The End

Chapter 16: Hold On

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry couldn't tell where the spell had come from, nor where it was directed, but in that moment he didn't care, he wasn't about to let himself get killed within five minutes of arriving in Hogwarts, so he merely dragged Ron and Hermione behind the nearest suit of armor. After thirty seconds he judged that they spell must have run its course and made to move back into the open. However, before Harry had cleared the statue, Ron pulled him back down and stepped out himself, tense and cringing. When a few seconds had passed and he still hadn't met his doom, he opened first one eye and then the other, finally relaxing when he saw that the hallway was empty. Harry and Hermione carefully extricated themselves and joined their companion.

"You didn't have to do that, mate," Harry informed him.

"Yeah, I did," Ron replied simply.

"Well, thanks," Harry said as Hermione grabbed his arm suddenly. "What's wrong?"

Apparently at a loss for words, Hermione merely pointed in the direction of the banister, which overlooked the Entrance Hall. At first it was unclear exactly what had so disturbed her, then there was a sudden shout and the walls and ceiling around the entrance hall momentarily adopted a green glow.

"Oh no," Harry gasped, rushing to the balcony. Caution only returned to him in the last few steps.

Below, a small band of teachers, Aurors and Order members were attempting to defend the stairs and other points of access to the rest of the school against an encroaching pack of Death Eaters. Unfortunately, the defender's disadvantage seemed grave. They were not only outnumbered, but Mad-eye Moody and a limited number or Aurors seemed to be the only ones willing to return the Death Eaters' green fire in kind.

"We have to help them," Ron said, carefully aiming his wand at the nearest Death Eater.

"We can't," Harry cried, pushing his arm down.

"Well, what do you expect us to do? I'm not going to stand here and watch a massacre," Ron replied. "They don't know we're up here. We could pick them off one by one."

"And you don't think they'll notice?" Harry demanded. "Within thirty seconds every Death Eater in the castle will know where we are."

"Wait," Ron said. "How many do you think are here?"

"When Voldemort was resurrected there were almost thirty in his inner circle alone and all of them and everyone they know are bound to be here," Harry replied. "I thought we just proved that the front door isn't the only way into this castle."

"Mr. Potter is correct," said a voice from behind them.

The three Wizards spun around, wands raised. They couldn't possibly have heard what they thought they had. He was dead.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione yelped, her eyes falling on a nearby picture. Its usual occupants looked like they were trying very hard not to complain about being crowded out by the former headmaster.

"I thought I might be seeing you three here," Dumbledore replied, "I told Professor McGonagall that it would be no use warning you to stay away."

"This is my battle," Harry said.

He'd expected Dumbledore to greet the statement with some prepared speech about how he was not yet ready, that the prophecy could wait, but he merely smiled sadly and said, "So it is."

Harry was too busy trying to comprehend this sudden reversal to reply right away, so Hermione asked, "Can you tell us anything about where the Death Eaters are, or how many are here?"

"Unfortunately, any information I have is now almost ten minutes old and thus hardly accurate. I can tell you this, however. If Voldemort is here, he has yet to make his presence known, but I believe you have the tools necessary to determine his location, Mr. Potter."

"Great," Harry muttered. He'd been worried that the Marauder's Map might be necessary; he'd foolishly left it in his dormitory and the Gryffindor tower was a significant and risky detour.

"I don't need to tell you how dangerous these men are," Dumbledore said quietly, beckoning for them to gather around his borrowed picture, "but I would be negligent if I didn't remind you to be careful and look out for each other. Keep hidden and avoid the Death Eaters if you can. I believe you have a tool that can help with that as well, Harry."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, grateful that he'd at least had the foresight to bring his invisibility cloak along on the trip to Hogsmeade.

"Since I suppose you will be headed in that direction anyway," Dumbledore continued, "the students were sent to their dormitories as soon as the first Death Eaters were spotted, and the ghosts have been giving Professor McGonagall regular reports on their well being, but I have been rather worried about them, those in Gryffindor especially. I fear it will be difficult to keep them from being drawn into this conflict."

"We'll check on them, Professor," Hermione assured him.

"I suppose that's all, then," Dumbledore sighed. "The best of luck to you all."

"You too, Professor," came the general reply as the three young Wizards started off.

"Oh, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, calling the two of them back while Harry continued to the banister. "You do know-"

"That this is Harry's fight and not ours?" Hermione finished. "Yeah."

"And you know why?" Dumbledore continued.

"Yes," Ron replied.

"And you realize it would be much safer for the both of you-"

"With all due respect, sir," Hermione interrupted, "Harry tried to tell us the same thing and we didn't listen to him either."

"In that case..." Dumbledore began.

"Look out for him," Ron said. "We know."

Dumbledore gave them a silent nod and a smile, then backed away from the picture frame, inviting them to continue on. Ron and Hermione joined Harry by the banister. The battle had ended and the floor below was scattered with random bodies, stunned or dead, Auror and Death Eater alike.

"Come on, mate, let's go," Ron urged him.

Harry, however, was not to be moved for the moment. "We could have helped them, we had the high ground, they didn't have to die."

"No we couldn't, Harry," Hermione replied. "You said so yourself, we would've given away our position. We have to focus on finding Voldemort."

"But we could have helped them!" Harry cried.

"Harry, there's nothing we can do anymore."

"We've got to go, Harry."

"Harry!"

"Wha?" Harry asked groggily, jerking awake to find himself back in the rental car with Hermione shaking him awake by the knee.

"We're there," she said, "Wiltshire."

"Oh, great," Harry said, getting out of the car into the still night of a parking lot in front of a small hotel. A glance at his watch told him it was nearing two o'clock in the morning. With a yawn, he started stomping the circulation back into his stiff limbs.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Yeah, fine, why?" Harry replied.

"Well, that must have been some dream," she explained. "You kept thrashing around and talking in your sleep, something about helping someone."

"Oh," Harry sighed.

"Do you remember what it was about?" Hermione pressed.

"Nothing important," Harry muttered, then, trying to change the subject he asked, "Do I usually talk in my sleep?"

"I couldn't tell you for sure, we usually sleep in different rooms, see," Hermione pointed out as they moved to the back of the car. After a moment of trying to fit the key into the lock by the dim light of a nearby streetlamp, Hermione gave up and covertly opened the trunk with a tap of her wand so they could pull out their bags.

A moment later, Sydney came back with the keys to their hotel room, one of which she passed to Harry while she pulled out her own pack then locked the car and Hermione stayed behind to make sure her magical tampering hadn't caused any lasting anomalies. Harry walked to the inside hallway, located their room, and opened it, then stepped inside the dark room, which smelled strangely of cats, and without even thinking about it, lit his wand.

Hermione came rushing in a second later and flipped on the light, rendering Harry's wand light unnecessary, then pulled the door shut and she said loudly and pointedly, "I don't know why you have to use your flashlight when there's a light switch right by the door."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, extinguishing his wand, "I just..."

"Forgot?" Hermione demanded. "Out of practice, perhaps? A little groggy? Come on, Harry! We can't get sloppy, not when we're this close!"

With that, she picked up the remote control, examined if for a moment, then aimed it at the TV and tried two buttons before successfully locating the power switch. However, the channel the TV was set to was airing something extremely loud, and it was all Hermione could do to turn the device off again before she risked incurring the wrath of their sleeping neighbors. After that escapade she weekly tossed the remote back on the nightstand and herself on the nearest bed. Harry spent a moment in desperate indecision, then sat down next to her and began rubbing her back gently. She flinched away at first, but then gave in to whatever comfort he could offer her. They remained this way until Sydney came inside a few seconds later.

"Everything alright?" she asked, seeing them.

"Brilliant," Hermione sighed, sitting up.

"Fine," Harry replied simultaneously.

Sydney, however, was not convinced and after looking around the room for inspiration, asked, "Harry, can you sound proof this room?"

Harry was only too eager to carry out this request because he assumed it meant they'd soon be working out the details to an ingenious plan to rescue Ron and Michael, defeat the Death Eaters once and for all, and save the day all around. However, his hopes were dashed when Sydney sat down on the second bed across from them and said, "Let's play a game."

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "A game? What good will that do?"

"Ron and Michael are captured!" Hermione continued for him. "Every minute we waste is another minute that their lives are in danger and the Death Eaters are another minute closer to finding us. You can't honestly expect us to sit here doing nothing while we could be helping them!"

"We will be doing something, we'll be playing a game," Sydney maintained.

"What's the difference," Hermione muttered.

"I'm not sure you understand how much danger Ron and Michael are in," Harry said.

"Oh, I understand," Sydney replied, "but I also know that we will have no chance of rescuing them unless we come up with a plan that foresees every conceivable possibility. We won't be able to come up with that plan unless we get some sleep first, and I know neither of you will be able to sleep with your heads where they are now, so are we going to play or are we going to sit here all night glaring at each other."

"Fine," Harry said reluctantly.

"Aright," Hermione agreed, "but first thing tomorrow..."

"You've got it," Sydney said. "Now, I'm assuming you're both familiar with the game truth or dare." After both Wizards nodded their suspicious affirmation she continued, "Well, this is kind of like that, except I ask all the questions and choose whether it is a truth or a dare-"

"So it's truth or dare under a dictator," Hermione pointed out.

"Truth or Dare: Voldemort style," Harry coined. "Do we get to overthrow you, too?"

"We have yet to see if she's an evil dictator or not," Hermione replied.

"I've never heard of one that wasn't," Harry said.

"Well, there's bound to be a few..." Hermione stammered.

"Just go with it," Sydney demanded. "Harry, you have the first question. If all you're allowed to do right now is laugh, cry, or scream, which would it be?"

"Scream, I guess," Harry said with a shrug.

"Alright," Sydney continued. "Hermione same question."

"Cry," Hermione replied without hesitation.

"Harry, scream," Sydney dared.

"What?" he asked.

"You said that out of those three things you would scream," Sydney reminded him. "So scream."

Harry looked around desperately for a reason not to, but his best avenue of escape, arguing that he would disturb the neighbors, had already been anticipated and cut off when Sydney asked him to soundproof the place. With nothing else for it, he stood up, took a great breath and yelled at the top of his lungs, as though he was hoping that, if Sydney couldn't be deterred from her strange game, then he could at least break her ear drums. However, when he sat back down, slightly winded, he discovered that both of his companions had stuffed their hands in their ears.

"Nicely done," Sydney said, as though she commonly witnessed people yelling as loud as they could in hotel rooms. "Now Hermione, cry."

Of the two dares, it seemed that Hermione had gotten the more difficult one as she wasn't one to cry on command, or at all, under usual circumstances. She, like Harry, looked desperately around the room for some excuse not to attempt her dare, and, like Harry, came up empty, so she turned away from Harry and Sydney and set herself reluctantly to her task. After a few minutes she had managed only a single tear, but Sydney judged it sufficient and allowed her to stop, handing her a tissue. Harry tried to touch her shoulder in a comforting sort of way, but she shrugged him roughly away, apparently eager to do all she could to banish her newfound weeping image.

"Now Harry," Sydney said, thoughtfully drawing attention away from Hermione. "Did that make you feel better?"

"A little," Harry said with a shrug, as though daring either of them to mention the fact that he found comfort in an expression of anger.

"And Hermione?" Sydney asked.

"Not really," the Witch replied.

"Now both of you, laugh," Sydney commanded.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"You heard me," Sydney replied.

They had, but of all the strange things she had just asked them to do, this seemed to be by far the most ludicrous, for unlike screaming or even crying, genuine laughter required something to be genuinely comical, and a brief glance between the two Wizards confirmed that neither could find such a phenomenon.

"Anyone have a good joke?" Harry asked timidly.

"Oh, you don't see anything funny here?" Sydney said, suddenly taking the air of a schoolteacher. "Well, that's a shame, but I'm not convinced you're looking hard enough."

"Care to get us started?" Hermione muttered.

"Alright," Sydney said thoughtfully. "What about a little while ago when Harry walked in here and immediately lit his wand instead of turning on the lights even though he was raised by Muggles, or how I forgot that the steering wheel is on the right in England. Then there's the fact that during the two minutes the two of you were dancing with each other you stepped on each other's feet at least ten times.

Harry, though still not entirely convinced, and a bit curious about how Sydney could have been close enough to them in that mob at the club to observe such a thing, could not hold back a chuckle not help but add, "what about the two of you coming to my rescue dressed up as old hags."

"And how you thought we actually were old hags," Hermione interjected.

"Don't forget how Michael would always smear his ink because he's left handed," Sydney added.

Before long they were all in stitches, tears of mirth filling their eyes. They continued this way until every breath was agony and they were risking hyperventilation, and even then it took some effort to regain their composure.

Finally, when order was restored, Sydney asked her final question. "Did that make you feel better?"

The response was a resounding "yes."

***************

As usual, Ron and Michael couldn't tell just how much time had passed since their last encounter with a Death Eater, but they had spent most of it in a circular discussion about who had let slip that Michael was a Muggle, reassuring themselves at regular intervals that the conversation was for the eventual purpose of making sure that they didn't make a similar mistake again. However, their argument was complicated by the fact that their entire strategy consisted of denying that Michael was a Muggle, thus limiting themselves to generalities and code words in case the Death Eaters were watching somehow. Furthermore, neither one seemed entirely willing to place the blame on the other nor dismiss Malfoy's allusion to having Harry, Hermione, and Sydney captive as well as mere posturing.

Ron had just gotten done pointing out for the fifteenth time that at least Michael hadn't frozen up at the first sign of an insult. However, Ron suddenly went tense before Michael could remind the Wizard that he was the only one subjected to attacks on his character.

"Oh no," he sighed.

"What?" Michael asked. "What's wrong?"

Ron's only response was to screw up his face in concentration or pain, leading Michael to suspect that he was on the verge of another one of his attacks. However, a second later, the Wizard snapped out of his trance, yelling, "Legilimens!"

Michael narrowly avoided the impulse to write Ron of as momentarily insane in favor of asking, "What?"

"Legilimens! Malfoy can do Legilimens!" Ron cried excitedly.

"That's not what I meant," Michael replied, happy for the moment that he had understood more than half of the words in Ron's last statement. "What is Legilimens?"

"Mind reading!" Ron replied, grasping Michael by the shoulders before deciding that he couldn't contain himself while sitting on the floor, so he stood up and started pacing instead.

"You're saying Malfoy can read minds?" Michael asked.

"Exactly," Ron replied.

"How do you know?" Michael pressed.

"Because it's the only explanation!" Ron exclaimed. "We didn't give anything up and we know it! So how else could Malfoy be so sure about this idea of his unless he read our minds!"

"There must be plenty of other explanations," Michael started.

"But I dare you to come up with one," Ron interrupted, pointing at Michael.

"Fine, assuming Malfoy can do this Legilimens, what can we do about it?" Michael pressed.

"Nothing!" Ron exclaimed, "at least nothing that is guaranteed to work, since I don't have my wand, but Harry had to study Occlumency in our fifth year. He said he always had to keep his mind blank."

"Wait, what's Occlumency?" Michael asked.

"Defense against mind reading," Ron replied, as the door burst open and Lucius Malfoy stepped inside, followed by a herd of Death Eaters.

"Keep your mind blank," Ron whispered as he dropped immediately to the floor and assumed the most relaxed position his adrenaline laced system would allow.

"I'm prepared to make a deal with you, Mr. Dorin," Malfoy said.

Ron was expecting to see one of the Death Eaters step forward. It wasn't until Michael spoke that he remembered Dorin was the name he'd given to his captors.

"What sort of deal would that be?"

"Wait," Ron demanded. "Any deal should go through me."

"Tut, tut, Mr. Weasley," Malfoy said patronizingly. "Can't you see the adults are talking? Unless, of course, you'd like to explain exactly why Mr. Dorin shouldn't be included in this negotiation."

The allusion to Michael's magical ability was so blatant that Ron shook his head before he realized that he could have cited his superior experience in dealing with Death Eaters.

"I'm curious to see you prove that you are a Wizard as you claim," Malfoy explained, motioning for one of his cronies to step forward. The man's knees were buckling under the weight of a large chest. "This box is magically sealed. Within is a large meal. It is yours if you can open it."

"What's in it for you?" Michael asked, feeling quite certain that this deal was not to be taken at face value.

"Only the satisfaction of my curiosity," Malfoy replied with a smirk. "And, if you fail, Mr. Weasley will die."

Several Death Eaters looked particularly happy to hear this. Ron gave a sharp gasp.

"And if I refuse to play along?" Michael asked coolly.

"Then you will both die," Malfoy replied.

Several more Death Eaters perked up.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut in resignation, then opened them again to catch Ron's gaze. The Wizard simply nodded once, resigned to his fate if it meant that one of them might survive, then maintained the look a second longer before Michael turned away.

"Alright," Michael said, "I'm ready."

"Very well," Malfoy replied, pulling a wand out of an inner pocket and handing it to Michael.

"You're giving me my wand back?" Michael asked incredulously.

"How else do you expect to open the box?" Malfoy said, his sardonic smirk suddenly gathering new life. "At least, I assume it is your wand, yours and Mr. Weasley's are very similar, almost identical, in fact. At any rate, I don't believe you'll be causing us much trouble. The box, if you please."

Michael took a steadying breath and rolled the wand between his sweaty palms. No matter how he looked at it, there was no way he could open this box, and there was no way he could save Ron. He knew that by playing Malfoy's game he would prevent both of them from dying, but cursed the cruel fate that would kill Ron when Michael failed. Finally, Michael raised the wand, waved it as Hermione had taught him and said, "Alohomora!"

The chest in front of him clicked open.

The collective jaws of those in the room went slack, but none so much as Michael's. He stared disbelievingly at the wand in his hand. After a moment of incomprehension, Malfoy snatched the wand out of Michael's limp grip and left abruptly, sweeping the rest of the Death Eaters out along with him.

Michael and Ron remained exactly as they were for at least a minute, each attempting to comprehend what had just happened and neither with much success.

Finally, the silence was broken when Ron's stomach growled loudly and they both fell upon the food in the chest, simultaneously demanding of each other, "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Michael replied first, pulling out a large apple.

"Me either!" Ron said, smiling ecstatically as he located a shepherd's pie

They realized that neither of them had consciously done anything to rescue themselves from the situation, but couldn't put off talking about it until they had finished eating. After all, aside from earning themselves a meal, they had no doubt only increased Malfoy's wrath. There was no telling when he would come back, nor if they would live for very long afterwards. Anything they were going to figure out had to be done as quickly as possible.

"'oo ya 'ave any magigal rela'ives?" Ron slurred around a rather larger bite than was truly wise to eat all at once, much less talk with.

Michael took a thoughtful swig of pumpkin juice while he decoded Ron's question, then replied, "Not that I know of. You didn't touch me or anything, did you?"

"No," Ron said, fortunately remembering to swallow first. "Very strange."

"No kidding," Michael agreed. "And you've never heard of Muggles being able to do magic?"

"Well, then they wouldn't be Muggles anymore, would they?" Ron pointed out, a small dollop of pudding dripping out of his mouth as he spoke. He caught it with a napkin and continued, "Did you feel like you were doing magic?"

"I guess I don't know what doing magic feels like," Michael pointed out stifling a hiccup, "but I didn't feel any different."

After a few minutes of solid eating, Michael suggested, "We should probably save the rest, in case they decide to stop feeding us again."

Ron nodded reluctantly and forced himself away from the chest, but Michael added, "We should also hide the food, they'll probably come back some time and take the box."

They set themselves against their task, locating empty nooks and crannies within the bookshelves and stuffing them with sandwiches, drinks, and fruit. Only when the last of their well earned feast had been stowed did Ron finally say, "Nice spell work, anyway."

"Thanks," Michael replied with a skeptical shrug.

A moment later, all light in the room was extinguished, not even a star was visible through the window. All was pitch black.