Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
Magic Never Dies
Chapter 22
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Sorry it's been so long! GOF x3 for me…(Thank you JazzyGeorgie, for the IMAX experience. WOW.) Love so much of it, but am I alone in thinking Mike Newell screwed David Yates in a big way with his take on Dumbledore??? That is so not going to work into OotP or especially HBP… Loved Snape's prolonged wand-skewering of Barty even after Dumbledore had left the room… Daniel says Alan Rickman KNOWS about his character's direction straight from JKR. Could that be a hint? Could I please be a fly on the wall of her writing room for 5 minutes???? Or a bubble in the prefect's bath tub? Preferably one of the ones that…but I digress!
Well then! Thanks SO much to all who read and reviewed. Here's a refresher on where we left off… (Thanks to Vickles for the last para correction here in 21, and JazzyG for the read through of 22.)
From Chapter 21:
He landed heavily on his back with Hermione sprawled across him. The cup bounced and rolled toward the edge of the stairs. Harry stretched out his working arm over his head, fingers grasping once more - bloody desperate thing! He felt the handle, his fingers scrambled for purchase as his legs twined around Hermione. He had it!
Until Ron tripped over them as well.
The force of his impact against Hermione's back threw both Harry and Hermione halfway over the edge of the landing and onto the stairs. Once again Harry withdrew his hand from the cup, this time to grab at the railing in the hope of arresting their fall. Their combined weight and momentum drove all three in their heap backwards down the steps. They slid, thumping from step to step until Ron managed to wedge his feet against the next landing. The silence of stillness was bliss until Harry heard the metallic tink-ting-tink of the cup still falling. It stopped abruptly with a muted thwink.
Harry groaned and craned his neck, but all he could see was Hermione's hair.
"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry."
"Bloody hell," said Ron.
Harry stroked back her hair and lifted his head over Ron's knee to find the cup had been stopped by… Voldemort's foot. And he had the least humorous laugh Harry'd ever heard.
Bloody hell indeed.
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Chapter 22
It wasn't the moment he had dreaded for so long. Nope. Harry couldn't even get that right.
He grabbed his scar and hung on for dear life. The pain seemed stronger than the last time he had physically been in Voldemort's presence and he struggled to control its invasive grasp on his ability to reason.
Here he was…. And there stood the… the thing that had killed his parents and so many others in its pathetic quest for immortality; whose shadow had dimmed the very few happy moments of Harry's life so far.
This was supposed to be his moment to finally wrest control of his destiny from the monster who had stolen it, to put all that he had learned and all that was in his heart to the test and see once and for all whether it was enough. He'd had it all in his hands, and he'd let it slip away.
Voldemort crouched down and his slimy fingers slithered around the cup. The final horcrux. Harry's last hope… He grinned in triumph.
And Harry realized all at once exactly what Dumbledore had been doing last year.
He'd stripped Voldemort of his greatest weapon. Harry wasn't facing a fathomless, paralyzing evil any longer. When he looked at the dark wizard he had not truly seen since the battle in the Department of Mysteries fifth year, he now saw only what had become of another boy no one had wanted, one who had discovered his own power long before Harry but frittered it away fighting his fear of the unknown that had claimed his mother so swiftly after his birth. So desperate not to die as well he'd made an abomination of himself to keep from facing it. He was human and flawed; only his shattered soul and his innate ability to use and channel magic without conscience made him different from any other man.
Well, Harry had magic on his side, too. And he was beginning to understand how to use it in ways Dumbledore had never exactly mentioned.
He stood up. Slowly and more than a little shakily, he gave Hermione's hand a final squeeze and stepped carefully over Ron, placing himself in front of both of his friends on the landing.
"Hullo, Tom," he panted against the flaring of his scar. Bloody thing. How was he supposed to fight with an ice pick ripping through his skull?
Voldemort raised his pale, snake-like face from his treasure, scarlet eyes alight.
"Potter," he hissed, his cold, high voice like a trickle of ice water against warm flesh. Harry couldn't hide his involuntary shudder. He felt Ron and Hermione gain their feet behind him and he saw Voldemort's eyes flicker over them and up to the top of the stairs to where Bill and the twins had gathered.
"Sssso," Voldemort said, caressing the cup with possessive fingers. "You've failed again, boy."
"I'm taking it… as a… setback, myself. Failure is so… final." Harry ground out, moving determinedly forward and down the first step toward him. "And don't … call me… boy."
`A year ago, every nerve in my body would have screamed RUN!' he marveled.
Voldemort's wand gave a butterfly flick and he whispered Crucio almost lovingly.
`And they would have been effing right.' Harry thought regretfully as he went down to his knees, fighting a different kind of scream, and a different kind of pain.
"You…really have to…get some… new material," he gasped, dropping forward and revealing his own wand. "There's a whole….world… of curses out there." He cast Sectumsempra silently, in honor of Snape. Who really ought to be here, the bastard.
A long slashing wound blossomed across Voldemort's upper chest. What passed for his mouth twisted into a rictus that could have been either a grimace or a grin. One long white finger traced the cut then made its way to his lips.
"Sssweet. Just like you, Potter. Oh yes… it IS you," he leered. Bellatrix cackled beside him.
"Shut up, you… hag," Hermione cried out, and let fire.
Bellatrix attempted a dodge and snickered, seemingly certain the spell had missed her when she sensed nothing amiss despite a mild disturbance of the air around her. "Amateur!"
Hermione smiled grimly as she shielded herself and Ron from return fire as they attempted to reach Harry.
The cluster of Death Eaters that had followed Voldemort into the entry hall began to range out hungrily around their Master, clearly believing the fight about to begin.
Harry struggled up from his knees, gaining another couple of steps in the awkward process. He knew he could not handle another Cruciatus without surrendering to it. He was tired; the last three days might as well have been three weeks, and highly unpleasant ones at that. He ached every where and the dislocated arm was maddening even when not strictly painful. All he wanted was to go home, curl up in a warm, soft bed with Hermione's arms securely around him and sleep for a hundred years.
"And still he comes," sneered Voldemort. "I pity Dumbledore now. Imagine his despair, knowing fate had dealt him an idiot for a champion. No wonder he begged for death, the old fool."
Harry proceeded down another step, his heart singing. If Voldemort so calmly stated it, it must be true, then. Why would Snape admit Dumbledore had implored Snape to kill him to Voldemort if he had been faithful and trying to impress his Lord? Even if Voldemort had dragged it from Snape's unwilling brain it was a blessing, a gift to know that Dumbledore had not been deceived. Snape hadn't lied. At least about that, anyway.
Bellatrix had begun twitching beside her master, her eyes growing larger by the moment. She scratched at her shoulder, swatted her knee, ran her fingers frantically through her hair. "Finite! Finite! Finite Incantatem!" she shrieked, apparently believing her whole body to be over run by something akin to invisible spiders.
It was Hermione's turn to laugh, then. Tonks amused snort abruptly joined in from the top of the stairs that led down to the dungeons. "Perfect choice, Hermione. She's always given me the creeps, it's about time someone turned the tables!"
Harry saw Tonks and Remus Lupin and Viktor Krum?
They out-numbered Voldemort and his supporters for once now, except for the students upstairs. They had a chance at least, and Harry knew he needed to make it count. He needed the cup, he needed the locket in Ron's pocket, and he needed to get them all the hell out safely.
And he needed his scar to stop trying to rip his effing forehead off so that he could actually think.
`Hermione,' he called silently, taking a further step forward. Bellatrix was twitching and scratching and babbling enough to annoy Voldemort now; he turned to silence her and Harry risked a quick look back toward Hermione. Her eyes were waiting and locked swiftly with his own. `I need you to transfigure something to look like the cup, I need a double, if you can. Stay back, stay out of it no matter what you see until you have something. Please?'
She nodded once, and her determined eyes began ranging the room with a new sense of purpose. She stepped subtly half behind Ron, who was already starting down the steps again after Harry.
Harry shifted his eyes to Remus, who nodded toward the door. Harry caught his meaning - taking this outside made sense and could only increase their odds of escape. But how to get out there?
Voldemort himself had not been able to end Hermione's hex on Bellatrix and in his raw frustration Crucioed her instead. Her shrieks changed in tenor but not volume and he kicked her away, disgusted. The masked and hooded Death Eaters with him did the same, surging over her like a savage black sea. Much as Harry despised Bellatrix it was truly frightening to see how heartlessly easily Voldemort abandoned one who had tried so hard to be close to him. Dumbledore had been correct in his assessment of his enemy; it was not just that Voldemort was ruthless or relentless in his pursuit; he truly knew no attachment of any kind to those who sought to serve him. They had held off so far, but Harry was sure that at the slightest signal from Voldemort the confrontation would quickly turn into a lethal brawl. Who would he lose this time? He thought of Sirius and his heart ached.
He only recognized the penetration of his thoughts moments later and shook his head like a mad dog, glaring at his nemesis. "Get out."
"You would seem to be more me than you, Potter. Perhaps it is I that should tell you to get out," Voldemort hissed, caressing the cup again with those relentless, deadly fingers. "How many have you found, you foolish boy? You must have at least two now, by the look of you. You can not hope to handle any more. I have done you a great favor reclaiming the cup. Or perhaps I shall give it back? I could use a young, strong body for myself. Even your pathetic excuse would do. Imagine how easy it would be to conquer the wizards of this world dressed in your skin."
"Alright," Harry said, not daring to hope that it could really be so easy. "Hand it over then. I'll take my chances."
Voldemort hissed a spell Harry didn't quite catch, but its purpose became abundantly clear when his good arm was suddenly bound securely to his leg by slithering magical ropes. His wand remained trapped in his hand; Voldemort either knew or sensed he could work without it now, or he felt Harry too feeble to bother with disarming him.
"Come, Potter," he offered, red eyes gleaming, and extended the cup before his injured arm mockingly. "Take it, boy."
"Don't call me boy," Harry spat. He blinked, envisioning McGonagall's face as he transfigured the ropes binding his hand to snakes and achieved his own release with a gentle hiss. His hand shot out and almost claimed the cup. Voldemort fell back, clutching it to his chest. Harry lunged after him.
Hell broke loose at Durmstrang.
Harry wondered if all battles ultimately devolved into a series of personal skirmishes, or just the ones he caused. He was reminded again of the Department of Mysteries, distracted and drowning in the flood of sensory images of his friends fighting around him even as he tried to fight himself. Ron, Lupin, Bill, Tonks, Fred, George, even Krum…
Voldemort might reek of dark magical power, but hand to hand Harry found he lived in the body Pettigrew had helped him recreate like a stranger. He resided in the brain of it, but he seemed to have to will the limbs to move. `It's like he's using Imperio on an Inferi,' Harry thought. `only he's inside.' As repulsive as it was to touch him, he was no real match physically even for an injured Harry, his strength relied on magic and the spells began almost immediately as they grappled for the cup.
A jolt of magical current, not unlike electricity, ripped through him, burning wherever it ran out of conductor. His hands, his feet, Merlin, his ears, his…Ow! He pulled away, shoving his own wand into his pants and punching out blind as a drunk with his good arm, trying to ignore the other. His fist connected solidly with what once had been Voldemort's nose. He was thrown almost instantly across the room for his reward, landing hard at Ron's feet. He staggered over Harry, never dropping his eyes as his friend crawled between his legs and out of the range of fire of the Death Eater he was exchanging hexes with. Avery. Ron was dueling Avery. And holding his own, from the look of it. Go Ron.
Hermione was still behind Ron in the relative security of the base of the stairs. Harry face planted gracefully at her feet, gasping. She knelt down and rolled him over, stared deeply into his eyes and flattened him to the ground with a kiss?. He felt her knees straddle him, her hands framing his face. Her lips covered his. He knew with piercing understanding then that he would truly give up anything to be with her every waking moment for the rest of his life and it would still never be enough. He reached for her and she bit down less than gently on his lower lip. He yelped, his mouth opening instantly against hers in involuntary reaction.
The reward for his obedience was equally swift. Her warm tongue thrust something small and cold and hard into his mouth, and comprehension dawned like a reviving shock. The transfigured cup. She'd slipped it to him exactly the way he'd first done to her weeks ago now with the … That was it! She'd worn the necklace ever since her birthday, he'd seen her worry at it, played with it often enough himself just to feel her soft shudder as his fingers brushed the sensitive skin along her neck. She'd transfigured the Black family cup for him. She caressed his face gently once more, pulling back, all of her heart in her eyes as she swiftly helped him to his feet.
He could not fail her, he could not live without her and he was bloody damned if he was going to die now. He felt… invincible.
He felt like an imbecile.
He saw Voldemort fling the Crucio at Hermione, his eyes alight with malice. It was Harry's worst nightmare come to life; Voldemort had watched her kiss him, knew that she was the one he'd been with that first time. He had spotted Harry's weakness and struck. Hermione had already turned from Harry to help Ron force Avery back to where Bill was poised, waiting to stun him; she had no chance at all.
He should have thrown up a shield. He knew that the Cruciatus curse was a weapon of choice for the Dark Lord for the very fact that once connected it was difficult if not impossible to break the current of hatred flowing from caster to victim without the influence of a third party. Simply put most battle spells like reductor were initiated through the wand as a single incidence of magical energy, while Cruciatus could be held, dragged out. Hence the Longbottoms.
Harry should have put up a shield, but he didn't. He dove into the spell instead, reacting with the true brainless stupidity of love.
His first thought as the pain wracked through him was not to swallow the cup. He flailed, trying desperately to force his hand somewhere close to his mouth without success. He focused then on forcing the cup under his tongue, into his cheek, anywhere it couldn't go down his throat as he convulsed.
"Would you like to see your girlfriend beg, Potter? I can make her. Come, precious…" Voldmort hissed. "Give us a kiss, and I'll let him live."
Harry could feel time slow against the grinding agony that threaded through him. He saw Hermione move as if transfixed toward Voldemort; saw Ron grab her and haul her back.
Saw her raise her wand against Ron and jolt herself free of him, sweeping threateningly at all who would stop her. Lupin, Tonks and Bill were the only ones close enough and all three seemed frozen in various states of indecision. They would have to stun her to stop her now, and she was closer to Voldemort than any of them. Stunned, she would be helpless.
"Don't do it Hermione, he's a liar, you know he is," Ron begged, "He'll kill you both, don't do this to me."
"Come," Voldemort enticed, "see how he needs you."
The curse seemed to amplify; Harry felt as if his very bones were about to give way under the relentless coiling of it through his nerves. He found he could shake his head from side to side; his body seemed to approve of the concept of "no" when it came to this. His eyes implored her.
Still Hermione moved toward Voldemort.
How could he ever have worried that he'd swallow the cup? His stomach was heaving at the thought of Voldemort so much as closing the distance between them.
She was close enough to touch now; Harry saw Voldemort's tongue slither as he hissed what he would do to her in parselmouth for Harry's benefit. He gagged, and something within him snapped. He wrestled himself upright through the waves of pain, his brain screaming her name. Hermione!
She flashed him a look that plainly said, `for Merlin's sake, Harry, how dumb do you think I am?' at approximately the same time she kneed Voldemort where his balls ought to be and grabbed the cup from his clutching hands. "That would be for every time anyone has ever called me mudblood, you evil abomination," she said calmly, backing away quickly as the Dark Lord folded in on himself, like any other man.
"The cup!" Voldemort howled, clutching blindly at thin air; Harry noted his shrill voice was even higher than usual as the Crucio abruptly ended. "I must have that cup! Lucius!"
Lucius? Malfoy? Bloody effing hell. What was Azkaban these days? A bleeding hotel you could check out of whenever the mood suited you?
One glance had clearly told Hermione he was in no condition to catch the cup; she turned and lobbed it at Ron. His expression on reflexively catching it was so close to the child left with the ball in a game of Hot Potato that Harry almost laughed.
Did wizards even play Hot Potato? he wondered dazedly, climbing to his feet. Probably. Or Pass the Exploding Pumpkin or some equally violent equivalent. It was a miracle any of them lasted long enough to make it to Hogwarts, really.
Ron juggled the cup nervously, well aware what it truly was. The masked Death Eater dueling Krum managed at last to Stupefy him and wheeled across the room toward Ron, blasting Reductors left and right as he went. Order members broke off their dueling and dove for cover; Ron's eyes grew wide and he turned and hurled the cup up the stairs to Fred. George abruptly began turning the hall at the top of the stairs into a swamp not unlike the one they'd used at Hogwarts during Umbridge's brief reign of terror, only seemingly smellier, consigning the Durmstrang students to the side stairwells if they were to attempt to join in. First Fred then George slid three quarters of the way down the stairs along the banister; leaping off and sprinting for the door.
A tripping hex brought Fred down and the cup was tossed to Bill, who caught it on the fly and continued on toward the door while George helped his twin to his feet.
He heard Hermione shout, "Ron!" as she grabbed Harry's good arm and made for the door as well. Harry scrambled along, suddenly realizing he had two working arms again. The writhing around during the Cruciatus had evidently forced it back into joint. He lifted up his free hand and spit; a perfect tiny replica of the Hufflepuff cup dropped into his palm.
They were just behind Bill and almost to the door when it banged open and Draco Malfoy suddenly appeared with Alistair Moody, wand drawn and magical eye rolling like a banked billiard ball, hot on his trail.
Draco was midway through a wide-eyed diatribe on raving lunatics when he ran in to Bill with enough force to dislodge the cup yet again. It fell to the ground and rolled, spinning along the rim. Lucius flicked his wand and the door slammed in Moody's face, the lock sliding home with a solid `thunk.'
Harry dove for the cup, knocking Bill over in the process as a further diversion. He let Bill pull him back to his feet, both their backs to Malfoy Senior and Voldemort behind them, desperately enlarging and shrinking the cups as he did. He couldn't bear the pain of the true cup back in his mouth; his scar felt like it was trying to rip free of his head as it was. He shoved it in his pocket and hoped for the best.
And saw Draco's eyes following the movement of his hand as he pulled it back free. For the first time in Harry's life he found himself wishing the rumors of Malfoy's fabled bisexuality were true. Suddenly he'd so infinitely rather believe Draco was checking out his crotch than about to reveal to his father that what he sought was right there. The urge to drop his hands protectively was almost overwhelming.
"Draco!" Lucius cried in delight. "The cup! Get the cup!"
Draco's wand zeroed in on Harry. "Step away," he warned Bill.
"Not bloody likely you little sh…" Bill began, but was stunned from behind by Malfoy Senior, who turned his wand next upon Hermione, leaving Harry to his son. She met Harry's eyes steadily, as though nothing were even slightly out of the ordinary.
He turned and spotted Malfoy's target at once. He also saw Voldemort's wand on Tonks and Lupin's trained unwaveringly on the Dark Lord. Fred and George and Ron had Rookwood, Mulciber, and two Harry now recognized as the brother and sister Draco had let into Hogwarts in their sights. All were at a standoff. As soon as one fired, all would fire in reaction, and how many might be killed?
He held out the cup toward Draco; heard the gasps and cries of `No, Harry!' and `Don't do it!' that followed.
"Let them go and you'll have your cup!" Harry called out to Voldemort. He saw Voldemort's calculating glare and quick nod to Lucius. Harry knew he was planning to kill them all as soon as Draco had the cup, knew it as well as he knew his own name,
"Take it, and you're back in clover," He hissed softly to Draco. "His right hand man again. Until the wind changes, of course."
"Until they find the real thing is in your pocket, Potter," his old nemesis replied just as softly. "Obliviate me, or he'll know for sure. And next time be prepared. No mercy."
Harry was stunned. Was Malfoy really letting him…?
The grey eyes across from him slid threatening down toward the real cup and Harry quickly cast the obliviating charm. He could see Draco's eyes lose focus for a moment and then stare in wonder at the cup Harry placed in his hands. He raised it up so that his father could see, and Harry sought Voldemort's reaction in the mirror just in time to see the flash of green break free of his wand and wing toward Hermione.
Fawkes! Harry called silently. I need you!
And because he respected the magical bird, welcomed his friendship and never claimed to own or control him, the Phoenix appeared out of nowhere in a blinding, fiery flash, diving for the Avada as Harry flattened Hermione to the ground. He swallowed it, just as he had done for Dumbledore in the Department of Mysteries, and burst into flames. Startled by the sudden appearance of the magical bird and unnerved by the nearness of the spell that incinerated it Draco scrambled over their sprawled forms. Ron raced forward and tackled him; unaware the cup he carried was a fake.
"Ron, no!" Hermione cried, grabbing his arm and attempting to haul him off Malfoy.
The Death Eaters surged forward around their leader, sensing the Order's imminent retreat and regrouping. Voldemort cast again; again the green light came at them. This time the intended victim was Ron, who was so caught up in his own long-awaited chance to stop Draco that he never heard or saw a thing. This time round there was no Fawkes left to call on and Harry once more threw himself at his friend. He thought he'd done it; Ron at least was safe. The spell caught Harry's hip as he fell over Ron and he felt a brief flash of magic surge like a tidal wave through his veins, crest and rush slamming back toward his heart.
Please, God, Aslan, Yahweh, whom ever, what ever you are, I have never known your name, but I have known you. Please not. Not now. Not like this…
The wave reached his center and brightness overtook him. He heard a whistle like wind in a storm, a crash like thunder, voices arguing. His heart tightened, ached, struggled… and freed itself. A surge of relief washed through him and he gasped gratefully, sucking oxygen into starved lungs. It was a gift of life, but echoed through the suddenly silent hall like a death rattle.
He knew then what he had to do.
He took on his thestral form, struggling to his hooves on the slippery stone floor and leaving his transfigured wand as a body behind. Only Ron and Hermione had actually seen him as a thestral before and neither was completely certain that the emergence of it from his seemingly dead body was any different than the phoenix that took flight from Dumbledore's.
He let out a piercing, challenging thestrals' call and arched his wings menacingly, hearing faint answers from the woods beyond the courtyard.
Harry saw raw terror battle with triumph in the Dark Lord's eyes.
That's right, you hideous thing. Wonder what you have done now. Look death in the eyes for once and know its name, because it's coming for you, not me.
Climb on! He thought to Hermione, and felt her heart leap across the distance between them. Make Ron, too. And bring me with you. I'm my wand.
Oh yeah. That made sense.
But hope trumped disbelief soundly, and Hermione managed to thrust both Ron on his back and his own seemingly dead body across his withers before climbing on herself, shielding them as she went.
Triumph conquered fear, for the moment at least, as well. Voldemort pointed his wand skyward and hissed "Mors Mordre!"
Harry galloped through the door, not looking back toward the sickening result of the spell meant to signal his death. He took to the air, mighty wings thrusting them aloft. He was so tired, so very tired, he hoped it was not far to somewhere they could apparate from, and that someone would side-along him home to Hogwarts so he didn't splinch himself.
Now that would be ironic.
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Hermione guided him to the banks of the stream from which they had safely apparated twice before. He was too exhausted to talk and fly, but her head felt like it would explode with questions. She could see the Order on their brooms flying in close formation around them; Lupin's eyes were glued to the lifeless form Ron held steady against Harry's neck, his face ravaged. Even the twins were sobered and silent.
They landed at last, Harry's thestral legs slowly slumping as soon as Ron and Hermione were safely off his back. The Order came to earth around them in silence, grief writ large across each face.
"It's not what you think!" Hermione hastened to call out. "Finite Incantatum."
Harry's lifeless body shuddered back into his wand, and Harry himself, with one final surge, shuddered and became… a really tired thestral.
Shite!
He tried again, and again, exhausting himself. He was trapped.
"What have you done?" raged Lupin, his eyes on the wand. Tonks sidled closer to him.
"I…I think he's too tired to change back," Hermione said hollowly.
"He's DEAD, Hermione! You saw him die. He's not going to change back. I don't know where the thestral came from, but we all saw Harry take his last breath in that room. Voldemort sure as hell did. You saw the mark as well as I!"
She turned to Ron for support. "Tell him. You've seen him do it before, it's him, look!" She dropped to her knees and took Harry's aching head into her hands, gently pushing back the long black forelock to reveal the white lightening bolt that ran between his eyes. "Look!"
Tonks came forward first, then Bill.
"It's the same marking he had before," Ron admitted. "But we did see him… I know he survived it once, Hermione, and it wasn't a clean hit, but… I don't know what to think."
"We need to get out of here. Now. They'll be on to us; we've no time to wait." Lupin said wearily.
"But how can… he's too tired to fly any longer. Can we apparate something that big, all of us? Or a portkey! Can we make a portkey?" Hermione asked hopefully.
"Hermione, we can't. It's not Harry. It's…"
"It's writing something in the dirt, Remus. Or trying to. Look!" Tonks told him excitedly.
Harry had found a pointed stone beneath him; he'd moved off it in discomfort and meant to shove it away with his nose until it came to him what he might do with it. The question was; what to say? He was fading fast, so tired. Please? Harry? Hogwarts? Lupin's sadness and the hurt in the voices arguing around him seemed more important somehow.
He grasped the stone between his thestrals' teeth and spelled out "Sorry."
"Dear Merlin's Ghost," Lupin said softly, laying his shaking hand upon the bony black neck. "It is Harry."
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