Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 35: All Day Permanent Red (Part One)

"My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close" (Emily Dickinson 1830-1886)

'My life closed twice before its close:

It yet remains to see

If immortality unveil

A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive,

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of Heaven,

And all we need of Hell…'

"We really should be studying," whispered Lavender Brown as Ron held her hand and helped her step out of Gryffindor tower's portrait door after him.

In the darkness, the fat lady awoke with a startled grunt and gave a distinct 'humph' of disapproval as the two teens stepped past her, but a few moments after laid her cheek back onto her hand, twisted in her chair and went back to sleep.

Now standing in the very dimly lit hallway, Ron turned to his girlfriend and rolled his eyes. "Lav, I swear Hermione's had a bad influence on you. It's almost four in the morning! One more all-nighter and I swear my eyes are going to dry up like raisins and fall out of their sockets. I..need..a..break. WE need a break."

"The exams are in two days Ron, this is hardly the time for a break!" Lavender scolded him, exasperated. She flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulders, folded her arms in front of her and regarded him pointedly. "And you aren't just a bit nervous you've been studying that fake guide Andrew Kirke sold you instead of your books?"

"I've studied my books all year, Lav. I'm well set, I think," Ron said dryly. But his face soon twisted into a dark scowl. "I'm still going to murder Kirke, though; the little arsewipe. Have to get him alone first. All the people still awake in the common room studying and he's nowhere in sight…"

"He's been avoiding you," Lavender said, pursing her lips. "And I don't wonder what with your temper! But we're getting off subject. We really do need to study. And if you're too tired to study, you're too tired to snog, aren't you?"

"Never too tired to snog," Ron replied, grabbing her round the waist, wiggling his eyebrows at her and smiling lecherously. "Besides, I'll keep my eyes closed the entire time. They could do with a good resting."

Despite herself, Lavender sighed resignedly and smiled back up at him. Ron Weasley really could be a charming, persuasive git when he wanted to be.

"Well… alright, then. Where should we go?"

Ron put his hands on his hips and squinted toward the ceiling, thinking.

"We could go to the Room of Requirement… I know what I require…" he added cheekily.

"No, it's too far away," said Lavender. "We need to stay close in case McGonnagol pays a visit and checks to see we're all in. Professor Dumbledore said they were going to keep watch. And what with the injured from Hogsmeade being transported here we aren't sure who'll be passing down the hall at any moment…"

"Right, right… stay close," Ron thought aloud, tapping his chin almost comically. "Wait… I know where. The supply cupboard down the hall near that portrait of Fredweina the Fierce…"

"But that's near Harry and Hermione's rooms!"

Ron smiled confidently at her. "Your point?"

Lavender looked incredulously at him. "In case it's escaped you Ron, they are head boy and girl. And I don't care if they are your best mates they're going to say something if they catch us out at this time!"

"They wouldn't." Ron smirked. "They'll both be too busy studying or snogging to even step foot outside their rooms. And Harry… well let's just say he's got the same regard for school rules as I have. That's all supposing they're even still awake…"

"Well most of Gryffindor are still awake, aren't they?" Lavender retorted nervously.

Ron stepped closer to her and gave her his best shit-eating grin. "C'mon Lav, you worry too much. We'll just take a while… Besides, think on it as helping me relax for further studying."

He grabbed her hand and began to swagger backward down the hall.

Lavender grinned as she was pulled along.

"You really are shameless."

"I know," Ron smirked. "It's why you love me."

"On a good day, maybe." She replied. "Most times I just tolerate you."

Five minutes later they had made their ways stealthily down the long hallway and were quietly moving past the portrait of Fredweina the Fierce; an angry looking witch with a large wart covered nose, scraggly brown hair, and crooked teeth, dressed in black robes and clutching a dagger. She was seated in an uncomfortable looking chair, her eyes closed, her head leaned back against the stone wall behind her, and her mouth partially open, drawing great shuddering snores.

"Well I don't wonder she was fierce," Lavender whispered, scrunching up her nose at the portrait as she and Ron passed by. "She could've done with a few beautification charms…"

Ron snorted. "Not sure they would've helped that one."

The ugly witch in the painting suddenly opened one eye and scowled at the two teens.

"If I weren't a portrait I'd give you a good stab, I would."

Lavender stepped back from her, at once surprised and appalled. "Well that's taking it a bit far, don't you think?"

Fredweina sat up straight in her chair. "You young sprogs and your disrespect for your elders…"

But she never got to finish her tirade.

"Wait!" Ron suddenly interrupted, frowning, holding up a hand at the two and cocking his head to the side.

Lavender turned to look at him. "What's wrong?"

"Shh! Just hold for a minute," Ron answered quickly, his eyes narrowed and his face strained with concentration.

After a few moments he jumped, startled and turned back round to eye Lavender.

"Did you hear that?"

Lavender nodded, her brow wrinkled with concern. "Sounded like someone crying…"

"Oh, she's been doing that for more than an hour now," the ugly witch in the portrait interjected with a lazy wave of her dagger. "I've been doing my best to ignore it… starting to wear on my nerves…"

"I think it's Hermione!" Ron exclaimed.

"If you mean the little bushy-haired Granger girl, then you're right on," said Fredweina, settling back into her chair once more and closing her eyes. "Hasn't stopped wailing since that tall, black-haired Potter lad ran out on her all beside himself more than an hour ago. Getting downright annoying if you ask me…"

Ron didn't bother to reply to the witch but quickly grabbed Lavender's hand and rushed further on down the hallway.

Moments later they came skidding to a halt in front of the portrait of Sir Cadogen.

Curiously and for the very first time, Cadogen merely sat still on his white horse, his metal visor hiding any facial expression he might have had.

Ron raised a fist and immediately began pounding on the portrait.

"Hermione!?"

The sobbing inside instantly stopped.

"Ron, not so loud!" Lavender admonished through her teeth. "Do you want us caught!?"

"I don't care, something's wrong," Ron panted anxiously. He pounded on the portrait again.

" 'Mione, can you hear me!?"

A muffled voice from inside suddenly seemed to draw in a much needed gasp of air.

"RON! Ron is that you!? Dragon's Lair! There I've said the password! Please, please get in here NOW!"

Ron wasted no time and, groping for Lavender's hand behind him, grabbed the side of the portrait and yanked it open.

However, as he rushed in dragging his girlfriend behind him, the sight that greeted his eyes was far from what he had expected.

The common room, as was normal for so early in the morning, was dark with shadows and lit only by the orange-yellow glow from the hearth. However, a completely distraught Hermione was pushed up against the far back wall of the room and had somehow been suspended around two to three feet in the air up against it by what he could only imagine was some dual levitation/suspension charm.

Her hair was in wild disarray, the long brown curls tangled and framing reddened, tear-stained cheeks; her large brown eyes wet, and framed with a thick fringe of tear-drenched, clumped lashes. The long-sleeved tee-shirt she wore was wrinkled in such a way that it looked as if she had twisted fistfuls of it in her hands over and over again.

Ron turned a dumbstruck gaze on Lavender before moving round the couch to the back of the room to stare up at her.

"Get me down," Hermione breathed frantically. "Ron, get me down quick!"

"Hermione, what's happened?" He gasped, clearly at a loss as to what could have happened. "Where's Harry? Did… did he do this? Are you hurt? What's happened…"

"JUST GET ME DOWN FIRST!" Hermione bellowed frantically.

"How? I dunno what he even used to…"

"Use your wand Ron, are you a wizard or NOT!?"

"Oh! Bloody hell…" Ron shook his head as if a bewildered fog had suddenly lifted from about him and grabbed behind him to whip his wand out from the back of his jeans.

"Finite!"

Immediately, Hermione dropped the few feet from the wall, landing, for the most part on her feet.

Ron rushed over to her and helped her stand upright.

"Are you alright? Why were you stuck up there? Where's Harry!?"

At the mention of Harry's name, Ron watched Hermione's eyes begin to fill once again. She suddenly burst into wracking sobs, her body almost buckling to the floor before he could grab her. Ron hugged her tightly to his chest, immediately afraid of what it meant, and turned confused, begging eyes back toward Lavender.

She approached the two slowly and placed a gentle hand on Hermione's head, swiping a few curls out of her face.

"Hermione? What's happened, sweetie?"

As if she had suddenly come to her senses, Hermione turned wide eyes on Lavender's face and abruptly twisted out of Ron's embrace, quickly stabbing him with an intense stare.

"Ron, he's gone after him…" She said tersely, swiping at her eyes.

"Who… Harry? What'd you…"

"Voldemort's sent for him! He didn't want me to follow! He's gone off to fight him alone!"

Ron's jaw dropped open in shock.

"HE'S DONE WHAT!?" He roared furiously, his hands clenching into fists.

Lavender flinched from the tone in his voice, her wide eyes following the conversation between her boyfriend and Hermione like a fast-paced tennis match. They had gone into what she usually thought of to herself as 'Musketeer mode'. She was sure they scarcely even recognised she still stood there with them.

Ron gripped his wand so tight in his hand that his knuckles whitened and spoke in a deadly serious voice.

"When did he leave…"

"Over an hour and a half ago…"

"Where's he gone…"

"I dunno, he wouldn't tell me," Hermione answered rapidly with a sharp edge of panic to her voice. She dug her fingers into her hair and began moving desperately about the room as if looking for some clue.

Ron chewed on his knuckles for a moment, half of his thoughts on watching Hermione pace frenetically, the other half racing on Harry, before he threw his arms up in the air and completely exploded with anger.

"GODS, WHAT IS HE THINKING!? He KNOWS it's supposed to be all three of us there! He knows we're more powerful TOGETHER!"

"The note…" Hermione suddenly muttered. She looked up wide-eyed at Ron from the front side of the couch and leaned forward to clutch his arm. "The note Voldemort sent him… it told Harry where to meet him, I'm sure!"

Ron gasped.

"Where is it!?"

"I dunno, I'm sure he dropped it round here somewhere! Help me look, Ron!"

The two began running about the room, recklessly shoving stuff about and tossing cushions, books and parchments until Lavender, sighing, whipped out her wand.

"Accio note!"

Two small pieces of parchment, one folded into a tight roll and the other a bit crumpled and smeared, suddenly flew from different areas of the common room toward her. She caught them easily and held them aloft.

Hermione and Ron gaped at her and if it weren't for the situation they were in, they might have appeared quite comical.

"I know you both care for him a great deal, but panicking will solve nothing," said Lavender sagely.

Hermione, who might normally have felt quite abashed at her disordered state was in too much of a frenzy to care. At once she tore round the couch and snatched the unrecognised scroll from Lavender's hand, her fingers fumbling like mad to unroll it as fast as she was able.

Once the note was unrolled, her eyes flew so quickly over the glowing red words they almost seemed a blur. A moment later she crumpled it in her fist, her expression far-away and haunted as if she were remembering something horrid.

"The Kavan Forest…" she breathed, shakily. "Voldemort wants Harry killed in the exact same place he was last defeated by him."

"Where that bastarding, fake Quidditch recruiter took you last year?" blurted Ron, jigging nervously on the balls of his feet.

Hermione shuddered. "I'm sure of it."

"Right, well that's it then," Ron replied business-like, snatching his wand up from where he had tossed it on the couch. "Let's go!"

He made as if to stride purposefully toward the portrait door, but Hermione's now calmer, more rational voice stopped him.

"Ron, wait…"

Ron whipped around, irritated. "Wait for what!? Harry's already got a good two hours start on us, Hermione!…"

"Lavender's right," Hermione answered shakily, glancing at Lavender with clear appreciation. "We won't do Harry any good acting rash and not thinking clearly… We need to get Professor Dumbledore."

Ron huffed impatiently. "Well if we're going to do it let's do it fast…"

Hermione did not bother to let him finish.

"I'm going to get dressed. Lavender, could you go let Professor Dumbledore in on? Tell him what's happened with Harry and that we now know where Voldemort and his army are… I'm sure he'll immediately send for his own. Tell him we're going to gather all the students into the Great Hall as quickly as possible. Ron, that'll be your job. You'll need to rouse all of Gryffindor and have them spread out to every house… tell the students Professor Dumbledore wants them in the Great Hall right away."

In any normal situation Ron would have immediately baulked at Hermione's take charge tone and instructions, but this night he was all attention. Harry was in trouble. The location of Voldemort and his troops was finally known. Dumbledore and his army were now needed to fight them.

And all hell was at last on the verge of breaking loose.

"What're you going to do?" he asked solemnly.

"I'm going to get dressed and gather my wand and whatever else I might need," Hermione said staunchly. "I'll meet you in the Great Hall same as everyone else."

Ron nodded and bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, moved to Lavender and kissed her thoroughly, and then rushed to the portrait door where he wrenched it open and was gone in an instant.

Lavender turned to glance at Hermione before she left as well.

"Try not to worry, Hermione. Harry's quite powerful, we've all seen it… If there's any wizard who can hold his own against You-Know-Who, well… but you already know that, don't you?"

Hermione gave her a small, brave smile as she watched Lavender leave; a façade that shattered entirely as the portrait clicked shut behind her.

She took a few precious moments to calm her trembling body, swallow back the tears that threatened to burst forth once again, and take a long deep breath.

Pull yourself together, Hermione… Harry needs us… he needs YOU... Nothing else matters… NOTHING.

She set her lips in a thin line, hurried across the common room to her own long-neglected bedroom, and hurriedly began changing; images of Harry fighting Voldemort with every bit of strength he had branding her thoughts like a relentless hot iron.

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

(a bit earlier)

The cold air bit at his face and blew the hair back from his forehead as Harry, his sword strapped firmly to his side on its leather belt, bent low over his signature Flametorch broom and streaked through the dark, thick canopy of trees that made up the Forbidden Forest. The racing broom he rode was the only one of it's kind at Hogwarts, and the only one so lightning fast. In his mind, Harry sent a quick prayer of thanks to his father who had presented it as a gift to him some months ago. The broom flew much faster than his old Firebolt if that were at all possible. He was covering ground he had done just last year, travelling the same path, and zooming beyond it twice as fast.

The sooner he got to Voldemort, the sooner it would be over, whichever way the battle turned.

As he flew, Harry continued to plot his course of action in his mind. It would have been completely idiotic for him to suddenly burst into his enemy's encampment without at least a small bit of forethought. Luckily, Voldemort had given him the better part of a year since Harry's last visit to the Kavan forest to think on what he might have done better last time he had fought him there.

Harry had given the fight his all last time, though this time he was coming to meet his enemy much better equipped. The only thing he thought to himself he might have done better was his approach. He had been so distraught over losing Hermione that when he had finally got to Voldemort's 'cabin' he had simply forced Stuart Kavan in front of him, blasted the door off its hinges and rushed inside.

This battle might do with a bit more cunning, and Harry was, at least, somewhat prepared.

With these thoughts in mind, he flew on.

Tree limbs blurred past him like rows of huge dark, waving arms. Blowing, green leaves rustled together like the clapping of thousands of tiny hands. Bushes and thick clumps of foliage clawed at his black robes as they whipped behind him in the breeze. Rabbits, squirrels and all other manner of small forest creature scattered out of his jetstream. Above and all around him, the early morning sky was just beginning to colour with the dark purples, pinks and oranges of sunrise.

And strangely, the closer to Voldemort's encampment Harry got, the colder the air became.

Somehow he had the faint inkling it might have something to do with the effect the Dementors brought with them whenever they were near. He, Hermione and Ron had been sure ever since so many of them disappeared the day Azkaban was broken into once again, that the foul creatures had defected over to Voldemort's side.

Now as Harry's breath puffed misty white before him only milliseconds before the wind tore it away, he was sure of it. Voldemort must have found some way of dampening most of the Dementors side-effects in order for them to stay in his encampment. No doubt the bastard wanted them to help rid himself of the unwanted burden of prisoners once everything was done.

Miles heaped upon miles. Strange unreal thoughts that everything really was finally converging into a very near final moment continued to bombard his mind as he continued on, with realisations that he was soon going to be forced to kill or be killed clawing at his conscience. And his targets would not be limited to Voldemort. He had no doubt there would be many more he would be forced to kill along the way to get to the dark bastard, and yet, there was nothing he could do to change that fact. The creatures, wizards and witches who had joined Voldemort had chosen their side just as clearly as Harry and the rest of Dumbledore's army had. There was no other choice now but to fight, and let the thought that he was having to kill others crawl back into his subconscious to be analysed at a different date.

At length, Harry finally passed over an invisible line where huge thriving trees and thick green foliage abruptly led to a brown wasteland of dead trees, dried crackled leaves, shrivelled plants, and the obvious absence of any wildlife. He knew he had finally entered Kavan.

Oddly, though the skyline above continued to wash over with dawn and the light coming from one forest to another had not changed, the moment he entered the dead forest it felt dark as midnight. It was also evident the air had grown even colder than before.

Harry bent lower over his broom. His heart pounded in his ears like a drum. An electric thrill of dread spread through his chest with every rapid thump. He was close… He knew it.

He FELT it.

Finally, far ahead, he saw what he had been looking for and sharply pulled the handle of his Flametorch to a halt. An encampment of what looked like hundreds of makeshift lean-toos and dark green tents littered an extensive area of the dead forest that looked as if it had been hollowed out for that very reason. Black robed Death Eaters and all manner of wizarding creatures, each outfitted with their very own sort of weaponry, were milling about the grounds; some eating a quick meal, some already engaged in very early morning battle practice, and still others overseeing their efforts.

The faraway 'thwip' and thud of arrows into trees made Harry's eyes swivel over to the left side of the camp where the sleek, powerful, black-haired Bane stood with about seven other centaurs practising archery. Four large and unequally proportioned trolls stood close by dressed in what looked like huge burlap sacks and pounding on dead trees with their massive clubs; the resounding 'thwacks' against old splintering trunks echoing throughout the camp. A gaggle of short, stubby goblins expertly wielded knarled staffs and spears as they practised combat with one another. And worst of all, what looked like a sea of robed death eaters, minus their hoods at this point, dotted the camp like some rapidly spreading black cancer. They were practising the wand, throwing curses, casting charms, uttering spells, and, by Godric, wielding swords. The faraway clanging of metal upon metal suddenly made Harry sick to his stomach. He'd had no idea Voldemort was training his troops at the sword.

SHIT.

He could only hope Dumbledore had had the foresight with his own army to do the same. If he had, he had never mentioned it to Harry.

Upon scanning over what he could see of the remaining encampment, Harry could just make out the long-haired silvery head of Lucius Malfoy, seen conversing with none other that whom Harry recognised as Igor Karkaroff from Durmsdrang.

The snivelling bastard. Something always had seemed slightly off with him…

At the edge and back of everything, and set apart from all the rest as a sign someone of much greater importance than the common rabble lived there, a small grey-patched, weathering cabin stood erect, curling smoke from its chimney.

Harry growled as he straddled his broom, his large, clear green eyes glaring and flickering bright for just a moment with that unholy Slytherin neon hue.

The cabin was the very same one that had held a tortured Hermione captive for more than two days last year, and it had been rebuilt and stood proudly as if it had never been torn down. The sight offended every bit of what seemed fair and right within him.

It ate at him.

On either side of the gigantic hollow, and with one situated conspicuously near the cabin, two filthy, massive giants, tall as some of the trees looming near them and dressed in whole hides of patched together animal skin, stood guard over the whole throng. Their small, muddy eyes continually searched the surrounding woods for intruders.

Harry smirked despite himself. Giants were known for their poor eyesight.

Strike one, Voldemort.

Starting his broom forward at a fairly slow pace, Harry stealthily began making a wide pass about the camp, passing long dead trees and plants, and being careful not to let his trainers accidentally drag along a ground covered in noisy, crunchy leaves. He kept his eyes hard fixed on Voldemort's cabin.

The son of a bitch had to be in there. He was sure Voldemort would know Harry would search there for him first, and equally as sure the dark lord would have some surprise waiting there for him.

Shockingly enough, upon quietly making it behind a group of large trees only yards from the back of Voldemort's cabin, Harry saw no one guarding it.

Thankfully, the noise of battle practise from the huge encampment around the building continued to rise with the progression of the morning, so Harry felt he had a good chance of not being heard as he sneaked inside.

He dismounted his Flametorch, muttered 'down' as quietly as possible, and watched as it gently descended to lay on a bed of fallen leaves.

Pulling Godric Gryffindor's sword out from its sheath and holding it upright and slightly to one side, he stealthily began approaching the back of the cabin.

There was no door cut into the old grey wood, but Harry had not expected there to be. A back entrance to the cabin would have been too easy..

Holding his sword with one hand, he lifted a finger to the wood, touched it at about head level and whispered under his breath.

"Carbonis Infindo."

The tip of his finger suddenly blazed a hot fiery blue, and Harry immediately began moving it down the wood much like a torch, cutting a square large enough to fit himself through.

Once done he pushed the wood through, careful to catch the piece of wall before it clattered to the cabin floor and, leaning it against the inside wall, chanced a peek inside.

Empty.

Nothing lay in wait to attack. There was no visage of Voldemort standing tall with his wand aloft… nothing but a dim hallway.

Appearances could often be deceiving, though.

Harry clutched his sword before him as he crouched a bit and stepped through the square opening, coming to stand upright in what looked by all accounts like a normal, though haphazardly rebuilt, old cabin.

The inside seemed much like the outside though Harry knew he was only standing in the hallway. Rough weather-greyed, knotty wood led forward to where the hall turned sharply to the left.

He had to keep going.

Again, Harry squeezed the hilt of his sword as he crept onward, knowing that at any second someone or something might quickly round that corner and begin his first battle. There was nothing for it, though. Images of Hermione sitting with him in the Great Hall, lecturing he and Ron over a million things, cheering them on at Quidditch, and even lying beneath him, her body pressed to his and her eyes filled with love for him, flickered in and out of his thoughts like an old Muggle movie projection.

Far from being distracting though, it urged him ever forward. He was doing this for her, and he would do it a thousand times over if it meant she was kept safe.

Harry stopped short at the corner, his senses on high alert; his fingers white with the tight clutch he had on the sword's handle… He and his father had trained at automatically breathing shallowly and without sound for just such a situation as he now found himself in. It was strange how, in the chill evil had brought to the place, even inside the cabin, inhaling and exhaling softly as he was, his breath still spun out a misty white.

He kept his body still as a stone wall. There was no sound to indicate the place was even occupied at the moment, though Harry had seen no sign of the dark lord outside as he had circled the camp. Whether or not he physically saw him though was of no consequence. The sick twisting of his stomach to whatever depravity hung in the atmosphere of this place was sign enough he was there.

Having no choice other than to continue on, Harry craned his neck forward centimetre by centimetre until he could just peer past the sharp wooden corner.

The stubby end of the hallway led into the side of a wide open space about the same size as the Dursley's livingroom, furnished only with a familiar looking bookshelf near the front door, a few barrels and crates carrying Merlin knew what, a lit fireplace, and one ratty, old, blood-red armchair. Sitting there, and staring into a ruby-red fire with wand clutched tightly in hand, sat the menacing, unearthly person of none other than Voldemort himself.

Harry instantly froze. His body felt glacial and numb, as if his veins now pumped ice-water instead of blood. Every sense jumped to attention with blaring alarm. It was the first time he had seen the old man since last year, and the first time since fourth year he had seen him in possession of a body.

As the hall was situated slightly to the side and behind the whole of the livingroom, and since, as of yet he had not been spotted, Harry took a few much needed moments to press closely to the wall and survey his enemy.

Time had not been kind to Tom. Deeply etched frown lines, the mark of years of consuming hatred, marred the skeletal white skin around his mouth and between his eyebrows. He breathed in and out slowly, whistling air between what Harry was shocked and almost sickened to see were tightly gritted, blackened teeth, providing an evil contrast against the paleness. He was cloaked in black as well, his expression under the half-hood set with grimness and determination. Abnormally tall, he sat regally in the ratty chair that served as his throne, and Harry could see he must be at least a head and a half taller than his own six feet. He was still as thin as ever, though it had never been anything physical that made up his power. What he lacked in muscle mass he made up for in the absolute embodiment of pure evil, so much so that it left it's mark in the glowing red of his eyes.

Harry grimaced. If eyes really were windows to the soul, there was no mistaking what lay in those hollow, glowing depths.

Voldemort stirred very slightly and Harry tensed, staring guardedly at him, his sword held vertical and to the side of his body and his heart skipping beats.

Though the dark lord's eyes were still centred on the fire, Harry distinctly saw a tiny smirk twist his lips.

And suddenly, a suffocating dread blanketed Harry's entire body like an avalanche.

Voldemort's high-pitched, raspy demanding voice broke the quiet so eerily it almost startled him.

"Surely you do not think simply because you have now become skilled at Occlumency, that I cannot still sense your presence..."

Harry went rigid and by reflex, fell back a step.

Voldemort twisted slowly in his seat, fixing his uncanny glowing gaze on his enemy and breathed out his next words like a hiss.

"Foolish boy."

A door from the other side of the livingroom burst open and four Death Eaters dressed in black robes and hoods suddenly hurled themselves out, two armed with swords and two with wands. They stood near their master's 'throne' and awaited his orders.

Harry moved forward into the livingroom, his gaze set intently on the Death Eaters.

"Trying to level the playing field?" He asked, nodding his head toward Voldemort's choice of weaponry.

His voice was surprisingly steady, even to him.

Voldemort settled comfortably into his chair once more and, looking at his servants flicked a finger toward Harry; obviously the sign they were to move forward with the attack.

"I am aware you now come armed with certain other defences," he said casually. "And as the Muggle filth are fond of saying, I prefer to cover my bets."

The Death Eaters moved forward all at once with simultaneous roars and rushed at Harry as one.

He tensed and raised one arm, palm outward.

"EXARMANATO!"

The two in front and carrying wands were instantly rendered weaponless and hurled violently upward to slam into the ceiling where they remained suspended.

Voldemort settled casually back in his chair to watch.

Instantly two swords swiped at Harry from both sides. He ducked the first cut, the sword whistling over his head and immediately straightened, punching the man hard in the face and sending him reeling backward. Immediately after, he whipped about and met the other blade mid-swing against his own with a loud resounding crash of metal on metal, the impact vibrating down his arms and torso.

Harry shoved forward and swung one foot out low and hard at the man in front of him, sweeping his legs out from under him. The Death Eater crashed to the floor on his back with a loud thump, and Harry wasted no time slamming his chest down with his foot and stabbing him through.

The wizard convulsed upward like a crab. For a brief, horrific moment that seemed to last an eternity he writhed and gurgled, blood frothing from his lips as, before death, he took a last bewildered glance up at the seventeen year old boy-turned-killer standing above him.

Harry gritted his teeth against the scene. A hoarse, nauseated choke escaped his throat as he wrenched his blood-smeared sword from the dead body, but there was no time to waste thought and emotion on what he had just done.

The Death Eater immediately behind him had regained his senses and, regardless of the blood pouring from his nose and soaking his mask, quickly slashed at Harry again.

Harry leapt back, but the tip of the sword cut a long gash along his chest. He yelled out in pain, one hand clutching the sword while the other clutched through his robes at the ripped shirt along his wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

The Death Eater barked out triumphantly despite his own wound and, with a wild roar, lifted his sword and came at Harry again. However, recognising the need for both hands, Harry let go of his chest and held his sword aloft again, parrying the powerful blows that came at him again, threatening to knock him off his feet.

Then, with an almost feral growl, he began to strike back.

Each lightning-fast slash and defensive parry made blazing shock waves of pain shoot from the wound outward, but Harry continued forward. He met each blurred stab and swing from the Death Eater's sword with a vicious counter-attack, and slowly began gaining ground until his last opponent was forced back into a corner of the cabin.

If he could have seen the wizard's face, Harry would have immediately noted the drops of sweat rolling down the man's forehead and the panic stricken glances he began to send his impassive master's way. As it was, Harry himself was a bit too preoccupied to notice.

The Death Eater, his next actions brought about by the panic that took hold on realising no one was coming to his aid, suddenly renewed his attack with untamed vigour. He screamed aloud, baring his teeth and recklessly stomping forward, slicing wildly with his blade and chopping at Harry with such forceful high and low diagonal blows that it was all he could do to fend them off.

And then Harry realised his attackers' hysteria could be used to his own advantage.

His heart racing wildly in anticipation of every move, Harry allowed the wild swings to continue until his enemy felt confident enough to try stabbing at him once more.

Soon as the wizard, with arm and blade outstretched, lunged forward, Harry side-stepped the wild stab, clutched at the man's arm with a free hand, and used the Death Eater's own forward momentum to yank him forward and run him through.

The impaled man stood there in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief, and Harry took the opportunity to rip off his mask.

The broad, flat face of Mulciber stared up at him with blood-shot eyes just before he crumbled to the floor.

The two Death Eaters still stuck to the ceiling wheezed out in disbelief. The Potter boy had just bested them four to one. Voldemort though, completely unruffled, stood and continued to stare at Harry, making no move toward him.

Panting and drenched with sweat, Harry bent down to yank his sword from another dead body, his own pulsing so hard with adrenaline that two good wrenches pulled it free.

He stood upright, swiped at his brow, and turned to face Voldemort with bloodied sword in hand, his face not a picture of over-confidence, but merely of determination.

Voldemort smirked. "Impressive, Potter. And now I'm aware of your strengths and your weaknesses. I should thank you for the show."

He waved a hand carelessly in the general direction of the two Death Eaters still stuck to the ceiling, and they crashed to the floor in unceremonious heaps. Then he turned to regard them for the first time since they had entered the room.

"You know what to do."

The two picked themselves up painfully from the floor, and with simultaneous nods, headed back to the same room they had come out from.

Harry still said nothing as Voldemort turned back his way, a mocking sneer twisting his face.

"Once again, the white knight charges in to save his love," he sneered scornfully. "You really are quite predictable, Harry. It's one of the things I knew would lead to your downfall."

"I've not fallen yet," Harry replied quietly, his body completely rigid with anticipation and a dangerous flare of neon green glinting in his narrowed eyes.

Upon seeing the glowing colour that could only come from a pure-blooded Slytherin heir, Voldemort sneered, his expression seething with hatred.

Harry gave a nasty smile, knowing what his enemy had just witnessed.

"Don't like to be reminded you're half Muggle, do you Tom? Salazar would be so disappointed…"

Voldemort gritted his teeth in fury and hissed. "Filthy little blood traitor…"

"Not a blood traitor," Harry corrected him with sadistic amusement. "I've just chosen to be true to my Gryffindor roots. There's no way I'll ever acknowledge Slytherin or any sick, twisted belief associated with it."

"Insolent, foolish boy," Voldemort growled furiously. "You who are so unworthy to carry even a drop of Slytherin blood dare to slander it!? You have no idea the grand design Salazar Slytherin had, how his ideas and standards for a better world were shunned by the other three founders of that building full of mixed filth you call a school. But he was always ahead of his time. Over the years there have been those who have attempted to continue his work. I however, intend to finish it."

Harry stiffened as he saw Voldemort bend slowly and reach for something on the hidden side of his chair, but merely stood in attack stance waiting when the dark lord spoke.

"Look familiar?" He asked with a self-satisfied twist of his lips as he held up a long, gleaming, sharp sword; one that looked to be almost an exact replica of the one Harry was gripping tightly in his own grasp.

Harry frowned, baffled, but never wavered in his stance.

"My own broad sword," said Voldemort by way of explanation, turning the handle in his hands so that the flat end bearing the name 'Salazar Slytherin' flashed bright orange from the firelight. "How ironic, and yet completely fitting it would be to run you through with it."

Harry did not acknowledge the last remark, but by the surprised expression on his face the dark lord gathered he had been unaware of the other sword's existence.

"Did you think Godric Gryffindor the only one in possession of one of these? Each of the founders of Hogwarts were given swords. This one has been passed down generations from one Slytherin to another. Now it resides with me."

"Looks like it fell to the wrong heir then," said Harry flatly. "I'll have it back soon enough."

Voldemort's narrowed eyes flashed a bright, furious red.

"Neither you nor your filthy, bastarding father will EVER touch this sword. It belongs with one who will carry on the Slytherin legacy, who will bear the name proudly, not one befouled with Gryffindor blood, or bent on infecting themselves with Muggle inbreeding!"

Harry might otherwise have taken a crack at Voldemort for the fact he still would not accept he himself was half-Muggle, but after hearing him speak of his own father James, as if he was indeed alive, any thoughts of taunting him fell away.

Voldemort noted the rueful look on Harry's face before the latter could wipe the expression away.

"Oh yes, I know James Potter still lives," Voldemort said with a smug grin. "I've known it for years, since before Wormtail died. It seems living as a rat inside the school where you're father came to teach and 'watch over you' some years ago can provide one with many ways to gain information. Did you know he left you and your mother alone to die that night, Potter? It was more important for him to gather information from my servant than it was to ensure his own wife and son's safety, I suppose…"

"He left us with a friend to check that piece of shit hadn't sold us out to YOU, you sick son of a bitch," Harry shot back, his voice iron hard with rage.

But despite his fierceness, fear sunk its claws deep enough into Harry's chest that it throbbed with every heartbeat. It was confirmed. Voldemort knew his father was alive. And James Potter, as much as himself at this moment, was in grave danger.

However, instead of continuing the verbal attacks, Voldemort merely smiled, reached inside his cloak and pulled out his wand. Harry stood rigidly at the ready.

"All will be over soon enough," Voldemort hissed in his eerie high-pitched voice. "When you and your friends, the blood traitor and the mudblood are gone, my full powers will return to me. And there will be no Slytherin heir left save one to deal with, though he will be dead soon enough, won't he?"

Harry faltered, falling back a step and shaking his head. Save one?… What in Godric's name…

"What the bloody hell do you mean, 'save one'!? You over all others should know Slytherin consistently produced only one pureblood heir. In case you've missed it, my mum's side was the only exception."

However, rather than looking chagrined at having made a mistake, Voldemort took on an expression of amused incredulity.

"It can't be…" he hissed with a sadistic sort of pleasure. A small smile crept onto his face.

And to Harry's astonishment, Voldemort began to chuckle.

"It seems the old wizard still has a few secrets yet to reveal," the dark lord grinned. "I'm genuinely at a loss as to why he hasn't told you; he being the sort who has always 'valued the institution of family', the sentimental old fool… How mystifying…"

Harry felt as if his whole body had just been turned inside out. It was easy to pick out the odd bitterness in Voldemort's voice when he spoke of Dumbledore and his thoughts on 'family', though it was pretty obvious the dark lord would rather Harry suffer in not knowing what he was on about than tell him. At any rate, there was no way in hell Harry would ask him to explain.

However, now there was one thing Harry sure as bloody hell did know… He had more family somewhere; someone Dumbledore had not told him about… Was it a brother? A sister? Someone even worse than Voldemort? The thought somehow sickened and utterly enraged him at the same time, but there was no time now to think on it.

"I can assure you he did not simply forget to tell you," Voldemort continued in a taunting sort of voice, studying Harry's expressions carefully. "Perhaps the fact you grew up feeling no one cared for you simply never troubled him. How sad it is then, that I must take the mudblood from you... the only one who has finally done so…"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

The wand was ripped from Voldemort's grasp so swiftly it burned his palm as it was torn away. Surprised at being caught off guard, he whipped about to run after it, his black robes swirling behind him, but Harry was on him again in an instant, his voice thundering with rage.

"ADSULTOPELLO!"

Voldemort was suddenly lifted from his feet and tossed across the room where he crashed so hard into one grey wall of the cabin that the wood cracked, and he fell in an unceremonious heap to the floor.

Harry strode toward him, his face contorted with a consuming rage. He dropped to his knees in front of the dark lord, grabbed him by the neck, slammed his head against the wall and whipped the blade of his sword up to meet his throat.

"Don't you ever, EVER threaten Hermione again…" White hot fury blazed through him so forcefully it left him panting, his eyes seering with a bright green. "I swear to God I'll have your fucking head before this is through…"

Voldemort punched at Harry's chest with every bit of strength he had at the moment and managed to throw him backward a couple of feet.

"Accio Scipio!"

He was back in possession of his wand in seconds and had it aimed at Harry before he could gather himself to strike again.

"CRUCIO!"

The spell hit Harry full force in the midst of scrambling to his feet and sent him writhing to the floor. He fought it, but his limbs began to seize with the agony spearing thorugh his body. His determination to bite back any screaming he might have made drew blood from his lips.

Fascinated, Voldemort watched him for a few moments before lifting the curse.

Harry coughed uncontrollably, his throat and vocal chords damaged from muffled screaming. Even as his body begged for him to stay still, he began crawling back toward his sword with small painful grunts.

"Stupid boy," Voldemort snarled, unimpressed. "This is only the beginning for you. I'll take everything you even think you have and reduce it to ashes… You and your line who were never meant to exist will be eradicated…and everyone you love with you…"

While he had been talking, Harry had reached out one painful arm.

"Propulso!"

He was too weak for the spell to do little more than toss the dark lord a few feet back, but it was enough of a surprise to him that his wand clattered to the floor and rolled away.

Harry gained the advantage.

He threw himself a few feet to his sword and grabbed it by the hilt, scrambling to his feet and rushing over to Voldemort, who was struggling toward his wand.

A moment later he had dropped his sword from the dark lord's throat to the ground in favour of his bare hands.

Using both he muttered a binding spell on Voldemort's arms and grabbed him round the neck smashing his head hard into the floor.

"You arrogant piece of shit… this ends right now…"

But Harry was completely unprepared for what happened next.

The two Death Eaters Voldemort had freed from their bondage against the ceiling, and who had retreated back into the same room they had rushed from some thirty minutes ago suddenly marched back out once again. However, this time, they did not come alone.

Colin Creevey, magically bound from his arms down and looking by all accounts as if he had been beaten and dragged about came hovering out between them, his expression one of misery mixed with terror. What skin was not covered in dirt had turned a pasty shade of white, with tear-tracks separating one dirty, scratched section of cheek from another.

Harry could almost feel himself going pale, his heart sinking low within his chest.

"Oh bloody hell…"

Colin's voice cracked with shame as he spoke. "I'm sorry, Harry. Gods I'm SO sorry, I never meant for…"

"Shut up!" yelled one of the Death Eaters, punching the boy hard in the stomach.

Colin doubled over in his restraints, gasping for air.

Harry grabbed his sword again and placed it under Voldemort's chin, prepared to bargain for the other boy's life when suddenly, the very familiar, unctuous voice of Lucius Malfoy from behind him made the hair on the back of his neck stand.

"Lower your sword Potter, or watch the boy die."

SHIT.

Harry turned his eyes as far as he dared from Voldemort's now triumphant smirk to quickly eye the dejected form of the other boy.

"What the hell are you doing here, Colin!?"

"Your sword, Potter," Lucius Malfoy repeated in a cold, commanding voice. "I won't ask you again."

Harry realised he had no choice and finally, with a raging look toward Voldemort that promised the situation was far from over, he removed it from his neck and stood, his eyes still locked menacingly with his enemy's own.

Malfoy strode forward with wand aimed and outstretched and plucked the heavy blade from Harry's hand, tossing it aside to the floor with a loud clang. He then turned immediately to his master and ended the binding curse. As Harry watched, furiously clenching and unclenching his fists, Lucius eyed him with a victorious expression, though staying keenly aware for any movements toward wandless magic.

It was then Harry noticed the gleaming gold fingers Lucius had wrapped round his wand. He shook his head, clearly underwhelmed.

"Nice hand."

Lucius sneered. "And yours are to stay down and to your sides."

Voldemort stood up smoothly, surprisingly regal despite the fact Harry had been seconds from slicing his throat.

He smiled at his now subdued enemy, watching as he continued to glance frustratedly over toward the younger boy. His next words though, were ones Harry had never thought to hear.

"Is it so surprising Harry, that one of your own would seek me out?"

The comment was so ludicrous to Harry that he paid it no mind.

"Let him go, for Godric's sake. This is between you and me; it has nothing to do with him."

Voldemort smiled, recognising the denial in Harry's voice.

"Do you think yourself beyond betrayal? How arrogant you've become, Potter. I assure you… this one has more to do with our situation than you think."

A befuddled frown creased the ridge between Harry's eyebrows, one that increased and darkened after turning to study the guilty look Colin had on his face.

"Colin…"

Colin shook his head at his own stupidity as he studied his bound hands. He refused to look up at Harry… The boy who had lost his whole family to Voldemort… The boy who had put his own life in danger over and over again to save others, including himself, in a round about way, some four years ago during his encounter with a basilisk… The boy he had absolutely admired and wished to emulate since the day he had heard the infamous story of his survival against the dark lord, told from his own mother's lips…

"Col…" the word died on Harry's lips as he continued to scrutinise him. "Gods, say something! Say anything! Call him a liar, for Merlin's sake!"

"I can't."

Voldemort laughed aloud; a full-bodied, genuinely delighted sound, one he had not heard from himself for a long time.

Even Lucius Malfoy looked entertained.

Harry glanced quickly at them before turning a burning gaze back on Colin.

"What'd you mean, 'you can't'…"

"I did it for Dennis!" Colin suddenly exclaimed aloud, his eyes pleading with Harry to understand. "He's got him, Harry! He's the one who took him from Diagon Alley this summer! He would've killed him had I not done what he wanted! I had no choice!"

Harry swiped a hand down his face, fighting the murderous feeling that suddenly made him want to bolt over to where Colin floated between the two Death Eaters and beat him senseless. Had he honestly thought Voldemort would actually keep his end of the bargain?

Then again, he had to remind himself Colin had never had the sort of interaction with the dark bastard that Harry himself had. And if the situation were reversed, what would he have done?

Harry glanced over to Voldemort and then to Lucius Malfoy, both of whom wore knowing expressions he found all too familiar. He sighed heavily and turned his gaze back to the other boy again. Best to get the truth out in the open now rather than later, no matter how much he hated it…

"He's already dead, Colin. Probably has been for some time…"

"NO HE ISN'T!" Colin screamed aloud through gritted teeth. "He's kept him from me until I finished spying for him on you and Dumbledore! Now you're here, he'll let him go!"

Harry looked almost ill. He turned his gaze from the heaving, miserable form of Colin, back to Voldemort.

"Sick bastard… You've got what you wanted, why don't you just tell him the truth for Merlin's sake!? How long has he been gone…"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, HARRY!" Colin shouted furiously. "I TOLD YOU…"

"You've got me… I give up, alright? Just give him Dennis' body and let him leave…"

"He's still ALIVE for Godric's sake!…"

"I can't give the boy what I don't have," Voldemort interrupted; his face set with a twisted sort of indifference.

Harry closed his eyes briefly against the cruel blow and then, much as he wished not to, turned to regard the other boy.

Colin stared horror-struck from Voldemort to Harry, his face flushed red, and his mouth opening and closing as if the wind had just been knocked out of him.

"N..no… NO…"

"Got to be quite a nuisance, actually," Voldemort supplied. "Early on it became quite obvious he had no useful information to supply, though he did try. I eliminated him after only a few days…"

"OH GOD, NO!" Colin cried out with an anguished scream, his voice rough and high-pitched.

Harry flinched almost painfully and turned his gaze back on Voldemort. "Let him GO, dammit! You can't use him anymore!"

"In all actuality, it would be more accurate to say the younger Creevey has been gone for around two years, would it not Lucius?" The dark lord continued conversationally, ignoring Harry's demand.

Malfoy gave a short nod, revelling the same as his master in their control of the situation but feeling as if he would rather not travel down this particular lane of memory. The way the body had lain in Voldemort's cabin for over three months until the dark lord decided what to do with it… the way the odour would have been unbearable had they not continued to cast anti-decay charms on it… He shuddered, feeling suddenly ill.

Colin was too distraught to hear anything more, but Harry caught the odd deviation in Voldemort's story. He eyed him suspiciously.

"Two years?" Harry said with a hard sarcasm to his voice. "Dennis was taken this summer, or have you been hiding out like a pansy-arse for so long you've lost track of time and reality…"

Voldemort smiled humourlessly and ignored the off-colour comment.

"I'm well aware of everything around me, Harry. Pity I can't say the same for you. Tell me… did the Ministry ever identify the bones discovered in Knockturn Alley some two years ago?"

Harry stared hard at him for a moment, and then slowly began to blanche. A shell-shocked look began to draw on his features, one that Colin, even in his state of distress, somehow noticed.

"Harry? Wh..What's he on about…"

"That's not possible…" Harry began, his breathing laboured.

"It was positively confirmed the bones were of a fifteen year old boy, but that they were not, as originally thought, the bones of a fifteen year old Stuart Kavan, missing from Hogwarts so long ago and thought dead, was it not?" Voldemort continued on as mundanely as if he were speaking of the weather. "You and the mudblood girl understood this to be true even before science wizards confirmed it, having personally met Kavan, very much alive and grown to adulthood, before I later eliminated him. Tell me Harry, whose bones did you suppose them to be?"

"That doesn't even make sense!" Harry barked out abruptly, agitated. "I know it wasn't Stuart Kavan they found, but it sure as hell wasn't Dennis Creevey! It was just THIS SUMMER he was taken! He was at school with us that whole bloody year, for god's sake!"

Voldemort nodded casually and began to fumble about for something within the folds of his robes. What he pulled out was a tiny, familiar looking hour glass set on the end of a long chain.

"Recognise this?"

Staring in disbelief, Harry fell back a step.

Oh fuck, no…

As a result Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, his wand still aimed and his every sense attuned to any desperate action Potter might make.

"What is that…" Colin demanded aloud. "What IS that, Harry!?"

"Time turner," Harry stated in a voice that came out flat and emotionless.

He was having a hard time wrapping his mind round the concept… Two years ago the time turner had not yet been stolen, so how could the bones found in Knockturn Alley have been Dennis Creevey's, when he was still safe in school with the rest of them, and would not be kidnapped or killed until a year later? It was understandably hard to conceive, and yet, Voldemort could have travelled back two years and placed the bones there, could he have not? The night Hermione was attacked and the time turner had been stolen, had history been changed? Was the two year old recollection of the bones found in Knockturn Alley only a recent one for them all? Had it just lately grooved itself into their memories? The idea was mind boggling, and yet, Harry had to concede, somehow possible. After all what did they truly know about time travel and the changes it effected?

"It is amazing how the manipulation of time can play such remarkable tricks on the mind, is it not?" Voldemort continued in a pleased sort of tone . "However, being as slow as you are, Harry, I suppose there are a few things you have not yet understood. The discovery of the mudblood boy's bones two years ago marked the end of the apathetic lull our world has lapsed into. It was the first warning I sent regarding my return. For too long our world has lived under the illusion that Muggle interbreeding and the mixing of our races would be tolerated considering I, the one who was to right it all, had gone. However, the world will soon be put to rights again. Those who were sent to the alleged 'secret encampment', and the rest of the wizarding world now understand it; they know I have returned."

"Not for long," Harry snarled, his voice dripping with corrosive hatred. "You'll be burning in hell before this day is over. Look for me, I'll be the one holding the gates open."

Lucius Malfoy chuckled. "I've always known the boy was delusional. You have seen you're disarmed and hopelessly outnumbered, have you not?"

Harry smirked nastily back at him. "How does it feel to have your own son betray you? You did know he's joined our side, did you not?"

Malfoy growled aloud and the golden hand that held his wand shook with suppressed fury. "You… You've never been anything but an arrogant, over-prized, worthless little bastard, Potter! You whose own family has never cared for you; whose own parents were too snivelling and weak to live and protect you… or is it that they simply did not care enough?"

Harry howled with rage and rushed forward, heedless of the danger. It was just what Malfoy had been waiting for.

"PESTIS CONLABOUR!"

"HARRY!" Colin screamed in warning.

"NO!" Voldemort raged violently, grabbing Malfoy's arm and forcing it down while temporarily losing sight of Harry.

The curse barely missed him, and Harry took the fleeting moment when both of his enemies were distracted to dive behind a pile of crates to one side of the large dark room, mentally raging at himself for losing his temper.

"IDIOT!" Voldemort barked savagely at Malfoy, his eyes glowing with such a powerful, fiery red that his second in command backed up fearfully. "If you had killed him… He is to be left to ME! My powers will return to me ONLY if I am the one to kill them!"

Behind the crates, Harry had only a moment's time to wonder confusedly if Voldemort had misspoke when he said 'kill them' rather than 'kill him', before the dark lord spoke again.

"You have disobeyed me, Lucius… It is no different with you than with the others. You must be disciplined…"

Malfoy recoiled pathetically before his master's wrath, realising too late that his hatred of Potter had led him to do something hasty.

"Master, please… The Potter boy has caused me nothing but trouble since the first day he began school… I..I behaved rashly… Please forgive me…"

Voldemort held out his wand, his voice deep with frenzied rage. "CRUCIO!"

Malfoy dropped to the floor screaming aloud, his arms and legs pounding the wood and his voice straining with such a high-pitched vacillating wail, so different from how it normally sounded, that Harry's stomach felt distinctly unsettled. He was dimly aware of Colin whimpering in the background, and without delay decided the younger boy was in more immediate danger of dying than he himself was. He needed to get him out of there.

Voldemort muttered a silencing charm on Malfoy and finally lifted the Cruciatus Curse, deciding to himself he had no need of hearing the other whimper. He turned his back on him, gathered his wand in one hand and Salazar Slytherin's sword in the other, and began to pace about the cabin's main floor, his blood red eyes cautiously searching out every hidden nook and cranny.

"Come out, Harry. I know you are still here; you would not leave your classmate behind, nor would you risk the mudblood's life by running. You have nowhere to hide. My servant was right in one regard… you are far outnumbered, hundreds upon hundreds to one. You are going to die. And when I have done with you, your best friend and girlfriend are next."

Harry's heart pounded in his throat as he watched Voldemort pace closer and closer to where he was hidden, Godric Gryffindor's sword lying unfortunately some three feet in front of the silently moaning form of Lucius Malfoy. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to curse the dark lord, somehow grab Colin away from the two Death Eaters, and make a run for it to the back of the cabin for his broom. Only when Colin was on it and safely away would he return to fight Voldemort. It was the only way to get the other boy out of harms way, and keep the dark lord from using him to keep Harry in line.

No time like the present… Harry thought snidely to himself.

He raised his arm with palm out and, so that his spell would have the most power behind it he could muster, waited until the dark lord moved as close as he could safely allow…

"This is the end, Harry. The end of all that was never supposed to be. Come out and face me; let us determine which Slytherin is strong enough, worthy enough to live…"

"EFFUNDO!"

An enormous flaming ball of electric blue energy suddenly erupted from Harry's palm and struck Voldemort fully in the chest, forcibly throwing him backward some five feet to the ground and wrenching the sword and wand from his hands.

Harry leapt into action.

He sprinted across the room in what seemed only three or four strides and quickly tossed a couple of curses at the two stunned Death Eaters grappling beneath their robes for wands.

One dodged away and aimed a frenzied curse at Harry.

"ASPELLO!"

Harry threw himself to the floor and reached his sword in time. He quickly wrenched the blade upright, deflecting the driving curse off the metal with a hard, vibrating ping, and immediately after, scrambled to his feet and charged forward.

Behind him Voldemort was coming round, and Harry knew time was fast slipping from him. He was yards from reaching one of the Death Eaters when the wizard threw another wild curse at him. Harry ducked it, slid deftly to his knees and took a hard, full circling swing at the wizard's legs. The force of the heavy sword sliced one leg clean away at the knee and chopped halfway into the other before the man even understood what had happened. Bright red blood began spurting forward much like small sprinkler pipes as he buckled to the ground screaming, and Harry took a very brief moment to grab the man's wand and snap it into.

Utterly stricken with horror and filled with a dark rage, the other Death Eater screamed aloud and grabbed beneath his cloak for his sword. He hefted it up and then swung it downward at Harry with such a gravitational descending force that when it contacted his own blade with a loud resounding CLANG, Harry realised the shivering metal was inches from his nose. He shoved the crushing blade away with all of his might and roared out another curse, his head pounding with a rising panic…

Hurryhurryhurryhurry…

"DEPULSIO!"

The curse did not hit full on, and the Death Eater was merely shoved backward hard enough to stumble into Voldemort's chair and topple over it to the floor. However, the distraction was long enough. Harry jumped to his feet and grabbed onto Colin's shaking arms, feeling the rough, magical binding beneath his fingers.

"Finite Incantantum!"

Colin dropped unceremoniously to the floor, instantly freed, and Harry grabbed him upright and began to yank him bodily toward the hallway just as Voldemort finally got his feet beneath him.

"CRUCIO!"

The curse grazed Harry's right leg and almost took him to the floor with the intense pain. He yelled out and began to crumble, but Colin instantly grabbed onto him, throwing one arm about his shoulders and hauling him along. Harry pushed the tip of his sword along the floor like a cane to help him walk, aware of every millisecond passing… every small sound behind him promising Voldemort was about to scream out another curse…

The dark lord's feet made no noise as he maniacally rushed forward, the power of his magic half flying him to his destination, his sword again in one hand, while the other wrapped tightly, white-knuckled round his wand. His next curse blew a great chunk of wood out of the wall directly above the two boy's heads, both of them wincing and ducking as they hobbled/ran along, great splinters of wood falling about their heads.

They succeeded in rounding the corner of the cabin, and Voldemort knew Potter must be leading them toward wherever he had come in, trying in vain to get the other boy to safety.

The dark lord whirled about quickly, screaming out a spell that hauled the worthless Lucius Malfoy to his feet, and quickly lifting the silencing charm.

Malfoy sputtered, his limbs still trembling in shock from the Cruciatus Curse.

"Get UP, worthless fool! Pull yourself together! Potter must NOT be allowed to escape!"

Malfoy stumbled along after Voldemort, his legs feeling a bit better as he moved them along. They ran down the stubby end of the hall and turned to the right, following the longer hallway until it took them to an obvious hole cut into the wood, the now bright sunlight of mid-morning pouring through the opening.

Malfoy scrambled through before Voldemort, always first in case there was any unsuspecting blow or curse, and finally stood upright. Voldemort followed to see the Creevey boy straddling Potter's broom some few yards in the distance; Potter backing away from him and frantically shouting instructions.

"Kick off! Just kick off Colin! Grab on tight and lay yourself low!"

"Harry, I can't just leave you here, come with me!"

"I CAN'T, just get OUT of here!"

"HARRY!"

"GO, DAMMIT!" Harry commanded frantically as he waved him away, catching sight of Malfoy and Voldemort in the millisecond of indecision that fell upon them as they emerged from the cabin.

Colin saw them as well and with a final bolt of panic heeded Harry's advice. He kicked unsteadily off from the ground, the powerful broom teetering under him until he was able to gather some control. He leaned forward as he had been instructed and the broom sped off, almost unseating him.

A wild spray of curses followed after him, one actually hitting the straw end of the broom and almost causing him to go into a tailspin, but Colin held fast and rounded the corner of the cabin, speeding off into the trees before anyone could stop him.

Harry could not help a smile of satisfaction despite his own situation. Colin was safely away. At least that had been one life he had been able to save. He knew many more would die before all was over.

The moment the other boy left his sight Harry swung about, his sword held aloft and ready.

Malfoy growled and stepped forward, but a restraining hand on his arm stopped him.

"No Lucius," Voldemort rasped calmly. "Potter's death will be mine, as it was always intended."

Malfoy nodded, although somewhat resentfully and stepped back, leaving Voldemort to glide forward, his grim, white face set with evil determination.

"Are you ready, Harry? There will be no reprieve this day… no idle threats or promises of later. We will finish this right now, you and I. And after, I will settle scores with the mudblood and the blood-traitor as well."

Harry grimaced angrily as they began slowly circling one another, each keenly aware of the other's every move.

"What the hell do Ron and Hermione have to do with ANY of this…" He demanded rather than asked. "You kill me, you've got what you wanted, right? And how do you think their deaths will matter to me if I'm to die first!? How am I to know about them!?"

Voldemort smirked unpleasantly. "Your arrogance astounds me. How you think everything must have to do with you… Once again you've been blinded to the truth..."

Harry snorted. "What truth..."

"You're death is my ultimate goal, it is true," said Voldemort by way of explanation.. "But my supreme reign over the witches and wizards of this world can never be unless my full powers return to me. I must kill all three of you to ensure that happens."

For a surprised moment, Harry faltered and Voldemort took his chance.

"Pestis Conlabour!"

"RETROACTUM!" Harry bellowed, his deflection charm barely in time to save his own life.

Voldemort caught the deflected curse on the flat side of his blade and diverted it to the ground where it sizzled and smoked on a pile of dried leaves.

He smiled.

"Careless, Potter… as I said, I've seen your weaknesses…"

"What the hell d'you mean you have to kill us all to get your powers back!?" Harry demanded angrily. "Ron and Hermione…"

"Are part of you," Voldemort intoned dangerously. "They are part of the covenant of the triangle Sybil Trelawney divined."

Harry felt shock buzz along his system at Voldemort's knowledge of the year's events, but kept his guard up, his sword held perpendicular to his side.

When Voldemort next spoke, his voice was filled with a sort of sick loathing.

"Surprised, Potter? The Creevey mudblood has provided me with more information this year than you realise, though it has taken my own knowledge of the forces of magic to make sense of it. Weasley, Granger and yourself have forged a bond," he sneered. "One fraught through and through with an ancient magic. They have become your strength, and you have become theirs. I kill only you, Potter, and the whole is not destroyed. You are the heir to Gryffindor and to Slytherin, it is true, but you three are the obstacle to my full return to power. I understand that now, much as I understand that their deaths are no longer simply a means to demoralize you. Their deaths have now become a necessity. And necessity warrants swift response, does it not?"

Harry felt his breathing become laboured and frenzied. His face flushed red with astonishment and a burning fury. His eyes blazed a magnificent bright green, and the sword in his hands suddenly felt lighter from the intense rush of adrenaline that began throbbing through his veins. His entire body began to glow a gleaming, wavering blue, one so brilliant that Lucius Malfoy shaded his eyes, his heart pounding in horror. Just what the hell was happening?

"Power is a heady thing, is it not Harry?" Voldemort snarled as he eyed him, a barely shaded bit of envy in his voice. "However, untrained power is as useless as none at all. Do not think your angry display has any effect on me…"

But Harry had heard nothing past the threat Voldemort had posed toward Ron and Hermione. His blood pounded so furiously in his head that he was unable to hear much of anything save his own screaming, compounding rage.

In a movement so fast it looked almost blurred, he rushed forward and lashed out with his sword, catching Voldemort off-guard and slicing into his arm.

Voldemort howled aloud and all discussion came to a halt. The true fight had begun.

Their blades met over and over again with the ear-splitting crash of metal on metal, Harry trying his best to push his rage to the back of his mind to better concentrate on what he was doing.

Voldemort cut his sword in a wide arc toward Harry's neck but he ducked it, hearing the ominous whistle of wind rush over his head. He straightened and cut down with his own blade managing to crush the dark lord's own to the ground. Voldemort kicked out, caching Harry in the gut and Harry fell hard to the ground, his sword flying from his hands. Immediately he scrambled for it, Voldemort swiping his own up from the ground and chopping down at him with it. Harry rolled, and rolled again, barely missing the sharp edged sword chopping out chunks of earth where he had just been. He kicked out himself, catching one of Voldemort's ankles and throwing him off balance, giving Harry just enough time to jump to his feet, his sword again parrying forceful blows.

Unaware they were doing so, both began steadily moving the fight round the cabin. Lucius Malfoy shadowed them, his wand out and to the ready, though he was unsure what he would have done with it given the chance as both were clashing so quickly together that he could not be sure which he might hit.

Voldemort and Harry continued on, moving further around the cabin until they came close to the inner encampment, neither concentrating on anything but the other's next move. So intent were they on the battle that they failed to realise something of great consequence had happened a bit further in the camp while they had been otherwise occupied.

Finally the time came when, for one brief moment, both had lost their weapons and were scrambling to retrieve them.

Breathing open-mouthed, Harry jumped up quickly after retrieving his sword, his robe now tattered in pieces and his clothes moulded with sweat and dirt to his body.

He glanced at Voldemort, yards away and in a similar state as he was, and saw that instead of the dark lord rushing toward the fight with him again, that he stood stock still, staring past him into the inner camp. His overly-tall, pale body was rigid with an acute sort of twisted fulfilment, as if some dream he had never thought would come to pass had finally done so.

And suddenly filled with an awesome sense of foreboding, Harry whipped around.

Death Eaters, giants, centaurs, goblins, trolls and all other manner of wizarding creature that had joined Voldemort had gathered together as one huge mass and were grouped in the middle of the camp. Most disturbing for Harry was the fact that now, mixed with them, were many of the Slytherin students from fifth year up who's parents had pulled them out from school some months ago. They stood with their Death Eater fathers and mothers, wielding wands and expressions of hatred that seemed utterly out of place on faces so young.

On the outskirts of the great open camp, and protected for a time by what appeared to be an enormous, all-encompassing, golden opaque forcefield, stood a group of what appeared to be hundreds of wizards and witches of all ages and races. Interspersed amongst and between them were all manner of, ironically, many of the same types of wizarding creatures that had joined the dark side. Firenze the centaur stood with a group of around ten of his own. Eighteen goblins huddled together near the middle. Hagrid stood to one side with Madame Maxime from Beauxbatons, both with wands at the ready. Every teacher from Hogwarts was present. And most unbelievable, what appeared to be Hogwarts' entire student population from fifth year up. Since the school's numbers had diminished so severely, there were only about sixty five students to speak of, but the number was not what was so compelling. It was the fact that they were students, and none were a day over seventeen. They stood with the rest, Ravenclaws mixed with Gryffindors mixed with Hufflepuffs mixed with the few Slytherin's left, including Draco Malfoy; each face white with terror, but set with grim determination.

Albus Dumbledore, standing tall, regal and majestic headed the huge crowd, Minerva McGonnagol on his one side, Harry's father on his other, and Ron and Hermione standing immediately near them.

Harry felt his knees weaken. His eyes met his Dumbledore's, his father's, Ron's, and then... Hermione's. Her pale, expression was so full of emotion it was almost unfathomable. She looked so desperate as her eyes raked him over, so deeply anxious, so incredibly in fear for Harry's own life that he almost could not bear to look at her. But at the same time he was helpless to look away. He felt at any moment she might begin raging at him with her eyes for leaving her... might burst out sobbing for the situation they were all now in, on the brink of a very large battle, might try frantically gesturing at him to run... but as she stared at him, he was overwhelmed by the simple response he got.

I love you.

He could not hear her behind the forcefield, but he watched her lips tremble as she formed the words, her eyes staring at him in such a way that made him feel as if she was baring his own soul.

I love you, too.

In a flash, the invisible shield that, until then, had been responsible for holding the battle at bay suddenly vanished with a wave of Dumbledore's hand.

Oddly, no one spoke or moved until Voldemort, his eyes alight with eagerness and bloodlust, moved forward, deciding to temporarily pause his battle with Harry.

"Dumbledore."

For being in such a wide open space, the word seemed to echo through the forest as if it were nothing more than a small enclosed room.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his eyes locking with Harry's own for one brief second. Harry understood the look.

Move back with us...

Harry kept his sword aloft as he stepped carefully backward toward the tree line, his eyes never leaving Voldemort or the hundreds of Death Eaters and creatures that watched his every move, but took no actions to stop him.

Finally reaching the masses that made up Dumbledore's own army, he moved in with the crowd, hands reaching out to touch him in some way... students from school, members of the Order... Colin Creevey... ( he must have stopped his flight upon meeting with the rest) his father... Sirius...

"Glad to see you're still in one piece Harry," Sirius said gruffly, swiping behind his long black hair at what looked suspiciously like a tear travelling down his worn cheek.

Hermione rushed over to Harry and grabbed him round the middle, burying her face in his chest; her body shaking so hard he felt she might come falling apart. He grabbed her to him and shared a short, meaningful look with Ron over her head.

"Don't you ever do that to us again, mate," Ron ordered angrily, his voice husky with emotion. "Never again, you hear me?"

Harry merely nodded at him and buried his face in the top of Hermione's head.

Fluffy white clouds travelled through the blue sky overhead. The sun streamed inappropriately cheerful through the dead trees. A light wind made old branches creak above them and stirred dead leaves forward between their feet. Tent flaps slapped open and closed, robes whipped about, and hundreds of attentive ears tuned into the conversation that had just begun between Voldemort and Dumbledore; two generals leading opposing forces speaking one last time before battle.

"You should have let it go, Tom." Dumbledore suddenly spoke into the fateful morning, his burning blue eyes fixed onto Voldemort's own glowing red ones.

Voldemort sneered at the old man as if he were the epitome of everything he hated. In truth, he was.

"Let it go? When I am so close to accomplishing my goals?" He rasped in a high-pitched demonic sounding voice. He stepped forward, brandishing his sword. "Oh no, Dumbledore. Our time has finally come. The time to end things once and for all. My powers will return to me this day... your pathetic army will be defeated... and the return of the world as it was meant to be, before corruption took hold, is at hand. The fates have been kind, have they not? It is all now within my reach."

Dumbledore gave no reaction whatsoever to the speech. Each side seemed to tense, as if they were sure at any moment they would be called upon to charge.

"I have warned you over and over through the years," the Headmaster said. "You are right. The time to end things once and for all has come. This ends today."

Voldemort roared aloud, his voice unearthly and frightening as he whipped out his wand and aimed it at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore raised his own.

The forest suddenly came to life with the thunder and rumble of hundreds and hundreds of bodies suddenly in motion, voices screaming curses and shouts of war, wands and swords suddenly aloft and crashing together, and two sides rushing forward to clash in the middle...

"All Day Permanent Red" by Christopher Logue (an excerpt of a more contemporary rewriting of the Iliad).

"...See an East African lion

Nose tip to tail tuft ten, eleven feet

Slouching towards you

Swaying its head from side to side

Doubling its pace, its gold-black mane

That stretches down its belly to its groin

Catching the sunlight as it hits

Twice its own length a beat, then leaps

Great forepaws high great claws disclosed

The scarlet insides of its mouth

Parting a roar as loud as sail-sized flames

And lands, slam-scattering the herd.

This is how Hector came on us..."

A/N: Hi guys... so this small excerpt of the above poem is where I got the title for this particular chapter. The name "All Day Permanent Red" really speaks of a day of war... and I thought the description of the lion, even though the name given to it is "Hector" sounded like Gryffindor. Anyway, this is only part one of the war, of course. Next chapter is part two, the war in its entirety. I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think so far, please!)