Variations

Author's Note: This story is an elaboration on an event that was described in another one of my stories, "The End," but you don't need to read that to understand this. The only trouble I expect anyone could encounter by reading "Variations" before "The End" is that they'd have several things spoiled, but that's all. This story relates the same fight (the final battle against Voldemort) fourteen times, following the experiences of fourteen different people. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1: The Story of the Leader

A preliminary report from Tobias on the N.E.W.T. results (the students did well this year), a request from Hagrid to be allowed to show next year's Care of Magical Creatures class a Lethifold (the line must be drawn somewhere), an angry letter from the parents of a fifth year complaining about the difficulty of the O.W.L.s (they certainly don't waste time), a note from the House Elves asking what she'd like to have served at the leaving feast, the usual request from Filch to allow him to torture unruly students...

Professor McGonagall set down the last roll of parchment and leaned back in her chair...Dumbledore's chair...her chair...the chair. No matter how many times she settled herself behind this desk, slept in the side chamber, no matter how she decorated the space, no matter how many times the portraits of former Headmasters insisted otherwise, to her this would always be Dumbledore's office.

"Something troubling you, Minerva?"

McGonagall looked up and easily found Dumbledore's portrait among the hundreds of former Headmasters.

"How did you do it, Albus?"

"It has been my experience that, when something needs to be done, we find a way to do it."

McGonagall sighed. It was his usual response to a question she asked more often than she was prepared to admit, and it hadn't been very helpful any of those time either.

Her days as Transfiguration teacher, when her greatest worries were grading essays and disciplining students she caught wandering the halls after hours, were long over. Now she was Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry while a war raged just over the mountains and sometimes even closer.

But now, every report she read, whether it was from the Order or the Ministry, said that Voldemort had moved off, maybe even left the country. It had been nearly two weeks since the last open battle, and, as relieved as she was, McGonagall couldn't help the growing ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She hadn't felt it quite so pointedly in several months, since Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned up in the Great Hall the previous February, seeking shelter and protection as they regrouped from the secret mission Dumbledore had set them. She'd welcomed them, even though she'd been certain that the Death Eaters, and maybe even You-Know-Who, would follow them. Instead, they'd spent a month at Hogwarts without incident. Most of the time they could be found, researching who knows what, then they'd left and she hadn't seen or heard from them until three weeks ago, when the three of them turned up again, hoping to take their N.E.W.T.s. Or, rather, one was hoping to take her N.E.W.T.s, the other two seemed afraid for certain vital parts of their anatomy if they didn't.

Allowing herself a rare smile, McGonagall stood and walked to the window. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were probably in Hogsmeade with most of the rest of the school, enjoying their last visit before the end of the term. She'd almost cancelled this visit, just like the rest of them that year, but You-Know-Who was so far away.

McGonagall could make out a few groups of students wandering around the lake or along the path to and from Hogsmeade, though the light was fading. After giving them a brief respite from the dark storm clouds that had covered the entire country that morning, it seemed that they were finally coming back. If it hadn't started raining yet, it would soon.

Unexpectedly, McGonagall felt a faint itch on the back of her head, as though someone was blowing behind her ear.

"Minerva."

Age had not been kind to her reflexes, but she was still quick enough when the situation called for it. In one quick movement she turned around, drew her wand, and pointed it at the intruder.

"Severus." Contrary to what she'd expected, Snape's wand was not trained on her, in fact, it wasn't even in sight.

"Good afternoon," Snape replied, as though he'd only stopped by to discuss the weather. "Or is it evening? In either case it won't remain pleasant for much longer."

"Come to kill me too, Severus?"

A strange look crossed Snape's face but he mastered it quickly and returned to his usual stony expression.

"Not me."

"What?" McGonagall fumbled. "How did you get in here?"

"I'm not the one you ought to be worried about," Snape returned.

McGonagall's automatic retort was interrupted by the calm voice of Professor Dumbledore.

"Listen to him, Minerva."

It was again his usual advice, which he typically spouted when a student was called to the Headmistress's office for discipline, but there was something about the way he said it this time that made it sound altogether more important. Stranger still was Snape's reaction to hearing Dumbledore's voice: he'd whipped around and spent the next few moments searching out the portrait, and when he turned back it took him much longer than before to master his features.

"Who should I be worried about?" McGonagall prompted, the itching behind her ear getting worse.

"The Death Eaters who are currently gaining entrance to this castle by every passage they know.

"Both the Aurors and the Order have evidence that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters are in Albania."

"And who do you suppose gave them that impression, left the clues that led them to that conclusion?"

"You lied to us," McGonagall replied, hand tightening around her wand.

"I told the truth as I knew it," Snape said. "The Dark Lord was in Albania."

Suddenly, the itching behind her ear, the warning that the castle's wards were being tampered with, grew too much for McGonagall to stand and she lifted a hand to scratch the spot.

Watching her, Snape said, "It seems you have a fight on your hands."

"And whose side will you be on?" McGonagall replied, flicking her wand to lift the warning spell and immediately relieving the itching.

But Snape didn't reply and McGonagall didn't stop him when he turned to leave.

Pointing her wand to her throat, McGonagall called, "Students, report to your houses at once. House guards seals yourselves in ten minutes. Teachers to your positions. This is very real."

McGonagall released the spell and paused to listen to her final words echo through the castle and across the grounds. This is very real.

Of all the places the Death Eaters could attack, that You-Know-Who could choose to stage his battle, why did it have to be here? Hadn't Hogwarts seen enough of war? Maybe if Potter wasn't-

Potter. For all McGonagall knew he could still be in Hogsmeade along with most of the older students. They'd had no idea what was going on, and when they tried to return to Hogwarts they'd be walking right into a battle zone.

McGonagall didn't know if Harry was familiar with the Order's method of communication, but it was the only way she knew she could get a message to him, so she cast a patronus and sent it off, hoping he'd know it was a warning to stay away. She sent a second patronus to Grimmauld Place, but with the war requiring so little of the Order's attention recently, she didn't know for sure if anyone would be there to receive it.

Terror boiling within her, McGonagall turned now to the portraits.

"Dily, alert Saint Mungo's. The rest of you, I need to know what's happening. Speak with the other portraits and start relaying information to the teachers. Ask the ghosts to do the same. Quickly now."

With that, the occupants of the portraits scattered, pausing only to jostle their neighbors awake. The last thing McGonagall saw before turning to leave was Dumbledore winking at her.

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

Even if they hadn't planned for this possibility, even if they hadn't prepared and strategized in staff meetings that sometimes lasted long into the night, there still would have been no need for McGonagall to explain the situation when she got downstairs, for a small band of teachers, Aurors, and Order members were already defending the Entrance Hall against a much larger group of Death Eaters.

Without sparing a second thought for her own well being, McGonagall raced down the stairs to help, dodging or shielding herself from spells as they began coming her way. Most of her colleagues had positioned themselves behind statues or banisters, allowing those to crumble under the onslaught, but a few, mostly Aurors and members of the Order, had placed themselves at the foot of the stairs, and it was those that McGonagall joined.

"Good of you to come," Kingsley Shacklebolt said as she placed herself between him and Professor Flitwick.

"Got here as soon as I could," McGonagall returned, taking aim at a Death Eater. He deflected her spell easily and she was so distracted that she didn't realize that she'd made a target of herself until a curse whizzed past her left ear.

"Are there any students in the Great Hall?" McGonagall asked, simultaneously vowing to be more alert.

"Doors have been closed since I got here," Shacklebolt replied. "Don't know if anyone's inside."

"Dinner wouldn't have started for another half hour after you made your announcement," Flitwick offered. "No students should be in there."

"I wouldn't be so worried about the Great Hall if I were you," Shacklebolt added.

"The dungeons," McGonagall gasped, eyes flicking to the staircase in question, which was behind the line of Death Eaters. "Slytherin House!"

"Aye," Moody said from the other side of Professor Flitwick, sounding skeptical. McGonagall didn't have to look at his face to know what expression was painted there.

"They're students, Alastor!" McGonagall cried, channeling her anger over his implication into her next curse, which dropped a Death Eater at the end of the line. "Not Death Eaters!"

"Why don't we let hist- Leave him, Minerva!" Moody interrupted himself, for a spell had finally found Flitwick, who'd crumpled to the ground with a soft grunt and McGonagall had stooped to help him.

McGonagall straightened up, knowing Moody was right about helping the wounded later, even if he wasn't about the Slytherin students. "It's our duty to help all the students equally," she argued instead.

If Moody was going to reply, McGonagall never heard it, because at that moment someone shouted the two words she'd been dreading.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The entire fight seemed to pause for a moment as the line of defenders stopped to wait for the spell to find one of them. Then Hestia Jones slumped to the ground and the fight continued in earnest. It was different now, however, for now that the killing curse had been given and received, the Death Eaters seemed quite keen to see it used again, and they weren't the only ones: Moody and a few other Aurors started casting it too.

In those few seconds, the battle took a strange and terrible turn. With so many of those green bolts flying from one line to the other, the fighters no longer flinched when they heard the spell being cast, they didn't pause to see where it went, they didn't bother trying to save themselves because they knew it was useless. All of a sudden, Hogwarts' defenders found themselves outnumbered in a war of attrition.

Though disenheartened, they fought on, never quite giving as good as they got. It was obvious that they couldn't last much longer in a fight such as this, but retreat would be allowing the Death Eaters into the rest of Hogwarts, and as long as they stood their ground there was a chance they could end the fighting here.

McGonagall wasn't sure how long things continued like this, five minutes perhaps, though it felt like eons. It was long enough, however, for the statues, banisters, and stairs behind them to be nearly destroyed by stray spells. She chanced a glace at the rest of her line and nearly lost all concentration when she saw that their force of more than twenty had been reduced to five. While she was still recovering, something unexpected happened: Moody left the line, hobbled forward a few paces, and started throwing every spell he could at the Death Eaters, including more than a few killing curses.

Somehow, his mind, so filled with suspicion and conspiracies in his later years, had decided that it was imperative that he make himself as much of a nuisance as possible before he fell. There was only one reason McGonagall could fathom that would make him do such a thing.

"Alastor!" she called after him. "What did you see? Who did you see?"

However, even if Moody had intended to respond, he never got the chance, for McGonagall had barely finished speaking when a green bolt of light found him and he slumped to the ground.

For a moment everything seemed to stop, then, without consciously deciding to, McGonagall pointed her wand at the fallen Professor Flitwick, lifted him a few inches off the floor, and ran with him up the battered stairs. Remus Lupin followed, Professor Vector slung over his shoulder, and Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Caden came after him, still sending spells towards the encroaching Death Eaters and carrying wounded.

When they reached the next floor, Lupin staggered forward a few steps, lifted his wand and tapped the elbow of a suit of armor. It grabbed at the spot with its other hand as though it had been hit in the funny bone and lifted one foot, revealing a small gap between the floorboards.

"Pull it open and get inside," Lupin commanded, shifting Professor Vector's position on his shoulder.

McGonagall did as he asked, seeing Flitwick down through the trap door first, then found herself in a secret passageway she'd never seen before.

"How did-"

"I'll explain later," Lupin replied shortly as he slipped through the trapdoor to stand next to her, shoving her gracelessly down the passageway to allow their companions room for entrance. "This will lead us to the second floor."

"Second," McGonagall cried as she struggled to keep Flitwick's limp weight moving, "but the hospital wing's a floor above that."

"Best I can do," Lupin panted from behind her, and McGonagall had no choice but to let the subject drop as they reached the foot of a tall and winding staircase.

McGonagall never considered herself old, but never before had she felt as infirm as when she was struggling up that staircase, using every bit of her strength and concentration to keep herself and Flitwick from toppling down the stairs and onto the line of people behind her.

McGonagall wasn't sure how long they'd been climbing. It felt like an eternity, yet she was still surprised when she climbed a final step and bumped her head on the ceiling, nearly losing her hat and her footing.

She felt Remus stop on the step behind her and reach over her head to tap the ceiling with his wand. She hadn't realized how dark their secret passageway was until the patch of ceiling above her slid open, bathing her in blinding torchlight.

As it transpired, their timing was unfortunate. No sooner had McGonagall poked her head out of the trapdoor than she had to crouch back down again to avoid being seen by a passing group of Death Eaters.

She'd seen enough to know that their trapdoor was partially concealed behind a statue, but it was still wishful thinking to hope that the Death Eaters might come and go without spotting the gaping hole in the floor. Indeed, she'd hardly lowered Flitwick to the ground when a woman above them shouted, "Hey, I think I heard something!"

Knowing that they couldn't have been caught in a worse position if they'd tried, McGonagall nevertheless prepared herself for the coming assault, but none came.

After more than enough time for the Death Eaters to find them had passed and passed again, McGonagall straightened up and looked into the hallway to find it deserted.

Forcing herself to show no outward sign of her confusion, McGonagall climbed out of the trap door and levitated Flitwick after her. Remus soon joined her, Professor Vector still slung over his shoulder, and together they attempted to discover where the Death Eaters had gone and what had led them away. It didn't take them long.

The Death Eaters were running down a perpendicular hallway, all except one, who lagged behind. It wasn't apparent why until the woman turned back, spotted them, raised a finger to her lips, and carried on running with the others.

"Nymphadora," McGonagall whispered, awestruck, suddenly feeling that all the trust Dumbledore had placed in the young woman, who McGonagall herself had been so skeptical of, was validated.

Next to her, Remus nodded without speaking, having turned away, and McGonagall didn't need to ask why. Even though she hadn't intended it, her years as a teacher had honed her perceptions when it came to affairs of the heart.

By silent agreement, she and Remus let the subject drop and started instead toward the rest of their group, who had already begun making their way toward the Hospital Wing. Ordinarily, the trek wouldn't have taken more than five minutes, but they were continually crossing paths with groups of Death Eaters they were too outnumbered and heavily burdened to fight, so it was fifteen minutes later by the time they finally reached the closed doors of the hospital wing.

Lowering Flitwick once again to the floor, McGonagall pointed her wand at the doorknob and muttered the password, "Sanctuary." The door opened with an obliging click.

The group slipped inside and was beset almost immediately by Poppy Pomphrey, who directed them to lay the wounded on the prepared beds so she could begin checking them over.

Even though they had laid out these plans years ago, McGonagall couldn't help but marvel at the Healer's efficiency. Already the usually open Hospital Wing had been transformed into a triage unit with at least twice the usual number of beds and wide assortments of potions laid out on tables placed at strategic intervals. Pomphrey herself was bustling between the wounded on the beds, and most of them seemed to already be benefiting from her ministrations.

"How bad is it?" Pomphrey asked unexpectedly as she leaned over the stirring Flitwick and it took McGonagall a moment to realize the question was directed at her.

"Not good," McGonagall replied simply, inwardly scolding herself for letting her thoughts wander in a time such as this.

"I'm going to need help here," Pomphrey continued.

"Where do you propose we get it from," McGonagall asked. "Even if we could get word to Saint Mungo's the castle is completely sealed. Anyone they send wouldn't be able to get inside."

"Students, then," Pomphrey suggested. "I've been working with Hannah Abbott; she wants to become a Healer and certainly knows her way around a healing charm."

"The students have been confined to their houses," McGonagall replied, citing the first reason to keep students out of the fight that came to mind.

"Then send someone to fetch her," Pomphrey said, brushing past the Headmistress to see to a group of wounded who'd just stumbled through the door.

Students shouldn't have to get involved in the battle, it wasn't fair to ask, McGonagall thought, but even as she pondered that she knew that this was war and fair had nothing to do with it.

'Indecision does not become me,' McGonagall scolded herself, forcing aside the fear that had been threatening to overwhelm her since she'd left the Entrance Hall.

"Remus," she said, "you seem to know this castle better than anyone."

"I'll find Hannah," Lupin replied.

"You know the way to Hufflepuff house?" She paused only long enough for him to nod before she continued, "The password is 'Fwooper.'"

Lupin left without another word and Madam Pomphrey looked up from her work just long enough to give McGonagall a grateful smile.

Knowing that she was only losing time by remaining in the Hospital Wing, McGonagall turned to the member of the new group of wounded who seemed most able to talk, an Auror she knew by sight but not by name, and asked, "How did this happen to you?"

"We were ambushed," he replied through gritted teeth. His arms and chest were covered in a thick salve but still seemed to be causing him pain.

"Where are the Death Eaters?" McGonagall pressed.

"Everywhere," the Auror replied.

"And You-Know-Who?" McGonagall continued, breath catching at the mere thought of that terrible presence in her beloved school.

"I don't know," the Auror replied.

"Alright," McGonagall said, turning to the group from the Entrance Hall she'd arrived with. "We're not doing any good standing around here. I think we ought to start at the top floor and work our way down, expelling any Death Eaters we find as we go."

Kingsley nodded his agreement, but when she turned to go he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Even Muggles know better than to send their generals to the front lines," he said.

"Well, I'm neither a general nor a Muggle," McGonagall replied, brushing him off and heading for the door.

"You're not as young as you used to be," Kingsley added.

"A fact I prefer not to be reminded of," McGonagall muttered automatically before realizing that this was not the time to get defensive about her age. With a sigh, she turned back to Kingsley and revised herself. "That never stopped Dumbledore."

Kingsley didn't even bother with responding to that. Instead he said, "We need someone outside of the battle who can keep tabs on what's going on and tell us where we're needed. You're the best person for the job."

McGonagall pinned Shacklebolt with the same look that had terrified her students for years, but he seemed utterly unaffected and even returned more or less in kind.

"Very well," McGonagall finally conceded, unable to fault his reasoning. "I'll be sending signals via my patronus, please let anyone you come across know that."

"I will," Kingsley replied, making for the door.

So everyone who could left with Shacklebolt, and McGonagall stayed, trying to remember the last time she'd felt so utterly useless, but the feeling didn't last long. McGonagall hadn't been standing there long when Pomphrey thrust a potion into her hand and told her to see that the Auror in the second bed drank it while she herself got to work reattaching a severed hand.

"He's here!" exclaimed Nearly-Headless Nick some time later, startling them all as Pomphrey and McGonagall worked together to set a badly broken leg.

"He? You don't mean..." McGonagall asked, knowing he did.

"You-Know-Who," Nick confirmed gravely, looking as disheveled as McGonagall had ever seen him and even forgetting to mind his head, which was teetering precariously.

"Where, Sir Nicholas," McGonagall pressed, turning to a hastily done map of Hogwarts she'd charmed on one wall of the Hospital Wing.

"This floor, near the Charms classroom," Nick replied.

"Alright," McGonagall said, now facing a dilemma. Ending Voldemort was the surest way to end the war, but sending anyone to face a wizard so powerful was tantamount to a death sentence, and not an option she could take without some proper organization. "Spread the word, tell everyone to avoid that part of the third floor, and use caution when getting here."

Nick nodded and left, and it was only after she'd given the same message to all the portraits in the Hospital Wing that McGonagall realized what he had told her. Voldemort was here, in the castle. She'd known all along that it was a possibility, even likelihood, but to hear it confirmed, to know that his horrible presence was in the castle, and furthermore, not so far from the Hospital Wing, was a horrible revelation, but also not one she had time to dwell on.

Still, that did not halt her caution some ten minutes later when there was a sudden and urgent knock on the door of the Hospital Wing. She almost ignored it, and when it did not come again she began to wonder if she'd imagined it. Everyone on their side of the fight should have known the password to the Hospital Wing, but perhaps he or she was unable to speak, or memory charmed, and besides, someone standing outside their door was sure to attract the wrong sort of attention.

"Poppy," McGonagall said, turning to the door, her mind made up.

"Just a moment, I need-"

"Poppy." It was not a request, nor something that could wait for a moment.

McGonagall and Pomphrey pulled their wands and made for the door. Pomphrey placed herself against the wall nearest the doorknob, and McGonagall pulled the door open, braced for an attack, but none came. The hallway was clear except for a crumpled heap of a man, lying on the floor in front of them.

"That's Jacob Dawlish!" McGonagall exclaimed, flicking her wand to levitate him inside.

"What have they done to him!" Pomphrey breathed, inspecting him as McGonagall laid him on the nearest empty bed. McGonagall had to admit to wondering precisely the same thing: the man was covered head to foot in the results of at least half a dozen amateur charms, as though the Death Eaters had grown tired of waging battle in their usual way and elected to toy with him instead.

"Once he's out of danger, make sure he's not under the influence of Polyjuice or glamour charms," McGonagall reminded the nurse as she turned to inspect her map again.

"I need you to apply the salve in the blue bottle to Professor Vector's leg," Pomphrey returned, edgily but doubtless intentionally reminding McGonagall that she had been interrupted before.

Before long, McGonagall fell into an odd sort of rhythm. She'd gather any information she could from every group of wounded that entered the hospital wing and get more regular reports from portraits and ghosts, then use that information to modify her map of Hogwarts, then send a patronus to relate any new developments to her comrades. In the meantime she'd help Madam Pomphrey in any way she could, which was perhaps a better gauge of how things were going. When things started most of the wounded simply had a broken bone or cut that Pomphrey would mend before sending them back into the fray, but as time passed the injuries became more and more severe, sometimes even exceeding Pomphrey's considerable skills and resources, and sometimes, when there was truly nothing left that could be done and they'd have to levitate the broken body to one of the back beds and cover it with a sheet. It all left very little attention for the passage of time and it wasn't until McGonagall caught herself wondering where Lupin and Hannah Abbott had got to that she realized nearly two hours had gone by.

Abruptly, the comfort and familiarity of repetition fell away and McGonagall faced her makeshift map as she hadn't before. Somehow, even though she knew that every time she gave an order there were less people able to carry it out, even though most of those who fell behind usually found their way to the Hospital Wing, she'd failed to realize just how much their numbers had diminished.

"We can't hold out much longer," McGonagall whispered to herself, though Jacob Dawlish, who happened to be in a bed nearby, and recently cleared of suspicion of being a Death Eater in disguise, heard her.

"We'll fight as long as we need to," he said.

"No," McGonagall replied. "No, if they want Hogwarts so badly then we should let them have it."

"You can't be serious," Dawlish laughed, though he started coughing soon after.

"There are hundreds of students scattered around this school," McGonagall continued. "We need to get them to safety before we spend any more resources fighting a battle we can't win."

"We haven't lost yet," Dawlish pointed out.

"Look around," McGonagall hissed, "there's more people in here than there are out there fighting. I don't see you rejoining the battle any time soon."

If Dawlish responded, McGonagall never heard it, because at that moment the door to the Hospital Wing opened. She turned to face it, preparing herself for the next wave of wounded or the final assault of the Death Eaters, but neither came. Instead, Hannah Abbott walked inside, closely followed by Bill Weasley.

Madam Pomphrey dragged Hannah off almost immediately, so McGonagall focused her attention of Bill.

"It's bad out there, Professor," Bill sighed, unprompted.

"What took so long?" McGonagall pressed. "Where's Remus?"

"Remus?" Bill asked. "I haven't seen him."

"Then how did you know to fetch Hannah?" McGonagall asked, puzzled and more than a little concerned about the well being of her former colleague.

"I didn't," Bill admitted. "I had to duck behind a tapestry to avoid a group of Death Eaters and there she was, scared to death but bound and determined to get here and help Madam Pomphrey. Wouldn't hear a word about going back to her house, so I offered to escort her."

"I see," McGonagall replied, looking at the brave Hufflepuff with new admiration. Though clearly overwhelmed, she was coolly following Pomphrey's instructions as she ministered to a burn.

"How much longer can we hold out?" McGonagall asked, returning her attention to Bill.

"If this were any other place I'd say we should have backed out an hour ago," Bill replied, suddenly looking weary. He ran a hand over his hair, pausing momentarily at his forehead, where a finger grazed one of the scars he'd earned in a similar battle a year before. "But we can't just abandon Hogwarts."

As much as she wanted to agree, as much as the old Gryffindor in her screamed that there was no greater dishonor than running from a fight, she knew that it was no use. Even if they fought to the last man, they could not win back Hogwarts, and if they tried then they might lose the war for their efforts.

"Yes we can," McGonagall said slowly.

"What?" Bill asked sharply as everyone in the room turned to look at her.

"We can abandon Hogwarts, and we will," McGonagall continued. "We are going to win this war, but not today."

One look at Bill confirmed that his inner Gryffindor was yelling just as loudly as hers, but he didn't argue. In fact, he seemed to agree.

Bolstered, McGonagall turned to the nearest portrait and commanded, "Spread the word, we're leaving Hogwarts. Everyone is to begin evacuating the students."

The portrait's subject nodded and bustled off, so McGonagall turned to the room at large and said, "Let's get these people out of here."

As it happened, transporting the patients was more complex that McGonagall anticipated. Since Apparating and the Floo Network were out of the question, she and Bill began creating as many portkeys as they would need, but even the best-off patients were in no condition to weather the violent ride to Saint Mungo's. Pomphrey and Hannah began binding and stabilizing any injured limbs they could, but even Hannah looked skeptical.

"I ought to go with them," Pomphrey said as she worked, "so I can explain their injuries and the Healers at Saint Mungo's can begin treating them right away without having to figure out what's wrong with them first."

"But you need to stay here," McGonagall said sternly. "You wouldn't be able to get back and you're the only Healer we've got. If something went wrong here..."

"I was getting to that," Pomphrey sighed. "And we can't send them all at once or they'll probably hurt each other while riding the portkey."

"I'll go," Hannah volunteered promptly.

Pomphrey was so surprised that she actually paused in her work for the first time in hours.

"They might not believe you," she pointed out.

"I'll make them," Hannah replied.

"They might not even know what's happened here," McGonagall added.

"I'll tell them," Hannah said.

"Alright," Pomphrey said, placing a hand on Hannah's shoulder. "You've done well."

"Thanks," Hannah replied gratefully. McGonagall handed her a portkey and a moment later she disappeared.

Pomphrey, McGonagall, and Bill began sending the patients after her, allowing about thirty seconds between each one. They were almost half way done when Shacklebolt burst through the door, looking shaken and out of breath.

"They're gone!" he exclaimed without preamble.

"The Death Eaters?" McGonagall asked, surprised, her nimble mind struggling to compute that turn of events.

"The students," Kingsley clarified unsteadily. "The ones in Ravenclaw at least. The entire tower was deserted."

"What!" McGonagall demanded, her elation turning to raw panic. "Where did they go?"

"I wish I knew," Kingsley replied, looking as helpless as she'd ever seen him.

Maybe she didn't believe him, maybe she needed to see for herself, maybe she needed to do something before the fear froze her, maybe she didn't know why, but whatever the reason, she raced to the door, yanked it open, and ran down the hallway as fast as her legs would carry her, not even sparing a thought for the possibility of running into Death Eaters. A moment later Shacklebolt and Bill caught up with her. They didn't bother asking where she was going.

"There wasn't any sign of a fight," Kingsley said as they ran up a staircase. "The fireplace was cold; it was like everyone had just gone to class. The only strange thing is that a bookshelf might have been out of place, like they'd moved it to block the entrance then moved it again so they could leave."

McGonagall listened as they ran, occasionally asking for additional details, but she also couldn't help but notice something that the numerous reports she'd received had left out: the damage this battle had done to Hogwarts. She almost didn't recognize it. Everywhere she looked portraits were ripped or burned and hanging out of their broken frames and several times she nearly slipped and fell on the crumbled remains of statues and banisters.

When they reached the seventh floor, Shacklebolt turned right, toward Ravenclaw, but McGonagall and Bill turned left, toward Gryffindor. Outnumbered, Shacklebolt turned back to join them. His obvious question when unasked, but hung in the air nevertheless, so McGonagall answered it anyway.

"You-Know-Who seems to have a special fascination with Harry Potter," she panted, the long climb weighing on her. "If any house was going to get attacked, it would be his."

However, when they reached the portrait, it was not hanging open or ripped apart as they had feared. In fact, it seemed that the only damage was to the Fat Lady's pride.

"At last, someone to restore some order here," she cried.

"Crup," McGonagall replied between gasps for air.

"Oh, don't bother," the Fat Lady replied, staying firmly shut, "there's no one in there."

"Where did they go?" McGonagall pressed.

"How should I know," the Fat Lady said, "but those Gryffindors have a thing or two to learn about following rules. Why, it must have been half an hour after I changed the password that Harry Potter appears out of nowhere demanding to be let inside, saying he was on orders from Dumbledore."

"Harry was here?" McGonagall gasped.

"Oh yes," the Fat Lady said, "and I couldn't just make him stay out here, could I? Then, not tem minutes after I let him in he comes waltzing right back out again, and this time he's got four more students with him, aside from the two he had tagging along in the first place."

McGonagall only had to look at Bill to corroborate her suspicion of who two of those other six might be. He'd spent most of the last few minutes turning an increasingly troubling shade of green, but some of his usual color returned at the mention of Ron and Ginny.

"They went off for awhile," the Fat Lady continued. "Eventually some came back and some others left, there was really no point in trying to stop them, most days they hardly even listen to me when I change the password. Then, the next thing I know the whole lot of them are leaving, led by a couple of House Elves."

"House Elves?" McGonagall breathed.

"I know!" the Fat Lady pouted.

"Mirri!" McGonagall exclaimed.

A moment later a tiny tea towel clad elf appeared before them with an obliging pop.

"Have the House Elves been leading the students out of Hogwarts?" McGonagall asked immediately.

"Yes Mistress," Mirri replied, eyes narrowing.

"Then the students are safe," McGonagall pressed, "all of them."

"We found all the students in their houses and some students who weren't," Mirri replied. "We led them through secret passageways to Hogsmeade and found them floo powder."

"Where are they?" McGonagall continued.

"We sent them to Saint Mungo's, Mistress," Mirri replied. "We knew you would be wanting to know they is alright."

"That you, Mirri," McGonagall said, allowing herself to breathe easy. "You've done well, but who gave you the order to help the students?"

Mirri's eyes narrowed then widened. "Dobby is saying you did, Mistress." She paused for a moment, then muttered, "Dobby is a bad elf."

"No, he's not," McGonagall said, struggling not to laugh with shear relief.

"Dobby lied," Mirri said, rubbing at her wrists as though she was preparing for them to be slapped.

"Dobby deserves our thanks," McGonagall said. "You all do. You did exactly what I would have asked you to do if I'd only thought of it."

Mirri bashfully blinked and looked away, unused to such praise.

"You may go," McGonagall added, and with one last grateful look, Mirri nodded and left.

McGonagall, Bill, and Shacklebolt turned to each other. No words were spoken, but they all knew they were thinking the same thing. Back when they'd thought the students were still in danger it had seemed like it would be all they could do to get them to safety before Hogwarts was overrun entirely, but now the situation had changed, and if they could end the career of just one more Death Eater then it would be worthwhile to try. With an agreement as silent as their discussion, the three turned and started for the staircase.

Their campaign was neither thorough nor well planned, but most Death Eaters they came across seemed not to realize that a few defenders still remained in the castle and they used the element of surprise to their advantage at every opportunity. Steadily, the number of captured Death Eaters in Azkaban began to grow as they worked their way downstairs with Shacklebolt sending the captured death Eaters off with special unbreakable bonds that also functioned as portkeys. Their ranks were even bolstered on occasion by fellow defenders with similar ideas.

When they reached the Entrance Hall, Shacklebolt was sporting a limp and a bleeding arm thanks to a final Death Eater who hadn't been fooled by their ambush, but they were otherwise unharmed. They knew that Hogwarts was still in Death Eater control and they could never hope to take it back with so few numbers, but they couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment as they took a portkey to Saint Mungo's.

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

The change in mood was dramatic and immediate. When they left Hogwarts things had been almost serene despite the obvious signs of battle, but in the lobby of Saint Mungo's things couldn't have been more chaotic. Three was barely space enough to stand as the mob of people shouted for information.

Ignoring them all, McGonagall shoved her way to the nearest Healer and demanded to be taken to the students immediately. She was led up a flight of stairs and down a hallway before being shown to a large chamber which looked like it used to be several treatment rooms that had the dividing walls removed to allow space for the hundreds of students.

Even though there was a general sense of fear in the room, it could at least be said that the atmosphere was much calmer than that of the lobby.

The Head Boy and Girl approached and relayed the most vital information without even needing to be asked.

"We've done a head count," Terry Boot said. "Almost everyone is here. A few are in other rooms getting more serious treatment and some of the people who were in Hogsmeade when this started went home right away, but we've heard from all of them."

"So everyone's accounted for," McGonagall prompted.

The two Heads exchanged uncomfortable glances, then Susan Bones replied, "We've triple checked, and there's still two people missing."

"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley," Terry finished.

"I see," McGonagall sighed, heart sinking. She looked past Terry and Susan and noticed Hermione and Ginny hovering impatiently in the background, waiting for their turn to speak. "Excellent work, thank you. Could you please speak with the Healers and see about releasing the students to their families? There's a group of parents in the lobby who look ready to tear the building down. I will join you momentarily."

Terry and Susan nodded and stepped aside and Hermione and Ginny rushed forward.

"We have to go back for them!"

"They could be hurt!"

"We never should have left them in the first place!"

"And now we're not allowed to leave this room!"

"Stop!" McGonagall demanded. "I want to see them back and safe as much as you do, but returning to Hogwarts is impossible at the moment, and if they chose to remain behind while the rest of the students were being evacuated then that is their business."

"You don't understand!"

"We can't just-"

"Stop," McGonagall said again. "What, exactly, don't I understand, Miss Granger?"

Hermione faltered for a moment, pondering what she was about to say, her formidable mind perhaps slowed by the several head injuries she seemed to have received over the course of the battle.

"Do you remember the stuff they wrote in the Prophet last year about Harry being the Chosen One?" Hermione asked.

"Utter rubbish," McGonagall replied stiffly.

"All true," Hermione countered. "Professor Trelawney made a prediction about it before Harry was even born."

McGonagall masked her laughter with sniff, but also suffered a sharp pang as she realized that she had no idea if the batty old mystic had made it out of the castle.

"I know most of what she says is worthless," Hermione continued, "but that prediction was the real thing."

"What are you saying, exactly?" McGonagall asked.

"Harry is the only person who can kill Voldemort, and he went into Hogwarts determined to do it," Hermione said. "And Ron will stand by him as long as he can. I meant to also, but...things happened."

"It's alright, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Then you'll send someone to rescue them?" Ginny asked hopefully.

McGonagall wasn't sure if she'd ever felt so terrible, looking at their pleading faces and telling them that her answer hadn't changed, that if Harry and Ron had landed themselves in a position that they couldn't escape from on their own then there was simply no way she could pull together a group of rescuers large enough in time, that even if they did release the wards around Hogwarts so they could enter, they'd only be allowing any remaining Death Eaters inside too, but as she explained herself, Hermione and Ginny's expressions changed from desperate to resigned and when she was through they didn't argue, as though they'd known what she would say all along and only asked out of some sad obligation.

"They'll be alright," Hermione said shakily. "Harry's made it out of tougher situations than this no problem."

It was obvious that Ginny wanted to ask her to name one, she even took a breath to speak, but she held her tongue and let it out as a sigh instead, then said, "We just have to wait."

So they waited.