Hogsmeade Battle Royale

Just as Dumbledore had promised, Hagrid was waiting for Percy when he Apparated to the dock. He had a surly look on his face when he noticed Oliver Wood there as well, but, as Percy noted, he seemed to have a surly look before he noticed Wood. The large half-giant, his beard as bushy and his hair as untamed as ever, stood next to a small boat that was normally used for bringing first years into the magical Hogwarts castle for the first time. All other students took the coaches that went to Hogsmeade and back. Ever since their own first year, Percy and Oliver had only gotten back to Hogwarts through the carriages at Hogsmeade. What was so deadly about that route now?

Percy nodded his head to Hagrid. "Hagrid," he said, trying to sound as official as possible. "I trust you're here to ferry us into Hogwarts?"

"I'm here ter take you, Percy," he said, pointing at the redhead. He took another scowling glance at Oliver. "I don't remember Dumbledore mentionin' anyone else."

Oliver spoke up defiantly. "Well, I'm here. And I'm not leaving now." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, like a stubborn eleven year old protesting to stay out of bed. "If you have any more problems, you're free to express them, Hagrid."

Hagrid sighed heavily, and his face released the scowl. It was replaced by a look of sadness in his small, black eyes. "Sorry ter be like that, Wood," he said, in a much different tone than before. "It's just...after all that's goin' on..."

"What is going on, Hagrid?" Percy questioned. "Why was I called here?"

"Ah think that's fer Dumbledore ter tell yeh," said Hagrid. He motioned towards the rickety boat next to him, beckoning Percy and Oliver to get in. It was hard to believe that it had even brought Hagrid over the water, but how would it hold the huge man as well as two full-grown, regular sized men. But, as were many objects in Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, the boat was not as it seemed. As Percy and Oliver stepped into the boat, they found it amazingly sturdy, and it held their weight with ease. Oliver could briefly hear the voice of Percy beside him in the boat, muttering "Impervius Charm - they better have a permit for that..." It made Oliver smile; even when faced with the possibility of danger in or outside of Hogwarts grounds, his boyfriend still was thinking of the strictness of the law.

Oliver looked over to Percy and whispered, "Just like first year, eh?" And in a way, it was: as they had entered into the magical world of Hogwarts over this treacherous lake a decade ago, neither wizard knew what would be in store for them inside the castle, what lessons of magic and life they would learn in their seven years of schooling. And now, as they stepped onto the boat once more, they were embarking on a journey to Hogwarts that was also full of uncertainty, and worry. But this time, the worry was not for themselves, or their futures; it was for the old institution itself...and the young children inside its walls.

Hagrid lowered himself into the boat last, which caused the boat to sway considerably. The sudden, fluid movements caused Percy's stomach to also sway considerably; he was never the Weasley with the hardiest stomach, especially on the water. He looked to his right, and Oliver was giving him a concerned look. He was probably looking slightly green in the face already, and they hadn't even started sailing to Hogwarts yet. Percy tried to say back to Oliver that he was doing fine, but all that he could muster was a queasy smile. His stomach lurched again when Hagrid pushed off the dock silently and started off on their route to Hogwarts. The faster they got back onto dry land, the better.

Knowing that Percy wasn't looking very up for small talk with Hagrid - much less breathing normally on the choppy lake water - Oliver tried to break the cold silence that seemed to form on the boat. "The water's rather turbulent tonight, Hagrid," he said, although he wasn't feeling the least bit of seasickness. All of his years keeping balance on a broomstick gave him an immunity to motion sickness, which was seeming to come in handy right about now. "Is there a storm coming?"

"Naw, it's the Giant Squid," replied Hagrid, who was slowly paddling the boat out into the lake. "He's been stirrin' all night. Almost capsized me on the way here. It's like...it's like he actually knows..." He trailed off, looking into the distance at nothing in particular.

Oliver was curious. "Knows about what?" he pushed, hoping to get out as much information as he could from Hagrid. He had to remember that he was an uninvited guest there, and as soon as they would get to the castle Dumbledore might send him straight back, and he would know nothing more than he did now. This could be his only chance to find out what's going on at Hogwarts.

Hagrid sniffled, tears forming in his beady eyes. "He knows about the children. Oh, the poor children..." Hagrid wiped a massive sleeve across his eyes. "Poor squid. He can feel the terror in his bones..."

"Giant Squids don't have bones," Percy pointed out, his voice sounding very strained. He was leaning over the side of the boat, with both hands clenching onto the side for support. He was holding onto the boat so hard that his knuckles were bone white.

"Naw," Hagrid said. "But he's got senses. He knows when a killin's comin'. All runoff from Hogsmeade leads into the lake. All that blood in the water makes him bloodthirsty, yeh know? An' then, he starts gobblin' up the merpeople..."

Oliver jumped at these words. "Killing?"

"Blood?" Percy said, though weaker than Oliver.

"Oh, it's terrible!" wailed Hagrid, causing the boat to jostle. "We thought they would be safe. Dumbledore, he never thought it would happen again...At least it's only the first coach and all, and all the little 'uns are safe....I just hope the seventh years know what they're doin'..."

Oliver and Percy couldn't understand most of what Hagrid was talking about, but one thing had caught in Percy's ear, and it made a chill of horror run down his spine. "S-seventh years? Did you just say, seventh years, Hagrid?" Percy prodded the half-giant. He stood up in the boat to reach the sitting Hagrid at eye-level, which made the boat rock fiercely on the choppy water. He was no longer worrying about his seasickness; there were more important things to think about than his own present health. Fear gripped Percy Weasley as he asked Hagrid his next dreaded question:

"Where is Ron? Where is my brother?"

But by this time Hagrid's sorrow had gotten the better of him, and he started openly blubbering into his moleskin coat, and almost letting the boat crash into the rocky coast of Hogwarts. It took a few jostles from the Giant Squid and Hagrid's poor steering to finally get to the dock on the other side of the lake, and for a very green-looking Percy, it could not have been sooner.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Percy said very forcefully, as he and Oliver barged into Professor Dumbledore's office. From what Hagrid had let leak through, Percy knew that his brother Ron might be in danger. Propriety be damned; he was going to let Dumbledore leave him in the dark no longer. "I demand to know what's going on this instant -"

His rant was cut off abruptly when he caught sight of the other wizards in the room. Professor Albus Dumbledore stood, his sparkling blue eyes looking old but as alert as ever. Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, was dabbing her eyes with an emerald handkerchief. Professor Remus J. Lupin, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher from Percy and Oliver's seventh year, was seated in a purple velvet chair, methodically scratching the ears of a very large black dog, who lay very obediently at the feet of the werewolf. The wizards looked in Percy's direction, but his attention was on others in the office...the three persons with matching red hair.

Percy held no surprises when he saw the balding, bespectacled head of his father, Arthur Weasley. Because of scandalous discrepancies during Cornelius Fudge's terms as Minister of Magic, he had been sacked in 1996, and replaced by Mr. Weasley, in a strange yet fortunate turn of events. Dumbledore had told Percy that this was strictly a Ministry affair; obviously Mr. Weasley, the Minister of Magic, would be in attendance. What he didn't understand, however, was the red-headed young man standing near a particularly old-looking set of spellbooks. His face and skin were tanned, almost burned, and freckles and scars dotted his body. His cinnamon-red hair, however, was unmistakable; it was Charlie Weasley, Percy's older brother. As far as Percy knew, Charlie was a dragon tamer in Romania, and wasn't supposed to be visiting for months. Why was he in Britain, and in Dumbledore's office of all places? He was just about to ask that question when he noticed the third red-haired wizard in the room, the third Weasley that gave Percy a startle...

"Mum!" Without thinking, Percy rushed over to his seated mother, who had her head in her hands. She sounded like she was crying. "Mum, what's wrong?" Percy tried to get something out of his mother, but all she responded with was a muffled sob. She was wearing her fuchsia dressing robe; it looked like she had been rushed out of bed that night to go to Hogwarts. "Why...why are you..."

"They're dead, Percy," said a voice behind him. Percy whipped around; it was Charlie, who did not move from his spot near the bookshelves. He had a very angry expression on his face, but he did not look at anyone in the room. "They're all dead, there's no hope for any of them..."

"Honestly!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "There's no need to be so pessimistic, now; there are ways -"

"Rubbish!" Charlie interrupted. "They're doomed, and everyone here knows that!"

"Well, I don't know that." Every head in the office turned to look at Oliver Wood, who still stood awkwardly at the large wooden entrance. He'd been waiting patiently, ready to leave immediately when someone would notice him. Fortunately, with all of the commotion and surprise of the impromptu Weasley reunion, Oliver had been overlooked. "I don't really have the foggiest what's going on. And, I'm pretty sure that Percy doesn't know, either." Percy's cheeks turned pink at this remark, but he didn't look in Oliver's direction; he was tending to his mother now, who was quietly sobbing.

"It's not your place to know," Lupin said sharply. The dog at his feet growled at Oliver in response. "I didn't even know you're supposed to be here, Wood."

Oliver looked at the ground. Even though Lupin was not employed at Hogwarts anymore, and Oliver had long since graduated, the professor still knew how to put students in their place with his kind yet direct tone. "I'm not," he replied, "supposed to be here." Trying to gain some charisma points from the room, he gave a weak, desperate smile. It didn't help.

Lupin let out a curt snort. "Well then," he said simply. He opened his mouth to say more - anticipating that he would now be asked to leave, Oliver turned towards the door - but the clear, powerful voice of Albus Dumbledore interrupted both of them.

"Oliver is free to stay, Remus...if he pleases," said Dumbledore. Everyone paused, and paid attention to the headmaster. Even Molly Weasley looked up, teary-eyed. "He shall learn of this soon enough." He turned to Lupin. "And, if my memory serves me right, there are some other visitors here that arrived unsolicited."

Dumbledore looked down at the dog at Lupin's feet, giving it a knowing smile. Lupin followed his gaze, and gave a defeated sigh. The large black dog barked, once, and sat up straight. Then, with an awkward pop! like the sound of Apparation (though no one could Apparate into or out of Hogwarts, everyone knew), the dog instantly disappeared, and was replaced by a tall, thin man, with long black hair falling into his face. He, much like Oliver, held his gaze to the ground in embarrassment.

"Sorry, professor," said Sirius Black.

A sparkle shone in Professor Dumbledore's eyes, but then they lost their sheen, when Percy looked over to him with pleading eyes. His hand squeezed his mother's shoulder lovingly. "Please, professor," he asked, his voice full of sincerity. "What is happening in Hogsmeade? "My brother...Ron..." Percy glanced over at Charlie, who almost seemed to be avoiding the corner of the room where all three other Weasleys were situated. "Please tell me he's all right..."

Dumbledore said nothing. The entire room held its breath, every witch and wizard waiting to hear what the headmaster had to say, waiting to find out the fate of the children of Hogwarts. Every second of silence was a boulder claiming residence in Percy's stomach. Tears started to form in his eyes; why wasn't Dumbledore telling him that Ron was all right? Why wasn't he saying anything?

"Something terrible has happened," said a voice behind him. Percy hardly recognized that voice as his father's. It sounded so much older... "Something we never believed would return."

Professor Dumbledore finally spoke up, oddly when the conversation turned from Ron's safety. "It is called the Battle Royale by Voldemort's supporters." A wave of shivers ran through the Weasleys at the mention of the devious name that none of them dared to say aloud. "It is a deadly game of coerced murder throughout the town of Hogsmeade. It is done as a diabolical plot by Voldemort to find the most ruthless wizards willing to work for him, and destroy all future opposition in the process."

Percy opened and closed his mouth in shock. He was so unsure of what to say. Oliver, who had decided that he would be staying after all, did not have the same problem. "What do you mean, 'future opposition?' How could it future opposition, only if...if..."

Sadly, Dumbledore nodded his head. "The combatants used in the Battle Royale...are Hogwarts students." Percy and Oliver gasped at this new information; everyone else in the office had already known. Mrs. Weasley broke into a fresh set of tears. "We never knew when Voldemort would strike. Battle Royales would begin every year, without warning, and there were no ways we could prevent it, or stop it while one was in process. Hundreds of children died before he was defeated." At this, Charlie bowed his head out of sight of everyone in the office. It was only after the meeting did Percy realize Charlie might have known some of the children that died during the dark days of Voldemort's Battle Royale.

Percy heard Oliver ask, "Were there...were there any survivors?" But Percy couldn't look at him, no; he was paying more attention to the reactions of his family members. His mother was crying now, worse than before, and his father, who had taken a protective stand behind Mrs. Weasley, sank back down and almost fell back into his chair. Charlie was so angry, he looked like he was about to hit something.

"Voldemort allowed one survivor per Battle Royale, per year," Dumbledore replied. "All of the winners went directly into Voldemort's inner circle of followers, except for one. Because of this, we never learned the intricate details of what goes on in the Battle Royale."

"Why don't we just raid Hogsmeade? We can save the children, and attack Voldemort in the process!" said Sirius Black.

Professor McGonagall spoke up, her voice uncommonly wavering with emotion. "Don't think we haven't tried that, Mr. Black. There is a strong border spell around Hogsmeade that not even the most powerful wizard can penetrate. It is only lifted once the Battle Royale is over."

"What is unique about this Battle Royale," said Dumbledore, "is that the second and third carriages sent on to Hogsmeade were returned. Voldemort wasn't showing mercy, no; he only wanted those on the first carriage to participate. Or, more specifically, he is only interested in the death of one student on the first carriage."

"Harry!" Sirius bellowed with a start. He looked very alert and guarded now, as if everything was only now coming into the light. Lupin stood abruptly, the realization also dawning upon him. "Harry's in danger, Albus! We have to do something!"

Holding a hand up to cease Sirius's outburst, Professor Dumbledore continued. "There is no way to save them, Sirius," he said, with a heavy heart. If there was one wizard in Hogwarts who wanted, more than anything, to save the children, it was Albus Dumbledore. "There has never been found a way to foil the Battle Royale."

Sirius narrowed his eyes in defiance. "You never had me try."

Mr. Weasley, who was looking considerably pale after Dumbledore's grim message, straightened his glasses and stood. "No one knew that, once You-Know-Who's power was restored to him, that he would bring back his Battle Royale, but I will assure you all that the Ministry will do everything in its power to prevent any others from happening -"

"It'll be no use, Arthur," came the ragged sigh of Remus Lupin. "If what Dumbledore says is true, and Voldemort's only after Harry Potter, then there will be no other atrocities such as this, once he's dead." Remus, who looked shocked at his own last words, sank back down in his chair quietly. he looked up at Sirius, hoping to find a loving smile, but as the words "once he's dead" kept repeating in Sirius's mind, he received none.

Arthur sighed and said nothing further on the matter, knowing that what Remus said was true. "Either way, we must deal with the problems that are facing us today." He turned to his third son, who had a shocked look on his face. "Percy, you have been called here because of the disappearance of Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour, two foreign assistant professors. They were believed to be on the coaches to Hogsmeade, and never returned." Arthur's eyes misted when he thought of the other names told to him that did not return to the safety of Hogwarts. "You'll need to get in contact with the French and Bulgarian Ministries of Magic. If Delacour and Krum are injured or killed...well, we don't want to add 'International Incidents' onto our list of crises."

Percy nodded numbly, only half taking in what his father, his superior official, was instructing him to do. Oliver looked on in confusion. In all of the years he knew him, Percy never did a half-fast job at the ministry, even if it was about cauldron calibration or dragon dung. Now, in perhaps one of the most crucial assignments in his life, Percy seemed to be zoning out and ignoring it; he looked like none of this conversation was registering in his brain. But soon, Oliver's confusion changed to sympathy, as he thought of the information already given to them. Seventh years on a holiday to Hogsmeade...no hope of rescue or many survivors...Harry Potter the probable target. Percy was sharp; he probably realized by now that these factors meant that Ron was in terrible danger, and might already be dead. Oliver knew Ron had been in danger many other times...but none looked as bleak and hopeless as this...

Suddenly, a scarred hand hell upon Percy's shoulder. It was Charlie, who was still scowling, but his eyes looked kinder, sadder. "I think you should come with me," he said quietly. "There are things...things you should know. Things they're not planning to tell you." He motioned slightly with his head towards the adults in the room: Mr. Weasley left his crying wife to speak to Dumbledore, and Lupin was attempting to keep Sirius's temper down. Professor McGonagall had gone off to inform the other Heads of House about what they had learned that night.

Charlie began to usher Percy out of Dumbledore's office, but Oliver, who was still standing near the door and had overheard Charlie, grabbed Percy's elbow gently to stop him. "I'm coming with you," he said stubbornly, just like he had done before. But this time, Percy would make sure he remained.

Looking over his shoulder towards Mrs. Weasley, Percy said in a very vulnerable tone, "Please take care of my Mum, Oliver."

Even though Oliver thought that Percy, who looked on the verge of tears, needed to be taken care of as well, he conceded to his boyfriend's wishes. He nodded; he wasn't sure if Percy would tell him what Charlie will say later, but just this time, this Gryffindor would have to curb his curiosity. With one last concerned look at the departing Percy, Oliver started on his way to attempting to console poor Mrs. Weasley.

Charlie took Percy down one of the corridors that lead up to Dumbledore's hidden entranceway, far away from the stone gargoyle that guarded the path. He was silent as they passed one closed door after another; Percy knew that these doors led to classrooms, and since it was the dead of night there was a good chance they all were locked. It was a few more minutes of winding corridors and moving staircases before Charlie, his stern, determined face illuminated by moonlight, stopped, in a dusty, portraitless corridor that seemed to see little use from the students at Hogwarts.

"I didn't want anyone to hear us," Charlie explained, before even being asked why they took such a covert route around the school. He looked around at the empty walls, lit only by a few flickering torches. "I didn't want any paintings spilling rancid gossip, either." The dust kicked up by their arrival ruffled Percy's allergies, but he simply refused to sneeze now.

"So," Percy said, his nose crinkled up in protest of his allergies. "What did you want to tell me?"

"They weren't planning on telling you anything," said Charlie, nearly ignoring Percy's question. He seemed to be muttering the last bit to himself, as if evaluating the injustice of the adults' actions. "Thought you'd do a better job without it hanging over your head..." He looked Percy in the eye, with an intensity the younger man had never seen before in his brother's eyes. "But you have to know. You deserve to know everything."

Blinking in confusion, Percy asked, "I don't understand...what are they keeping from me?"

"Did you wonder why I was called here? All the way from Romania?" Percy was right; Charlie wasn't due back in England for months, and suddenly, here he was, chatting in the empty corridors of Hogwarts. "And Mum, she's definitely not a Ministry official. Why do you think she's here, too?"

Percy felt a horrible lump form in his throat; it was forcing up the words that he didn't want to say aloud, couldn't say, lest they actually be true... "Ron?" he squeaked in fear. "Ron's in Hogsmeade, isn't he...?"

Charlie's darkened face softened, and he shook his head. "Not just Ron," he whispered softly. Percy let out a gasp, before Charlie put his finger to his lips, silencing him.

"They've got...they've got Ginny, too?"

Charlie looked away. He looked like he was about to cry. "Not just Ginny," he said dully. He had already had more than an hour to let these realizations sink in; but, if he was going to let Percy know everything he knew himself about Battle Royale, his little brother would have to recover from this devastating shock faster than he did.

This made Percy angry. He had the horrific suspicion that Ron was in Hogsmeade that weekend, and possibly dead already. He was, after all, romantically linked to Harry Potter, who was suspected to be the main target of the Battle Royale. Percy knew that Ron would never let anything happen to Harry, over his dead body...and that was what the Weasleys were most afraid of. And Ginny...Ginny was just a child, she shouldn't have to be put through this...no one should, but just the thought of his baby sister in a brutal battle to the death made Percy shudder.... But now, now that Charlie said that not only Ron and Ginny were in Battle Royale, but other siblings as well, made his blood boil. "What do you mean, not just them?" he spat out. "Certainly you can't mean -"

"They think Bill's in there." Charlie's voice sounded empty, like even he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "And Fred...and George. No one's been able to contact any of them since the carriages returned."

Percy felt a sharp blow to his stomach that made him reel back against the stone wall, but he knew in his mind that it was no physical attack. Not on his body, anyway... "Why?" was what he could muster. "Why target...Weasleys...?" The thought that was truly entering Percy's mind, however, was not why the Weasley children looked like Lord Voldemort was targeting them, but why he and Charlie were safe in Hogwarts, and not battling for their lives like their siblings. Was it really a subversive plot to capture and kill the Minister of Magic's children? Or was it just a horrifying chain of events...?

The hollowness of Charlie's voice changed back to a bitter hardness. "You-Know-Who's not attacking Weasleys," he said tacitly, thinking that, with all of the schooling and brains his younger brother had, he was very thick when he wanted to be. "The townspeople of Hogsmeade came ambling up to the school with the second and third carriages, all hit with Befuddlement Charms to think that they all had important meetings to get them out of town. Fred and George weren't with them; we fear they might still be inside."

"And Bill?" Percy looked up at his older brother, looking for answers that he knew might not be there. "He's supposed to be in Egypt."

"There are things about Bill," Charlie said darkly. There was something in his voice that made him sound dangerous; venomous. "That you don't know the slightest about. Things that have been kept from you for sixteen, long years...and rightfully so."

But Charlie was underestimating his younger brother's power of deduction. With all of this new information Percy was receiving, absolutely nothing was surprising him tonight. "Sixteen years..." He mulled it over in his head. "Bill would have been thirteen then. A third year." Charlie nodded, but said nothing. Percy continued. "That was also the year of You-Know-Who's downfall."

"And, the year of the last Battle Royale," Charlie added the last piece of the puzzle for Percy. "Percy...did you ever wonder why Bill was Head Boy of his year? Why he received all the awards...got all the praise?" When Percy shook his head, Charlie lowered his. He didn't want to be the one to tell Percy this, but he was the only one willing to do it. "It's because he was one of the only students left in his year, after You-Know-Who got through with them. Everyone who went to Hogsmeade that year died, except for one."

Percy finally realized what this was all leading up to. "Dumbledore said there was only one survivor that didn't go on to the Dark Side..."

"...And Bill was him." Charlie raised his head to look Percy in the eye. "Bill was the winner of the last Battle Royale."

Percy looked dumbfounded, and at a loss for words, but he didn't look as shocked as Charlie believed he would. Percy was smart; even if he didn't know what Battle Royale was, he was observant enough to see that Bill wasn't like the other Weasley children. Leaving the Burrow right after graduation for Egypt...always subdued around Halloween, never exuberant like the others...and, come to think of it, you couldn't get Bill back into Hogsmeade if you put a magic wand to his head...

"Why didn't they tell us?" said Percy weakly. His mind kept racing...no, it couldn't be true, his oldest brother, he just couldn't be a murderer...

Charlie's voice sounded bitter as he answered. "It's not something he was proud of, Percy."

Percy shook his head. "But...I never knew..."

Charlie almost wanted to laugh at this point. Percy wasn't giving off the feeling of denial, or shame, that Bill had killed his schoolmates in the 1981 Battle Royale, but instead was dumbfounded that there was something in the world - in his very own family - that he didn't know about. But no, Charlie couldn't laugh, not when students' lives were on the line... "He didn't want you to know; any of you. The only reason he told me was because I was a first year in Hogwarts then. I was the only one he confided in, ever. I saw him come back." Charlie's eyes drifted off, into the memories of another time, long ago in the halls of Hogwarts, when a lone third year opened the broad doors of the Great Hall, victorious. "Beaten, and starved...he was covered in blood." Percy shivered at the thought. "And there was this look in his eyes. It was...murderous. I'd never seen him like that." Charlie's voice grew fainter, as if he were actually afraid of the memories he was dredging up. If he brought back the young, murderous Bill in his memories, would that Bill come back in Hogsmeade with a vengeance...?

"Why is he there?" asked Percy. A terrified expression formed on his face. "You don't think...he wants to be there...?"

Charlie shook his head vigorously. "Bill used to tell me what went on in Hogsmeade that horrible weekend, sometimes. Such horrible things...he said he would never do something like that ever again. And I believe him." Bill never even gave Charlie the whole story of his Battle Royale, and had told no one, not even his younger brother, about his encounter with Voldemort at the height of his power. But from the little bits and pieces he told him, and from the nights Charlie heard Bill screaming in his sleep, he could understand the torture it must have been to be in Hogsmeade that fateful weekend. "You-Know-Who probably wants him to spice up the game." He said this very bitterly, and spat out the word "game" from his mouth like a bad mouthful of treacle. "He might even be there to kill Harry himself."

"But he wouldn't do that!" Percy exclaimed angrily, pushing himself off of the support of the stone wall.

"Would he?" Charlie looked back at him with vicious, cold eyes. Percy had never seen Charlie this angry, but who was he angry with? Percy? Bill? Or himself? "You don't know our dear brother. No one does. You don't know what he went through." He pointed a finger accusingly at Percy. "Could you kill your best friend?"

Immediately, Percy shook his head. "No!" he gasped. He couldn't even fathom his best friend being dead, let alone by his own hands. "I'd die before I'd kill Oliver."

Charlie could only look at Percy sadly and say, in a very direct voice, "You're a different man than Bill Weasley." He would say nothing else on the subject.

There was a thick silence between the two young men, a silence only broken by the soft hooting of the nocturnal owls staircases above them in the Owlery. Percy slid down to crouch on the dusty floor, damning his blasted allergies as he held his head in his hands. Charlie looked upon him with slight pity, to have all this put upon him, the new information about Bill as well as the dreadful news of his siblings' doomed capture. But, he also thought, that Percy needed to know; he had to realize that the Weasley family was not as safe as he believed, that their brushes with the forces of evil started long before there ever was a Boy Who Lived.

After a few minutes of silence, save for two sneezes from Percy, he broke the silence with a question that was eating away at him for over an hour. "Why didn't they tell us?" he asked, more to himself than to his older brother.

Charlie shook his head again. "I told you -" he started, but Percy broke him off abruptly, and angrily.

"No." He looked up at his brother, his face stern. "Why didn't they tell us as students? We could have prevented this.... This didn't have to happen. There didn't have to be another Battle Royale."

Charlie understood where Percy was coming from with this, but unfortunately, there was nothing they could do about it now. "No one knew this was going to happen again. No one knew he'd come back."

Percy stood suddenly; he was only inches away from Charlie. "I could have warned them!" He shouted angrily. He was talking about Ron, and Ginny. He was talking about all of the children he believed Dumbledore, and all of the adults of the wizarding world, had failed. He bared a horrible sneer that didn't match his pale, intelligent features at all. "I would have told them never to go into Hogsmeade..."

"And they would have ignored you, called you a git, and gone to Hogsmeade anyway," said Charlie in a very even tone. He knew that he had to keep his anger in check, even though he was boiling inside even more than Percy. He knew that the wizarding world was trying to keep the thoughts of Battle Royale far away from the next generation, and for sixteen long years he couldn't do a thing about it. But, if he got angry with Percy, as Percy was getting angry with him, then nothing would be done to try and save the children in Hogsmeade.

Percy shook his head, indignant. "Fred and George..." he began.

"It's not their fault." Charlie's voice was softer now. He needed to calm Percy down, and bring him back to Dumbledore's office. The others would be wondering where the two brothers had gone off to by now. He added, for quick measure, "It's not Bill's fault, either."

Clenching his fists, Percy let out an aggravated cry. Charlie was sure that Percy was about to let out his anger on him, and he braced himself for the punch, but his surprise, Percy decided to let his anger out on something much more solid than Charlie; the wall. He turned around and gave a passionate jab at the stone, which gave no leeway to Percy's rage whatsoever. He retracted his fist, which looked badly bruised, but his anger did not diminish. "I wish I could just do something!" he yelled, holding his injured hand.

"One thing I can say," said Charlie, his voice very sad. "Don't hold out hope." Percy looked shocked that Charlie could say such a thing, especially when it was his brothers and sister that were in that accursed town, too; but Charlie stood firm, his expression very grim. "No one escapes from the Hogsmeade Battle Royale." He gave a deep sigh, to show that he was repentant, after all. "Our siblings are doomed."

Still gingerly holding his right fist, Percy asked, his eyes narrowed. "Who else knows about Battle Royale?"

Swish! Flick! Fling! Crash!

Draco had charmed Theodore Nott's antique oriental Sneakoscope to fly across the room, and now it lay in a corner of the Slytherin boys' dormitory, smashed into pieces. It joined the other broken items on the stone dungeon floor: Crabbe's dusty set of Gobstones that he stole from a fourth year and never used, Goyle's smiling photo frame of his family, and Blaise Zabini's broken hand mirror, that was now quietly squeaking obscenities towards its attacker.

Draco Malfoy was mad. And when he was mad, he had a tendency to propel things through the air. Of course, he never did this with his own belongings - the Skull of Nomer he received from his father was too delicate to levitate, let alone send it flying across the room. But his roommates, who were probably having the time of their lives in Hogsmeade by now, would probably never notice their portions of the dormitory room wrecked, and even if they did, Draco didn't care.

"Stupid Hogwarts!" he exclaimed, kicking the remains of Nott's Sneakoscope. "Stupid Crabbe, stupid Goyle. Stupid third carriage!" He had been ranting on about this ever since he returned to Hogwarts. The second and third carriages going off to Hogsmeade this weekend were mysteriously turned back, while the first carriage, which was full of Draco's fellow seventh years, easily passed through. Draco, being the Head Boy of Hogwarts, grudgingly attempted to calm the frantic third years he was surrounded by, but all the while his mind was asking the same question as the third years: Why was only the first carriage let into Hogsmeade?

"Stupid Hogsmeade!" and Crash, and Blaise's new set of quills were thrown at the door. Some of the sharpened quills stuck into the wooden door, jutting out like arrows from a crossbow. Draco was disappointingly prone to temper tantrums, a characteristic definitely unbecoming to a Malfoy. But this time, it was justified: Draco was the only seventh year not to be in Hogsmeade at this very moment. Just the thought of his fellow Slytherins having fun while he was stuck back in the dungeons, rotting, made his blood boil. And to think, all this time wasted could have been spent on tormenting Weasley, and Potter...

Potter...

Draco grimaced at the thought. Even through years of denial, Draco could hardly say that his motives for torturing Harry Potter have only been based on rivalry. He was undoubtedly having feelings - despicable, immoral, un-Malfoy-like feelings for The Boy Who Lived, and he despised himself for doing so. Did Draco only want Potter because he was so sickeningly involved with Ron Weasley, and it was almost obscene for a Weasley to have something a Malfoy had not? Or was it something more than that? Either way, it was torture to deal with Potter every day, and not be able to do the horrible, naughty things to him that Draco dreamed about each night. Therefore, it was only fair that he give Potter and Weasley a little of the torture Draco felt when he saw the two together.

"Stupid Potter," Draco said, though less furiously than before.

Suddenly, a loud, dull thumping came from the direction of the door. Draco's head jerked towards the sound; someone was knocking on the door. The raps came slowly, one after the other: five knocks on the door in all. Draco's face deformed into a scowl; did someone dare interrupt his hissy fit? "Go away!" he shouted immediately, but instantly he regretted it. Ever since the second and third carriages had been sent back to Hogwarts, the students were forced by Professor Dumbledore to remain in their dormitories until further notice. Draco tried to ferret his way out of the Slytherin dungeons by claiming that, as Head Boy, he was needed to keep the peace, but his attempts were in vain. (This had indeed added to Draco's anger, and a few choice words had already been muttered by him about the idiocy of Professor Dumbledore, and how much better the school would run if his father was Headmaster.) But perhaps it was Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House, come to apologize for cooping the Head Boy up like a caged magical creature. We're terribly sorry, Mr. Malfoy, we know how important you are to this school...and yes, we do have an idea who your father is...

But instead, it was a tall figure cloaked completely in black that stepped into the room; the very same robed figure that had approached Draco on the grounds this morning. This was the omen - or was it an omen? - that told Draco to board the third carriage, and not the first carriage, when he was about to go to Hogsmeade. The factor that changed whether he was in Hogwarts or Hogsmeade tonight was standing calmly in front of his at this very moment.

"You!" Draco gasped. The right hand holding his magic wand tightened its grip. "You better explain yourself, or...or I'll get Dumbledore..." Draco wished his voice sounded braver, or his threat sounded a bit less idle.

"You wouldn't," said the voice from behind the hooded cloak. The voice was much calmer now than before, and had a smooth, almost silky sound to it now. "I sincerely hope you haven't betrayed your father and the Dark Lord by siding with Albus Dumbledore." The figure's voice was lighthearted, even jovial, and Draco thought that it did sound vaguely familiar... He narrowed his eyes, trying to place the mysterious voice, but then the hooded figure revealed his head, and Draco's eyes widened in shock.

There, standing before him, was Lucius Malfoy; Draco's father. Out from the confines of the cloak's hood, Lucius's long, silver-blond hair shone in the otherwise dank dungeon room. He had cold, gray eyes like Draco's and though time had aged his harsh, pointed features, there was no denying the two Malfoys were related. Lucius was a head taller than his uncommonly short son, and his looming figure dominated the dormitory room.

"F-father???" Draco stuttered out, in awe and confusion. So Lucius Malfoy was the man that warned him off the first carriage this morning? But...that didn't make any sense! "What are you...you're in Hogwarts! I don't understand..."

Lucius looked at his son sternly. "This is not the time for bewilderment, Draco. Right now I need you to be obedient...and attentive." There was an urgency in his voice that Draco had never heard before; it made Draco stand up and listen to what his father had to say. But, he just had to know...

"Why are you in Hogwarts?" Draco asked, his voice much more composed than before. Ever since his father had been sacked from the board of governors five years ago, Lucius had thought it a shame upon the Malfoy name to set foot on Hogwarts grounds again. It must be a matter of importance higher than the Malfoy pride to be in the castle now.

Taking a deep breath, Lucius said, "I'm here to save your life."

"Save my life?" repeated Draco incredulously. His father was hardly a man to be melodramatic, and an encounter as odd as this one was not a place to be making sarcastic jokes. There was something uncommon about this whole situation... "From what?"

Lucius gave a glaring look at his son; he was not pleased that Draco was having his skepticism about his father, of all people. "Do you remember when I used to tell you about the Dark Lord's program, called Battle Royale?" He said this in a very low voice; he didn't want any prying ears to hear him speak of his knowledge of Battle Royale. He didn't know if any of the younger Slytherin students were listening in on the private Malfoy conversation...and for years now, Lucius was wary on where Severus Snape's loyalties lay.

Draco's eyes widened with the mention of Battle Royale. Yes, of course, he remembered his father telling him of Battle Royale, one of Voldemort's most ingenious plans come to fruition. When he was a child, Lucius told him of Battle Royales, the bloody program held every year in Hogsmeade that eliminated the Dark Lord's opponents. He was told about the decade of slaughter under Voldemort's reign every night, as a more well-adjusted child would have been told bedtime fairytales. And when father's friends and associates came to the Manor for dinner parties - all former Death Eaters, and some were winners of the Battle Royales of their time - Draco would always be at the knee of his parents, listening in rapt attention to each survivor's tale. He knew, probably more than any of his peers, about Hogsmeade Battle Royale, but most of all, he knew about the prestige these young Death Eaters received for facing Voldemort's gauntlet and living.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Draco whispered before he could think. He instantly regretted it, as his father's face fell into a scowl.

"Use your brain, Draco," Lucius said, glaring down at his rather blunt son. "Or what's left of it."

Draco furrowed his forehead in concentration. What did the Battle Royales of yesteryear have to do with getting on the third carriage this morning? Why would Lucius interfere with Draco's holiday to Hogsmeade? Unless...

Draco's eyes widened. It was all making sense now.

Seeing the reaction on his son's face, Lucius smiled. "Good. You're finally getting it."

"But...why?" Draco asked, shaking his head. He was completely dumbfounded that this could ever happen again; why would the Dark Lord bring back something that could so easily be traced back to him? "You used to tell me...that it would never happen again. Why is he -" Draco felt an uncontrollable shiver even at the thought of Voldemort's name - "bringing this back again?"

Lucius's face grew dark as he replied simply, "The Dark Lord has his reasons." This seemed to be a reasonable enough answer for Draco; his body loosened from its apprehensive state, and his eyes returned to normal size. Lucius sensed this as a signal to continue. "But the important thing, my son, is that you are safe here, even if it is under Albus Dumbledore's roof."

"So," Draco said slowly, his mind racing to put all this information into place. "So...they're all going to die. Crabbe, and Goyle -" Draco looked over to the pile of broken belongings - "and Nott, and Zabini. That hot-dogger Nott might be dead already." He chuckled slightly at the thought of cocky Theodore Nott dying first in Battle Royale, but then stopped as his stomach began to churn. To think, the Housemates he knew yesterday - whom he spoke to only hours ago! - could be lying dead in Hogsmeade at this very moment. It wasn't like he would miss Blaise Zabini's boasting, or Crabbe and Goyle's stupidity, and he certainly wasn't going to miss Pansy Parkinson fawning over him like a baby unicorn. It was that something like this could be set into action nearly overnight, that anyone, and probably everyone, on the first carriage would be dead in three days' time...

"Of course, I would have informed you sooner to avoid this holiday to Hogsmeade, and that would have prevented the entire situation down at the carriages this morning," his father continued. "But the Dark Lord only informed us of the Battle Royale last night, to begin on the twenty-second of May." Goyle's small analog clock that was currently lying on the floor yet still functioning, said that the time was just 2 A.M. on May the 22nd. "Therefore, the only option I had was to detract you to the third carriage, a coach I knew was going to be overlooked. Of course, I did it all against the Dark Lord's bidding -" Lucius shuddered at the thought of his "punishment" later on, "- but it was something that had to be done. No son of a Malfoy was going to die in a Battle Royale."

He paused his lips curving into a smug smile. He was waiting for Draco to thank him, to say "Oh, if only my lunkheaded Housemates had a father as resourceful as mine, then they would be safe like me instead of fighting for their lives!" but Draco still had a puzzled look on his face. Lucius first thought that his son might have developed dully - and is no, it must have been from Narcissa's side of the family - but then Draco spoke, realization setting into his face.

"And Potter," he said in a very small voice. "He's going to die, too." The thought had come to Draco when he was listing in his mind all of the other seventh years he wouldn't miss once they were dead. His mind had lingered a while on the thought of Ron Weasley with his head split open, but then he immediately thought of Harry Potter, lying dead somewhere in a Hogsmeade ditch. The thought didn't comfort him much, as others would believe. Never again having to see Potter and Weasley in their routine state of irritating bliss did lift Draco's spirits slightly, but the cost for such a thing was far worse. Whatever this thing between Draco and Harry Potter was - a hatred, a rivalry, a secret unspoken lust - it was going to end, abruptly and without resolution. Draco didn't know if he would be able to deal with this.

"Why do you care," Lucius asked skeptically, arching an eyebrow inquisitively, "if Harry Potter lives or dies?"

Draco's eyes bulged in fear. He had said too much, and had almost revealed to someone else - his father, no less! - of his feelings for Harry Potter. Quick to compose himself, Draco swallowed his initial fear and said seamlessly, "It's just a pity that I'm not going to be there to kill him, that's all."

From the amused expression on his father's face, Draco could tell his answer went over smoothly. "Unfortunately," said Lucius, "You would not have had the chance to kill young Mister Potter either way." A sneer formed on Lucius's lips, something he had never done before while talking about Voldemort. "If our Dark Lord gets his wish."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Draco. Harry Potter was Voldemort's foil, his vanquisher. Why would the Dark Lord want to keep Potter alive? "Is the Battle Royale...fixed?"

"In a way." Lucius didn't accept Voldemort's plans for Harry Potter. The little meddler was sure to pull a surprise or two out of his sleeve, as he always did, and should not be trusted to unwittingly remain a cog in the Dark Lord's master plan for him. It would have been so much easier to kill him from the start... "The Dark Lord is aiding in Harry Potter's survival to the end of the game, but Potter will have to earn his existence every step of the way. The Lord wishes for the boy to see all of his friends die in front of him, and then, he shall be done away with by the Dark Lord himself." He repeated the adage Voldemort had recited to the Death Eaters the night before. "A man-eater prefers to play with his prey before devouring it...especially a prey as troublesome as Harry Potter."

Although the thought of devouring Harry Potter was distracting Draco, his composure was ever calm. Lucius continued to speak. "Because of what I have done, " he said, "you are the only surviving wizard of your year still in the castle. Undoubtedly, Dumbledore will ask questions." His voice become low, his words urgent and important. "You are to say nothing. You know nothing of Battle Royale. Today, we never met; we never spoke. You have no idea what the Dark Lord is planning. Is this clear?"

"Yes," Draco answered immediately. Now was not the time for extraneous words.

"This is very important, Draco," Lucius stressed, but he did not need to, for Draco already knew. "If you let even the slightest slip that the Malfoys are in league with the Dark Lord..." Lucius sighed heavily at the thought. "...there would be repercussions." And yes, the repercussions would be swift and painful, both from the wizarding world and from Voldemort. Lucius was never going to allow himself, nor his son, to sully the prestige of the Malfoy name.

With a flourish of midnight black robes, Lucius turned from his son to leave the Slytherin dormitory. He left the information vital to Draco, and had not wasted any time in doing so. Now, without haste, he had to escape from Hogwarts undetected - not a difficult task for an advanced wizard like Lucius, but it would prove to be hazardous in the school's state of alarm - and somehow, explain his treason to a very unforgiving evil overlord. It would be imperative to -

"Father?" Lucius's thoughts were interrupted by the small sound of his son's voice. He turned around, only to see Draco looking very different from the cocky, confident young man Lucius was pleased to call his son: his shoulders were rounded over in hesitation, his voice a wavering of uncertainty. Draco was never like this; no son of Lucius Malfoy showed apparent weakness to anyone. Draco looked into his father's matching grey eyes and asked, "Will this be the death of Harry Potter?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes, and scrutinized his son. He didn't like how that question reverberated in his mind, not at all. It wasn't a question of assurance, or even of the delight that Lucius was expecting to hear from Draco upon hearing this news. The niggling feeling kept coming to Lucius, no matter how hard he pushed it out of his head: Draco's parting question felt like he cared about Harry Potter's death...almost as if he wanted that blasted boy alive...

Shaking the thought out of his head, Lucius left the dormitories without another word. He slammed the heavy wooden door behind him, leaving Draco standing in a mess of broken knick-knacks and unanswered questions.

Draco sighed. He knew that he had gone too far in asking his last question to his father, but it almost came out on its own volition, without the trademark Malfoy restraint of emotion that never came naturally to Draco. All these thoughts on Harry Potter...would Lucius now suspect that Draco's in league with Potter and his insufferable do-gooder chums? Draco almost gagged at the thought of being associated with Weasley and that dratted Mudblood Granger, but for some reason, he could not get over the thought of Harry Potter dying in the Battle Royale, before Draco even had a chance to figure out why he was caring so much about him. Before Draco could even have a chance to finally get what he wanted.

With a sudden burst of anger, Draco raised his wand again. "Stupid Potter!" he cursed, and swish, flick, fling, and crash, he Banished his father's Skull of Nomer straight through the window.

"Headmaster?! Headmaster!"

A flurry of midnight blue robes and patchouli incense whirled past Percy and Charlie as they trekked back to Professor Dumbledore's office. All that Charlie had just told him stunned Percy, and he was walking around in a daze, barely missing the blue-robed figure as it entered Dumbledore's office. Charlie pulled Percy back by his shoulders, shaking him out of his daze. He looked into Percy's eyes, and saw nothing but sadness...and hopelessness. Charlie felt sorry for the poor boy, that all this information and the truth about their family was revealed, but it had to be done, and now was not the time to react so harshly to it. Now was the time to strike back.

As the two brothers returned to the office, a scattered sight lay before them. Minerva McGonagall had returned from informing the other heads of houses about the disastrous situation. She had returned, however, with Professor Severus Snape in tow, the Head of Slytherin house and just as greasy and ill-tempered as Percy remembered him to be. He did not seem all that pleased to be in the same room as Remus Lupin and the mysterious Sirius Black, who were speaking to each other in the far corner of the room. Mrs. Weasley was still sniffling in an armchair, but with the help of Oliver she seemed to be faring better than before. And, from the frantic blue robe aggressively addressing Professor Dumbledore's desk, Percy saw the very rare instance of Sibyl Trelawney descending her North Tower abode for something very important.

"A vision, Headmaster!" exclaimed the ethereal Divination professor. "I implore you, I have received a vision from the heavens!"

Percy gave a skeptical look in Trelawney's direction; he had always been wary about her false predictions, ever since third year when she envisioned Oliver dying in a Parisian whorehouse. Most of the wizards in the room had little patience for Trelawney's mystical form of magic, but only one figure stood up to say something about it.

"Preposterous!" huffed Professor McGonagall, visibly irritated by Trelawney's appearance. "Albus, we have absolutely no time for such imprecise premonitions -"

"Imprecise!?" This seemed to bristle Trelawney's calm, ethereal exterior, something few wizards were able to do. "I will have you know, Minerva, that I could count the droplets of rain to fall in this Sunday's rainstorm, if I were so inclined."

McGonagall ignored Trelawney, and the fact that there was no logical inclination for rain on Sunday. She turned back to Dumbledore. "The Heads of Houses have all agreed that we cannot remain here, doing nothing, while the students in our care are being massacred! We will not let another Battle Royale occur without opposition!"

"But what can we do?" piped up Lupin. "Everything you tried before had failed. Will you forfeit your own life in a useless attempt to save them?"

"We have to," McGonagall said, dignified.

Percy shook his head, adapting the fatalist view of his brother. "It's impossible," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone in the room.

He felt the presence of another figure beside him, besides Charlie. He turned, and Oliver stood next to him, smiling supportively. "Nothing is impossible," he said. Percy didn't know how much he believed him.

Standing admirably next to his wife, Arthur Weasley held in the sadness of what he was about to say. "I agree that something needs to be done...but I also will not send anyone to their deaths to try to stop them." Raising his hand up to his face, Arthur rubbed at the bridge of his nose, his spectacles wet with perspiration and tears. There would be an outrage within the wizarding world if nothing were done by the Ministry, but Arthur's hands were completely tied. Was he signing the death warrants on five of his children with his decision?

"But we mist protect Harry," Sirius implored. From the fiery look on Black's face, this was exactly what was his concern. "Dumbledore...you know how important he is! We can't just leave him to die out there..."

"Harry Potter will not die," a voice lofted above the bustle in the office. "Or, at least, not yet."

Startled, all heads in the office turned to Sibyl Trelawney - even Professor McGonagall, who had whipped her head around so quickly her glasses became askew. Sensing she had the attentions of the room, Trelawney took a second to compose herself, and the misty quality of her voice returned. "Now, may I relay to you this vision from my experienced Inner Eye?"

Sirius barked back at her anxiously. "Yes, yes, get on with it!" he said. What do you know about Harry?"

Smiling smugly to herself - she knew that the fate of this situation could very well be in her hands - Trelawney began the recount of her outstanding vision. "Well, I had lit the spiritual incense to gather my Inner Eye, and I was just settling down for an afternoon of trance -" At this, Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes very conspicuously - "When the most vivid image of the Hogsmeade Inn appeared to my mind! There was blood, staining the floor, seeping into the wooden floorboards...and a body, yes...two bodies...oh the horror of it all!" Dramatically, Trelawney raised up her arms in a swoon.

The mention of bodies brought Sirius's tensions higher. "Harry!" He swallowed his words, hard. "Is one of those bodies...Harry?"

Closing her eyes, the Divination professor shook her head no. "But Harry was there, yes...he was alive...he is still alive, but in great danger.

"He is determined about something...determined, and angry. Indeed, in my vision, young Mister Potter faced the Dark Lord...a duel with the most feared wizard, for the fate of the world."

A large gasp seemed to emanate from the room itself, as every wizard stood shocked at Trelawney's last words. An electric silence laid in the air, and lingered for a moment as this information sunk in. But it lasted only too short, for then an explosion of voices filled the room, some of accusation, some of defeat, but all held worry for The Boy Who Lived.

"Harry!" Sirius roared, his eyes aflame with nerves. "He's not ready for this. Voldemort'll kill him for sure!"

"He is ready to face him," Remus put an assuring hand on his partner's shoulder. "He'll have to be."

Across the room, Percy's thoughts were not on Harry Potter, but on Harry's best friends. "Two bodies," he said, putting the details of Trelawney's vision with what he knew about his brother's famous friend. "Oliver, you don't think -"

"He'll be fine, love," said Oliver, before Percy could finish the thought, before the possibility of a Weasley's death could escape into a room already filled to the brim with grief. The truth was, Oliver knew there was hardly a chance Ron, or any of the Weasley children, would be alive in the next three days. But no truth bleak as it were, would bring Oliver to stop comforting Percy, to give up, like so many already had.

"Although I vehemently question the accuracy of this prediction," said Snape, curling up his lip at the haughty Trelawney, who did not seem to notice, "And I doubt even more the need to 'rescue' the meddlesome Potter boy -" at this remark, Sirius whipped his head toward Snape and growled fiercely, "But something needs to be done. Surely the Ministry can -"

"I want to help!" cried an exasperated Arthur Weasley. Tears started to roll down his face at the thought of his decision as the Minister of Magic, and not as a father. "Believe me, with all my heart...I want to. But I will not send men to Hogsmeade, to their deaths!"

"Silence!" A firm and commanding voice rose above the clamor of the room. It was Professor Dumbledore, who had been quiet since Professor Trelawney had entered his office. The room quieted down immediately, anxiously awaiting the words of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Ever since the regime change in the Ministry from Fudge to Weasley, Albus Dumbledore received much more attention, without Fudge's constant badgering on policy. Now, when the hands of the minister were tied, it was up to Dumbledore to make this crucial decision.

The old wizard straightened his half-moon spectacles and spoke. "It is my deepest regrets that this has happened again, after so many years. And with such...precious lives at stake." He glanced over in Sirius and Lupin's direction; it was a disaster, for the entire wizarding world, that Harry Potter was in this Battle Royale. "As Headmaster of this school, I must do all that is in my power to save the children in my charge." He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, a sad, gentle smile on his lips. "Molly," he said, addressing his one-time student, who was going through a hell all her own. "I understand this is a very long, and tiring night for you. You and Charlie should go back home, and rest; as soon as we know anything I will personally owl you."

Mrs. Weasley, teary-eyed and dreadful nervous, gave a relieved smile to Dumbledore, and stood up, ready to get back to the Burrow and wait, pacing and nail-biting, for a night without her children...a night she feared she would have to get used to. But before she could rise and make her dejected way towards the door, a strong voice startled everyone in the room.

"No," came the voice beside Percy. Charlie, defiant and fiery-eyed, took all the attention from the room by force. "I'm not going home. I'm going to Hogsmeade."

A office of stunned faces looked back at Charlie, who now showed no fatality in his demeanor. He wasn't giving up on Hogsmeade yet. "When I was eleven, I said nothing about saving those students - my brother - because I thought there was absolutely nothing that could stop You-Know-Who. But being here, now, I know that it wasn't your powerlessness that caused those children to die; it was your cowardice." Charlie spat these words out, aimed directly at his father. Arthur hung his head in shame, knowing full well what Charlie said was true.

Percy put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, worried about his brother's sudden outburst. "Charlie, please," he pleaded with him. "You're thinking irrationally -"

"They're going to let them all die, Percy," retorted Charlie, with much more sorrow now than anger. "Our siblings are out there, fighting for their lives. Even if I die..." At this remark, Mrs. Weasley burst into a fresh set of tears. "...I have to do something. Can you live your life, knowing you didn't even try to save them?"

Percy opened his eyes wide, and for the first time, he finally saw what it meant to be family. Charlie wasn't worrying about his reputation, his welfare of even his life; all that mattered to him was trying to save his family, even if everyone thought it was impossible. Percy realized that now, in this tragic situation, the only thing he should care about was his family.

"I'm going with you," he resolved. It was the most confident thing Percy had ever done within the walls of Hogwarts.

A gentle touch startled Percy. It was Oliver, whose warm brown eyes were filled with conviction. "So am I," he whispered, snaking his arm around Percy's, determined not to let go.

Wide-eyed with worry, Percy looked at Oliver, pleading with his eyes not to follow where the Weasley men would lead. It was one thing for Percy to risk his life to rescue Hogsmeade, but he couldn't even fathom watching his love, Oliver, do the same. But just as Percy opened his mouth to protest, Oliver smiled, and made him know that his mind was already made up. "You're going to Hogsmeade to protect those you love," he said. He tightened his grip on Percy's arm; there was no way Oliver was going to let him go alone. "And I'm doing the same."

As if something dire was activated inside Sirius, he turned to Lupin, his thoughts clear. "We have to go, Remus," he said insistently. "If Harry's in Hogsmeade..."

"I am with you, my friend," the werewolf replied, clasping Sirius's hand in his. "We will bring him home."

Professor Trelawney, with a wild, desperate look in her eyes, shook her hands at Remus and Sirius. "Haven't you been listening to my premonition at all?" she questioned. "Harry Potter will face You-Know-Who again in battle - it will not be avoided!" "Then perhaps you would like to accompany us, Sibyl," said Professor McGonagall, in the politest voice she could muster. "To guide us away from infringing upon..." She pursed her lips so tightly only a thin line could be seen of her mouth, "the fated future." Though certainly unpleased with the idea, Trelawney could do nothing but reluctantly nod her head in assent. But another teacher noticed something in Professor McGonagall's words that could not be ignored. "'Us,' Minerva?" questioned Severus Snape, in low tones that not everyone could hear. "Do you really mean -"

"Yes, Severus," McGonagall cut Snape off, in a loud, clear voice that the whole room could hear. "And how wonderful it is that you volunteer as well. I'm glad you understand how important it is to save the students, and stand up to You-Know-Who." Snape, thoroughly stunned by McGonagall's involuntary volunteering, opened and closed his mouth, voiceless to protest. He shot a sneer in Sirius and Remus's direction, appalled that he would ever have to work alongside them to foil Voldemort's plans.

"Well, then," Dumbledore once again claimed the attention of the room. "It looks like we have quite a rescue party." He looked around, smiling at the eight witches and wizards so bravely facing Voldemort. "You have not a moment to lose. So, now, to the water's edge, and make your way to the Hogsmeade border - but do not enter the town, no matter how harmless or urgent it may seem. Even if you were to survive past the deadly Border Spell..." The smile vanished from his face. "The streets of Hogsmeade will be unforgiving. May you succeed in your party...for no one knows the consequences if you do not."

"I think I've heard this before," Oliver mumbled, but no one seemed to notice.

Dumbledore gave one final word to the departing wizards. "This mission may be more important than any of us suspect. The entire fate of the wizarding world may rest in your hands." Percy looked back at Dumbledore as he reached the office door, and a sinking feeling fell into his stomach like a stone as the old professor smiled warmly.

"No pressure or anything," he mumbled under his breath. But deep inside, Percy knew something much more valuable was at stake than the wizarding world: the welfare of his family. He swallowed hard, dreading what could happen if he and Charlie didn't make it in time to save his sister and brothers.

Mum would kill me.

Percy felt a hand on his shoulder as the eight wizards walked briskly past the closed doors of the Great Hall. It was Oliver, whose face was grave but there was a glimmer of hope in his warm brown eyes. "It will be alright, love," he said, almost reading the very worry etched in Percy's face. "So long as we're together."

This time, even Oliver didn't believe in this remark of reassurance. He smile faded as they reached the gates of Hogwarts, and he realized they were all walking into the once-quiet town of Hogsmeade, that was now a battlefield.

As dawn slunk across the horizon, the eight members of the rescue party departed from the safe havens of Hogwarts, into dangerous territory that could very well claim their lives.