Promises Defended

Promises Defended

Chapter Eleven: The Wrong Remedy

Padma was clutching Michael Corner with all her strength, but the younger boy was shaking, too. They'd gotten separated from the other Ravenclaws--somehow--and Penelope had no idea where Professor Flitwick and the others had gone. She wasn't tall enough to see over the fray (she'd always been shorter than everyone else, even if she was the oldest in this group, and a prefect to boot), and there were black shadows approaching.

"We're all going to die," Zacharias Smith said in an empty voice, staring glassy-eyed at the battle raging around them. So far, the Death Eaters had mostly been stunning students, and they'd gone unnoticed when the four of them had hunkered down against the castle wall and tried their hardest to blend in to the cold stone.

Until now. Dementors had spotted them, but there was no where to go.

"We are not going to die," Penelope told him as firmly as she could, squeaking. "Professor Flitwick will be here in a moment and--"

"Will you wake up, Clearwater?" Zacharias demanded shrilly. "No one's going to save us! No one's coming! We're all by ourselves and the teachers are dying and--"

"Shut up!" Michael yelled back just as Padma screamed.

"They're coming!"

"Come on!" Penelope grabbed the younger girl's arm, her heart pounding so loudly that she was certain the Dementors heard it from forty feet away. At least there was so much chaos on the battlefield that the creatures' affects were a bit muted--

"They're dead, Penny," he whispered, his voice breaking. "They're dead and every-everything's gone..."

"No," she whispered to herself. "I will not do this to myself. Not now. Not now."

"Penelope?" Padma whispered, so pale that she looked more like a ghost than anything else.

"This way," she replied resolutely, moving right along the wall. It was closer to the center of the battle, but the Dementors seemed to be drifting to the left, interested in something that was that direction, and besides, the Gryffindors had gone this way. Their small group--three Ravenclaws and a misplaced Hufflepuff--stumbled through a mess of thick gray smoke, coughing and struggling to find their way. Penelope clung to the castle wall for support, praying that it would guide her and her hapless charges to some place other than death--any place other than death. Right now, even captivity was starting to sound safer...someone screamed, not far away, and was cut off abruptly by a Killing Curse.

She kept moving forward, blinking and trying to make her eyes see through the smoke. Padma clung to her with both hands, instead of holding her wand like she should have been. Had she lost it? Penelope hadn't lost hers; she clutched it in a sweaty palm, and her fingers kept slipping. But she had to keep it steady. The Gryffindors would be right ahead, not far now. Maybe Professor Tonks might be there, and he could do something--or maybe Percy--

"Thomas! Finnegan! Get back here!"

At first, she thought she was imagining things. At first she thought she might be dead and hallucinating, but it was his voice.

"Percy!" Penelope screeched, not loud enough to be heard over the other screams.

They kept stumbling into the smoke, but just as she drew in a deep breath to shout again, Michael's distant voice floated up to her. "Where'd Zacharias go?"

"What?" Padma gasped. "What do you mean--"

"Keep moving," Michael coughed. "Penelope, are we--"

Another voice cut him off from not very far away. "Dean, look out!"

"Seamus!"

"Thomas, get out of there!" Percy again.

"Percy!" Penelope shouted desperately.

"Dean! Dean!"

An earsplitting shriek came from so close that Penelope jumped, straight into the wall. She bounced off, then was suddenly free of the smoke.

"Percy!"

"Finnegan, get back here!"

"NO!"

"Finnegan!" Percy shouted again, struggling past Zacharias to reach the other boy.

He was shaking the still one, the one she didn't know. "Dean!"

"Percy!" she shouted his name again, able to see him for the first time. He was so close--almost an arm's reach away--and Zacharias had almost swept Percy off his feet as he ran by, desperate and frightened...straight into the arms of a Dementor. Percy and the Gryffindor second year, Finnegan, dove aside.

"Penelope!"

"Percy!" She dragged Padma forward, confident that Michael would follow--then Padma screamed, shivering madly against her.

"Run!" Michael shouted just as Percy bound forward. Penelope didn't dare look back.

"Go, Finnegan! He's dead!"

"But--"

"Go!" Percy shoved the boy, who stumbled, then cast one last look at his friend before sprinting away. Even the wind could not erase the tears on his face.

Percy grabbed her arm roughly, looking filthy and exhausted, but never so alive. His brown eyes were aglow. "Come on! We don't have any time to spare!"

"Oh my God. Penelope, they're coming--" Padma shrieked in her ear.

Cold wind on the back of her neck.

"Come on!" Percy bellowed, pulling them both forward with more strength than she'd thought he possessed. In fact, Percy's motion sent Penelope stumbling into him, and for a moment they were face to face, closer than they'd ever been except when kissing. A part of her wanted to smile at the thought, but an uncontrollable shiver immediately stole the urge away.

Padma screamed again, and Percy jerked away. As one, the three of them jumped forward, trying to run but tripping over each other. Penelope couldn't stop shivering, and Percy was unnaturally pale--there was an empty rattling sound right behind them, and Penelope risked a glance over her shoulder.

Michael was gone. In his place floated a Dementor, faceless and reaching.

"Run!" One of them said it. Penelope would never remember who.

They started forward, but not fast enough. One moment, Padma was gripping Penelope's arm and the next she was gone, screaming. "Penelope!"

"Expecto--argh!"

A dead or unconscious body flew backwards into Percy's legs, making him stumble into Penelope's arms. It was Andrea Owen, one of the Hufflepuff prefects, her mind reported dully, suddenly working slowly. Like it was frozen. When she looked back, Padma was gone. Not dead. Not anywhere. Just gone. "Padma? Padma!"

Percy caught his balance and tried to make her turn away, but Penelope couldn't. "PADMA!"

There she was. Penelope almost sagged in relief, because the Dementor was holding her so gently that it couldn't mean to hurt her--Percy shoved her forward.

"Run! Go and don't look back!"

Two more Dementors, and Padma was on the ground now, motionless and looking so peaceful...Percy's strong push almost knocked her off of her feet, but he wasn't moving with her.

"What are you--?"

"Just go!"

What else could she do? Penelope ran, still feeling frozen.

And then Percy pushed past her. And then Percy was gone. She thought she heard him try another spell, but it was drowned out by a scream. His scream? Penelope didn't dare look back. Percy was gone.

It was already all over the papers. Nine copies of a special edition of the Daily Prophet dropped on the conference table even as James rolled into the room with a barely controllable Sirius at his side. It's started already.

January 13, 1993

HOGWARTS ATTACKED!

By Charles Li, Special Correspondent

Breaking news leaked from the Ministry of Magic reveals that

there has been yet another attack on Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry. Details are scarce at this time, but

rumors of an emergency Ministry meeting can not be ignored.

Nor can this latest in a series of attempts by Dark Wizards to

take Britain's school of magic.

The first Hogwarts attack came on October 31, 1984, causing

little damage to the school but serious injuries to both the late

Albus Dumbledore (then Headmaster of the school) and He-

Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The second followed on January 11, 1992, through the giant

allies of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. No students or teachers

were harmed in the attack, but several giants were injured, and

one might have even died. A year and two days later, the details

are still fuzzy, but fewer giants are aiding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named's cause than ever.

The third attack occurred less than five months ago, on

September 15, 1992, causing no damage to the school and with

a surprising victory by current Headmaster Remus Lupin. In

September, the Death Eaters retreated after offering what

amounted to ineffectual resistance.

Rumors hint, however, that this attack is different. No one knows

how or why, but confidential sources near supporters of He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named hint that today will bring the end of

Hogwarts as we know it--and the death of Headmaster Remus

Lupin.

(Turn to pages 6, 9, and 17 for information and statistics on past

Hogwarts attacks.)

The article said nothing that James did not know, yet it still made his stomach turn. He couldn't stop staring at the front page, yet he knew that he had to. He could not afford to freeze. Not now. We'd know if Remus was dead. He swallowed hard, tried to tear his eyes away from the newspaper. Wouldn't we? James shook his head numbly, trying to force the thoughts away, but the gnawing worry in his stomach would not leave. He needed to be confident, needed to be strong, needed to speak and start acting--because action was always better than inaction, and they couldn't afford to wait--but he could only stare.

A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezed. James looked up, and Sirius met his eyes briefly before letting go and moving to his seat. For the moment, though, it was enough.

"Thank you all for arriving so quickly," James managed, trying not to sound awkward or concerned and knowing that he was failing miserably. A lopsided and edgy smile was the best he could do. "By now--as I'm sure you've all read--you all know. Hogwarts is under attack."

"You said as much in your summons," Fudge replied politely. At least his tone was polite; Sirius glared daggers at him over the table.

"So I did." Taking a deep breath, James withdrew Remus' note from his pocket, clearing his throat. "I received this letter about an hour ago, from Remus...Remus Lupin." His voice did not want to stay steady. James sucked in another deep breath. "He told me of the attack. And...he said that Hogwarts will fall."

"What?" Seven voices demanded together. Sirius' dark eyes just watched the others, silent and still.

James nodded. "I don't know if it's happened yet. But he's...in the position to know. We ought to know soon."

"And what makes you say that?" Paden Patil demanded archly. He'd replaced Marcy Basil as the Minister for Magical Transportation, but he didn't support James nearly as much as his captured superior once had. Of course, he was also worried about his nieces and the stress lines showed on his face, but his politics were what worried James at the moment.

"I'm sure Voldemort won't keep it a secret," James replied, grimacing at the very thought. But it was true.

"Oh, are you?" Fudge asked sweetly, then muttered under his breath: "I wonder why."

"Watch yourself, Fudge." Surprisingly, it was Peter who growled the words, looking angrier than James ever remembered him being. His features were sharp and his face pale; it made his blond hair look whiter than ever before, and Peter seemed older, somehow. Less chubby and innocent.

Then again, Peter hadn't been that chubby for many years, and today he was harder than ever.

"Are you threatening me, Pettigrew?" the other laughed back. Patil, Adams, and Bode laughed with him; Diggory just looked sick.

"No. Just warning you."

Fudge snorted. "Indeed."

"That's enough," Arthur intervened from James' right. "We're here to act, not to fight out petty feuds. And the sooner we act, the more chance of success we have. If we can get Aurors to Hogwarts before it's too late--"

"Out of the question," Fudge interjected immediately, just as Sirius whispered something under his breath. However, James did not have time to ask him what before Arthur gaped at Fudge.

"What did you say?"

"I said that sending Aurors is out of the question," Fudge replied evenly, then swung immediately to look at Sirius. "How many active Aurors do we have at the moment?"

The blue eyes darkened, and Sirius replied through gritted teeth, "Enough."

"The precise number, if you please."

"Twenty-six," Sirius said in very precise tones, glaring at Fudge. "However, our alliance with the French--"

"Oh, we couldn't possibly expect the French to rescue a British school," Fudge cut in. He shot James a brief but dazzling smile. "After all, we didn't exactly help them at Laçenne, did we?"

Shocked, James opened his mouth to reply. He never got the chance as Fudge changed tactics, studying Sirius once again.

"Tell me, how many Aurors is normal for a peacetime force?" he asked next.

Sirius sighed. "At least one hundred and fifty."

"And wartime?"

"We started the war with two hundred, and expanded to almost three hundred within the first four years," Sirius responded emotionlessly. "But I see where you're going. It won't work."

"What won't work?" Fudge inquired innocently.

"Twenty-six is more than enough to do the job, if that's what you're worried about. No matter how many Death Eaters Voldemort has in Hogwarts, we'll oust them--especially if we move fast. The faster we move, the more help the professors can offer...and the more kids we'll save."

"And if it's another trap?" The other cocked his head quizzically. "Like the Riddle House, perhaps?"

James finally found his voice. "Aurors don't get fooled by the same trick twice," he growled.

"I didn't say it would be the same one. Minister."

James glared.

"Regardless of what might happen, we need to act now," Arthur said forcefully. "We can't just sit here and do nothing--"

"Of course you think not, Arthur. You've got...how many children at Hogwarts?"

"Five." Now it was Arthur's turn to glare.

"I understand that you're worried about their safety," Fudge replied earnestly. "And you are certainly not the only one--Amos' son is still there, and Paden's nieces are, too. But acting is not the way to save them."

"What is, then?" James demanded. My son is there, too, you ass. I noticed that you omitted that on purpose.

"Negotiation."

"What?" This time, Diggory, Patil, Arthur, and Sirius joined James' shocked exclamation.

"Don't you see it? We must wait!" Fudge looked around the table, turning glowing and sympathetic eyes on each minister in turn. "I, of all people, do not want to see Hogwarts in You-Know-Who's hands, but rushing in will only get people killed! We cannot afford another Riddle House Raid. It would kill us."

"You're crazy if you think that would happen again," Sirius growled.

"And if you lose another eight Aurors?" Fudge demanded. "That would give us what, twenty? My what a fine fighting force that would be!"

"And how many children might we save in exchange for eight lives?" Sirius demanded in return, fire entering his eyes for the first time in recent memory. "It's cold and cruel math, but the results are worth the risks, no matter how you look at it."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Black, that you're wrong about that," Fudge said sadly. "How many more would die because those eight Aurors did not live? Again, it's cruel statistics, but we need every Auror we have."

"We won't lose eight Aurors."

"So you say. But you didn't expect the Riddle House Raid, either." The sad look of pity was more than James could take.

"Now see here--!" he started furiously, wishing he could rise out of his chair and tower over Fudge. For a moment, his legs even seemed to respond--he levered slightly out of the seat and teetered between half-upright and sitting--and James stopped speaking in his shock. A split second later, he crashed back into the chair again with everyone staring at him.

"I understand your concern, James," Fudge interjected smoothly. "But the children will be safer if we do not act. After all, who wants to put their children in the middle of a battle?"

A few people muttered, and--oh, Merlin, no--they sounded as if they agreed.

"Tell that to the children in Azkaban," Sirius said darkly, earning glares from the others, the sharpest of which was from Amos Diggory. Immediately, James had to bite back the urge to yell at Diggory; his son was there!

Worry and pain, James. Worry and pain. The voice sounded almost like Dumbledore's, patient and kind. Patient and wise.

I don't have that wisdom right now, Albus. I can't. Not right now.

"At least they're alive," Bode said quietly. "We know that much."

"Surviving is different from living in that place," Peter interjected before Sirius could speak. A moment of silent communication passed between those two as James watched, with Sirius thanking Peter for saying what he could not.

"Even so, they're alive. Live children can be rescued," Diggory said nervously. "Children in battle get hit by stray curses. They can get caught in the crossfire without anyone meaning--" He cut off abruptly, struggling for self control. "Children have no place in war."

"That's why they need rescuing. Now." James tried to use his eyes to break through Diggory's nervous depression, but the other's expression did not change.

"But what if they fail? We have to look out for more than just our own children..." Diggory swallowed hard.

"There are more than our children there," Arthur pointed out.

"Yes, but--"

"But if more Aurors die, we doom our world, and our responsibility as a government is greater than our responsibility to our families." Fudge glanced at Diggory. "Is that what you were trying to say, Amos?"

Diggory looked miserable. "Yes."

"Don't you see it, James?" Fudge asked earnestly. "We can't afford to take the risk. Even if one Auror dies, it's too many, and if the wrong Auror..." He trailed off meaningfully, glancing at Sirius.

"One man does not make or break the world," came the immediate reply, but even James could see he was uncomfortable saying it. Oh, yes. They all knew what Sirius was.

"You're too modest, my friend."

Again, the growl. "I'm not your friend."

"Pity." Fudge turned to the others pleadingly. "Please don't let me be the only voice of reason here. We cannot be swayed by emotion. We must make the right choice--"

"Right for whom?" James snapped. Fudge smiled sadly.

"Why, for all of our world," he replied. "For all the people we serve and protect."

"You're crazy," Arthur grated. "You can't possibly think that waiting will solve anything. What are you trying to do, Fudge? And at what cost?"

"I'm trying to do the right thing, Arthur. I'm sorry that you can't see that."

"We've argued enough," Nathaniel Adams interceded before anyone could reply, speaking for the first time. Too late, James finally saw the pieces slide into place. "Let's put this to the vote. Minister?"

James nodded hollowly. His mouth was suddenly dry. "All in favor of sending Aurors to Hogwarts."

Sirius, Peter, and Arthur. That was it. Stormclouds crossed Diggory's face, but he did not vote.

James wanted to cry, but he kept his voice level. "All against."

Fudge. Patil. Adams. Diggory, frowning.

Bode abstained, shaking his head.

The room fell silent for a long moment as Fudge tried too obviously not to beam in triumph and James struggled to keep his composure. First Remus, and now Harry... He'd never imagined not being able to act. Not being able to rescue his son and the other children of Hogwarts... What have we come to? Swallowing hard did not make him feel better at all.

Part of him contemplated just doing it anyway. Turning to Sirius and telling him to hell with the Ministry's decision, they were going to do it anyway. Legally, he could probably get away with doing so, even if it would be political suicide. What did he care about power, about politics? He hadn't wanted this job in the first place, anyway. So what if he threw it away. He'd probably sleep better at night... Or not. Inappropriately, Fudge's words echoed in James' mind: "For all the people we serve and protect."

And dammit if he didn't have a responsibility to the world, too.

"I won't stand for this." Sirius rose abruptly. "I will not be a part of this...disaster."

He strode for the door and did not look back.

James couldn't blame him, but he wished, later, that Sirius could have seen Fudge's satisfied half-smirk. If so, they might have understood sooner.

"He can't do that!" Adams objected. "He can't go against us."

"Don't worry," Fudge replied easily. "He'll be back."

The Great Hall had been cleared of childish rubble, and the tables had been pushed to the sides. It looked far more formal than ever before...but somehow empty. The sky in the ceiling was still angry with the storm, and Severus could feel the school around him thrumming with angry power.

A single chair stood on the dais where the head table had previously been; where the table was now, Severus did not know. Nor did it really matter. Voldemort dominated his new throne simply by standing beside it.

His arms stretched wide. "Hogwarts..." he purred aloud as Death Eaters surrounded him, still reveling in the victory. They had plenty of trophies; most lined the walls, chained to the tables at which their students had once sat. "Mine.

"Finally."

The word came as a reverent whisper, and Severus did not even think that the Dark Lord realized he spoke aloud. At any rate, he was sure that Voldemort did not care. He was too busy luxuriating in his new world.

To Severus' right, Vector moaned slightly, beginning to wake. Snape could not afford to spare her a glance, close as she was. Appearances had to be maintained. She'd been the first of the professors to fall, stunned in the back by her own students. Severus snorted quietly to himself.

Those same students had now joined their parents in the Great Hall, strutting proudly and arrogantly, acting as if they'd won the battle. Cocksure little traitorous brats.

He couldn't help Vector a bit, couldn't even help her die without pain--but he could offer her this one mercy. His wand came up silently, and the word was hissed under his breath. "Stupefy."

Immediately, she lapsed back into unconsciousness. A quick glance around told Severus that no one had noticed. Anyway, if anyone asked he'd reply that she had no right to witness this victorious moment, blood traitor that she was. And those words would be more true than even Severus Snape would like to admit; Vector had been two years ahead of him, a "good" Slytherin. She'd never indulged in their cruel sport or bigotry. She'd just been quietly confident and very sure of what she was. His inner smile was as twisted as the outer one. Maybe that will help her now, he thought darkly. Because nothing else will.

"Severus," the voice called, and he stepped forward, bowing.

"My Lord?"

"We have you to thank for this fine occasion," his Lord said magnanimously, seating himself on the throne. "Come stand with me."

Silently, he did so, moving to Voldemort's right--oh, how Bellatrix glared at him! But he was invited, and she could do nothing about it. He stopped at the bottom edge of the dais, careful not to even appear to be placing himself on the Dark Lord's level. It was a practiced skill that new Death Eaters always had problems with: graceful deference. Even Lucius had never quite managed to perfect it; he hated subservience in all forms, and was too arrogant to act the part well. Bella, on the other hand, never even bothered. She was too obsessively loyal to be graceful about anything.

"You stopped the werewolf, old friend." His Lord bestowed a smile. "What reward would you like?"

"Nothing but to serve, Master." After all, it wasn't like he could ask for Remus' life.

The high-pitched laugh was quiet tonight, almost playful. He was happy. "But the Dark Lord does not forget those he promises to reward, Severus," Voldemort replied lightly. "Think upon it, and ask when you will."

"I shall, Master. I thank you for your foresight." Will it save my life when you discover that I've not been loyal for thirteen years? A part of him wanted to laugh out loud, but that was the sarcastic side that he showed his students. The petty and cruel Snape had no place here.

"You did not kill him, of course?" The fact that he offered rewards before asking this question said an awful lot about Voldemort--probably the only thing that Severus still admired about him. The man had honor...in his own twisted way.

"No, My Lord. He is unconscious only." With some serious silver poisoning by now. I do wish you'd get on with it.

Do I?

But there was no avoiding it. Not any of it. Not Shacklebolt on the table opposite of Vector, or Trelawney further back. The miracle of it was that not a single student had been taken--too many had died, yes, but none had been taken...or, at least none who did not want to stay. The others had been led to escape by their professors, by people they had every reason to trust.

Just like they almost trusted me. He fought back the urge to swallow.

"Bella..." Voldemort's voice broke through the darker thoughts, and Snape stilled his mind. "Bring me the werewolf."

She glowed. "Gladly, Master."

He Apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, all but shaking in rage. He hadn't even taken the time to go to Avalon before coming straight here; instead, he'd scribbled a quick note to Alice and thrown it in the fire. It'd find her soon enough, and Alice knew what to do. There were children in danger.

Matter of fact, Sirius could hear them crashing through the Forest, far away but growing closer. His entire body tried to sag in relief. At least some of them had escaped, and that would make his job much easier.

Of course, he wasn't planning on blatantly defying the Ministry--yet. Doing so would only cause James trouble, and would break apart any chance they had of changing minds and getting Remus out. No, what Sirius was doing was reconnaissance, nothing more. Before, he hadn't been sure if he could stop himself from doing something foolish if there were children still in there, but if Remus had managed to evacuate them first... Don't think of Remus. You can't afford to. Not yet. He had to concentrate, had to stay cold and cool. Business. Keep your mind on business. Why was it that he had to feel so damned much now?

Deep breath. Resolutely, Sirius stepped forward, heading towards the children and hoping they were all safe.

Something lurked at the edge of his mind as he did so, but he could not afford to look. Somehow, Sirius knew that it would break his heart.

The Lestranges dumped Remus at Voldemort's feet without ceremony, manhandling his body in the same manner they threw corpses around. Then again, that was probably how Bella and Rodolphus viewed Remus: as a future corpse. Voldemort would not let him live longer than necessary. Once Remus cracked enough to reveal the mystery of his bond with Hogwarts, he would die.

Don't think of that, Severus. It won't help.

Both Lestranges bowed and stepped aside, smiling with anticipation. Snape wanted to be sick, but Voldemort only studied the headmaster. Several long moments passed before the Dark Lord smiled.

"Let's wake him, shall we?" Voldemort asked, his eyes dancing dangerously. He leveled his wand at the prone form.

"Crucio!"

Blood was getting in his eyes, and he didn't know why. Maybe he'd hit his head back there. Maybe he didn't care.

They could hear the screams from the forest.

The Misfits lagged behind what they thought was the largest group of Gryffindors. More than once, George claimed to have heard Professor Tonks' voice; at one point, Hermione had even thought she heard Percy shouting at someone to keep up. At any rate, they were crashing through the trees as fast as they could move, conscious of the fact that there very well could be Death Eaters following them, and not daring to turn back and look.

Hermione tripped over something and fell immediately; Ron swore and almost managed to jump over her prone form. For the second time that day, the two of them landed in a heap, grumbling and yelping in turn.

"Get off me, Ron!" Hermione snapped.

"Sorry! It's not like I meant to trip over you. If you hadn't gone and fallen over, I wouldn't have--"

"Well, if you had enough sense not to follow me so closely, that wouldn't have happened, would it?" she retorted angrily, struggling out from under him.

"You think this is my fault?" Ron demanded.

"Enough!" George yanked Ron to his feet while Fred grabbed Hermione, adding:

"You two can argue later! We've got to go!"

Both flushed red with embarrassment as Ginny twisted around to look over one shoulder. Ron mumbled, "Sorry," half under his breath.

Hermione just glared. "I'm sure they've stopped chasing us by now."

"Yeah, but we can't be too careful," George replied.

"And everyone else is still running," Fred pointed out.

"We'd better keep going," Harry finally said, wishing that he could agree with Hermione. They were all tired, and Hermione was probably the most tired of all--she didn't play Quidditch (or any sports really) and wasn't used to running around for hours. At least it felt like hours, and the damn sword was getting heavy.

Hermione sighed heavily, and Harry wished they could do something. They'd hardly been back at school for ten days, and this had started...but waiting could only get them killed.

"Let's go," Hermione finally said, turning to crash through the underbrush again. They'd not made it a dozen steps before Ginny suddenly twisted around again.

"They are coming," she said, and everyone whipped around to face her. She was wearing Dumbledore's glasses again.

"Damn," Ron swore, and they ran faster.