Light's End

Chapter 4: Commencement

Thursday

6:00

BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-

Harry grabbed his alarm clock, ripped it from the nightstand, and tossed it across the room, shattering it into a bunch of pieces. Sleepless and ragged, he sat up, groggy and exhausted. How he had hated every minute of yesterday - sleep found him for twenty minutes at a time before the screams of Narcissa Malfoy woke him up. Now, it was time for Quidditch practice - oh wait, no, he had forgot, today was another day spent under lockdown, the only place he could flee to was the bloody Common Room and escape nothing at all.

Locked down like a prisoner, thought Harry dourly as he buried a pillow over his head - he was going nowhere all day.

Ask anyone with half a brain on their shoulders what misery was and they'd respond something like this: 'Misery is when you don't get enough sleep and are not free to come and go as you please.' Life at the Dursley's had been misery. Late into the cupboard at night, and early up in the morning, he never had enough sleep. Lack of sleep, lack of nutrition and lack of purpose - you'd think that combination would have had him in a nuthouse by now.

No, Harry had managed to put up with his preteen years as well as could be expected. One day, when Ron was being particularly vulgar, he had once called him a psychologist's wet dream - it was fitting, Harry supposed. After all, they could name it and odds are it happened to him. Abandoned by those he loved, abused psychologically and physically all his childhood, outlandish neglect, malnourishment - Harry wrapped his arm around his head and stared at the ceiling. Without his glasses, he only saw blurs.

It seemed as though Narcissa's display had affected just about everyone who had viewed it. So, how had it damaged his frail and already imperfect psych any further? Sure, it sorta hammered in the fact that Draco Malfoy, the biggest git to ever walk under the sun, was dead. But, he hadn't needed that lesson - he had touched his flesh, felt its cold press and had seen the face of peace; it was no secret to him that Malfoy had bought the farm.

If that was so, why had he nearly shed tears when Narcissa lost of control at the sight of her son's coffin? Was he grieving for her loss, or the death of Draco? Could it be that within hate was a strange, ominous type of love - the love of hating. He had always been on the look out for Draco whenever he went from point A to point B, moreso than he had ever looked out for Hermione or Ron. It was that hatred of the boy - oh yes, he had hated him - that had obsessed him as much as his friendship with Hermione or Ron. Was it safe to say he loved to hate Draco? If so, was it right to say he hated loving him?

Sitting up at last, Harry gave the room a once over. As always, it was in perfect order - thrown robes and disarray books always had a way of straightening themselves out by the morning. House Elves were good at their work and were as bloody sneaky as a thief in a supermarket, able to iron your robe without even taking it off your back!

Harry keenly noted that only two curtains were closed. The curtains on Seamus's bed were opened, and his bed perfectly made. Either Seamus had taken to making his bed for the first time in six years, or he had not slept in the sheets last night. Harry remembered vaguely that Seamus had mentioned pulling a patrolling duty awhile back - was that supposed to have been effective last night?

Not bothering to change out of his pajamas, Harry crept downstairs into the common room, not really knowing why. Dressed only in a navy-blue flannel nightshirt and pants, he hit the creek on the sixth stair, his bare foot pressing into the deceptively soft carpet. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found Seamus sitting by the fire, blinking his eyes and stirring with the sluggishness of a bear fresh out of hibernation.

"Alright there Harry," he said, almost wincing painfully as he stretched his arms out in front of him and yawned loudly.

Harry gave him a simple nod. "What are you doing up so early?"

Seamus grunted, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, scrubbing at the black circles that wouldn't go away. "Chang and I were on duty from midnight to five, patrolling the corridors with Flitwick."

Yawning himself, Harry slipped into the chair next to Seamus, the warmth of the fire feeling good on his toes. "Find anything?"

"Nah," he answered. "Nothing - whatever killed Malfoy was probably not contagious." He looked at Harry. "What's your excuse?"

"Excuse?" returned Harry.

Seamus gave an innocent look around the room. "No Quidditch practice today, while we are trapped like rats in a crate."

"Oh," said Harry. "Forgot about Quidditch when I set my alarm, I think."

Seamus nodded and sat back in his chair. "Can't stop thinking about Mrs. Malfoy - y'know? I mean, I got no love for the Malfoy family, but, you'd never think that she loved him like that, what, with the way he turned out and all."

Harry grimaced. "Never really thought about it much," he lied.

Seamus gasped, as if just remembering something very interesting. "Oh - a bit of news for you," he began. "Dumbledore's duties in London have detained him even longer, seems McGonagall is still running the show, despite Malfoy's death."

Surprised, Harry glanced at Seamus, taking his eyes off the hypnotic flames in the fireplace. "Blimey - must be some important business."

"Haven't the foggiest," shrugged Seamus, returning Harry's glance. "Might have something to do with You-Know-Who, I'd reckon. But one thing's for sure - he wouldn't stay away from Hogwarts during a time like this if it wasn't really important."

Nodding, Harry spoke, "Yeah, I came to a similar conclusion myself." He looked back at the fire. "But, something doesn't add up - Madam Pomfrey seemed convinced whatever you had was the same thing as what Malfoy had."

"How'd you guess that?"

"Everyone in school knows," replied Harry. "Neither of you could be revived by magic - can't be a whole lot of sicknesses that do that. I mean, your symptoms looked identical."

"You mean other than the fact he's dead and I'm alive?" the other boy retorted.

"Er... good point."

Seamus sighed and scratched the back of his head, like an awkward fidget - a confession of a weakness. "I probably just had a panic attack - just the willies, or somethin'."

"Well, it wasn't just you," admitted Harry. "I felt something too when Ron and I found you two... kind of like a sour pit in my stomach."

Again, Seamus sighed. "Look, I doubt my panic attack was what Malfoy had - but, I'll give you this much. Something stinks like rotten cheese, and I don't like it."

Harry settled back into the soft, leather chair, and allowed himself to be lulled by the fire. Yet, he didn't shut off the thinking part of his brain completely. Like Seamus, he had to agree something wasn't right in school. Malfoy had gone from healthy on Monday to comatose on Tuesday, to dead on Wednesday. Either that was one hell of a fast working virus, or something was really, really wrong here.

"I hear you," agreed Harry, saying no more.

* * * * * *

- 2 -

Minerva McGonagall held up her hands, trying to calm her fellow faculty members, but she might as well have been trying to stop a dragon's fire breath with an ice cube. Naturally, Severus was one of the leading voices, though he was getting unexpected support from Madam Pomfrey and Professor Trelawney, and no longer seemed to be working on a limb by himself. She heaved a sigh and sat back in her red chair, content to listen to the two sides.

"There is no room for discussion here," said Professor Snape, pointing his gnarled finger at Professor Flitwick. "The students are terrified - something is amiss at Hogwarts. Two students were stricken ill, one has died. We must close the school down for a week - two weeks - a month, or however long it takes to insure the safety of our students!"

Professor Flitwick stood up on his chair, not really out of agitation, but so he could look Severus in the eyes. "Severus, your suggestion is most reasonable, but understand the dilemma on a whole. If there is a virus going around the school that resists magical means to cure it - who's to say that if we send the students home, it would spread even further, perhaps even consume all of Magical Britain, as a worst case scenario."

"Here, here," nodded Professor Dorinthal - a large man with bushy black eyebrows and a five o'clock shadow that always seemed one step away from being considered a beard, never quite making it. He was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor - Minerva hadn't liked him at first sight; he was one of those types that just chilled your blood to look at him. He wasn't like Severus who chilled it after you got to know him, no, with Dorinthal, there was a built in darkness that came with him. His résumé was impressive - graduated as Head Boy of Durmstrang ten years ago and has spent most of his years since studying Dark Arts counter curses at a guild in America - a very secretive guild Minerva hadn't been able to find out much about, other than the fact they were committed and knew more about the Dark Arts than most Death Eaters. "I have to second Filius's opinion. As much of a risk as it is to our students, we are taking the same risk. Here, the virus is contained and cannot spread."

Snape was already shaking his head, long before Dorinthal had finished. "Two problems, Cage," (Minerva had always wondered about his first name) "First, you seem to have a preoccupation that we are dealing with a contagious virus - this was neither proven nor even suggested by our nurse."

He glanced at Pomfrey, who nodded her agreement and added, "The sickness carried by Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Finnigan was unlike anything I had ever encountered - for all I know, it could have been a disease, a poison, or even a curse of some kind."

"And, second," continued Severus, "How would it reflect on Hogwarts' reputation in the years to come if the death of a student was ignored, and two more died as a result?"

Madam Sprout spoke next. "I believe Severus is right here - we have to close the school, at least until we are sure beyond a reasonable doubt that a death like this won't happen again."

"Dark times have come to Hogwarts," Trelawney replied, peering at Professor McGonagall over her spectacles. "I know that it is not my place to tell you of the future - but I feel I must. A student will perish if we do not close down the school at once!"

Every Hogwarts Professor stared at her while Minerva caressed her forehead with embarrassment. "That already happened, Sibyll."

"Oh," the divination teacher said, scratching her chin. She then slammed her hand down and exclaimed "And it will happen again, and again, and again - until the beast is stopped!"

Minerva sighed, wondering if Professor Trelawney had an undiagnosed case of teret syndrome. She began to massage her temples with the flat of her fingertips. This was going to be a long meeting.

"Beast?" asked Professor Dorinthal. "You don't seriously believe a creature is attacking students at Hogwarts, do you?"

"It happened once before," observed Severus. "It isn't as far fetched as you might think."

The Headmistress had heard enough. It was now time for her to make her decision. "Settle down, Professors," she said. "Does anyone have any final points to me?"

The room was silent - the topic had been talked to death.

"Very well," continued Minerva McGonagall, folding her hands on the table before her, and eyeing each of the faces down the length of the long table. "Hogwarts is to remain under the current, strict curfew for the time being," she began. "Students will not walk the corridors without a teacher or prefect chaperon - during their free periods, they will either remain in the Great Hall or at the library. After six at night, no one save prefects, never in groups of less than two, will be allowed out of their common rooms. All Quidditch practices will be conducted with a teacher present." She sighed and looked at Snape, who's black eyes were fuming with anger. "To close Hogwarts down for even a week during the war with You-Know-Who will not only give him a grand victory, it will deflate the morale of all of Wizarding Britain. As Filius has suggested, we must look at the greater picture."

"At the cost of more student lives?" interrupted Snape, looking grave indeed.

"That will do, Severus," rebuked the Headmistress, glaring at him over her squared-spectacles. "I know you and some others do not agree with my decision - however, I am asking all of you to all to show a united front to the students. It is their confidence in the faculty that will either inspire their bravery, or defeat them."

Severus pushed back from the table, rising with distress. He seemed on the verge of speaking, but seeing all eyes on him, disapproving of his conduct, he turned and stomped out of the Professor's lounge, slamming the door behind him.

"I shall speak with Severus in private," assured Professor McGonagall. "I have also asked for a team of Aurors to sweep the school, reporting to me anything out of the ordinary that is found." She fixed the remaining Professors with a dutiful look. "We will not close Hogwarts down unless we have no other option."

It seemed that her words split the faculty down the middle, Snape obviously leading the strongest resistance to her decision. Filius and Cage seemed to be in support of her, while Fay and Sybill did not seem happy in the least. Professor Sinistra was as hard to read as the stars during a thunderstorm, but Minerva sensed she wasn't in favor of her decision.

"Our next point of business is student absentee letters," continued the Headmistress. "It seems three parents have requested the withdrawals of their children from Hogwarts for the time being - I doubt they will be the last ones to do so."

Professor Flitwick, acting Deputy Headmaster, sighed and waved his wand, summoning a very lengthy roll of parchment from his office. It shot under the door and landed in front of him. "Names?"

Minerva McGonagall sighed. "Three Slytherin students - Bradley Fairchild, 1^st year, Cleopatra Wong, 4^th year, and Vincent Crabbe, 6^th year."

The diminutive Professor made a note of the names with a quill taken from the centerpiece on the table. "Very well, Professors, please make a note to your attendance sheets. Has there transportation been arranged?"

A murmur of acknowledgement fluttered around the table, as teachers summoned quills and inkbottles from the centerpiece and began to make the appropriate changes.

"Yes," stated Professor McGonagall. "Fairchild's mother arrived an hour ago, Wong has been put on a train from Hogsmeade, and Crabbe's father apparently picked him up before he wrote the letter."

Flitwick glanced up at McGonagall. "That's not possible - Vincent's father couldn't have picked him up while the school was under lockdown."

Minerva hummed with consideration and withdrew the letter, received this morning from the Crabbe family. It was scrawled with green ink, in very legible penmanship. She began to read it out loud.

Dear Professors,

I have withdrawn my son from your school, effective immediately after young Malfoy's funeral. Draco Malfoy was a close, personal friend of my son, and I will not subject him to any more risk within your unsafe walls. Leave my son's possessions where they are - the house elf will be by in a week to pick them up. Don't bother responding to this letter, I have no wish to speak to a representative of this school after your insulting display of incompetence.

Vincent Crabbe

"Well, that doesn't leave much gray area, does it?" asked Dorinthal, sighing and running his hands through his black hair.

Flitwick shook his head. "No - I'm afraid it doesn't."

Minerva rolled up the parchment. "We shall send a letter to Mr. Crabbe, just to confirm this. I fear I'm swamped at the moment with Ministry paperwork and I have a meeting with some Ministry officials in one hour."

Dorinthal raised his hand, like a schoolboy eager to please his teacher. "I shall handle it, Minerva, if you have no objections."

Minerva nodded and slid the letter across the table to Dorinthal. "No objections, thank you Cage. Filius, remain with me a few minutes longer - the rest of you, thank you for your patience on all matters and I shall see you tonight after the Aurors finish their sweep."

And the rest of them left, none looking very confident. The diminutive Professor leapt off the chair once everyone was gone. Minerva took a deep sigh and, again, wiped her forehead, her act of dominance over.

"How did I do, Filius?" she asked, her voice sounding strained for the first time.

The small Professor moved to her side and pat her arm with the soft touch of a friend. "As well as Albus himself, my dear - there was nothing you could have done to prevent Draco's death. I'm guessing he was sick well before Albus left the school."

Minerva bit her lip, allowing the compliment to sink in. Over the decades they had worked together, the small Head of House Ravenclaw had become one of her closest friends. The Charms professor was never afraid to give it to her straight, nor did he spare her feelings when he felt she made a mistake - and she made them, make no mistake of it. She may have been one of the better witches in the entire world, but she was still only human.

"An incapability to do anything may be a valid excuse, but it doesn't make things easier," she answered, staring down at him with iron firm sincerity. "He was only sixteen, Filius."

Filius nodded. "And Cedric Diggory was only seventeen - we live in dangerous times, Minerva. We do as well as we can to protect the children, but we are not Gods, but simple men and women. If I could trade my life to save a student, I would - I am duty bound as we all are. Evil, however, doesn't always come in through the front door, wand blazing and child murdering. We do what we can, when we can, but when all is said and done, there is always a greater force out there who can defeat our safety precautions and threaten our children without our knowledge."

His words rang true, but weren't very inspiring. Minerva sighed and just nodded. "If anything good is to come of this, I just hope Draco's death was the end, and not the beginning."

Filius nodded his agreement. "If that was only the beginning, then Merlin help us."

* * * * * *

Cage Dorinthal, Order of Merlin 3^rd Class, holder of a degree of Exorcism from Salem's School of Necromancy, former Head Boy of Durmstrang School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts - that was who he was, and he was proud of it.

Professor Dorinthal strolled down the empty hallways, passed well-furnished walls and pictures, all waving at him as he passed. Naturally, Dorinthal didn't wave back. Stupid paintings held no interest for the ambitious man. The only thing of interest to Dorinthal was the plan.

The Finnigan boy was a most unfortunate circumstance - had the Malfoy kid been an isolated incident, he was sure this would have blown over without any sort of trouble what so ever. Now, however, no student would be out after night falls for any reason, and worst of all, Aurors would be combing the school, searching for any indication of trouble. All of his Master's plans had changed, and his Master didn't like changes.

Dorinthal turned down an obscure passage, gracefully sloping down into the underbelly of Hogwarts over several hundred feet. He passed by the spot where Seamus Finnigan and Hermione Granger were attacked, without so much as a worry or a fear. The passageway ended in a dead end, which in fact wasn't a dead end. He stepped through the illusionary wall, not missing a beat. Beyond that, the cold, dank hallway turned into a catacomb - earthen walls, water drops, and a spiral staircase of solid mud, carved into the floor itself. Dorinthal reckoned that he was somewhere about fifty feet beneath the Quidditch field when he began his descent down the spiral staircase.

He was cut off halfway when he sensed the presence of the unseen, just the being he wanted to find.

"You are taking a chance coming down here," echoed a loud, high-pitched voice as it came up from behind Dorinthal, "Master is most displeased with you, primate."

"Silence," muttered the hairy professor, turning around and looking squarely in the location where his invisible partner in crime lurked. "The setback was your fault. Uncloak yourself."

The creature next to Dorinthal removed its invisibility cloak, coiling it around one of its arms. It was a small, but head taller than that runt Filius Flitwick. Warty red skin was stretched over its frail looking skeleton, but in truth, the creature's strength was not to be questioned - one look into its deep, red eyes could had brought some of the strongest wizards to their knees. Stringy, fetid white hair ran down the length of its bare back. It was naked save for a simple loincloth around its waist and a curious red cap the color of dried blood upon its head.

"It was your fault," the red cap grinned, a row of long, dagger like teeth shot from its mouth, restrained in the first place by its chapped and wrinkled lips. He removed his cap from his head, inspecting it with distaste. "Next time, be prompt with your shitty, inanimate meals - lest I get hungry and yearn for real food."

Dorinthal, having no fear of the four-foot creature, grabbed it by its gray whiskers. "I answer to the Master, you answer to me - don't ever forget that. You've stirred up a hornet's nest."

Cappy, as the creature liked to be called, just smiled all the brighter. "I feared the young monkeys might have learned the location of our Master's lair, so I decided to neutralize one of them. Lucky for him, his friends came."

"Aurors will be arriving before the day is out," muttered Dorinthal, releasing his servant's whiskers. "We must move the coffins."

The red cap frowned, raising its hand and rubbing its thumb across the long, razor sharp nails of his other fingers. "And just how do you expect to do that?"

"The hallways are deserted," explained Dorinthal, "The one benefit of your cock-up. The Hogwarts ghosts are in the dungeon, and Filch and his miserable feline sleep during the days."

Cappy cast his eyes downward, looking insulted - Dorinthal didn't care. In fact, he was glad. Maybe next time the stupid bugger would think before attacking.

"We will take these coffins to the one place where they won't be discovered - but it is imperative we move them BACK down here after they go."

Cappy groaned. "How many coffins?"

"Only two," answered the Professor. "The rest - well, let's just say they aren't occupied yet." He scratched his stubby beard. "They will not compromise our goals."

"So," said the red cap, slicing the air with its claws, as if ripping out the lungs of an invisible foe. "Let me get this straight... you want to move two coffins through Hogwarts, under the cover of broad daylight, to... where exactly?"

"The Chamber of Secrets," Dorinthal replied, as if such a plan was impossible to miss. "It's been sealed off, and will be perfect for our friends tonight. The Aurors will never find it."

Cappy fixed Dorinthal with a gaze that seemed to suggest he was a moronic piece of dung. "Uh - you do realize you need to be a Parselmouth to open up the first door, and even then, the primate Dumbledore - as you so keenly noted - sealed it off!"

"Dumbledore's seals won't be a problem," chuckled Dorinthal, fingering a pendant around his neck. "The senile old fool never learns - right here is the key to disabling all his wards." He then fell stern. "The Parselmouth will be a problem, however." He tapped his chin a few times and the smiled. "I think our only option is to have a conversation with our friend Harry Potter."

The thought of that brought another grin to Cappy's face - once he saw Dorinthal demonstrate some of his glory, transforming before his very eyes into his antimagus form.

* * * * * *

Euan Abercrombie, the second year Chaser of the Gryffindor Quidditch team smiled wickedly and spoke in a loud, clear voice. "Knight to C3."

Along came Red's knight and flattened Ron Weasley's queen from the board.

Ron smirked in his mind, for on his face was nothing but an impassive scowl. He had to admit, this boy was good. He gave Ron about as good of a run as Hermione did, but he failed to understand the principle of sacrifice.

It was about noon and the common room was jammed packed with people making noise. Trying to focus on a chess game when a bunch of annoying third years are playing Exploding Snap on the next table is a far cry from simple. While the school was still under lockdown conditions, at least everyone was making the most of it.

And in truth, everyone had Seamus to thank for that. He glanced over Euan's head and noticed Seamus amidst a crowd of younger students. He was watching a game of poker, standing over the table and smiling - he looked so official, yet so approachable, something he had never been able to attain in his career as prefect. It was Seamus's level head and cool confidence that kept House Gryffindor laughing and playing games, like nothing was wrong, instead of all huddling in their dorm rooms, waiting for the worst to end.

Ron had no regrets and hardly missed his prefect badge.

"... turn."

Ron blinked, looking across at the twelve-year old Euan. He was a large boy, just as Ron had been, with messy brown hair and blue eyes that almost seemed the shine. He was an interesting kid to say the least - had he been born a girl, he'd be pretty. In a few years, once he grew into his body, he'd be a very handsome young man. Right now, he was stuck in boyhood and, truthfully, looked like a nancy boy.

"Huh?"

"It's your turn," Euan repeated.

"Oh," said Ron. "Rook to c8, check... mate in 2, so just go ahead and flick the king. Good game, though."

He did try to defend himself, but Ron had already foreseen the boy's best moves, and they held no bearing on the end result. Once the checkmate was in force, Euan sighed. "You're really good at this."

Ron nodded, sparing none of his precious modesty. "Yeah, I know. You're pretty darn good too, for a kid, anyway."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" asked Euan, frowning.

"It just means I'm bigger than you, hence smarter than you," answered Ron, sitting back and folding his hands behind his head. "It's just a fact of life, that's all."

Euan's eyes thinned coolly. "Best of three."

Ah, the youths of Gryffindor were so predictable, chuckled Ron. Had he not baited the boy and pushed the right buttons, he'd have just left, and Ron would be playing the next in line - probably some zit-faced fourth year who knew as much about chess as Goyle knew about hygiene. Now, at least, he'd have another game that required a bit of thought.

The pieces groaned and realigned themselves, muttering something about cruel and unnecessary punishment. Ron made his first play as white, king's pawn up two.

Ron became aware of a pair of eyes over his shoulder. He sniffed deeply, and picked up the trace odor of a perfume that he had only smelt on Lavender, Parvati or Hermione - like wildflowers and ocean mist.

"You know, I focus a lot better when you aren't staring over my shoulder, Hermione," said Ron, taking a one in three guess.

He heard a bossy sigh that could only belong to Hermione and smiled - he loved being right. She pulled out the chair next to him and sat down next to him, observing the game from the corner of his eye.

"He's so infuriating!" protested Hermione, slapping the top of the table when Euan moved his king's pawn in front of Ron's, the typical opening move.

Ron glanced across the table at Euan, and then looked back to Hermione. "Actually, it's a fairly typical opening move - what's so bad..."

"No you git," interjected Hermione. "Not him. Seamus!"

Oh goodie, here we go again. Ron made his second move (Knight to C3) and dug in for a Hermione-sized rant. "What'd he do - breath in the general direction of my sister?"

Hermione slapped his shoulder. "No - it's like he has no concept of me unless it's convenient! I've been sitting up in my room for twenty minutes; Lavender and Parvati are doing homework down here - does he come, no! Instead, he'd... he'd..." She glared over at Seamus, who was still watching the fifth-years playing poker. "... rather watch children play poker!"

"That villain..." replied Ron, wondering when Hermione turned into a psycho.

Hermione frowned, defeated.

Euan moved, (Knight to F6) and then glared at Hermione, annoyed. "Excuse me, we're trying to play a game here," said Euan, with a drawl that did Draco's memory proud. "It's hard to focus when you are yapping and saying stupid things."

Before Hermione had recovered from the second-years brutal honesty, Ron held up his finger. "Boy wonder has a point."

Hermione gave Ron one of those looks that could wilt flowers. "Oh really! What is it with boys and their silly games?"

"They help build intelligence," offered Euan. "Probably why only guys play them."

Ron snickered - he was beginning to like this kid more and more. Hermione fixed him with her flower-wilting glare. "You are very out of line, for someone who hasn't even reached puberty yet!"

Euan made his move, maintaining a perfect show of aloofness. "I've reached puberty. If you want, I can prove it."

"Ugh!" gasped Hermione, lurching back and lifting her nose like she smelled fowl. "That's disgusting!"

Euan smirked wickedly at Hermione. "Now who's being immature?" he asked.

"What?"

"You accused me of not reaching puberty, I offered to prove it to you - you are too immature to handle the proof."

By now, Ron was laughing, deep and long. He was REALLY beginning to like this kid - he had spunk. Ron wondered if that's how he got on the Quidditch team, though he doubted Harry had requested the whole 'proof' thing.

Hermione arched her brows, pulling her lips down in a conceding frown. "Alright then - prove it."

Euan blanched, his smile faded and his jaw dropped. "What?"

"You heard me," she answered.

"I'm not going to show you!" exclaimed Euan. "It was just a joke!"

Ron looked at Hermione, disbelieving. Either Seamus was really changing her view on sexuality, or she was running the gambit on the kid.

"Chicken."

The mighty gauntlet was thrown down, and little Euan had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He stood up, abandoning the chess game, having no choice but to address this blow to his manhood. "Fine - I'll show you. Come with me!"

Hermione stood up, undaunted, "Fine!"

Ron rolled his eyes, and looked up at the ceiling when Euan and Hermione left the common room. This is what boredom drives people to do, realized Ron, resetting the board with a slow hand.

He just hoped Seamus wouldn't find out.

* * * * * *

- 4 -

The fact of the matter was that Hermione wanted nothing less than to see Euan's proof. The idea revolted her to no end - he was four years younger than her! Wonder what Seamus would say though, would he finally notice her again? After all, there were boys much less appealing than this Euan fellow, with his dancing blue eyes that all but weaved their own spell.

When she was in the boy's room, standing like a superior would, her hands at her side and her eyes on his forehead - he was just an inch shorter than her - she realized the gravity of what she was imposing on this boy. Scared out of his mind, shaking fingers were fumbling with the buckle of his trousers, how puny this request seemed now.

She rested her hands on his, stopping his disorientated fumbling. Those eyes fixed her with a curious, timid look, like he were seeing some wicked dark witch for the first time and didn't know whether he should resist or just give in.

"I believe you - it's all right."

The boy tensed for a moment, but breathed easier, dropping his fingers from his buckle. With a tense hand, he pushed a bang of brown hair from his left eye and gave her the faintest ghost of a smile.

Hermione leaned in and ruffled his head - just a show of affection that she hoped would allow Euan to save some face. With that, she strolled out of the boy's bathroom, leaving the second-year confused, but relieved.

* * * * * *

- 5 -

What was Hermione doing, leaving with the Abercrombie boy, wondered Seamus, whose eyes had been drawn to their retreating forms. They climbed the stairs and out of sight, and Seamus thought no more about it. He trusted Hermione, after all - they had spilled their hearts to each other. The furthest thought from his mind was that she'd ever leave him out to dry for a boy four years younger than both of them. To even think that was going out on a limb - forget that, it was barking up the wrong entire tree.

So, when they faded from sight, Seamus returned to business as usual, moving away from the poker game that had monopolized much of his time. He glanced across the room and saw that Ron Weasley was playing a seventh year girl in chess now, a bored expression on his face telling Seamus all he needed to see at a glance 'This sucks - I miss Euan already'

A group of third year boys were gathered by the fireplace - Exploding Snaps banging loudly each time one of the team's crossed a whack with a stack. Most of the first year boys were gathered around as sort of a Rite of Passage. Before one played Exploding Snap, one had to learn the rules, or you left your teammate out to hang. A thought of his own first year brought a chuckle to his mind when Dean and him had lost to Fred and George Weasley - Seamus had done The Unthinkable, a cardinal rule that must never be broken under any circumstance, the Gospel According to Snap. He had sat down not knowing the rules. Somewhere deep down, Seamus suspected that Dean had never quite forgiven him for that one.

For Seamus, who was an observer and not a participant in the activities of his house, the time was slow. He had been organizing activities and keeping a calm, smiling face for all those under his jurisdiction, but now, the weight of his sleepless night before and his own boredom was getting to him. What good could he do for the students under his care if he were dragging his feet and unable to keep his eyes open?

Seamus excused himself and made his way up to the sixth year dormitories. When he gripped the brass knob (it was colder than he thought appropriate) and opened it, he was struck dumb.

Harry Potter sat on his bed, wearing his pajamas. On his lap was a large python, dark black of scales with slit, blue eyes - a most awkward combination for a snake! - Seamus nearly leapt out of his skin. Harry was rubbing under its chin, and the snake was flicking its tongue out contentedly - Harry was so absorbed that he hadn't even noticed Seamus come in. Seamus took a few steps closer and began to hear Harry, speaking to the snake with a hissing and harsh tone - the words spoken by dry leaves in autumn, rustling against the pavement outside his home in Dublin.

"Sssthimar Sorstsstish Sasy Ssrosossa."

"Harry?" asked Seamus, cocking his head.

Harry nearly leapt out of his skin, "Seamus!"

The snake flicked it tongue at Seamus, hissing with what could only be interpreted as spite. A chill filled Seamus's chest, and fear prickled the back of his hands.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Harry?" demanded Seamus, backing up a step when the snake spat and began to uncoil itself. "What's going on?"

"Ssckmarat!" sneered Harry, glaring at the head of the snake. The snake slithered off his lap, approaching Seamus - Seamus had his wand out a second later, looking with frenzied panic from Harry to the snake.

"Harry! Stop it!" cried Seamus, whose knees began to knock. He backed up another two steps - the snake, well over eight feet long, continued at him with unerring tenacity.

"Ssckmarat!" repeated Harry again, his eyes twinkling with what must have been green malice.

"Harry!" screamed Seamus, backing into the closed door. With a shaking wand hand, Seamus gave it a flick. "Petrific -

The snake passed by Seamus, slithering between his legs, vanishing into a large hole in the wall. And, just like that, it was over - but not for Seamus. The snake was gone, but Harry remained.

"Relax, Seamus," Harry said softly, approaching with his hands up. "That was just Colax - he lives in the basement near the Slytherin dungeons. He just wanted to know what was going on, and I'm the only Parselmouth in school."

Seamus calmed himself, his wand slipped to his side. The door swung open, slamming Seamus from behind. Off balance, he toppled onto the ground, his wand flying from his hand.

"Harry? Seamus?" asked Ron, entering the room, his wand out. Behind him, Dean Thomas followed, looking far less tranquil. "The hell was that?"

Pushing himself off the floor, Seamus gave Harry plenty of time to explain himself. Harry repeated the story, and then added, "Colax moved to Hogwarts this year - he's a good snake. He's one of Filch's new pets, to keep the dungeons rat-free."

"You mean to tell me an eight-foot long snake comes to visit?" Ron asked, incredulously. "Comes into this room - here - to visit?"

Harry nodded, and Ron's cheeks puffed out, his face turned green - Seamus thought he might blow chunks on the floor. But, Ron didn't; he only said, "Great - now I'll be able to sleep soundly at night. A great, black python over eight feet long has free access to our room whenever he bloody well wants it!"

"Yeah, Harry - don't let it back in if it returns," said Dean, shaking his head - not looking pleased at all. "That's just damn freaky."

With a shrug, Harry had to concede it. "Okay then. If he comes back, I'll tell 'em he has to find a new place to meet me." He then looked at Seamus, who had risen from the ground, fetched his wand, but continued to shake. "Sorry about the scare - I was just telling him he'd better leave."

"Has he been in to see you often?" asked Seamus, his lip quivering. Seamus had to admit, he had never seen a snake up close before - it was right scary!

Harry shook his head. "No, not often - once the first night of school. I think it just wanted to confirm I was a Parselmouth. Sorry, I kept it a secret, didn't want you guys to be afraid or nothing."

Seamus nodded, straightening his robes and breathing easier at last. "I'm just glad it didn't take its time slithering to me - I'd have shat myself for sure."

"Great mental image," said Dean. "Thanks."

Seamus yawned. Now that the adrenaline was shutting off, he was feeling twice as tired as he did before. It was definitely time for a nap.

"Well," said Seamus, removing his robe and flopping onto his bed. "I'm getting some shut-eye. It was a long night - don't wake me unless it's an emergency, please."

Ron nodded and left, followed by Dean. Ron's voice filtered through the closed door, telling everyone it was a false alarm. Harry had removed his robes and was already in his bed, the curtains shut, leaving Seamus with his own thoughts - something that he didn't want to be left with. As tired as he was, his mind raced and whirled, spinning around an axis. Just when he began to focus on a distinct memory, it whizzed out of sight, spun away into a colorless void. He was missing that was critical - whether it was concern about Malfoy's death being on his hands or not was hard to say. Nothing, however, seemed to jog his memory. A faded memory was hiding in the back of his mind - a memory that could very well crack the mystery of Malfoy's death. In a word, it was scary; for the first time in his life, Seamus felt like something had invaded his mind and was hiding his own memories from him.

He lapsed into a very disturbed sleep filled with a miasma of doubt.

* * * * * *

- 6 -

Nighttime at Hogwarts was always a scary time - the shadows came alive with their own energy, dancing in the darkness and gloom. When the light departed, the creatures of the night came out to play. Vampires and werewolves sang their songs in the Forbidden Forest, while Centaurs stared at the sky above and foretold future events neglected and untold to human wizard. Devils walked the Earth while humans slept.

Of all times to sleep, why have human beings chosen nighttime, an ancient might wonder. Could human beings not have adapted to see in the darkest hours, as they have in the brightest days? Was it not cooler and comfortable at night?

Perhaps it was fear that kept humans safe in bed during the nighttime - an instinctual survival skill carried over from the ancient days. After all, no human could invite a vampire into their home if they slept, and no werewolf could survive long, breaking down the doors of the intelligent and well protected. It was the stragglers of the flock that served the vampires and the werewolves, not the body of the flock itself. No wolf with half a wit would strike the belly of a flock, for even a pitiful sheep could defeat a wolf, should the wolf be outnumbered two-hundred to one.

Stragglers never saw next morning's light.

Brian Maylock felt like a straggler tonight. Pulling their patrols, Brian and Erin crept the corridors of Hogwarts with the spirit of the hunted. The fact that the Aurors had examined most of Hogwarts this evening and found no trace of anything hostile held little in the way of comfort - the most cunning evil had a way of avoiding detection. What they had found was several amazing hidden passages, including an illusionary wall on the first floor, leading down to a rather large catacomb deep underground. The Headmistress had never found any record of this catacomb and was suspicious at once, however, the Aurors confirmed there was nothing down there save a few rats and large spiders.

It was nearing two in the morning, and Brian was already seeing things that weren't there. At the corner of his eyes, a suit of armor seemed to dance, while a tapestry hid some untold evil. Frightening was a good word - a better one was terrifying.

"How much longer?" asked Brian, sweat beading on his eyebrow.

The Slytherin Head Girl glared at Brian. "Are all Hufflepuffs afraid of the dark, or just you?"

Brian winced, and fell silent.

"I like the night," she went on, speaking in her dry, emotionless voice, "Just because most people hate it."

Brian guided his lit wand down a turn, taking them past the Great Hall. "Pretty weird reason to like the night."

The shadows parted from Brian like curtains of an opera house, revealing a show of infinite more shadows mixed with an unsettling blend of emptiness.

"Well, it's better than your reason for being afraid of it," stated the Head Girl, her upper lip raised in a scowl. "It's sk-air-wee."

Brian straightened. He had never liked Erin Slovise - a know-it-all without any respect for those who she saw as less than her in anyway. It was clear she held contempt for Hufflepuff house - and had been a proud member of the Inquisitional Squad last year to boot. His house's reputation for spawning the duffers of the Wizarding World was legendary and also ultimately untrue. Brian was one of these 'duffers,' yet had better grades than any academic Ravenclaw male in his year. Also, he was one of the most capable duelists in his year, likely more than a match for the cunning and sly Erin, who might sit like a spider on her web of knowledge and deceit, but only skilled at devouring ensnared foes, fighting her at a huge disadvantage.

"I'd have more respect for the night if I were you," suggested Brian, keeping his eyes peeled. "For all we know, Malfoy's murderer might be lurking around the next corner."

Erin snorted. "Oh, please - Malfoy was a rich little snob who died of low blood-pressure." Brian felt her looking at him. "Without those two goons he always kept on a leash, he wasn't anything more than a weak little spawn from a Muggle-hating family."

Brian couldn't hide a small amount of surprise that she'd speak so ill of a member of her house. Infighting among Hufflepuffs was as rare as an attractive flobberworm. When everyone looked down on your house, even the Ravenclaws ('Simple-minded gardeners') and Gryffindors, ('Well-to-do Saps') one learned that enemies in your ranks were only going to hurt you in the long run. Most Hufflepuffs were duffers, Brian thought bitterly, because they didn't seek to rub anyone's nose in crap - even if they deserved it.

"Sounds like you and him didn't get along," observed Brian, never taking his eyes off the dark in front of them.

Erin gave another snort, managing to sound twice as bitter this time around. "I'm a Muggleborn. I need not say any more, unless you are much denser than your role as Head Boy would suggest."

They ascended a short flight of steps and passed by the door to the bathrooms. This corridor was more congested than most - high-priced chandeliers held flickering blue faerie fire that hardly lit the air around them, while rows of unlit pot torches cluttered the sides of the hallway. Dust tasted thick on Brian's tongue - few came this way, and fewer still at night.

He turned to regard Erin briefly, was on the verge of rebuking her, but just shook his head and turned to the boy's room. "Look, call of nature. Try not to drown yourself in your cynicism while I'm gone, okay?"

Erin put her hands to her hips, "I just need to look at you and I'll manage to keep my head above water."

"Whatever," muttered Brian, pushing open the door.

Guiding by the light of his wand, Brian found one of the urinals in the elegant bathroom. He remembered it well enough anyway - he would often hit this head in between Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, seeing as how it was a cold day in hell that Snape would allow a student to go to the bathroom during his class.

It was an elegant, modern bathroom by all standards, kept impeccably clean by Filch. He had run into the old caretaker earlier in his patrol and nearly laughed when he showed him his Head Boy badge. The look of sheer disappointment on his face was quite funny. The old coot was certainly looking hard tonight to find any students to expel. Nothing would have made Filch happier than finding an ickle first year in the dead of night. In addition to its modern faucets and urinals, six showers were set into one of the far walls, magical curtains not allowing anyone to pass unless they were empty. Brian had made use of them during any class where he drew up a sweat - the occasional Care for Magical Creatures class could do that easily, especially any time where they were herding Garamines or diving for Grindylows in the muck under the lake (a dangerous activity for anyone but a sixth or seventh-year wizard). It was these magical curtains that drew his attention first, for typically, they were only shut if they were in use and they were very much shut tonight.

Brain scratched his, wondering what was going on. Suspicious enough to have his wand out before him, the chubby boy made his way to the showers. Most likely, it was some sort of magical glitch, or something equally explainable, but he couldn't shake a feeling of dread that was sinking into his stomach. The backs of his hands itched with a strange sort of anticipation, as if his instincts were telling him to prepare his defensive spells, and those exact spells were begging to be released from his wand.

And so, Brian complied, waving his wand in the air before him, using the most advance defense spell he knew (and seeing as how he was Head Boy, he knew a few).

"Prexpia!"

A silver glow shot forth from his wand, rounding his body in a slow, deliberate orbit. The strains of power blossomed continually from his wand. This was one of the trickier spells they were learning in the Defense Against the Dark Arts, the 'Holy Protection' as it translated into common English. It was holy in regards to its powers against those who were tainted - the undead in particular. No animated zombies, ghosts, dementors or filthy creatures could cross his shield; the perfect defense against that which cannot be killed.

What made him choose that spell, of all the spells he knew, he could only chalk up to his own fear - if there was one thing he would be terrified to find, alone and in the dark, it would be a child of the night, one of the dreaded vampyre.

Brian attempted to part the curtain, but naturally, he found he couldn't. The charm on the curtain was deceived into believing that someone was actually occupying them. It was like trying to move a sheet of bolted steel. With a sigh, Brian produced his pendant, a pendant that all teachers and the Head Boy and Girl were given in order to deactivate any wards in case of an emergency.

He parted the curtain and before he could cry out, something fell atop him. Passing harmlessly through his aura of protection, it pulled him to the ground. It was light, however, and Brian managed to push it off him, crying out in terror at the same time. His wand had been knocked asunder by the surprise attack. The doors to the bathroom burst open and Erin, armed with her wand and a scowl on her lips, rushed in.

"Brian! What's going on?"

Brian scooted back away from what had fallen on him, practically pushing into Erin's legs. She grabbed his shoulder and with a surprising pull, helped lift him to his feet.

The light of his wand, still glowing on the ground next to the object lit up Professor McGonagall's dead face. Her eyes stared at Brian without seeing, her lips were parted in a silent scream. Her throat had been torn out and most of her internals were lying on the tiled bathroom floor.

"Oh sweet Merlin all mighty!" cried Brian, taking a terrified step back. He felt his stomach knot and a surge of nausea had him diving for the nearest toilet.

Erin took a step forward, grim faced and determined. She knelt down next to McGonagall and lifted Brian's wand from under her cheek. "Ugh, by the hell of Merlin," she whispered, shaking her head with disbelief. "This can't be happening."

Unable to bear the sight any longer, Erin turned away, and moved to Brian's stall, where he was recovering from an upchuck. While most Hufflepuffs were duffers, after all, she could not find it in her to blame him for this. She rested his wand on his shoulder, and Brian took it, a hand still on the toilet bowl for support.

"Come on, Brian, get up - we have to get help, now."

Brian dug into his reservoir of courage, strength and duty - the qualities that had landed him the highest honor any student could ever hope to achieve at Hogwarts - and rose on shaky legs, his eyes dripping with tears. He wiped his mouth on the embroidered sleeve of his robe.

And, stoically, both students turned back to the body of Headmistress McGonagall. Beyond her, they saw another body in the same shower - one that drew a gasp from both students. Professor Flitwick, the small Charms teacher who always seemed to have the answer, laid in the corner of the shower, his head dropped to his chest.

Brian looked away, nausea fueled by his own fear choking him and forcing him to whimper unintelligibly.

Erin facelessly moved onto the second shower, lifting her pendant to break the charms. Brian, however, grabbed her wrist before she could.

"Please - no more. No more..."

Erin glanced at her hand, and into Brian's face. For the first time he'd ever looked upon this emotionless golem of a female human being, he saw compassion and understanding. She put her hand around his neck. "Brian, go to the other side of the room, and don't look."

Brian released her wrist and trudged to the other side of the room, his mind a whirl and a daze. He didn't know how long Erin took, the seconds were stopped and time was standing still. The possibilities were flying through his head, but he couldn't think of any of them in depth before his chest heaved and his legs buckled. And that was how he spent the seconds, minutes or hours until Erin grabbed his shoulder.

"Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey ... same way..." was all she said. "This bathroom is a tomb."

Unable to feel worse, Brian just simply nodded.

"What do we do?" Brian murmured. "What can we do?"

Erin, who had lived her life by always knowing the answers, could only shrug helplessly. "I have no idea," she replied in earnest. "But we have to do something."

"Contact Dumbledore," said Brian, choking back sobs. "We have to contact Dumbledore."

"I agree," nodded Erin. "Come on, Brian - get up - if you loose it, I'm going to as well. You have to get an owl to Dumbledore - I have to find Professor Snape, and pray he isn't dead in another shower somewhere."

Brian glanced up, wide-eyed with terror. "No! We aren't splitting up!"

Erin, always the pragmatic, glared down at Brian, her calm, Slytherin control washing over her again. "This is how it must be, Brian. If whatever is loose in Hogwarts tonight killed four Professors - it won't matter if we are together or separate - it hauled them out of bed by the looks of it!"

"No!" cried Brian, shaking his head. "Please, don't leave me."

Erin whirled around, glaring at him angrily. "Go to the Owlery, now, and for the love of Merlin, shut up!" she whispered harshly. "Or do you want to advertise our presence?"

Brian rose again, gripping his wand tightly. "I don't care, I'm going with you!"

Erin glared back - probably about to insult him further, but in another show of compassion, she bit back her tongue and just scowled. "Fine. We're going to find Snape first... just stay behind me, shut up, and try not to piss yourself."

Erin began to work her wand, conjuring some very powerful spells to defend her, including an advanced form of the Lumos spell that created a powerful blade of holy light emerging from the tip of her wand and fanning out in front of them like a giant flashlight - handy for light and would burn any lycanthropes in their path. Three bright green balls of energy that orbited her body as well, a spell Brian didn't know, but wasn't about to ask. Brian, inspired to a small degree by Erin's strength, enacted his holy shield spell and then focused on his second spell - transfiguring a friendship bracelet on his left hand into a large, metal shield.

Brian repeated a mantra in his head - something he always said when he felt he was in deep trouble. A prepared wizard can protect himself from anything... And here he was, a shield in his left hand, and spiritual, holy armor surrounded him. What had done these gruesome attacks could only have been the most fowl of beasts known to mankind - no doubt the aura of goodness around him would hold up to any attack of a non-magical sort.

Erin was leading. She rushed up the stairs and pushed open the third floor door, the one that would lead them right to Snape's office. Prepared to deal with any sort of werewolf or vampire in the world, when she saw a silhouetted figure standing behind the door, waiting for them, she braced herself fearlessly, ready for a lunge from the vampire, or a clawing strike from the werewolf...

... What she hadn't expected was the wizard to step back, wave his wand and say, "Avada Kedavra."

She had just enough time to scream in terror before she died.

The unblockable Killing Curse struck her full in the chest, and Brian, who had just cleared the last step, was in time to see her fly backward, slam into the wall on the opposite side of the landing, lifeless. Brian screamed, his two spells fading out of existence with his loss of concentration. He turned to run down the stairs, and plowed right into the waiting arms of Vincent Crabbe and Draco Malfoy.

Sparing no drama, both boys lunged at Brian, yawning wide - incisors as prominent as crescent moons in the night sky. The smell of potpourri and coffee was strong, and in the back of his mind, he could feel laughter, cold, chilling laughter. It was coming from neither of his assailants, but from within - the dark corners of his own soul comforting him, telling him the worst is over. From that point on, he'd never feel timid, alone or helpless again.

As the two Slytherins latched onto each side of Brian's neck, he felt at peace. Their teeth slid in and a euphoric delight sent spasms throughout his body. His groin tightened with sexual arousal, and he closed his eyes, moaning with ecstasy. The laughter grew more and more intense, as his body grew lighter and lighter. His knees buckled and the other two boys went down with him, drinking all his weakness and fear - bless their hearts, every one of them.

As Brian felt his life drain away, the last image he saw was Draco's adoring, gray eyes - the eyes of the raptor - welcoming him into undeath.

* * * * * *

- 7 -

Dorinthal spun his wand once, like one of those cowboys from the Colonies and tucked it back into his belt. He raised his upper lip and scowled, rounding on the empty space next to him. "Once again, you've made a cock-up of this situation," stated Dorinthal.

Cappy removed his invisibility cloak, grinning, bloody teeth and flashing claws illuminating in the faint light of the fallen girl's wand. He handed Dorinthal back his pendant that had allowed him to enter the Professors' rooms as easily as he were opening a door. "I thought it went down perfectly."

Dorinthal scowled and pulled his cloak about his shoulders. This bloody incompetent red cap was the biggest partnership mistake he had ever made. "I wanted one more day of confusion - I told you to hide the bodies well! Now, we aren't going to get to Snape in time to turn Hogwarts into anarchy."

The red cap shrugged, his wicked smile no less bright. He held the Dark Wizard with his crimson red eyes. "My mistake. But, look on the bright side..." the red cap withdrew his cap - more of a beret really, like a member of the British Special Forces might wear on a mission. It was saturated with the blood of four Hogwarts professors. "... my hat is nice and colorful."

The sounds of doors opening and slamming alerted them to the fact that the Dark Arts spell hadn't gone without detection - Hogwarts animated security would be clomping their way in moments. Ever since the war against Voldemort began, any use of a Dark Arts spell would trigger the release of sentinels, animated statues with no life to be taken with the Killing Curse. Dorinthal cursed loudly - this was bad.

"We must get ou..." he began, but realized he was speaking to the thin air. The red cap had already donned his invisibility cloak and was many feet away. Dorinthal, now getting concerned, rushed by the body of the foolish Head Girl and down the stairs.

Halfway down the stairs, he met head to head with Draco, Vincent and the Head Boy - now fearless and pale, his body weight no longer slowing him down.

"We must get back to safety," said the dark wizard, addressing the three students. "Security will be upon us in moments!"

Draco and Vincent rolled their eyes to Brian, amused scowls breaking their impassive scowls. Brian took a step forward, his smile parting his lips just enough for the tips of his fangs to shine.

"But, I'm thirsty..." said Brian, his jaws opening.

"What?" cried Dorinthal, taking a step back. "Our Master..."

"... has no more use for you, teacher," hissed Draco.

The three boys took a step forward, and Dorinthal went for his wand, but it was too late. With strength from beyond the grave, Brian grabbed both of Dorinthal's arms and lunged forward, his teeth ripping into Dorinthal's jugular. Only minutes after his death, Brian tasted life again.

And Professor Dorinthal had performed his last Killing Curse.