Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Chapter Thirty-One — The Show Must Go On

"On and on - does anybody know what we are living for?

The show must go on, the show must go on.

Outside the dawn is breaking on the stage

That holds our final destiny!"

-Moulin Rouge, "The Show Must Go On"

Saturday, November 15, 2003

A flash of green bolted forward as someone wearing emerald robes threw herself at the armed Death Eater. The crack of thunder which heralded the firing of the gun rang out again through the hallway, and the figure slumped forward, inertia sending her sprawling over the gun-holding arm of the masked man. As Remus watched, she reached up slowly, hands clawing the mask out of place.

Remus recognized the frightened face of the man staring horror at the green-robed woman. Goyle, a boy he’d taugh in the short year spent as a Hogwarts professor. The severe bun finally gave the identity of the green-robed figure — Minerva McGonagall.

For a moment in time, the two stared at each other. And then the horror on Goyle’s face shifted into white hot rage. He let out a shout of triumph and the thunderous noise of the gun firing rang out again. Minerva sank to the ground.

Werewolf and headmistress met gazes for only a moment before Goyle trained the gun on her again. Still screaming his hate, he fired again and again, and Remus watched as the life left Minerva’s eyes for good. And then Goyle pulled his mask back on, shouted for the others to follow, and disappeared down the tunnel once more.

Remus heard a scream and more shouting in the cacophany of fleeing Death Eaters, but remained focused on Minerva’s body. Despite blood flowing from his own wound, he scooted hismself across the floor and reached over with hand shaking from fatigue to close her eyes. Only then, when the body of the headmistress and friend had been treated with dignity, did he allow himself to collapse to the ground completely. He sunk into darkness.

~

"How did it happen?" Hermione murmured, though the question wasn’t meant to be answered. George wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, letting his own tears come. "We should’ve thought of the tunnels! We used them often enough — you used them often enough! Why didn’t anyone think to close up all the tunnels?!"

"Hermione, we couldn’t have known," George whispered back, holding her and forcing himself to look away from the body of the headmistress.

"Lupin’s not dead," Ron offered helpfully.

This merely sent Hermione into another round of self-blame. "He’s not dead, but he has a hole in his gut! We’re dead! We’re all dead tomorrow morning, because none of us were smart enough to think of what You-Know-Who might be up to!"

Severus Snape gave a snort of indignation, rising from his seat beside the body. "Losing Minerva isn’t the end, Miss Granger," he shot, ever bit as nasty as he’d been in every Potions lesson of their school days. Only the droop of his shoulders, bits of grey at his temples, and the dulled look of his pitch black eyes told the world of his grief. "We’ll go out tomorrow and face Voldemort," he spat the name, daring anyone present to cringe, "and we’ll win it."

"Without Minerva and with Remus too badly injured to fight, who helps with the spell for Harry?" Hermione shot back. "He’s got less magic than a Squib at the moment! If we had months, maybe years to train him back up, maybe we’d have a chance — but there are too many factors working against us! Harry can’t cast the spell, no one else can, the spell has to be cast at the same moment as an Avada Kedavra and with more force — Gods above, Severus, we’re dead!"

"I’m sitting right here," Harry snapped, pushing away from Remus’ bed. "There’s no need to talk about me like I’m still in Cincinnati. And I’m NOT a Squib, I can feel the magic, I just can’t harness it the way I used to! Someone else will just have to take the corners. We’ve got a few hours, we can sort things out! And tomorrow night, after Voldemort’s gone for good, we’ll have a nice cry about everything we’ve lost, alright? We’re running out of time!"

George sighed softly, taking in the tense postures of everyone in the room. "Is there something I can do? I know I’d never be the first choice for this spell of yours, Potter, but if I can help in any way...?"

"Do you trust me?" Harry replied quickly.

"What?" George scowled, pursing his lips.

Harry gave a snort. "Do you trust me?" he repeated. "Without trust, a friendship spell won’t work. Do you trust me to be the same Harry Potter I was when you were a seventh year? Can you trust me the way you’d trust Harry Potter the Gryffindor Seeker? Can you forgive me for making a mistake?"

"I can’t forget the last five years," he murmured back, "but it wasn’t your fault that any of this happened. I wish you’d been around, but I doubt your presence would’ve saved Fred’s life. After all," he added with a sneer, "it wasn’t Voldemort who killed my brothers."

"You’ll take Minerva’s place," Harry confirmed. "Profess- Headmaster Snape, would you take Lupin’s place?"

Snape winced visibly at the title and shook his head. "Minerva shouldn’t have accepted, and neither can I. The castle wards are hinging on my magic now. I’m not as powerful a mage as Albus was, and maintaining the wards under magical attack is going to drain me much more quickly than I’d like to admit," he scowled darkly. "I won’t have the magic to add to it."

Harry and Hermione met gazes, both appearing ready to give up completely. Despite the dozens of witches and wizards in the castle, none immediately came to mind whom all could trust. Snape’s mouth suddenly curved into a smirk. "However... though I won’t take the position... I think I know of one who might... though bringing yourself to trust him may be the difficult part..."

~

"You’re going to do WHAT?" Ginny demanded, eyes burning with rage as she glared at her lover.

He shrunk back slightly, giving a wince. "Ginny, calm down. They need me. It’s not as if I haven’t been walking in danger since I turned sides — hell, I’ve been in danger since Voldemort was resurrected." He gave a sneer. "I never would’ve guessed that Potter would call on me for a friendship spell, of anything, but I won’t let Snape down."

"So you’re doing it for Snape?" she snapped, throwing herself into a padded chair in front of the teacher’s lounge fire in a sulk. "That’s got to be the most pathetic excuse -"

"Oh, and what do you want me to be doing this for? For Potter? Granger? Sorry if I don’t give a damn what happens to either of them in the end — all that matters is getting rid of Voldemort! I wouldn’t have volunteered for this, but I certainly didn’t intend to stay back here in the castle! I may not like him, but I trust him to finish this. I’ve got magic, I’ve got inside knowledge, and by Merlin I’m going to use it!" Draco snapped back, equally as livid with rage as his counterpart. He stalked in front of the fire, scowling darkly at the woman seated stiffly nearby.

Ginny gave a snort and kicked at a table leg. "You’ll go out and fight, but you expect me to stay back here and help out? Typical man."

Draco sneered. "And you want to throw yourself in front of the nearest Death Eater and wait to be run down. Typical Gryffindor." As she launched herself to her feet in a rage, he held up his hand. "Please, Gin, let’s not do this. You’re needed behind the lines as much as I’m needed by Potter in the front. Snape needs you to be there in case his magic fails. You know how to do that, and I don’t. I do, however, know how to cast a simple friendship charm and I have plenty of magic to offer for Potter’s use. He can drain it all, so long as it gets rid of Voldemort."

The anger left Ginny’s frame and she slumped slightly, letting out a sigh. "Please be careful, Draco. I can’t lose you. I’ve already lost everyone else."

Draco stepped forward and welcomed her into his embrace. "When this is all over, let’s get away from here, alright? Tomorrow, when you’re keeping the wards intact, visualize sleeping out on a beach on the Riviera with a little Mai Tai with a green umbrella in it and waves lapping over your feet. We’ll drop everything and go. We’ll be there next weekend. I promise."

"What time tomorrow, Draco?" she murmured, tightening her grip on him as if unwilling to let him go.

"We’re going out at dawn," he replied, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "It’ll be over before lunch, one way or another."

~

Hermione and George were off spending their last night together. Ron had gone off to help Madame Pomfrey with the survivors of the Death Eater kidnappings — Harry privately thought he was off to comfort Parvati more than Justin or Anne. Draco was off with Ginny, and Merlin only knew what Snape was up to. And that left Harry alone with his son, sitting silently in front of the fire in the room he’d been assigned.

He rocked James in his arms, singing the baby to sleep with words he’d heard Rachel use more than once, his eyes fixed on a small Muggle photo he kept in his wallet. He and Rachel smiled at each other in their wedding finery, frozen forever in time. "Your mum was perfect," he murmured as the song ended and the child blinked up at him sleepily. "She was everything I’d ever dreamed of. And more. Her family was mine, she held me close when I had a nightmare — and believe me, I had many. She never asked much about what happened to me, but I think she knew. She knew what my life here must’ve been like." Harry brushed his fingers through the soft black curls of his son’s hair. "I miss her," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the baby’s forehead lightly.

The child finally dozed off, and Harry tucked him away in his crib. He watched James in his innocent slumber before slipping over to the desk and drawing out a piece of parchment and a quill. An envelope was also deposited on the table and Harry tucked his wedding photo into it before scribbling "James Sirius Potter" across the front. With that finished, he set it aside, smoothed the blank parchment, and began to write.

My Dearest Son,

The time for the final battle grows shorter, and I wanted to take the time to tell you about who you are and what the legacy of your family is, before I step into the line of fire. Many years ago, on the night of October 31, 1981, a very evil wizard appeared on the doorstep of my childhood home and committed the act which would forever mark my life, and my soul...

"Drink with me to days gone by

Can it be you fear to die?

Will the world remember you when you fall?

Could it be your death means nothing at all?

Is your life just one more lie?"

-Les Miserables, "Drink With Me"