Light's End

Chapter 6: The Last Slytherin

-1 -

Friday

5:00 PM

"That's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard," barked Pansy Parkinson, outraged.

Seamus pinched his forehead in resignation, feeling Hermione slip her hand through his arm. Never before had the Prefect meeting room been so tense and unaccommodating. The eight prefects of Hogwarts sat around the table. To Seamus's dismay, Pansy noted that Gregory Goyle, as the only remaining Slytherin boy of his year, had earned the position of prefect by default. Another new face was Susan Bones, who had taken Hannah Abbot's place - she turned her badge over to Susan, saying she was unable to keep up her duties.

The fate of all the students in the school rested on their hands: Pansy and Goyle from Slytherin, Seamus and Hermione from Gryffindor, Susan and Ernie from Hufflepuff and Anthony and Padma from Ravenclaw.

Whatever they had to decide upon, they had to do it fast. The sun would officially be down at 6:04 PM, and they had to know their strategy for tonight, lest they all fall to pieces.

Pansy glared at each of them, her ugly brown eyes filled with anger, "We are not going to stay in the Great Hall and just wait for the reaper!"

"Well," said Anthony, digging into his eyes with his index finger and thumb. He was a lean Scottish boy with large, puffy cheeks and spiky red hair, "Whaddya supposed we should be doin' then, Pansy? Runnin' pell-mell all 'round the school while this thing hunts us down, one by one?"

"We go back to our common rooms, change the passwords, and we wait for Dumbledore and the Aurors to break through the school wards," said Pansy with finality.

Susan was shaking her head before Pansy was finished, "If we separate, we'll only be that much easier to take down. We have to stay in the Great Hall and ward the doors. The younger ones can sleep, all students fifth year and above can take shifts."

"No," said Hermione, speaking up next to Seamus, "Honestly, has no one here read Hogwarts: A History?"

Everyone stared at Hermione - Seamus winced, for even he had not read it.

"We don't have time to read it before sundown," stated Padma, "So please just give us the highlights here."

"No ward will stick to any port within Hogwarts. It's a safety precaution from, say, locking every student in the Great Hall while the school was being destroyed around them."

Seamus's heart sank, and shook his head. "Unbelievable. Have all of these protections been turned against us?"

"Well," said Pansy, icily, "Seems our only option is our Common Rooms."

Ernie tapped his fingers together, "Could we all congregate in one of the common rooms? We'd get the protection of a new password and the numbers to defend ourselves."

"No," said Hermione, shaking her head, "If anything that would be worse than all of us being separated. Each student would have approximately two feet of space for themselves - if something were to attack, no one would be able to move and respond - we'd trample each other to death and do the enemy's job for them."

"Well, what're ya sayin,' Hermione?" asked Anthony, "Ye be thinkin' Pansy's way be the right one?"

Seamus glanced at Pansy, who was looking proud of her indeed, her fat, porky nose lofted in the air and her pug-like face in a content smile.

"I don't think a good idea is possible in this situation," answered Hermione, "I think we can only rule out the worst ideas. We are taking a chance with anything we do, how can we not be?"

Seamus squeezed Hermione's hand affectionately. God, he really did love this girl, no matter what she did, "She's right, y'know. How can we even begin to plan an effective strategy against an evil we don't know?"

Hermione nodded her thanks to Seamus while the rest of the prefects sat in silence, waiting for her continue. "Bottom line, I have to say that Pansy's idea has the least amount of problems. The Great Hall can't be defended, our common rooms can. Yet, if we pile every student into one of the common rooms, we'll not be able to effectively defend ourselves."

"I don't like it," said Ernie, sitting back in his chair and rubbing the top of his head. "It's just too simple of a plan - you think whatever is doing this hasn't thought of these plans and knows exactly how to counter them? I mean, come on, we aren't protecting ourselves by hiding - this thing has taken over all of Hogwarts, you don't think it can take over our common rooms too?"

Not even Pansy objected to that. The eight prefects all sighed. Seamus felt a bead of a sweat drop down from his temple. Hermione's grip on his arm tightened, Seamus lightly ran his hand over her fingers.

"Whatever we decide to do," said Seamus, "It has to be unanimous. If we can't agree with each other, how are the rest of the students going to agree? Harry and the rest of the D.A..."

"Oh, will you stop talking about your damned army?" scowled Pansy, springing up like a jack in the box, her head bobbing on her too-long neck. "Your damned D.A. really did a bang-up job today, loosing one of your members and sealing..."

"Enough!" interjected Ernie, also rising. "Justin was one of my best friends, but I don't blame Harry or the D.A... don't forget, Harry didn't kill him. Something else did."

"Macmillan, how do you even know what went on down there? No one in this room was there!" barked Pansy, "Except Goyle!"

All eyes turned to Goyle, who had been silent the whole meeting. It was doubtful he had anything intelligent to say. Goyle shifted awkwardly, his large ham-like hands twitching nervously.

"Tell 'em Goyle," snapped Pansy. "Tell them what they don't want to hear."

Goyle rose, on shaky legs. Despite being twice the size of anyone else in this room, Seamus saw the fear in his eyes. Perhaps he did have something worthwhile to say.

Goyle opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He cocked his head, stuttered, and furiously scrubbed the back of his head, like he were trying to start a fire. What was he on about, Seamus wondered. He glanced at Hermione, who returned his glance with the same, questioning look.

"Potter did okay," Goyle mumbled. "Something else killed that guy."

Pansy scowled at Goyle and said, "What?"

"Look, this is gettin' ridiculous," said Anthony, before Goyle could elaborate any further. "Finnigan's right. We gotta come to a decision here and now, and no matter whatcha be feelin', you gotta support it once we get back to the rest of the students."

"Fine," scowled Pansy, sitting down and scowling at Goyle, like he betrayed her somehow. Ernie and Goyle followed after her, until all were seated again.

A disturbing quiet fell over the room, while Hermione removed her hand from Seamus's and stood.

"We have but one choice that makes sense," began Hermione, giving each prefect a calculating look. Seamus noticed that her face softened when she looked down to him for support. He gave her a subtle nod and a faint smile. "We're out of time, and unless someone has a bright idea, I suggest we consider Pansy's idea. While I hate dividing us again tonight, we have no other options opened to us."

"Here, here," agreed Pansy. Padma, Anthony, Susan and Seamus mimicked her words. Ernie shook his head while Goyle stared ahead vacantly.

"Ernie," said Hermione, a note of fatigue in her voice.

Ernie sighed and said, "It's... it's a no-win situation." He leaned forward and folded his hands, striking Seamus as almost business-like. "I'll agree for the sake of the school... but whatever is being planned for tonight will go down without a hitch. We haven't been smart enough to thwart it, and many students will die tonight, if that's what this thing is planning."

With those chilling, haunting words, the meeting came to a close.

* * * * * *

- 2-

Hogwarts Prison for Witches and Wizards. It had that sort of ring to it, like the word 'Voldemort' or something equally horrible. Ron groaned and slumped against the table, his head in his hands. Tension, boredom and fear made a horrible combination, and were as clear as day in Ron's mind, superseding even his most fundamental abilities to think and rationalize. What was the goal and object here? What could they possibly hope for, what was up for them in the next hour?

Had the prefects come up with something that could save us?

The inexperienced faces that filled the Great Hall embodied the very essence of fear. Little Tommy Dalton, a first year Slytherin, wondered if he would ever see his father again while Susan Bailey of the Ravenclaw couldn't decide if she should cry or scream. Gordon Davis, one of Dennis Creevey's best friends, wondered why Dennis wouldn't talk to him and why he couldn't stop shaking while Henry Blake, a seventh year Hufflepuff composed a letter to Brian's mother, not realizing he wouldn't be able to reach the Owlery. Blaise Zabini couldn't stop staring at Colin Creevey without harboring the deepest sensations of loathing. Hannah Abbot was all cried out and thrown into terrible depression over the loss of Justin. Misery didn't leave the walls of the Great Hall, and while Cappy feasted upon his latest kill, he gave thanks to his Master, and hoped only more would come.

Outside the Great Hall, nothing stirred. Pictures huddled together, as if sensing the dread that had fallen Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry. Even Sir Cadogan sensed the stillness and had even grown restless enough to challenge a nearby picture of a leprechaun to a joust. The day had passed without a single student walking by in corridors where a hundred would pass every period.

Outside of Hogwarts was a different matter all together. Hovering at the borders of the school and even camped out upon the grounds, half of the Aurors in the natural world met, spoke and even tried their luck against the main doors, only to watch their magic bounce off uselessly.

And how old and helpless Dumbledore felt, staring at a group of Aurors on brooms, inspecting every window for a way in. The reports came back the same - Hogwarts's natural defenses prevented the windows from being broken. After all, if someone could infiltrate the school by flying up and breaking a window, the school wouldn't exactly be safe, now would it? With a sigh, the old man Apparated away, knowing he could do no more good at Hogwarts this evening.

Little did any of them know the extent of what lurked beneath Hogwarts, and what limits it would go to in order to achieve its dream. While hardened by ages of lightness existence and patience, it couldn't help but feel anxious tonight. All of its waiting had paid off, and tonight, it was time to act. The minutes ticked away and, for the first time in so long, it wanted. It wanted time to speed up. It couldn't wait for the clock to strike 6:04.

At long last, the time had come, just as the students had gone from the Great Hall back to their common rooms, to huddle in fear.

* * * * * *

- 3 -

6:00 PM

For those who fought gallantly against the wards on the outside, when night fell, it was a meaningless gesture of nature trying to slow them down. They knew not the perils that awaited the students that night, but knew that the situation was very dangerous. For Remus Lupin, that was enough.

It had begun to rain just moments ago, a perfect compliment to an otherwise miserable day. From beneath his umbrella he looked over the school, his keen eyes appraising every detail and his senses beyond the norm stretched out, telling him the scope of the danger. A school in chaos and under a power that knew every inch of it - not even Tom Riddle could brag as much. For the Order of the Phoenix, it was a worst-case scenario that went beyond what they had thought. For the first time in Remus's life, he would have traded Voldemort for whatever evil had taken the school in its own perverted grasp.

From his vantage point on a hillock, just to the east of the lake, he could see the whole school. He was at the halfway point between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, taking a break from his curses and investigation, and awaiting the arrival of his companions.

A pop echoed next to him, reminding him they were just beyond the borders of the Apparition wards. Remus didn't jump and smelled at once who it was. He allowed a sigh to escape his lips and buried his hands into his torn and tattered robes.

"Tonks," greeted Remus stiffly as he scratched the stubble on his chin.

"I've got tea and ward readouts," Tonks said over the dripping rain, "I suggest we drink first."

She was carrying about five rolled sheets of parchment in one hand and a silver tray with two silver cups and an antique stein. She tried to adjust the tray to her left hand in order to free her right, however, her grip slipped on the tray spilling tea all over the ground. Remus sighed, but said nothing. Normally, he was a good sport when it came to Tonks's clumsiness, but he was too stressed to appreciate the humor in the situation.

"Eh, heh," laughed Tonks, with an embarrassed grin, "Shall we just hop to the reports then?"

Tonight, she was wearing her hair wispy and long, with neon-green coloring, though that sharp contrast was lost in the gloom of the night. The rain had batted her fringe down over her eyes, giving her a more downtrodden appearance than usual.

"Severus and Mad-Eye should be joining us shortly," stated Remus, "Seems we are a few steps ahead of the Ministry."

Tonks pushed her hair out of her eyes, "That's not boasting much. Mr. Dalton just cussed out my whole team for not doing the impossible quick enough."

Remus nodded grimly, "He has a son in Hogwarts, doesn't he?"

Tonks just nodded, "First year Slytherin - he was kind enough to remind us. When I wasn't wiping his spittle for my face, I was unclogging my ears."

The rumble of distant thunder echoed from the sky above.

"Where is Professor Dumbledore anyway?" asked Tonks.

Remus pulled up the sleeve of his robe, checking his watch, a birthday gift from Tonks. Instead of telling the time, there were seven hands, each with a name on them. It was similar to Molly Weasley's remarkable clock. One of the hands was devoted to Albus Dumbledore, and his was resting on the six o'clock position. Instead of a number, the position read "Studying at the Ministry Achieves."

"Probably researching the deactivation of the Hogwarts wards," he guessed. "I don't believe the Headmaster has spent much of his leisure time studying how to break into his own school in the past."

Another whip-crack yielded Mad-Eye Moody, looking as grim and surely as ever. His face was crowned with a five o'clock shadow and stringy gray hair hung beneath them brim of his bowling cap.

"Alastor," greeted Remus in monotone. Tonks gave him a wave.

Mad-Eye Moody grunted his greeting, "Ministry business kept me in the Netherlands. They say Voldemort be recruitin' some Dutch dark wizards to his cause."

Tonks winced and said, "He must really be desperate."

Moody waved his hand, dismissing the comment. "What do we know so far?"

"Only what Severus told us," answered Remus, "Much of the faculty and the Head Boy and Girl went missing, then he tried to evacuate the students, but someone planted an age line by the front of the door. When the Professors left, the doors shut behind them and no one could follow."

"Meh," muttered Moody, "Seems like something has been achin' fer this opportunity for a long time. Where's Snape?"

Remus adjusted his grip on his umbrella as the rain started driving in from the side. "Snape is doing final check of the grounds with a gang of Aurors. He's acting Headmaster now, seeing as how there isn't anyone left at the school who's qualified."

"What's Dumbledore up ta?" asked Moody, sounding concerned. "Why hasn't he resumed his role?"

"As I said to Tonks, he's probably doing research as we speak," answered Remus, "He obviously feels he'd be more productive at the Ministry research archives, or he would be here."

CRACK!

"Hello Professor Snape," greeted Tonks, as the sallow Potions Master apparated into sight.

"I'm not your Professor anymore, Nymphadora," answered Snape, looking quite displeased about something. Remus could see it in his narrowed eyes and cruel snarl. The werewolf could practically smell the bad news. "I have some distressing news."

"I don't see how it could get much worse," said Tonks, shuffling through the parchment in her hands. "These ward read-outs indicate that, at the present level of our counter curses and manpower, it will take... one-thousand, five-hundred and fifty-nine years and forty-seven days to break through the wards around Hog..."

"The news I bring has little to do with Hogwarts," interjected Snape, sounding annoyed. "It's a mission straight from Dumbledore, and it's hardly a pleasant one."

"What's he say?" asked Moody, his mad eye fixing Severus with a penetrating glare.

Snape lowered his eyes with what could only be interpreted as shame. "We are to exhume Mr. Malfoy's body from his family crypt," he replied, clenching his fist like the very thought pained him.

"You're joking," stated Tonks, bluntly. "That's disgusting."

Snape ignored Tonks, focusing on Remus and Mad-Eye, "Dumbledore suspects we might find a connection between Malfoy and the evil that's taken Hogwarts. The Headmaster wishes to examine the body."

"What connection could there possibly be?" asked Remus. He was doing his best to seem calm, but really, this whole ugly situation was just spiraling out of control.

"Wizards just don't up n' die while in Hogwarts," answered Moody, looking at Remus with his normal eye. "I bet Dumbledore be thinkin' whatever be doin' this to Hogwarts killed the Malfoy kid n' his body might give a clue."

Remus shrugged, unable to refute the logic. Snape nodded in agreement, "That is what I suspected as well. There was a reason why Draco, and only Draco, was killed before this siege. I suspect Dumbledore might have an idea as to why."

Tonks sighed and shrugged wearily before speaking. "All right," she said, "Let's make this fast then. The whole thought of exhuming the dead is just... ick..."

"I'm afraid it's not going to be that simple, Miss Tonks," drawled Snape, like he were correcting a dysfunctional student in his class. Tonks put her hands on her hips and pouted. He then continued. "We must have signed authorization from Draco's family to do so. Dumbledore made it crystal clear that we aren't to touch Malfoy's coffin without their approval."

Remus sighed, "Well, this just got complicated."

"What's the problem?" asked Tonks, "We'll just explain to Mrs. Malfoy that such an action may save the lives of three-hundred students."

Moody gave a sarcastic snort, just as a lightning bolt flashed a short way off and split the air around them with a loud crackle. "She was a member of the Black family," explained Moody, "And her name ain't Sirius - that should be enough."

The mention of Sirius forced a tense beat through the gathered four. Remus bit his lip and forced a poker face. The truth of the matter was that Remus was taking the loss of Sirius hard, even if he didn't show it. Ever since the reconvening of the Order, Remus had prepared himself for the worst. Sirius had been in more peril than most - an escaped convict from Azkaban and a well-known Animagus, after Lucius Malfoy ratted him out. Somehow, Remus had always expected Sirius would meet an early end, but nothing could have prepared him for it. Remus Lupin was now the final Marauder. Wormtail had been the first to go, murdered by Voldemort decades ago. All that remained of him was a pitiful creature named Peter Pettigrew, a murderer and a traitor. The good man that had once been Remus's best friend had long since died. Prongs had been the next to go, on the night of Voldemort's death. And then, it had been Sirius, just months ago.

Remus Lupin was the last marauder. Voldemort and/or his minions had killed the rest.

"Mrs. Malfoy will be the easy part," explained Snape, his voice growing even graver, if that was possible. "After we convince her, we must take a trip to Azkaban."

Remus held up his hands with shock. "Wait a minute. You can't possibly mean..."

Snape shot Remus a stony glare. "That is exactly what I mean. We must speak with Lucius Malfoy."

* * * * * *

- 3 -

6:04 PM

Sundown, noted Harry glumly, though in truth, he hadn't seen the sun all day. His alarm clock told all though and the sky outside was dark, illuminated briefly only by flashes of lightning. The occasional Auror passed outside Harry's window, but each attempt to signal one was in complete vain. Another one of Hogwarts's defenses was that no one could see in through the windows - all were warded to be only one sided. After all, would Godric Gryffindor ever have imagined that someone was trapped within Hogwarts and was desperate to signal someone from the outside?

Nevertheless, the fact that so many Aurors were working outside the school gave Harry a small amount of relief. Anytime now, they could barge in while exploiting a weakness, and rescue them. It would be a nice change of pace - y'know, someone rescuing HIM for a change.

Everyone always expected Harry to rescue them. What was he? A God damned Auror already? The voices cried out in his head, mixing together as some disgusting sludge.

"Do something, Potter!" screamed Zacharias.

"C'mon Harry, think of something!" pleaded Ron.

"Please Harry, don't let me die!" cried Justin.

With a roar of frustration, Harry grabbed his desk and over turned it. The drawers flew out, inkbottles shattered and parchments flew every which way. His voice echoed through his empty dorm room as he screamed some more, allowing his anger and frustration to run wild. He ripped down his bed curtains and proceeded to kick one of the postures on his bed. After the fourth empowered kick, the wooden pole cracked and the entire infrastructure of the bed collapsed onto the mattress. Still not sated, Harry ripped down Dean's West Ham Football poster.

"Why couldn't you do something, you fucking git!" screamed Harry, as Zacharias voice echoed in his head. He grabbed his Firebolt, a broom he would likely never get to use again and smashed it repeatedly into the wall, scoring dent after dent.

"Am I the only one who can think of anything, Ron? Are you too thick to add anything!"

With a rush of adrenaline, he brought his Firebolt down over his knee, snapping the broomstick in two and throwing away the parts. Damn them all! They willingly came. He can't be expected to save all their lives if something happened. What the hell did people think he was? The Boy Who Lived and Therefore Is Invincible And His Mere Presence Makes Others Invincible Too? Those morons. Morons! Every last one of them.

"I didn't let you die!" cried Harry, driving his fist into the wall until his knuckles were bloody. "It wasn't my fault! It was YOUR fault! No one else died but you, it was YOUR BLOODY FAULT!"

Harry collapsed amongst the ruins of his desk, his face buried in his hands. He wouldn't cry, never, never again. He had cried once since he was six, only one time before, and that wasn't to express sorrow. It was his way of saying good-bye to his father's best friend. To his godfather, Sirius Black, the man his rash actions were responsible for killing. By the lake at the end of fifth year, he allowed the tears to flow. He hadn't really even noticed them - it wasn't a sobbing fit, or anything like that. It was just water running down the sides of his cheeks, staining his skin pink.

"... Your fault..." whimpered Harry, though in truth, he didn't know who he was speaking about anymore. "... Your fault."

The door to his dormitory opened and Harry bolted upright at once. He wiped his sleeve across his face and sniffled deeply. He had cried - damn it all. He hadn't wanted to, but the water works turned on of their own accord. In walked Ron, looking as timid as ever, his full six-feet appearing little more than two.

"Harry, is everything all right?" he asked, though one look at the dormitory - Harry's ruined bed, his destroyed desk and Dean's ripped poster - was probably all he needed to see.

"Nothing is all right," scowled Harry, sitting on Ron's bed and holding his forehead. "Nothing is ever all right."

He couldn't see Ron, but he heard the boy approach his side. He saw Ron extend his hand to him. If this gesture was meant to soothe, it did a piss pour job. For some reason, it enraged Harry much further than before. He slapped away Ron's hand with anger and glared up at him, his glasses ringing emerald fire.

"Get away from me, Weasley. We aren't friends."

Ron recoiled as if he had been punched, staggering backwards and holding his hand like he would a baby, close to his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He just sort of stood there, mouth agape and large lips flapping like some kind of stupid, redheaded giraffe.

"What?" barked Harry, rising to his full five and a half feet. "What the hell do you want to say? Say it, damn it! Say it's my fault... that's what you're best at, isn't it? Blame me for Sirius's death, blame me for Justin drowning. Why not blame me for Malfoy's death too, and all the people who are going to die tonight!" Harry grabbed Ron's collar and yanked his head down to his level. "SAY IT YOU GIT! SAY IT!"

Ron looked terrified, his eyes wide and his eyes watering fast. Not even his own stubborn, stupid pride could defend him against this.

"WHAT?" screamed Harry, spittle flying all over Ron's face, "NOW YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY?"

"It wasn't your fault," Ron managed. He didn't dare wipe his face.

"WHAT?" roared Harry, "IT WASN'T? WELL, MAYBE I'M JUST GOING DEAF! COULD RON 'SIDEKICK BOOTLICKING' WEASLEY HAVE NOT BLAMED ME FOR EVERY LITTLE THING THAT'S BOTHERING HIM?"

"It was my fault," returned Ron, grabbing Harry's wrists and speaking more forcefully. A bead of water loosed itself from his eyelashes, "Everything was my fault. Harry, please listen."

For some reason, that admission of guilt, as small a thing as it was, stole the strength from Harry's arms. He released Ron, who took a step back, looking jostled. He adjusted his collar and smoothed his robes.

"I pushed you too hard a month ago," explained Ron, "I screwed up, Harry. I've never had anyone close to me die, and I don't know how it feels. I wanted to tell you that, I really did, but I was too proud and... by Merlin, I should have been more supportive."

Harry eyed Ron coolly and said, "It's a little late for that, isn't it?" His voice had calmed and he looked more at ease.

Ron shook his head, "No, it's not, mate. Hagrid told me before that a month isn't so long... and, well, now might be my last chance to set things right with you."

Harry didn't speak.

"If what you say is true, and lots of us are going to die tonight... I want to set things right with you. You're my best friend - my only friend."

"Hermione is also you're friend," noted Harry, arbitrarily.

Ron shrugged, "It's not the same. She's now Seamus's friend, and couldn't care less about us. I mean, she didn't even offer to come with us today."

"We told her all prefects should stay," said Harry. "Had we asked her..."

"Asking isn't the same. In the past, she has dragged us in harm's way for the greater good - she made no move to even suggest she wanted to be anywhere near us, or rather, more than a few feet away from Seamus."

"What are you saying, Ron?"

Ron sighed and rubbed his head. "We can only count on each other, Harry. How many others volunteered to stay with you to save Justin who had no personal stake on the matter?"

Harry snorted. "What, you want a metal?"

Ron shook his head. "No. Just your friendship again."

"Forget it," came the immediate reply. Harry's glittering eyes deepened and he rose, wiping more tears from his eyes. He felt a surge of excitement - that feeling that came with knowing he was doing something wrong and hurting someone. He knew, later, it would turn to shame, but for now, he relished the feeling.

Ron wiped tears from his own eyes. "By Merlin, HARRY!" he cried. "What do I have to do to prove I'm sorry?"

Harry just scowled at Ron, rage pumping through his arms, "I couldn't care less if you are sorry. Weasley, you don't know if you're hung, shot, stabbed or hexed. You're idea of doing your duty as a friend is bringing them down to your pathetic level and then beating them with experience. You love to see me in misery."

"That's not true," snapped Ron, his face turning beat red with controlled rage, "If you honestly think that - "

"Oh, spare me your sick melodrama," cut off Harry, pushing past Ron and moving to the door, "Why else did you come up here today? You wanted to see me in misery. Opening the door, seeing the room destroyed and me in tears and asking me 'is everything all right?' Bloody hell, I could hear you restraining your laughter, you sneak."

Ron's face paled over and he just look stricken, a mannequin standing in the center of the room.

"Don't do me any more favors, Ron," sneered Harry, opening the door to their room, causing Colin, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Lavender and Parvati to fall forward into the room, landing at Harry's feet in a giant pig pile. Had the situation been any different, Harry might have laughed. Right now, he found nothing funny. Holding back a comment, Harry went around them, made it a point to step on Colin's hand - hard - and left the room.

Colin's yelp of pain was a little satisfying.

* * * * * *

- 4 -

7:00 PM

All over Hogwarts, anticipation towered higher than the highest mountaintops. An hour into the night, and nothing had happened. Not a single eye closed for very long, for something evil was waiting for them. The passwords to the portraits had been changed for every house, but really, if whatever evil had the ability to strike at the Professors in their slumber, what chances did pitiful portraits have of stopping them?

No, in truth, nothing had been done - no steps had been taking toward protection, and the Master knew this. Of course, had they thought of anything that could delay his plan even a minute longer, he would have been surprised beyond all belief. For well over one hundred years, he had been planning this glorious coup, watching, waiting and listening for the perfect time to exercise it.

The thunder outside was a perfect reflection of the evil inside. Abrupt surges of impatience flared within his soul, pleading and begging with him to act. The crack of thunder seconds later reminded him just how time was of the essence. All of his life was little more than a glorious lightning crack, with the satisfying roll of thunder spanning hundreds of times longer. Unlike lightning, however, the Master planned to make his stroke never fade, and his sound never extinguish.

Those in the Ravenclaw Common Room tried to read - those who didn't have their wands drawn and trained on their portrait entrance, of course. Wise enough to know the value of teamwork, each Ravenclaw pitched in, sometimes as many as thirty students guarded the portrait at any one time, while others poured over books, searching for clues, any clues that would suggest the nature of their attacker. It had been decided by Cho Chang and some of the other smartest of the wise that their attacker must be an invisible sort, with claws, teeth and enormous strength. While Harry and his merry band had proceeded to the dungeon, Chang and Spanning had taken a look at Erin Slovise's body. The cause of death had been similar to the Killing Curse, but claw marks on her neck, arms and shoulders suggested she was carried by a creature sporting sharp claws, and with sharp claws always came long teeth. Crossed with the potential of human intelligence and a love for their work, they had come up with but one possible foe, and many were willing to believe it. A displacer beast was loose in Hogwarts - a panther like creature that could turn invisible at will, possessed human-like intelligence, and raked with its claws and bit with its teeth. Luna Lovegood didn't believe that, however, for she wondered how this panther like monster could have tied the rope around Erin Slovise and hung her from the main hall rafters, over fifty feet in the air, or killed her without defiling her body something awful with bite marks and scratches. Also, that didn't explain the age line that four of her Gryffindor friends had found their way into, and gained white beards for a few minutes as a result.

Those in Gryffindor did what they could to put their mind at ease. Some played Exploding Snap, others played chess, while others more guarded their portrait entrance. Led by a skeptical Harry, with both their prefects having vanished for about twenty minutes, they were in far worse spirits than their Ravenclaw brethren.

And if the Gryffindors were in bad spirits, the Hufflepuffs were all but cutting their own throats in fear. Sobbing children and older kids, huddled by the fire like a flock of sheep, ready to be eaten, outnumbered the few brave souls who stood next to Zacharias, Ernie and Hannah in their vigilant watch of the doorways. In a word, it was terrifying.

The Slytherins maintained a healthy detachment from the situation. Though the loss of Draco Malfoy had hit most of them hard, the loss of Justin Finch-Fletchley brought indifference at worst and laughter at best. Who cared about stupid duffers, anyway? Of course it was the duffer who got it, they were too stupid for their own good.

And, for all intent and purpose, it was a very merry time in the Slytherin common room. For Pansy Parkinson, it was a rehash of her childhood dreams. The basilisk had been at the hub of these, purging the school of all those impure bloods that used magic in combination with their electric apparatus. They were all half bloods that had no business whatsoever dabbling in magic. Once again, a stupid Muggleborn was the first to get killed. Perhaps this creature was going to return the school to the ways of Salazar Slytherin, for the betterment of all.

Pansy was one of the few who sat by the portrait, watching and waiting for something to come through. Should it succeed, she hoped it would see her, smile, and pass her on by. She hoped to point out the nearest Mudblood - a third year named Ralph Goss - and watch it cut him, rip him and kill him. She wanted to watch in peace as his brown, tainted blood filled the room with its confounded stink. Perhaps the day had come where the purebloods would reign supreme, as it should be.

She took a deep sniff and sighed. Someone must have been making coffee, for the smell of rich, black beans intermingled with that of the potpourri already present inside the room. For a minute, she wondered if the House Elves were bringing a nightcap around until she heard it:

"Pansy,"

Pansy started at once, blinking with confusion. All around her, Slytherins were talking and gabbing, but somehow, she had heard a voice sounding no louder than a breathy whisper over the commotion. She blinked a second time, turning from side to side.

"Who called me?" she asked, turning back to the rest of the Slytherins. Millicent and Blaise looked up from their talk with two seventh years, fixing her with a skeptical glare. Goyle was nowhere to be seen - other than them, who'd possibly be hailing her?

"No one," answered Millicent, looking back to Steven Rex, the seventh year boy she was speaking to.

Pansy shrugged and resumed watching the backside of the portrait, her arms crossed and her wand in her left hand.

"Pansy. I need your help."

Pansy didn't start this time, but glanced suspiciously at her side. Nothing. Not a damned thing. She rubbed her eyes wearily and sighed. It had been a long day, and the stress must have been getting to her. It was time to go to bed and leave Blaise in charge, or maybe one of the seventh years. Goyle certainly couldn't be depended on in that respect.

A shadow flickered across the back of the portrait, like someone running their hands on the opposite side, pushing through the canvas ever so slightly, and tracing a point upon the material.

"Let me in, Pansy. I've missed you so much."

Pansy rose, her breath coming to her in short gasps. "Draco?" she whispered, her voice not carrying to anyone else.

"Please, let me in."

The indentation in the painting twisted, as if the person behind had turned his hand over, palm forward, and pressed in firmly. Unable to help herself, Pansy took a few steps toward the painting.

"Who... who's there?" she asked, her voice catching in her throat.

"I love you, Pansy. I never crossed... I want to be with you, always."

As if her hand were possessed by something on the outside, she reached out and touched the indentation. She would never open the portrait, never in a million years... but she would touch this stretch in the canvas. If it really were Draco, she'd know. She'd know right away.

Her hand passed right through the canvas, a soft wave rippling across the back, like still water being disturbed from perfect rest. She felt her hand press into cool, soft flesh and at once, felt sexual arousal creep all over her body. The palm of her hand pressed into the palm of his hand, their fingers became locked, so soft and tender she let a soft moan escape her mouth.

She glanced over her shoulders and saw no one was looking at her. Closing her eyes and feeling her heart soaring, she stepped through the canvas. It was as if an Intangibility Hex had made the portrait insubstantial, her body passed right through and fell into his deep, gray eyes.

Unable to speak, or even breath, she could do little more than release his hand and throw her arms around his neck, closing her eyes softly. Draco's flesh always seemed cool - it was a bit cooler now. Perhaps he was a ghost, come back to haunt her, or maybe she was dreaming. His skin was the color of ice and his hair had lightened to snow white.

She drew back her embrace and stared him in the eyes. They ripped right to the center of her soul, exciting every part of her body. In the dim light of the dungeon, she saw he was dressed in a white shirt, the cuffs rolled up to reveal the faintest speckling of hair on the back of his wrists. His pouting lips were so ripe, like apples ready for the plucking. His black cloak swept around her, drawing her closer, holding her true to her embrace.

His lips parted for but a moment, his voice was as chill as an autumn breeze, "I've missed you."

Unable to contain herself, she leaned into his face, pressing her lips firmly against his. His strong arms - much stronger than before - swept her off her feet. He tasted like nothing, as if the very tastes of humanity couldn't stain his lips or his way. His eyes remained opened the whole time, staring into hers with a deep, knowing passion.

He left her mouth, his lips tracing waves of passion down her chin, to her neck, and lower still. At the whim of his fingers, the collar of her robe unbuttoned, and he continued plucking his lips against her skin, lower still to the midriff between her breasts. Never had she felt so sexually awakened before in her life - how she had always wished Draco do this before. It was like something out of her darkest fantasies, having come to life. Her own hands went wild, running down his back. She could feel his erection, digging into her lower waist, only adding to the depth of the moment. Her effect on him was an equal balance, a consensual and mutually arousing situation. It was too good to be true and too real to be fake.

"If you ask, Pansy," he said, breathing into her ear softly, his cold tongue caressing Pansy's ear, "I will say yes."

Her voice caught in her throat again, she was powerless against his soft, caring touch and his stimulating words. She could only nod, "Please... make love to me."

"Invite me in," he said, in between kisses of the nape of her neck.

"Please, come inside with me," she said, her words rushing out of her lips. "The password is 'Zenith'."

At once, his grip tightened on her shoulders, and his lips set up a cruel scowl. Whatever spell he had weaved over her passed and suddenly, she saw him for what he was. He was dead - he was a cold, unfeeling corpse of the man she once loved.

He was now pure, concentrated evil.

And she tried to scream. His eyes swam from hypnotic to terrifying, glowing with a dark, foreboding luminance, like the lights of hell itself. He shoved her backwards, away from the Slytherin common room - away from help, deeper and deeper into the hallway of the dungeon. Two strong hands grabbed her from behind. Her vision spun as Crabbe turned her around; he looked at her face to face with the gaze of an animal come to feed. Crabbe had been ugly, but she could not deny his handsome charm now, his pumpkin pie haircut smoothed and even and his large body hidden beneath a white shirt and black cloak. Like Draco, he wore an emerald brooch on the top of his collar.

Before she could scream, Crabbe sunk his teeth into her neck. She stiffened at once, her impending screaming becoming a moan of delight as orgasmic pleasure filled her. The smell of coffee and potpourri became overwhelming, filling her, becoming her, penetrating as deeply as a hole through the earth.

And then it stopped. Crabbe detached himself from her, licking his blood soaked chin with his long, pale tongue. Her terror began anew as Crabbe shoved her weak and frail form further down the corridor, right into the waiting arms of Brain Maylee, the Head Boy. Dressed in the same way, the only difference between him and Crabbe was an amber broach on his collar. He didn't bite at first - no, he relished in her terror for a moment and licked Pansy's lips with his tongue, as if savoring her taste. She was so weak that she couldn't even scream and so scared she couldn't even breath.

"Welcome," he purred soothingly, inside her head.

"No..." she whispered, not even hearing her own voice.

He pulled her down onto the ground, and descended on top of her, his mouth clamped on her bleeding neck. Her prefect badge fell off from the jolt, rolling upon the stonework dungeon floor, leaving a faint trail of red in its wake.

* * * * * *

- 5 -

7:15 PM

The four members of the Order, after enjoying a Molly Weasley cooked meal, were ready to depart from the Black house. Each of them had made it a point to not tell Molly about the situation at Hogwarts when they realized she hadn't learned of it. It became painfully clear that the Ministry was covering this up, only letting those who needed to know understand the full extent of the situation. Normally, Remus would have told her the cold, hard truth, but for the first time in many days she had seemed happy. Who was he to ruin that, especially if there was nothing Molly could do to help the situation.

After enjoying two plates of pot roast, cabbage and potatoes, Remus and his team Apparated to the front of Malfoy Manor. It couldn't have come off as more of a cliché, horror movie type set-up. The rain was thick and unrelenting, and lightning flashed every few seconds. Remus held up his wand again and the top of an umbrella shot forth, giving him a sense of dry reprieve. Moody and Snape followed his example, but Tonks just skipped along behind them, enjoying herself as best she could as the rain soaked her to the bone again.

While not as large as Hogwarts by any comparison, Malfoy Manor was a large, four story complex that ran a good football field in length and maybe half one wide. Like many of the wealthy, pureblooded families, it was originally Malfoy Castle. The surrounding lands, now long overgrown with disuse, used to house muggle serfs and farms during the peak of the feudal system, hundreds of years ago. The parapets and towers of the ancient Manor were still visible if one looked hard enough; though having undergone renovation many times looked little more than attic windows and bumps in the roof.

Remus wrapped upon the heavy round knocker, shaped like a golden serpent eating its own tail, and waited. Minutes passed before the door was opened by a short looking house elf with drooping ears down to his hips and large, purple eyes filled with fear.

"Who is yous?" cried the house-elf, shaking, "Yous not people Mistress expecting!"

Remus looked from Moody, who was snorting, to Snape, who was rolling his eyes, and finally to Tonks, who had taken a step forward. She bent down, resting the palms of her hands on her knees and peering at the house-elf like a little girl in amazement.

"Why, hello there!" she said, in the type of voice that one might talk to a kitten in, "What's your name, cutey?"

The house-elf arched its ears in curiosity, "My name is Weebee, Misses. The Mistress only expecting those she invited..." A loud crack of thunder echoed from behind the house, and Weebee shrieked with fear and hopped on Tonks, grabbing her tightly. "Aiiiiiie!"

"Whoa, easy, easy," said Tonks, patting the back of the house elf's head. "It's just a thunderstorm."

"I know, Misses," whimpered Weebee, looking Tonks in the eyes, "But Weebee hate thunderstorms... they so sckah-wee."

"House elf, I was here recently," butt in Snape, pushing passed Remus without much care for courtesy, "If you have half a brain, you should remember me."

The house elf stared over Tonks shoulder, looking at Severus with an odd sort of curiosity, "Oh! Weebee remembers you, Severe Snap!" He hopped down from Tonks when she began to laugh at Severus's absurd nickname. "You brought news of Little Mah... mah.. mahh..."

At that, Weebee fell to the ground and began to sob.

"This is such a waste of time," muttered Snape, while Moody gave his typical grunt of disapproval. Remus rubbed his forehead, having to agree with Severus for once in his life.

"Oh really!" exclaimed Tonks, swatting Snape's shoulder with a huff. Snape scowled at the soft hit, but Tonks had all ready moved to Weebee, holding out a hankie for him. The house elf took it and blew his long nose. "It's okay, sweetie. You must still be really sad, but we really have to speak to your Mistress. Can you please take us to her?"

Weebee blew his nose again, sounding something like a two-foot tall party favor, and finally nodded. "Yes, Weebee will take Nice Misses and her friends to see the Mistress."

Tonks gave Snape a triumphant grin as she rose and followed the waddling house elf through the main parlor of the well-furnished manor and up a flight of stairs. Remus held back a chuckle for Severus's sake, and Moody, being his normal talkative self, just grunted.

They were led into the dining room. At the table sat Narcissa, as stretched and drawn as an old jumper, with a plate of untouched food in front of her. On the other side was a dark haired woman with saucer wide black eyes and thick, purple lips - Lestrange. Seated next to was Rupert Avery, a rat-like man with a thin build and lots of facial hair. There were two remaining figures at the table that stole the breath from Remus's lungs. Wormtail sat opposite of Avery, his silver fingers drumming the table, his large watery eyes focused on Remus.

The final figure, seated at the head of the table, rose. Long, spidery fingers poked out from the sleeves of his embroidered, black robe. And even though his cowl was pulled low over his face, Remus Lupin had no problem determining whom this person was. His very heart froze with fear.

"I thought this was to be a private meeting, Narcissa," Lord Voldemort hissed, drawing his wand with ice cool.

* * * * * *

- 6 -

7:20 PM

Blaise yawned away her fatigue, stress from a very long, boring and fearful day. She was tired despite the early time and wanted to sleep, but didn't dare admit that to Millicent, or anyone else nearby. She didn't want to give the impression that she was afraid or something, no no, that would be too infra dig for a Slytherin - cunning and crafty, always one step ahead of death.

Just like Draco was one step ahead of death, right?

She looked up, seeking Pansy for a moment, not really understanding why. She didn't see her, and that was weird. She was probably in the bathroom, mused Blaise, as she turned back to the seventh year named Craig Thompson, who was still talking to her about... shit, what was it again? Oh, who the hell cared. He was as boring as he was ugly, and given his low forehead and those squinty eyes of his, that was saying something.

"That's wonderful, Craig," said Blaise with a smile, "Excuse me please."

Craig nodded, striking her as something of a caricature of stupidity and turned to Millicent. A Slytherin - cunning and crafty, always one-step ahead of death, of course that didn't apply to Craig, who was barely one step ahead of a Blast-Ended Screwt on the tree of intellect.

Blaise allowed herself to slip a bit out of focus as she rose from the table and strolled casually to the girl's dormitories. She thought of Draco for some reason - she thought of him a lot. Draco was the only other smart Slytherin in her year. Millicent, Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy all deserved each other. Millicent was as dumb as old fruit, Crabbe and Goyle shared what little brain Malfoy let them borrow from him, and if it wasn't for Draco, Pansy would have never been nominated Prefect. It was a well-rumored fact that Draco helped Pansy do her homework in exchange for... other favors.

Only Blaise knew the truth of it though. Draco was a virgin, and as often as Pansy had been with him, he had never given himself to her fully. She knew because he told her. Draco had been her friend, the only friend she talked to like a person and not some kind of over dignified animal. And deep down, Draco was a good person, perverted by an atrocious upbringing (though, he'd call it privileged) and nightmares.

Oh yes, she had learned of Draco's nightmares. If he wasn't dreaming about the things that went bump in the night, he would dream about Harry Potter, or dream about You-Know-Who or dream about himself. The dream he had the most, it seemed, was a dream where he had no control. He called it the eye of the raptor. Blaise had figured that one out though. The eye was symbolic of his father, always watching him and telling him how he'd live his life, and what he'd be afraid of. Draco rebelled against it, thrashing in his sleep. What else could have scared him?

She came to a stop and reached out to open the door in front of her and came to the realization that she hadn't gone to the girl's dorms, and instead, was standing in front of the sixth year boy dormitories, also known as 'Goyle's Room' at this point. Yet she didn't stop to think about this and opened the door without knocking and entered. The room was as it had always been, three large beds set out in triangular formation with lavish green drapes hiding them in their embrace. In the corner of the room, Goyle sat at Draco's desk, his head buried in an old book. Curious, she thought, Goyle actually knew how to read?

"Blaise!" he yelped, slamming the book shut and throwing it into an open draw on the desk, "What are you doing here?"

What was she doing here, Blaise wondered as she approached Draco's desk. "I don't know," she answered, "I guess I just wanted to have a look."

Goyle cocked his head, resembling a rather ugly and confused cow, "At what?"

"Draco's things," she answered, "I was just thinking about him now - what were you looking at?"

"N-nothing," Goyle stammered, "Just one of Draco's old schoolbooks."

Blaise moved to his side and withdrew the book from the desk, despite his complaints. It was a simple, black book, large and damn near yellow with age. On the cover of the journal was written Draco D Malfoy, in fancy golden script. With interest, she opened the first page and found a journal entry, dated back when Draco was ten years old.

"He kept a journal?" asked Blaise, looking at Goyle with disbelief. "How long have you known?"

Goyle shrugged, blushing the color of apples, "Not long. Last time I saw him alive, he was writing in it."

There was something thick and hasty in his voice, like he were spluttering out a prepared answer and not truly considering her words. She made a note of it, thinking it strange that Goyle was actually... how could she say it lightly...thinking.

Thumbing through the journal, she saw Draco grow up before her very eyes as his words grew bigger, and his grammar improved and his spell errors reduced themselves. She closed the book and hugged it tightly to her chest, almost smelling Draco in the pages.

"Mind if I keep this?" she asked, in her 'I'm-not-really-asking-I'm-telling," voice. Goyle tried to stutter over a response, but Blaise was already on her way out the door.

She had just stepped outside when she heard a scream from the common room. Before she so much as turned her head, about a dozen more screams echoed into a blend of noise, freezing her foot to the stone ground. Wasting no time, she tucked Draco's journal into her robe and drew her wand. She proceeded down to the common room, her heart beating in her ears.

All the gruesome scenes she had seen before couldn't hold a candle to what she saw when she reentered.

Every student was rushing every which way - boys running up to their dormitories and girls pushing past her in a crazy rush to escape. Millicent Bulstrode lie on the ground, blood gushing from her neck - Draco rising from her fallen body, and Craig was pushed up against the wall, with Pansy Parkinson ripping chunks out of his neck with her prominent incisors.

Her stomach churned in vehement disapproval as Millicent rose from the floor, her wounds sealing up posthaste - Draco helped her up with his hand. They both looked to Blaise, who was just about the only student not running.

Her nightmares had been made flesh and put right in front of her.

She locked eyes with Draco and at once, all disgust and fear drained from her body. With the rich, hardy smell of coffee, enriched by a type of gourmet spice, she felt herself falling toward Draco, her legs moving on their own accord to bring her closer to him. Her friend was back, and that was all that mattered.

She embraced him deeply, but Draco made no move to return this. He pulled back and stared into her eyes - how she had missed those deep, lies and his plush lips. She had never kissed him before. She stared at her lips and felt her mouth salivate as a burning desire built in her chest to force her lips to his, her tongue into his mouth and her body to anything he'd wish of her.

But Draco didn't return her affections. He only leered at her, a fearsome looking thing that sent a sudden wave of panic through her mind.

"Come with me," he said, his voice sounding distant, though his mouth was but inches from hers.

But, I don't want to, she thought, and another wave of panic broke through the surface. Something was off. Wasn't Draco supposed to be dead? Didn't he look dead? She looked at his face in a new light. Oh my fucking god, he IS dead!

"No!" shrieked Blaise, pulling away from Draco at once. At first the thing that was standing in front of her looked confused, as if questioning a bad Quidditch call, or a ruling on a penalty of some kind. Then, his face scowled and any beauty death had brought him was twisted around into a hellish horror - bloodstained fangs poked out of his lips and his eyes sparkled with deep malice.

"You are resisting me?" he questioned, his voice sounding surprised - and lethal.

By now, the common room was all but empty. Those who hadn't sprinted up to their rooms were cowering in the corner, unable to do more than scream silently and wet themselves. Millicent and Craig bore no injuries and had risen again, standing behind Draco - subservient to their masters. Pansy giggled at Blaise's flank, but didn't draw any closer.

"Go away, Draco!" she said, closing her eyes and clenching her fists. She shuddered and forced herself not to cry. "Leave me alone."

She felt four powerful arms grab her and force her to the ground. She opened her eyes in a panic as the breath exploded from her lungs upon hitting the stone hard floor. Millicent and Craig had rushed forward and their jaws had collapsed, their mouths yawning wide for her neck. She wouldn't cry though. She'd die with honor - with the dignity of a Slytherin.

"No," hissed Draco, his voice as sharp as a whip-crack. "She survives tonight."

"What?" came Millicent's breathy complaint, "Please - I'm so thirsty."

"No one drinks her but me," he snarled, his voice hitting Blaise like a thousand pins into her temples, "And I'm full tonight."

Blaise opened her eyes and saw another figured had entered the room. Goyle stood at the foot of the steps, his knees knocking, face white.

"Goyle," hissed Draco, his smile returning, "There are hungry outside - invite them in."

Goyle nodded, sweat drops glistening in the dim light of the dungeon and moved to the portrait.

"Don't do it, Goyle!" screamed Blaise.

Her reward was a kick in the gut by Pansy, who then cackled with delight.

Goyle opened the portrait and stuttered, his eyes wide at the sight outside, "... you two can come in," he said. The split second after he spoke, he was shoved aside by Crabbe, and the Hufflepuff Head Boy, who both rushed at Tommy Dalton and Fredrick Cass, two first years who had been huddling together behind the sofa, hoping they wouldn't be noticed - their whimpers had given them away.

Blaise closed her eyes - thirty seconds later, there were eight of them.

Draco turned to Tommy, Fredrick, Millicent and Craig, and nodded up the stairs. "Feast well," he hissed, "We will make certain none leave here alive - with exception to Blaise." Draco turned to Blaise, "You are free to go."

"Don't do this, Draco," cried Blaise, shuffling backward on her hands and knees, "They were once your housemates - your friends, your family! Don't kill them, please!"

Her words had no effect on him. With a simple hop, he glided through the air, touching down softly next to her. He outstretched his hand to Blaise, and while she was under no magical compulsion to take his hand, she did so anyway. He lifted her up with great strength and pulled her tightly into his embrace.

"Because I love them so much, I cannot allow them to escape," Draco whispered, his frosty breath numbing her ear, "Hogwarts is changing, Blaise - we have a new Headmaster now. Pureblood, Mudblood - nothing matters anymore. We are learning things, things that no mortal could ever know. You would do well to envy us, for only when you join us, will you know how much you are missing."

"Draco, don't do this," said Blaise, tears rimming her eyes. "Don't kill them."

But Tommy, Fredrick, Millicent and Craig had already made it into the boy's second year dorms. The sounds of screams echoed from within - one twelve-year-old boy named Donald Ford had gotten out of his room. He tried to flee into the common room, but Brian and Crabbe, cackling with delight, pushed him back onto the stairs. Before the boy could rise again, Tommy had leapt upon his prone form and forced his teeth into his neck. His struggles and screams turned at once into whimpers of delight and Blaise saw him pop a large erection through his robes as passion filled his body even while his face drained of color.

Draco looked back to Blaise, "Give Potter a message for me," he hissed, "I forgive him and will be waiting to shake his hand when he becomes one of us."

Blaise staggered backwards, retreating to the portrait hole. "Damn you, Malfoy... damn you straight to hell."

Draco looked on her like she were some kind of cute, little child who knew not of what they were speaking of. Nevertheless he turned back to the stairs, just in time to see Tommy helping Donald to his feet, and joining the gathered creatures blocking the only way out of the dorms.

So this was how it would be, she realized. They had sealed off both sides of the dormitories - those who had already fed made certain that no living soul got by them, while those who hadn't raced up the stairs to catch themselves one of the fewer and fewer remaining survivors. That was how it was going to happen until every last Slytherin was an undead.

Goyle met her eyes once, but he looked away - he was with them, she knew. He was no Slytherin anymore, but a spineless familiar who would betray all humans until finally Draco turned him into one of them. And when that happened, Blaise Zabini would be the last Slytherin. But, she had to leave now. If Draco changed her mind, no one would be able to warn Harry.

Yesterday, if someone had told her she'd be running to Harry Potter for help, she'd have recommended treatment at St. Mungos for that person. But, knowing there was nothing she could do for her housemates anymore, she rushed for the exit.

"See you again soon, Blaise," came Draco's voice, but she had all ready pushed the portrait aside and taken to running down the dark, dungeon corridor. She had to make it to the Gryffindor common room before Draco changed his mind. Tears filled her eyes and she clambered up the stairs, ran through the barren Hogwarts hallways and arrived at the base of what had to be Gryffindor Tower.

Blaise Zabini, the last Slytherin, rushed up the stairs to spread the news of Slytherin's untimely fate.