphere fold in, hugging him to its foul bosom. It was no longer growing, but pressing in on itself to smother the two wizards in an irresistible embrace. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that Hermione was no longer in danger.

Though the deadly green light engulfed Harry, it did not touch him. He, like Voldemort, was encased in a shell of magic born from his wand. The only power that could shatter that magical armor lay in the spell fusing the two wands. But Harry knew even as he stepped across that threshold that there was no going back. Whichever of them won this duel of wizardry and wills, the shattering of the spell would unleash the full might of the circle. And the terror rising in Voldemort's eyes told Harry that even the Dark Lord's godlike body would be helpless to fend off their mutual fate. Voldemort stared in amazement as Harry mounted the coiled steps, the narrow beam connecting the wands shortening as the distance separating them shrank.

The beginnings of panic began to etch Voldemort's chiseled features. His eyes were wide with incomprehension. Harry forced his mouth into a triumphant smile. To his momentary surprise, this required an ever increasing effort. His mind was growing sluggish, his body heavy with weariness, despite the Restorative Draught. He looked up at Voldemort, who still stood atop the stone bowl, and laughed. The sound was painful in his throat, a dry rasp. But it was no less satisfying for that.

"Dumbledore once told me," Harry said, every syllable raking his throat like the talons of a bowtruckle, "that I possessed 'power the Dark Lord knows not.' I thought he was barmy then. But I understand now. The power I have that you can't understand is love. I love my friends. I love Hermione. And I love the world that you want to destroy. But more than that, I love them more than I love my own life. And that's what separates us. When Tom Riddle came out of your old diary, he told me that we were a lot alike, you and I. But there's one place where we're different. There's nothing either in the world or beyond it that you value above your own life. There's nothing you believe in so strongly that you're willing to give your life to bring it about.

"I can't match you in terms of magic and power. The magic in your body -- the magic that's powering your spell -- is stronger than mine. But my spell is powered by a force you can't match -- something your soulless heart clings to like a miser and refuses to let go of. I'm taking about my life, Voldemort. To save the people I love, I'm willing to trade my life in exchange for ridding the world of you once and for all." Harry's laugh rasped dryly as his lips drew back in a mocking smile. "A serpent is susceptible to its own bite, Voldemort. You were reborn through a spell of your own devising. Now, your own magic will destroy you. All I have to do is bring the house down around us -- " He gazed expansively at the emerald sphere encompassing them. "Like you killed my parents in the ruins of their house. Fitting, isn't it?"

The horror on Voldemort's face was rapidly morphing into unrestrained terror. There was denial of Harry's words in the set of his jaw, in the twist of his lips and the flare of his nostrils. But that denial did not extend to the Dark Lord's eyes. Harry saw raw fear burning like dark fire in his enemy's eyes, and he laughed again with a sound as if he were choking on dust.

Harry could feel darkness closing in on him. Faces appeared in the gathering shadows. His mother was there, her emerald eyes shining with love. A man with untidy black hair and round glasses seemed to radiate fatherly pride. Their mouths were moving, and Harry thought they were trying to say something to him, but he couldn't make out their words. A wind was rising in his ears, drowning out their voices. But Harry didn't need to hear with his ears to know in his heart what his parents were saying.

"I love you, too," Harry said thickly, his own voice sounding distorted.

The rushing of the wind was increasing. A patch of gray fog was shimmering in the space between his parents' faces. Harry smiled into a pair of deep brown eyes surrounded by a halo of tameless hair beside which his father's appeared nothing short of sartorial.

"I love you, Hermione," Harry mumbled. The sound of the wind rose, roaring like a wild beast. Darkness fell like a warm, heavy blanket over Harry, and he knew no more.

Note from Fae: Let us know what you thought of the chapter. Now that school is out for yours truly, I'll have all the time in the world to catch up with writing. And the next time I'm away for an extended period of time, I'll pause the story so that no one gets frustrated with me. Updates about the story will be mentioned at my livejournal: www.livejournal.com/users/lynn_darko/ so feel free to drop by or friend me!

Take care!