Another Story

Night had fallen over Hogwarts, but after the announcement Dumbledore had made that evening after dinner, many of the students could not sleep. Of course, a good number of them had already seen the Aurors and other Ministry people milling around the grounds, including the greater portion of the Weasley family. But that didn't make what Dumbledore told them any less frightening.

"May I have your attention for an announcement," he had said, standing up at the Head Table. "Due to information the faculty has received concerning the activities of Lord Voldemort and his followers, we have reason to believe that the castle will be attacked in the near future, possibly even tonight or tomorrow. Certainly very soon."

Whispering had broken out across the Great Hall. Ginny had looked to Harry and her brother, but they were staring sullenly at their empty dinner plates. A great weight was upon Harry because he was the one expected to defeat the Dark Lord. She had glanced at the aging ex-Auror by the door, who had declined to eat at the table with the faculty for reasons she could not guess, and shivered. This was not a drill. This was not a test. This was not part of the preparations. This was the real thing.

"Quiet, please," said Dumbledore. "It is important that we do not panic. Preparations have been made, as you all know, for the safety of the school and for you, the students. If everyone does what is expected of them, we will be able to defend our school and home as it was defended last spring."

Here Ginny noticed several Ravenclaw students looking at an empty chair at their table, the one that they left symbolically unfilled each evening. For several years a place had remained open for Cedric Diggory at the Hufflepuff table as well.

"All of those students who have gallantly volunteered to participate in the defense of the castle are advised to be prepared to take their positions at a moment's notice. The younger students, years first through fourth, are likewise advised to remember that they are not under any circumstances to leave the designated safe areas of the castle for any reason once the battle has begun and are to obey the fifth year prefects of their houses who will be assisting them."

There it was: the reason that Ginny and many of her friends had refused to enter the prefecture last year. They wanted to fight for their house and along side their friends instead of playing nursemaids to the younger students. She glanced at the two fifth years with that duty and wondered what had made them choose that route. She didn't think it was cowardice, but perhaps caution. Not that what they would be doing was unimportant, but she thought the greater good would have been better served by making the Hufflepuffs prefects, all of them, responsible for the younger students. They were better suited to the job.

"I am very proud of all of you and know that all of the students of this school will do their best to see that it still stands at the end of our war with Voldemort. Now, please return to your dormitories for the evening and try not to worry too much about what is to come," said Dumbledore.

"Easy for him to say," muttered Ron quietly as they filed out of the hall.

But that had been hours ago. No one was sleeping in Gryffindor Tower. They had all gathered very quietly in the common room. The first years, and there were fewer of them than ever before because some parents had chosen to keep their young children at home that year to protect them, were crowded together on a pair of couches, dozing, but too afraid to go sleep in their rooms. They had heard stories from older students and siblings about the terror of the last battle.

The first years were not alone. Many of the older Gryffindors, second year through seventh, looked grim and haunted by what they knew was coming. Ginny was curled up in an over-stuffed chair in a corner for a long time, watching her house mates, trying to memorize their faces, trying to make sure that she would be able to remember any of them lost in the fight ahead. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her knees. Were they doing the same thing in the Hufflepuff common room? The Ravenclaw? The Slytherin? She had to wonder.

Ginny looked at Neville Longbottom sitting in another corner of the room with Lavender Brown by his side, resting her head on his shoulder. They looked uncommonly sad, but resolute and determined too. Ready for anything, she imagined. Two boys and another girl from her year were playing a subdued game of Gobstones. Dean and Seamus were flipping through a stack of photographs with the Creevey brothers, who seemed far less troubled than most of their house mates. Parvati Patil was seated on the rug in front of the fire with an inscrutable look on her face. Ginny imagined that her twin was doing the same thing. Ron and Harry were trying to enjoy a game of chess, but it didn't seem as though their hearts were in it.

She couldn't stand the waiting. It was worse than anything. The anticipation was like an acid slowly eating away at the edge of their nerves and even at the edge of their legendary Gryffindor courage. Ginny hated it. She slipped from her chair and made her way unobtrusively to the portrait hole. If anyone noticed, they chose to say nothing. She intended to walk to the bottom of the Tower and back, just far enough to stretch her legs and clear her head before returning to her comrades.

The castle was strangely quiet, almost as though it were holding its breath, as she walked quietly down the stairs. The silence was uncomfortable and very nearly palatable. It reminded her of the prison realm, causing her breath to hitch slightly as she reached a landing.

"Who goes there?" asked a growling voice in the shadows.

She felt a wand tip touch just below her right ear and froze in her tracks.

"Ginny Weasley," she stammered as her heart began to beat wildly in her chest.

A rough hand grabbed her by the front of her robes, pulling her toward a nearby window. She could not see the person who had grabbed her until they were bathed in the soft light of the waning moon. Ginny gasped in surprise when she saw that it was none other than Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, and he did not look pleased. Of course, she had never seen him looking pleased, so that wasn't so terrible.

He studied her for a moment before releasing her robes.

"And what are you doing out at this time of night, Miss Weasley?" he questioned, not quite lowering his wand.

"I was ... no one could sleep ... and the waiting. I needed some air," she tried to explain, suddenly feeling very small and a bit childish.

"Is that so?" he asked, looking at her very carefully with both of his eyes.

"Yes, sir," she answered with a slight shiver.

Moody almost reluctantly put his wand away, satisfied by her replies to his questions, but cautious nonetheless. He put a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Are you frightened, lass?" he asked her in a low voice.

She looked up at him and said, "Maybe a little. I don't want to lose any of my friends ... I don't want anyone to die when the battle comes."

"Of course not," he said, nodding. "And I've heard rumor that you have a - what do you young folks call 'em? - a suitor, for lack of a better word, who's going to be pretty heavily involved in the fighting when it starts."

Ginny's eyes widened. Was it that obvious? Or had Remus told him? In any event she was very surprised that he knew.

"I suppose I do," she admitted hesitantly.

"Your father know about him?" asked Moody with a thin smile. He laughed as her mouth dropped open. "I'll take that as a 'no'," he laughed quietly. "Don't worry yourself, lass, once this is all over ... you can tell Arthur yourself and with all the excitement, he might even be pleased. People act real strange after a war ends," he said.

"Then you think we're going to win?" she questioned.

"You can't walk into something like this believing that you can't succeed, or it will turn out to be true. That's just the way it works," Alastor told her.

"I'll try to remember that," she said.

"Best advice I can give you. Other than constant vigilance. You can never go wrong with that," he said.

Ginny smiled as she realized how different the authentic Alastor Moody could be from the person who had impersonated him during her third year. This man was somewhat softer spoken, though she could understand why people said some of the things that they did about him.

She was suddenly aware of change in the light coming from outside and turned toward the window. There was a greenish tinge to the clouds hanging over the wizarding village of Hogsmeade.

"What ever is that?" she questioned aloud.

Moody turned toward the window and frowned as he told her, "That's all we can see from here of a Dark Mark over Hogsmeade. It seems that tonight will be exactly what we have been bargaining for."

Ginny trembled and felt sick as she thought of the residents of the village being set upon by a band of Dark Wizards.

Alastor put an arm around her shoulders and held her to him for just a brief moment before telling her, "Go back to your dormitory, Miss Weasley, and wait for the signals. Try not to panic the younger students."

An instant later he was clumping heavily, but speedily down the stairs and she was racing back up them with her heart in her throat.


Albus Dumbledore awoke to the sound of someone loudly pounding on the door of his chambers. He hastily put his spectacles on, grabbed his wand from the bedside table, and with a wave of the magical instrument, was ready to face the battle ahead. He smoothed his official robes, the attire he had chosen for the occasion, and took a deep breath before opening the door. When he saw Moody standing outside, he knew with some certainty that the time had come.

"They're in Hogsmeade," said Alastor bluntly.

"Have Fred and George Weasley reported in?" asked Albus, knowing that the two young men had set up shop in the village a little more than a year ago. They were part of the first line of defense if the Dark Lord's minions chose to attack the castle from that direction.

"Not that I am aware of," said Moody with a grim expression on his face.

"Time to sound the alarm then," said Albus, looking equally somber as he closed the door of his chambers and led Alastor into his office. "But before that I have one last thing that I must get for Harry," he explained.

Alastor knew better than to rush the older man, his former transfigurations' professor and long-time friend, but he felt a sense of urgency that the headmaster simply did not seem to share. It could be mere minutes when the assault on the wards and the castle gates began. Everyone needed to be in position and prepared to fight by that time. If they were still scrambling when the defenses were breached ... then it would be just as bad as the last assault upon Hogwarts despite all of their efforts.

Dumbledore lifted the sword of Godric Gryffindor from his desk and weighed it carefully in his hands. Harry had used it to some great effect against the Basilisk nearly five years early. He had not held a blade, insofar as Dumbledore knew, since then, but he wanted the young champion to be armed with more than just his wand and his wits. He wanted Harry to have every possible advantage when Voldemort came for him.

Moody looked at the antique sword dubiously. This was the thing delaying the headmaster?

"Albus ..." he said impatiently.

"He is mortal now, you know," said Professor Dumbledore, referring to Voldemort.

"Can young Mister Potter use it?" Moody questioned as he continued to eye the sword.

"Yes, and he proved that long ago, Alastor," he said, nodding and taking the sword by the hilt. "It is time," he said, leading Alastor from the office.


Hermione shivered when she heard the prearranged signal, a clanging tone that reverberated through the castle. She had been dreading it for hours, knowing that it was only a matter of time. And now it was time to go, time to leave Severus and join her friends. It was the only course of action she could take. She straightened her robes as she left the bed, lingering next to her dear Severus for a moment and tucking the blankets around him one last time. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she blinked them away hurriedly. This was not a time for sentimentality.

"Severus, love. I'm going to leave you for a while. But I intend to come back ... to return just as soon as possible," she said quietly. "Stay safe," Hermione whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

His eyes were only slightly open. Severus was resting quietly, but not sleeping. He made a soft sighing sound as she kissed his forehead, then the bridge of his hooked nose, and finally his lips. They responded as though automatically, making her smile a bit. Her heart pounded for an instant as she wondered if that would be the last time she kissed him, if she were going to her own death.

"Well, I'll just have to make sure that if I do die tonight that I die bravely," Hermione thought with a certain bravado that only a Gryffindor could manage.

She took a deep breath, drew her wand, and smiled a trembling smile at the man she loved before telling him, "Good-bye, Severus."

Hermione left the apartment, warding the entrance against invasion before she got ready to leave. The sound of approaching students made her smile grimly. Ravenclaws, led by the fifth year prefects, marched double-time through the dungeon corridor. She stayed out of their way as they passed with Mister Filch bringing up the rear. He would have been useless outside, but in the dungeons among the Ravenclaw evacuees, who had left their tower for the safety that could be found below ground, and among the Slytherin denizens he could help keep the peace. The younger Gryffindors were likewise taking shelter in the seclusion of the Hufflepuff dormitories.

The old caretaker glanced at her and nodded.

"Good luck," he growled in a low voice.

"Thank you," she replied, vaguely surprised, but then if the Death Eaters made it passed the defenders outside and into the dungeons, what hope did he have for survival, being a Squib?

After Mister Filch and his charges had passed, Hermione turned and left the dungeons, dashing to make it to her assigned position and mentally preparing herself for the battle to come. It was going to be a long night.

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