To Dwell on Dreams

Chapter Six -

Duty

"You backstabbing son of a-"

"Draco!" hissed Harry through a clenched jaw, cutting across Seamus, "what the Hell is going on?"

Draco though, didn't look or acknowledge them in any way; he just inclined his head slightly and looked at his father.

Harry felt a knot of panic squeezing his insides. How could he have been so stupid?! He'd walked straight into a trap, he'd let his compassion go against his every instinct that this boy was nothing but a spineless, self-centred traitor. All his crocodile tears in the forest, all that stuff about his mother, it was bullshit and Harry should have God damn known it. And now what had happened? He'd led three innocent people to their deaths. Again.

"You're new found friends seem a little upset Draco," said Lucius Malfoy to his son, cold amusement lacing his words. Crouch grinned to his left, Wormtail's eyes seemed to be wide still with relief.

"Yes - well, betrayal tends to do that to people," replied Draco calmly, holding his father's eye-contact unflinchingly. Lucius laughed softly to himself, and readjusted his grip on the cane he was holding in front of him. The silver knob was covered in entwined serpents, Harry noticed in a detached sort of way as he scanned the vast room for any and all points of exit. There didn't seem to be any.

"Naturally," began Lucius silkily, gesturing with his hand for emphasis, "when we discovered your absence, we assumed you were attempting to retrieve what the Dark Lord required - to make up for that little fuss you made prior to your departure; a task no doubt made easier by the actions of our friend Wormtail here." Harry saw Wormtail wince ever so slightly; Lucius smiled.

"Quite," said Draco simply.

Parvati went to move, to wrap her hands around Draco's skinny neck perhaps, but Harry grabbed her arm and stopped her before anyone else really noticed. He wasn't too sure why, but he was getting the feeling that something wasn't quite right here, and nothing could be gained by attacking Draco now anyway.

"So - now we have what we - or should I say, our Lord needs - all you need do is step aside, and take your place by my side."

"Of course," was all Draco said. But he didn't move.

This is a game, thought Harry, his breath still rapid, his fingers still holding tightly onto the hilt of Gryffindor's sword. But what?

"Step aside son," said Lucius, all traces of amusement gone from his voice and face.

"You know father" said Draco, tilting his head in thought, "when a child is young, he's rather like a small glass; easy to fill." His voice, unlike his father's, was alive with amusement, so much so Harry wondered if it was bordering on barely controlled rage. "But when that child grows up, so does the glass, and the same amount of water just won't do anymore." Lucius was not looking pleased.

"Draco," he growled, threateningly.

"You never learn - do you father?" cried Draco, an made to say something else, but Voldemort interrupted him.

"Your son is spirited, isn't he?" he addressed Lucius.

Lucius however continued staring at his son, as if such an act alone would strike him dead. "If this is about Narcissa-" he hissed.

"This has everything to my mother," Draco replied, not that far off the rage Harry had sensed only a moment ago. "What is it you say father? 'Malfoys never forget, and they certainly never-"

"Forgive?" finished Voldemort for him. Draco's head snapped to look at him; he smiled, blood red eyes blazing. "An interesting concept is it not? Surely, if someone has failed you, betrayed you perhaps, how is it possible to forgive them - ever trust them again, or more to the point, let them live to try it another day?" He gracefully placed his fingers together in an imitation of thought. "For example," he continued in barely more than a whisper, "if one my followers had taken it upon themselves to ally themselves against me, even attempt to bring my enemy into my lair and have him defeat me when I was weak, well - surely such an act as this should not be forgiven?"

Draco stood resolutely, considering what was being said. Harry held his breath - maybe Draco hadn't betrayed them after all?

"You see young Mr Malfoy," said Voldemort, his tone though dangerously quiet still resounding round the arena, "I have seen a great deal of your activities of late. Do you believe it was by accident you made it out of the country unnoticed, through the forest unscathed? I wanted to see if your intentions really were devious, and waited here with my servants to prove with your father that you were loyal to me still." He paused to let his words take effect. The woman with the black hair smirked knowingly on his right; Lucius looked furious.

"All you have to do Mr Malfoy, is hand over young Mr Potter, and all will be - forgiven."

Draco didn't respond to this immediately. Instead he reached over his shoulder and unsheathed his sword; holding it in front of him it glinted in the shadowy torchlight. "Maybe I don't want to be forgiven by you?" he said, looking at the sword, voice once again calm. "Maybe there are more important people I want to be forgiven by - like say, oh...the ones standing behind me?"

The knot in Harry's stomach seemed to release itself slightly, but not by much. Draco may not have betrayed them, but they had still been caught out and were now surrounded by hundreds of Deatheaters, if not more.

Voldemort allowed himself an incredulous smile, or as much of one as he could manage on his hideous snake-like face. "I see," he said slowly, "I am curious though - just what do you hope to accomplish by this Mr Malfoy?"

Draco smiled back. "My name," he said even more slowly, "is Draco. And I hope to accomplish trivial things, like truth, justice." His smile twisted slightly. "Revenge."

Voldemort shook his head. "Your rather Gryffindor-like bravery," he spat out, "does not seem to match your mathematic skills, Mr Malfoy, for there are well over a thousand of us - and only five of you."

"Five?" was all Draco said.

A movement to the far left of Harry's vision caught his eye. About two thirds of the way up the stands of the arena, one of the countless Deatheaters lowered their hood and stood for a moment, considering. It took Harry a few seconds to realise he knew this girl; she was in his own year at school even. Her name was Blaise Zabini, a quiet Slytherin girl who normally hid behind a sheet of shining brown hair whilst Pansy Parkinson and her gang tormented other students. Harry had barely heard her speak more than two words the entire time he'd been at Hogwarts, but he knew she was very clever.

Perhaps the fact that her hair was now cut extremely short, or the fact that she stood confidently, shoulders back, expression firm and decisive, was why Harry had failed to recognise her straight away; yet another change in this world compared to his own.

Blaise seemed to come to a decision, and took a step down towards the stage. "Blaise," came a hissed voice, and a middle aged woman who had been standing next to her lowered her hood as well. "What are you doing?!"

"I'm doing what's right mother," she replied sadly, "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

She dropped her black robes to the floor, revealing tightly fitted jeans and a purple jumper, and walked down the steps under the silent gaze of everyone else in the hall, taking her place next to Draco. He gave her the smallest of smiles, then flicked his eyes back to Voldemort and his father. "Six," he said defiantly.

Voldemort laughed, he was joined by a number of others, but Lucius just looked furious still. "How impressive," he snarled.

"I'm not finished yet," replied his son.

All of a sudden it seemed, there were at least a dozen more robes dropped to the floor, their owners walking swiftly towards Harry and the others. Voldemort amusement lessened somewhat. "I see," he said evenly. But then, to Harry's right, another group of Deatheaters threw down their robes, deserting their lord, and even more on the far left. More to the back, some very near the front, more and more were declaring their allegiance to Draco's cause, most of them young, but many older members too. Harry looked on in awe; was this really happening, was he witnessing the mutiny of Voldemort's follows, right before his eyes? And yet more came, walking decisively down onto the stage, until it seemed the group had been split quite evenly in two. Harry stared at those around him; some he knew, most he didn't. They all had a more or less identical look of resolution on their faces; they were all fixing their gaze on Voldemort.

Voldemort looked enraged beyond anything Harry had witnessed before. The four standing beside him, his most loyal servants, looked more than a little worried, as did the Deatheaters closest to them, who's faces Harry could just make out.

"Devious snakes," he said, voice shaking with anger, "traitorous vermin - how dare you trifle with my patience so, you-"

"Did you not see this coming though, oh Dark Lord?" said a voice very familiar to Harry, "I was under the impression there was nothing that escaped your knowledge." Harry looked for the source of the disturbance; he was met by the sight of Severus Snape walking calmly down the stairs towards them also dropping his black robes to the floor.

His mind flashed back to Dumbledore's words last summer; Snape's actions were at 'a great personal risk to himself.' He must be a spy, Harry realised, both in this world and his own.

He reached the stage, and unlike the others, stood in front of Draco. "Let me introduce you to Freiheit," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, but clearly addressing his former master standing before him. "There are perhaps more of us than even I realised - but then, you have wounded so many, it was impossible the grievances would not mount." He continued with his speech, stating their defection and intentions, and people around starting fidgeting, breathing became rapid, the temperature seemed to drop several degrees; a battle was seconds away from erupting between the two sides, and Harry knew it.

He reached for his wand, but Draco stopped him. "Magic won't work in here for anyone but him," he whispered urgently.

"What do you expect us to do then?!" cried Parvati desperately.

"Use the stakes," said Draco to the two girls.

"But they're not vampires," moaned Hermione.

"I think a stake through the heart might just kill them anyway," cried Draco, and just in time to. Snape had come to the climax of his speech, or at any rate, Voldemort had become tired of it. He plunged his waxy arm into his robes and the killing spell spun out in an arch instantaneously.

Snape was only just able to dive out of the way of the green light, but another young man was unfortunately caught in its path behind him. He crumpled to the floor, dead, before he even knew what had hit him. Just like Cedric.

There was a demented roar in the air as the two sides ran at each other. Madness, chaos, confusion, Harry didn't know which way to turn. Gryffindor's sword was out as soon as he had room to do so, and more by chance than design, he slashed and hit one of the robed figures, sending him crashing to the floor.

Harry felt shocked and sick. He'd killed someone. He'd taken a life of a human being; he couldn't even see their face, didn't even know their name. Maybe that was a good thing, he thought numbly.

He didn't have much time to think though. Someone slammed into him, bringing him back to reality. People were running everywhere, screaming and shouting filled the air, blood splattered the stone floor. Voldemort had disappeared.

Trying not to gag, Harry ran forward, not too sure of where he was going. On seeing Wormtail running away up the steps however, he remembered suddenly why he was there, what his mission was. He charged up the stone steps, following him into a dimly lit stone corridor that echoed with the sound of footsteps, but which was completely devoid of people. Harry stalked forward, eyes and ears open. Even so, he only just heard the person coming up behind him.

On reflexes trained by so many years of Quidditch, he spun round, sword in hand, and caught the person straight through the torso. Their eyes met; it was the woman from Dumbledore's pensive. Dagger still in hand, she choked, blood spluttering from her mouth, and crumpled to the floor. "You'll - never - win," she gasped. Her eyes fluttered closed, the dagger dropped to the floor.

Harry backed away, the sounds from the battle still ringing in his ears. He turned and continued his search for Wormtail, and hopefully, his sister. His knuckles were deathly white on the hilt of his sword, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve and licked his dry lips. The shadowy corridor turned a corner; Harry took a deep breath and jumped round it, sword raised. Nothing.

He hurried along, the noises from the auditorium fading slightly, and began to wonder if Wormtail had even gone this way at all. All doubt was erased, however, at the sound of a young girl screaming, not far from where Harry was walking.

"Help!" she screamed, echoing in all directions, "please, somebody help me! I'm here, they've tied me up, I can't-" and then she was silent.

Sarah.

Harry broke into a full sprint, hurtling around corners and up and down short flights of stairs. He reached a door, it was open ajar, and there was definitely somebody moving inside. Not even pausing to think, Harry threw his whole weight onto the heavy oak door, crashing it open to the sound of rusty hinges.

He was in a round room, not that big, the walls and floor made of the same grey stone as before. In the centre stood an ancient looking wooden table, round again, with snakes carved into the legs, the Dark Mark emblazoned on the top. Sarah was sitting on the floor on the far side of the room, her back resting against the wall, her hands and feet tied. She was dirty, her face tear-stained, her hair at all angles, and her lip was swelling with a bruise and bleeding, presumably having just been hit in an effort to stop her screaming.

She was whimpering and crying behind Wormtail, who was crouched in front of her, when Harry entered. As the door slammed into the wall, he spun round, fear in his eyes. "Harry!" cried Sarah, "watch out! He's right behind you!"

Harry didn't even have a moment to comprehend what she was saying, before he was flung into the side of the room in a flash of blue light. "Harry Potter," said a voice as cold as ice, "how nice to finally make your acquaintance." The old oak door slammed shut. Harry struggled to his feet, blood trickling down his face from a gash somewhere near his temple. Sarah moaned and whimpered in the corner; Wormtail cowered beside her, terrified of his master's wrath.

"I have been hoping for your presence for some time now - I did not realise it would be this soon though, a most happy accident, would you not agree?" Voldemort grinned, Harry bared his teeth and raised his blade.

"You are no doubt aware of my depleting health," he continued clinically, "and for a number of years my seers have been searching in vain for a cure. It seemed hopeless - until recently, when it appeared that the one person in this world who, according to prophecy, holds the power to defeat me, also was the means to my recovery."

He began walking round the table, and for the first time Harry realised there was another object in the room; the Mirror of Erised. His reflection was just out of sight, but an inkling as to what might be going on was forming in Harry's mind.

"It seems there has been some sort of change in you, Harry Potter, and you have been singled out as the one, the only one, who knows how to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone from this most ingenious mirror and thus restore my immortality. Do have any idea of what I speak?" This last line was delivered almost playfully.

Harry stood tall. "I won't help you, if that's what you're asking," he shot back, more confidently than he really was, "I've come for my sister and that's it."

Voldemort laughed. "You do know what I am talking of, excellent, now, kindly save us all a great deal of trouble and stand in front of the mirror. Once you have what I want, I shall kill you and your sister painlessly." He grinned once more, and linked his fingers together. "Relatively speaking at any rate," he added.

Harry took a deep breath. "I won't help you," he repeated. Voldemort's expression became suddenly severe.

"Imperio!" he yelled, pointing his wand at Harry. Suddenly, Harry's mind was blissfully black, completely wiped of all his many worries and concerns. Walk towards the mirror, said a voice at the back of his head, and tell me what you see.

Okay, thought Harry, and went to move his foot. But then he heard something else; don't do it Harry, don't do it, fight it. Harry paused to consider, was that his own voice? It came again, and was followed by a third voice; I don't think I want to do this.

Walk to the mirror.

No.

Do what I say.

I don't want to.

Don't do it Harry - you can fight it.

"Do it now!"

"No!"

Harry, stumbled over his feet, just as he had done in Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, breaking out of the curse. He swung his sword out forcing Voldemort back. "There's quite a few things different about me, actually," he cried, and lunged again, determinedly not looking in the mirror; he didn't want to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone until absolutely necessary.

Voldemort was not to be deterred though. "I will have obedience," he roared, "Crucio!"

Harry felt like he was on fire, his knees buckled and he fell to the ground on all fours. "I am not so weak after all Harry Potter, would you not agree?" But even as he said it, he breathing became laborious, and the spell faltered. Voldemort grimaced, but held fast. "You have broken though my defences, initiated chaos amongst my followers, defied me - my wishes...but you will do as I say!" The effort seemed to take too much from him though, and the spell weakened even more. With a burst of renewed energy, Harry heaved himself off the floor, still hurting but less so from the curse, and ran at the debilitated Voldemort, smacking him to the ground.

He yelled furious, and tried to push Harry off him. But Harry knew what to do. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he grabbed onto Voldemort's face.

Pain exploded in his forehead, threatening to split his whole head open. Voldemort screamed, so did Harry, so did Sarah, but it was working; Voldemort was weakening considerably. Tears streamed down Harry's face. Just a bit longer, he willed himself.

He didn't have to last any longer though. Wormtail grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him off; Harry jerked his head, arched his back in response. Still reeling with pain, Harry grabbed Wormtail and rolled him onto the floor with him; they both hit the wall with a crack and crumpled.

Harry staggered to his feet again, and realised the previous crack had been something breaking in his arm. He gasped as pain seared through his left arm; Voldemort tried also to rise to his feet, but failed. He still managed to grin at Harry though, teeth now the same colour as his eyes from the blood he was coughing up. A look of triumph was on his face. "Seize him!" he hissed, but nobody else other than Harry understood him.

The snakes around the table legs began uncoiling themselves and slithered rapidly towards Harry. "Bring him to me!" yelled Voldemort.

But Harry had other ideas. He stumbled backwards, clutching his arm, and yelled, "stop!" speaking in Parseltongue, just like Voldemort had done. The wooden serpents halted immediately in their tracks. Wormtail made to get up, do what the serpents had failed to do perhaps. But Sarah, unnoticed, had shifted herself over to where he and her brother had landed, and chose now to aim a well timed kick at his knees.

"Ah!" he grunted as he toppled over his own feet, crashing to the ground.

"Bind him," commanded Harry angrily, pointing at Wormtail with his good arm. The snakes did as they were told.

Voldemort's expression was one of incredulous fury; he stood up with difficulty. "What is the meaning of this?!" he demanded, speaking English once more.

"I told you I'd changed," spat Harry, dropping the sword with a resounding clang and pulling out his wand. Sarah pushed herself away again, sensing something bad was about to happen. "Now lets see how much you've changed," he cried, and, not really knowing what he was doing, not giving himself time to really think of the consequences, Harry uttered the most feared and awful curse known in magic; "Avada Kedavra!"

Just as he'd hoped, not only was Voldemort sufficiently weakened for his sole control of magic to be broken, but he also had the presence of mind to retaliate. "Imperio!" he yelled once again at Harry.

Just as last summer, the two wands, containing feathers from the same phoenix tail, joined in a blaze of magnificent gold light, locking the hands of both owners firmly in the connection. Voldemort gasped, red eyes wide in trepidation. Wormtail tried unsuccessfully to shift away from them both, but his bonds held him firmly in place. Sarah gave a startled cry as the light splintered and formed a golden cage around the two wizards, the comforting phoenix song filling the air.

Harry's hand, if anything, shook even more than last summer in the graveyard, meaning he had to use his broken arm to steady himself. The pain was horrendous.

"What is this?" shrieked Voldemort.

Although Harry's concentration was firmly fixed on his vibrating wand, he still found it within himself to answer. "Priori Incantatem," he said through gritted teeth, "our wands - didn't you know - the...cores are from - the- same Phoenix." It was taking too much effort to maintain a stable connection as well as talking; Harry reasoned he was better off to stop talking.

The beads along the thread of light began sliding up and down from one end to another, as Harry hoped they would. Focusing his every available thought on these beads, they began, ever so slowly, edging towards Voldemort's wand. He didn't know what it would accomplish; the spells were different from last time, but Harry could only hope, that was all...

The beads were gaining speed. Voldemort's wand shuddered violently, making him cringe and moan. "You will not defeat me boy!" he yelled, more than a hint of panic in his words.

Harry watched, watched not breathing, not blinking as the beads slid closer and closer to the tip of Voldemort's wand. "I already have," he breathed weakly.

There was an tumultuous explosion as the beads connected. The green light threw Harry clean off his feet, sending him sailing for a third time into the cold stone wall. Sarah screamed and rolled under the table, Wormtail whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut as Harry landed painfully beside him.

An unearthly scream filled the air. The golden cage shattered, raining fragments down on the small room and ending the phoenix's song. Still the screaming went on, the green light was shinning blindingly from an unknown source, making it impossible for Harry to see anything at all. He forced himself to sit up against the wall, hand gripping his burning wand, and squinted at where Voldemort had landed after too being thrown against the wall. The shadowy outline of a figure; hands pressed to his ears, trying to make the noise stop. Harry didn't know what to do - there was no escape - he had to get him and Sarah out of there before - before...

But he was too late.

The Dark Lord raised his wand with a shaking hand, pointed it at Harry, a demented laugh on his lips. "You will not defeat me!" he screamed, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry didn't even have time to think. He flung his arms in front of his face, his strangled cry mixing with Sarah's scream. The spell, the one that had killed his parents, hit him like a tidal wave, choking him, crushing him. He burned, he folded in despair, he was awash with death.

But he did not die.

Instead, a blinding pain sliced into his forehead, and the one screaming changed from himself, to Voldemort. A booming noise resounded through the room, the walls shook, surely to come down upon him. He crawled, as if through treacle, the curse still having a grasp on him, under the table with Sarah. There was a deafening, thundering noise as huge chunks of the walls, the ceiling came crashing down around them.

And then everything was black and silent.

***

Am I dead? thought Harry numbly.

"Harry?" came a small voice beside him, bringing him to his senses. Sarah repeated his name, and this time he found strength enough to respond. Sitting up as quickly as he could (careful not to bash his head on the table) he lit his wand.

The room was in ruins; debris everywhere. Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. Harry put his wand between his teeth and set about clumsily untying Sarah. As he finished with her hands and moved on to her feet, she reached forward and touched his face. "You're bleeding Harry," she said, tears in her eyes. He nodded his head, and when he'd finished untying her feet, took the wand from mouth and assured her he knew - he'd got the gash on his temple some time ago. But she shook her head; "no," she told him, "you just got it - it's on your forehead - it looks like-"

"A lightening bolt?" he finished for her, disbelieving. She nodded. Good God, he thought, it happened again.

He took her hand, and they crawled out from under the table. She helped him stand, his arm unbearably painful now. Harry scanned what remained of the room; Voldemort was definitely gone; just as before, when he was a baby. He looked at his arm, his skin; soaked in his mother's sacrifice still it seemed.

He handed his wand to Sarah and told her to keep it for the time being. Picking up the sword, he spoke to the wooden snakes again, telling them to follow him with Wormtail. The sight of Pettigrew being slithered along might have been amusing if it wasn't so disturbing and Harry wasn't so tired.

As they drew nearer to the auditorium, the sounds of the battle still raging told Harry of what they were likely to meet, and he spoke quietly and urgently to Sarah. "There might be some awful things in here," he said, a sickening feeling rising in his stomach, "so if I tell you to close your eyes and hold onto me, you've got to do it - okay?" Sarah agreed, biting her lip and looking scared.

They entered the hall. There was no other word to describe it other than utter horror.

There were people still running in all directions, bodies all over the floor, screams and yells of rage filling the air. Harry was just about to cry for Sarah to shut her eyes, when a young male Deatheater, not much older than Harry himself, charged at them, a short blade raised in front of him. Harry went to swipe with his own blade, but Sarah, still clutching his want, shouted "Expelliarmus!" her hands shaking, but her aim was dead on.

The boy went sailing backwards in a flash of red light, making those around them stop and stare. "We can use magic!" cried a de-robed woman a dozen or so steps down from them. Instantly the nature of the fighting changed as the message spread; Freiheit began shooting out stunning spells of bright blue, the Deatheaters' spells though were largely green.

As Harry, tried to move his sister around the fray though, towards what he hoped was the main entrance (leaving Wormtail bound where he was) he saw many chose to carry on the fight with their hand-held weapons. Even as his gaze swept across the scene before him, he saw an older Deatheater drive his blade into the gut of a young boy, before being blasted from afar by a jet of blue light.

It seemed as if time suddenly came to a grinding halt. As Sarah grasped onto him, Harry frowned and tilted his head, staring at the boy as he looked down, stunned at his wound. Many people ran past; another three or four Deatheaters were hit by the stunning spell as Freiheit began turning the tide of the battle, stacking up Voldemort's frozen followers. There were one or two more flashes of green as well. People yelling, explosions everywhere, the clanging of metal, the clashing of curses and spells.

But still Harry watched the boy, unaware his breathing had stopped. Only a matter of seconds had passed, but it seemed like an eternity as the boy sank slowly to his knees and looked up; directly at Harry.

Harry knew who it was though, before the blade had even hit home he'd known who the boy now drenched in his own blood was.

It was Seamus.

***

"Seamus!" screamed Harry, running full pelt towards him, Sarah matching his pace. A member of Freiheit darted across them, unaware of blocking their path, but Harry and his sister just jumped round them, barely noticing themselves. Seamus took a shaky gasp of air, then keeled over on his side.

Harry reached him and scooped him up with his good arm. "Seamus!" he cried, "Seamus, we're here, we'll get help!" The young Irish boy looked up at him, his breathing strained, his eyes struggling to stay open.

"I'm - so - sorry Harry," he managed, as the two Potters heaved him up towards the entrance they had been heading for previously. They ducked as a spell of an unknown nature went flying past, but otherwise they made it to the heavy double doors unscathed. Harry was just preparing to slam his broken left arm into the door in an effort to open it without dropping Seamus, when Draco came flying towards them.

"Harry!" he called and skidded to a halt.

"Open the door," instructed Harry through gritted teeth before Draco could say anymore; he needed to get Seamus and Sarah to safety. He did so, and the three of them spilled into a marbled entrance hallway. They hurried through, up a flight of grand looking stairs, and Draco slammed into a second set of doors, bringing them out into the night. They kept running until Harry could go no further, and then collapsed onto the forest floor, devoid of snow due to the expansive canopy.

Harry laid Seamus down as Draco looked on stunned, Sarah gasped as tears started spilling down her face. Harry looked at Draco. "Voldemort - I - he's gone," he tried to explain to him, unable to find the proper words. "But...I-" he continued desperately, not even too sure of what he was saying, "I - I need help; Seamus he - he needs help." His voice, cracking, trailed away to nothing but a whisper. "Help," he cried softly looking at Seamus, holding onto his shoulder with his good hand.

"I'll get help Harry," cried Draco, "just keep talking to him - I'm getting help right now." He sprinted off into the darkness, back to the battle.

Seamus managed a weak smile, and reached out with his left hand. "Sarah," he croaked through numb lips, and coughed involuntarily, hacking up more blood. Sarah let out a sob and knelt down beside him. "You're safe," he said softly, then grimaced in pain. Sarah stroked his hair.

"You're going to be fine," she assured him, tears still tracing their way down her dirty cheeks. The thudding of feet on the frozen ground made Harry's head snap up. He was expecting to see Draco returning, but was instead met with the sight of Parvati and Hermione running towards them. They were both covered in cuts and blood, and Hermione was developing a nasty black eye, but other than that they seemed more or less okay. Hermione stopped just before them and gasped, but Parvati dropped immediately to the ground beside Seamus and grabbed his hand.

"Seamus?" she cried, her voice breaking with emotion. Hermione came and crouched silently beside Harry.

"Draco told us," she said quietly, "we're winning - in there...he's gone to get help-"

"Harry," called Seamus, unable even to lift his arm now. Harry grasped his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Harry - I'm so sorry," he said again.

Harry's voice caught in his throat. "There's nothing - nothing to be sorry for Seamus," he told him sternly.

Parvati nodded earnestly, tears shining on her long eyelashes. "You were so brave," she said, "I was so proud of you."

Seamus smiled. "You too," he said weakly. Parvati tried to smile back, but she couldn't quite manage it. Sarah bit her trembling lip and held on tightly to Harry's good arm.

What was taking so long! Harry thought desperately; but almost instantly reasoned that there were hundreds of people still in the auditorium just as bad, if not worse than Seamus - they all needed help. But I want to save my friend, thought Harry pitifully.

At last, Draco came hurtling back into the blackness of the forest, with Snape close at his heals. Draco lit his wand and held it high as Snape dropped to his knees beside Parvati in order to inspect the wound. Seamus muttered something about them being needed in side, Draco brushed him off saying they'd almost won anyway.

Snape pealed back Seamus' bloodstained coat and shirts. He looked gravely at the deep wound, then looked at Draco.

He shook his head.

"W-What do you mean?" cried Parvati, "we have to do something."

"We cannot do anything," said Snape quietly, an unknown tone in his voice. Harry could only place it as remorse. Snape stood, nodded once to Draco, then went hurriedly back the way he had come.

Parvati was distraught. "Where's he going," she cried to Draco, "we have to help Seamus-"

But Draco silenced her. He crouched down and took her hand. "It's an enchanted blade - V-Voldemort issued them himself - there's no cure."

Parvati shook her head defiantly, and turned back to Seamus, ignoring the others. "You're going to be fine," she told him, trying to keep her voice strong. Seamus went to smile, and coughed up more blood. His breathing was worse, but he tried with one weak hand to reach into the top of his shirt. Harry didn't know what he was doing, but Parvati knew instantly. She reached in for him and drew out a golden Celtic Cross on a fine glimmering chain.

Seamus smiled weakly, and with what was left of his strength, began to pray. "Hail, Mary, M-Mother of God, venerable treasure of the...whole universe..." Parvati subdued a dry sob, and joined in with him. "Hail, Mother of God. You - you enclosed under your heart the...infinite God whom no space can contain...Hail, Mary, Mother of God...Hail, Mary, Mother of God..."

His voice was slipping away from him. Harry held his hand tightly. "Hold on Seamus - hold on..."

A last breath escaped his lips; and as his hand fell from Harry's grasp onto the cold and muddy floor, dawn broke over the Black forest of Germany, and the rain began to poor.