Without Wand or Wire

A few minutes before the actual death of Lucius Malfoy, the rescuers from the Order of the Phoenix had been gathered around Albus Dumbledore at a Common Apparation Point, in a secluded wood leagues from their destination. He was just telling them that Draco Malfoy and the Parkinsons were their allies, and were not to be harmed, when a frantic voice came from his pocket. He hurriedly pulled out his Communication Glass as Pansy tried to relate their position, but she was abruptly cut short.

"Pansy?! Pansy!" Despite his entreating, she spoke no more, the only sounds from the Glass now being the faint cries of a battle. His face grim, Dumbledore turned to his followers. The Weasley twins and their friends were among them, having been contacted when Dumbledore had given the order to advance on broom. He felt a pang of guilt; they were still so young!Forgive me, Molly. Although I pray I'll have no need for forgiveness.'"Right, then. I've made six more Portkeys from the one Tonks made us, so that's five people to a 'Key. The 'Keys will take you all to different areas near the battle site. Judging by the sounds from this--" he held up the Glass,"--you should be able to find it easily enough. Let's go."

* * *

"I should be there!" Hagrid blubbered into his firewhiskey.

Minerva McGonagall had stopped patting the giant man on the hand at least twenty minutes ago, about the same time she'd stopped reminding him that someone had to stay behind to guard Hogwarts, and since he was the only one who could handle the more dangerous creatures of the neighboring forest on a regular basis, he was an obvious candidate for the home guard. Just as Minerva herself was Albus' first choice as acting Headmaster in his absence, even if there were no students at the school during the holiday. She didn't allow herself to consider that she was also his first choice as a replacement. No, of course Albus would be coming back form this latest mission. He had to, that was all there was to it.

She took another shortbread from the tartan tin she had bought with her and shoved it wordlessly at Hagrid, who took it almost unconsciously. She then gestured to the tin with her hand, eyeing her companions in Dumbledore's office. Professor Flitwick took one with a wan smile, while Professors Sprout, Sinistra, Vector, and a handful of others teachers, as well as Madam Rosemerta, politely declined with varying levels of hopelessness. None of them could muster words of comfort for Hagrid because they had none left for themselves.

McGonagall and Hagrid had been among the first to join the Order of the Phoenix, along with Madam Hooch, who was out on the front line that night. Most of the others present weren't inducted until just after the Ministry battle. Dumbledore had been reluctant to reveal the existence of the Order to them before that day, and with good reason: they were not fighters. They were peace-loving folk, and he wanted to keep their happy, hopeful spirits to watch over the children. But after the dark turn the school had taken the previous semester, and the revelation to the world that Voldemort was indeed alive and killing again, he couldn't see any way around it. With the increase in Order activity, they needed all the help they could get. Besides which, it would have been ludicrous for the faculty that was in the Order to have to hide their activities from other the teachers. It wasn't like Albus would have kept any of those teachers on if he hadn't trusted them anyway.

If there were any bright spots in this the night, it was that Argus Filch and Professor Trelawny were absent from the Order vigil.

Argus had been at the school so long, having served three Headmasters, that Albus didn't have the heart to throw the unpleasant man out, especially since he was so good at his job. But while no one believed him to be a Death Eater, they didn't think he was an appropriate candidate for the Order either. Still, he'd always deferred to the teachers, respected their privacy, assumed that any meetings they had were school business and none of his; they were hardly concerned he would overhear something he shouldn't. At any rate, he was so preoccupied with chasing after Peeves, who made his life a living hell during the summers since there were no students to pester, that he could have stumbled into a full-scale Order/Death Eater battle -- rather like the one that was going on who-knew-where at that very moment -- and not have noticed. And lastly, Death Eater or no, it didn't seem a good idea to let go a man who knew every inch of the castle.

Sybil Trelawny, meanwhile, was an otherwise good (if delusional) woman who just couldn't be trusted to keep a secret to save her life. Luckily she stayed in her tower most of the time, so it wasn't at all difficult to keep anything from her, since her "seeing" skills were such as they couldn't help her divine the location of her glasses even if they were sitting on her nose.

Minerva wished she could move the gathering to the first floor, so that Firenze could join them, but knew it was best for them to remain near Albus' mirrors and his fireplace, in case any of them were needed elsewhere. Firenze, for his part, was maintaining watch outside. Minerva was tempted to send Hagrid out to join the centaur, but knew it was just as important to keep the half-giant near the Floo Network as it was for the rest of them to be there -- perhaps even more so, as he was the strongest of them.

She prayed none of them would be needed, though -- not out of fear for her own safety, but because if they were, it likely would mean someone else was in peril. And she was reluctant to leave Hogwarts with any fewer defenders than it already had. Bad enough Albus, Severus, and the new girl, Faelyn, were off-grounds. ...

* * *

Once Fae had left their table, Petunia, Ron, and Hermione had focused again on getting Harry to loosen up. And their attempt seemed to work, for a little while. Petunia asked the duo about some of the more amusing stories Harry had told her, and Ron had delightedly obliged, Hermione breaking in now and again when the red-haired youth began to exaggerate. Harry began to laugh in spite of himself, thanks to a couple of butterbeers, and the sight of his aunt and his friends getting along so well.

And then it began again: that old familiar pain in his skull that was practically a friend by now, he knew it so well. Pain that had driven him to give himself even more pain, in order to ensure that Voldemort could not use his link to him to harm those he loved. And beholding Petunia, Ron, and Hermione, laughing and carefree as they were, only served to drive the point home. He would do anything to keep them safe.

"E-excuse me," he told them weakly, rising to find the men's room.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Petunia asked, staying him with a touch to the arm.

"Yeah, mate, you look a little peaky," Ron told him, concern plain on his face, and on Hermione's as well.

Though she showed no outward sign of it, Fae was worried too. But it wasn't like she could follow him into the men's room. She hoped old Tom was watching. ...

* * *

Tom the innkeeper was outside, bringing Severus Snape a turkey leg and some mulled wine, just as Fae had asked him to. Tom could have just had one of his employees do it, but he'd seen the glint in Faelyn's eyes, heard the affection in her voice when she'd said Snape's name. "Sevy" indeed!

Tom had known Fae well enough before her graduation, but had come to know her especially well when she'd finally moved into a flat in Diagon Alley, after accepting a job at St. Mungo's. Those early days were hard for her, as they tended to be for all new graduates. He'd caught her busking in the street one afternoon, playing her lute and singing for a little extra money. He told her he'd feed her every evening in exchange for performing for his dinner crowd, and arrangement she'd happily agreed to. As the years went by and she was promoted again and again at St. Mungo's, she no longer had need of the nightly gig, but still played every now and again, for old time's sake. Tom had never had any children, but had come to adopt Fae as a niece of sorts.

And it was an uncle's job to protect his niece from unworthy suitors.

"Look here, Snape," Tom glowered as he roughly shoved the plateful of food into the hands of the former Potions Master. "I know you and Fae were good ... friends once, but don't go thinking that her coming back to Hogwarts is an excuse for you to get all cozy with her. Dumbledore might be willing to overlook what you once were, but I'm not -- you never were good enough for her, an' you never will be! Hear me?"

Snape gave him a look that could melt a cauldron faster than Neville Longbottom. "I don't know where you've been getting your information, Tom, but I can assure you -- and I know Mistress Dagdha would attest to this -- that any relationship she and I may have is purely a working one. But by all means, ask her yourself, and then you can tell her who you think would be an appropriate suitor."

Tom had no reply to this. Fae might be something of a beauty, but she was no shy and timid lass. She'd let more than one patron of the Cauldron inadvertently "kiss her fist" as a thank-you for unwanted attention. Tom reckoned she might very well do the same to any who tried to put a stop to attention she did want. ...

* * *

Lupin, having witnessed Draco's murder of his father, had rushed to the boy's side and caught him as he fainted. He used the special Portkey all the Order had been given to take his unconscious charge to Grimmauld Place, where Madam Pomfrey and several other healers in the Order were setting up an impromptu infirmary. It had been concluded that to bring the wounded to St. Mungo's was to invite the Death Eaters to attack them when they were weak, as well as start a panic in the rest of the wizarding community.

Back at Robert's Grove, Dudley was still dragging a suffocating Pansy with him as he backed into the trees. He did not think to look for dangers behind him. He tripped and fell backwards, his failing arms removing the blade from Pansy's neck, but momentum dragging her down with him anyway. And the witness to this accident, a hunched figure bearing a silver hand, saw to it they would not rise again any time soon.

Goyle the Younger, meanwhile, had managed to reach his father's side, and invoked a Portkey his father had made for just such a circumstance. Left in their wake was a great patch of blood-soaked grass, a shining silver Communication Glass resting at its center.

The members of the Order fought a heated battle with the remaining Death Eaters and the dementors. Red Stunning Spells and Cruciatus Curses, green Avada Kedavras, and silvery Patroni (which, overall, weren't nearly as impressive as Harry's, but still got the job done) lit up the night. Little by little, the Dementors and remaining Death Eaters fled.

In his duel with Voldemort, Dumbledore had been distracted by the sound of Draco's Killing Curse. Voldemort would have killed Dumbledore with that very spell himself, if not for the valor of one red-haired young man, who just happened to turn from defeating one enemy in time to see what was going on, and managed to knock his old teacher out of harm's way. Unfortunately, the spell did still manage to claim a life -- that of Vernon Dursley, who was just then getting to his feet right behind where Dumbledore had been standing a split second before.

* * *

"I'm all right," Harry told his companions, smiling wanly. It only made it harder to block out his own feelings, when their affection was so palpable. He turned to head for the restroom, not willing to discuss it any further. He had to get away.

Once inside, he locked himself in a stall, and drew his wand out of his jacket pocket. The pain of the newest burn only alleviated the pain in his scar a little, and only while he was actually doing the burning. The moment he stopped, the pain flared back up again. He bit his lip in frustration. If he did anything more drastic, it would take longer, and he'd have to clean it up, and someone might walk in. ... He left the stall, and went to the sink, splashing his face with cold water. Again, it seemed to ease his discomfort a little, but only momentarily. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Was his scar actually glowing?

* * *

Lupin and Draco arrived outside the door, on a dark street; Mrs. Weasley had used a Puter-Outer to douse all the lamps. Unfortunately, Lupin needed to get Draco to read a piece of paper with the address to the Order on it before he could get the boy inside. He set the boy down on the ground, against the wall, and conjured the paper Dumbledore had given him earlier, just for that purpose. He then aimed his wand at Draco.

"Ennervate."

Draco came awake with a start, terribly befuddled; Lupin knew it wasn't just the sudden change in surroundings that had him confused. Pity had to be saved for later, though. "Draco! Can you hear me?"

Still looking dazed, Draco nodded a little.

Lupin pulled him to his wobbly feet. "I need you to read this for me,"

Too dazed to question, Draco haltingly read the words aloud. He jumped when the wall before him started to moved, but was otherwise unresponsive when Lupin ushered him into the door that appeared there. Lupin handed the boy over to Molly, and Disapparated without a word.

* * *

Back at their table in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry's companions were using his absence as an opportunity to discussed his condition.

"Has Harry talked to you at all about Sirius?" Hermione asked Petunia as soon as Harry was out of earshot.

She nodded, sadly. "A few nights ago. We were looking at some photo albums, first one of mine, then one of his. I told him about his mother, and he told me about his life at school, and about Voldemort." The wizards and witches within earshot all let out various exclamations at the sound of that dreaded name, and even Ron and Hermione looked uncomfortable. Not comprehending their reaction, she went on, "He seemed pretty calm when he told me about Sirius, and that other boy, the one from the tournament? But all summer he's been so listless and depressed, so I when he told me about the Ministry battle, I thought that might explain some of it. Does he always put on a brave face and act like nothing's wrong when something's bothering him?"

Ron and Hermione shared an uneasy glance. "Yeah, he has a bad tendency to shrug things off and bottle things up, I guess," Ron told her, "although when he's angry with you, he's not usually shy about it."

Hermione nodded knowingly. She and Ron had been on the receiving end of Harry's ire more times than either of them could count -- although, to be fair, each of them had been known to give people the cold shoulder as well. She expected that was normal. What wasn't normal was suddenly being chummy with one's abusers. While Petunia seemed perfectly sweet to Hermione, she couldn't forget the times she'd seen the woman at King's Cross, or all the horror stories Harry had told them of life with the Dursleys. Hermione rather felt as though they'd slipped sideways into an alternate reality or something.

"I guess I don't really know Harry well enough yet to be able to read him," Petunia sighed. Then she thought about how that sounded. She looked down at the table, suddenly unable to meet her companions' eyes. "You must think so awfully of me! I know that I can't even begin to make up for the things I've done to Harry, but ..." she found that well of courage again, and drew hard from it, "I can promise you I'll try, for the rest of my life."

Neither of the pair had any idea what to say to that.

Maybe it's Harry that's brainwashed her, Ron thought to himself before finally offering, "I-I'd better go see how he is." He stood and went in search of the mens' room.

Hermione blanched a bit as he left, feeling incredibly awkward at being left alone with the woman, but Tom the innkeeper came to her rescue, sauntering over to ask the ladies if they had room for dessert, and staying to ask how her summer was going.

They didn't get to chat for long.

* * *

Now knowing where he was going, Lupin was able to Apparate directly back to the battle scene, intent on finding Tonks and Sarah. He teamed up with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and together they searched, fighting as they went. Before long, they found the badly beaten Sarah, weeping over Tonks' still form -- she wasn't breathing, and she had no pulse. Not wasting a moment, Lupin and Shacklebolt both used Ennervate on her. The double-dose only barely worked: she gasped, her heart beating again, but she did not wake up.

* * *

Tom, having seen Fae calmly playing the lute when he reentered his establishment, had thought nothing of Harry's absence from his table. Fae, in turn, not knowing Tom had stepped outside for a small length of time, assumed the inkeeper had checked on Harry in the bathroom before he appeared, laughing and friendly, at the table. They were both oblivious to the drama going on in the men's room.

Ron had come upon Harry, his skin pale and cold, collapsed on the floor of the men's room. After a quick but futile attempt at the Ennervate spell, he ran back to the door, throwing it open and shouting for Hermione.

Tom, Fae, and Petunia hurried over with her -- along with half the bar. Tom snapped at the gathering crowd to get back to their seats, while Hermione tried to Ennervate Harry herself as Ron cradled him in his arms. Harry's eyes fluttered open a moment and he moaned, but he didn't seem much better.

Fae yanked one of the baubles off of her scarf-belt. It turned out to be a tiny vial; she twisted off the top and tapped its contents, little more than a drop, into Harry's mouth. That seemed to revive him more; he was able to keep his eyes open this time, for the most part.

"Was it your scar again?" Petunia asked fretfully.

Harry just nodded numbly, his lips to parched to speak.

Hermione spun towards Petunia. "He's still having problems with that?!"

Petunia nodded, now even more frightened by Hermione's reaction. Fae looked alarmed as well, while Tom stared at them both, confused. Just how serious was this scar situation? And why hadn't Harry told his friends about it?

Harry had told Dumbledore and a few members of the Order, but he hadn't seen fit to worry his friends with that information, and neither had Mr. And Mrs. Weasley. But of course, Petunia didn't know that.

"We'll take him up to one of the guest rooms," Tom told Ron, getting out his keys. "He can rest there while we wait for a healer.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Hermione whispered. "If word gets out that Harry's here and sick, it could be dangerous for him. Besides, I honestly don't think there's anything a healer can do for this anyway."

"Better to check with number twelve, see what they think," Fae whispered to Tom, eliciting a gasp from Ron and Hermione. They had been at the Headquarters quite a bit over the summer, but had never seen Tom nor Fae there.

Tom nodded, eyeing the crowd that was trying to peal in the door. "Let's still get him up to a room anyway, so we can contact number twelve in with more privacy. Then, if they think we should take him there or St. Mungo's, we can use the fireplace in whatever room we put him in then, get him out that way."

"Yes, I think that's about all we can do," Fae replied. She and Tom, not having been at the Ministry when battle plans were being made, had not been given Portkeys to Grimmauld Place. On an ordinary day, since they could Apparate, they wouldn't need them anyway. The problem now was that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Petunia could not Apparate. Tom could have made a Portkey, but it wasn't necessary; since Fudge was now involved with the Order, there was nothing to be feared in using the Floo Network.

Ron helped his friend stand; when it was apparent Harry could barely do that, the redhead slung one of the shorter boy's arms over his shoulder and put his own arm around the boy's waist. Ron was sickened when he realised how light his friend had gotten. God, Hermione probably outweighs him now! Of course, Ron had a good six inches or more on Harry now, so it wasn't too difficult for him to half-carry his friend up the narrow stair, even without the help of Tom, who, with Fae, was handling crowd control. Petunia followed, saying nothing -- what could she do, after all? She was no witch; she had no idea how to help her nephew.

All she could do was trust a couple of complete strangers, "weirdos" that she wouldn't have gone anywhere near not so long ago.

* * *

Back at Grimmauld Place, Molly was tending to Draco. She wasn't the boy's biggest fan, seeing as how his father and her husband had often been at odds and she knew Draco himself had cause no little grief for Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione, but when she'd seen the dazed look on his face, she'd recognized it as shock, and her motherly instincts went into overdrive. She brought him down into the kitchen and sat him at the table, then quickly fetched a cup of hot tea and pressed it into his hands. He was shivering by then, so when Ginny came down from helping Madam Pomfrey and yelped in horror at finding one of her worst enemies having a cuppa with her mum, Molly responded by barking at her to get a blanket and be quick about it.

Draco wasn't drinking, but sat staring dully at the steam pouring into the air from his cup, which he held so tightly in his hands that his knuckles where white and the porcelain rattled a bit against the saucer. Afraid he was going to break the cup with his grip, Molly laid a hand on his arm. He jerked at the contact, spilling hot liquid on his hands. He didn't cry out, didn't even seem to notice that he'd mildly scalded himself. He also didn't protest when Molly led him over to the sink and ran cold water over the injured appendages, clucking with pity. Satisfied that no real harm was done, she resettled him at the table; by now Ginny had come back with the blanket, which Molly draped over his shoulders. She sat next to him, putting her arm comfortingly over his shoulder, and told Ginny to bring another cup of tea, but to cool it a bit first. Ginny, sensing this wasn't a time to question or argue, hurried to obey.

All the while, Draco was wholly unaware of his surroundings. The only things he really saw or heard were the final moments of his father's life as he died by his son's own hand, played over and over in his mind, like a movie scene Draco couldn't seem to escape.

* * *

By the time they got Harry settled into one of the rooms (on the third floor, as there were none that weren't rented out on the second), he seemed better: he was more alert, and his colour was coming back. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Petunia sat on one side of him and rubbed his shoulder, while Hermione sat on his other, hands clasped nervously. Ron sat beside her, his own hands tight on the edge of the bed with obvious worry, and Tom worked on starting a fire in the fireplace.

"Molly, this is Faelyn! Come in please!" Fae said to her Glass as she paced about the room.

"Fae!" the Glass replied, and the Potions Mistress' reflection was replaced with the image of Mrs. Weasley. "Are the kids all right?"

"Harry's had some bad pain in his curse scar," Fae replied. "I thought maybe we'd bring him over there, what do yeh think?"

"Oh, I don't know," Molly said, glancing at something outside of the frame. "I think things are about to get a bit, ah, frantic around here ..."

Ron and Hermione exchanged incredulous glances. Molly Weasley was refusing Harry aid? And what did she mean, saying things were about to get frantic?

"Oh, the ... party has started then, has it?"

Ron scowled. "Hold on, then, I thought the party wasn't till Ginny's birthday!"

Hermione shushed him.

"Oh, it's started all right," Molly answered, "but I don't think being here would be good for Harry, under the circumstances ..."

"It's all right, I know all about it," Harry told them from between his fingers. "I could see what Voldemort was upset about, I'm not stupid."

Fae almost dropped the Glass at the sound of the Dark Wizard's name. Ron flinched, and gripped the bed tighter; Hermione looked ill. Tom actually had to catch himself, nearly falling into the fire.

"He ..." Harry looked at Petunia, and quickly turned away, appearing ill himself. "He killed someone. I could see it. He was trying to kill Dumbledore, but he missed." He breathed in sharply, closing his eyes. He stood quickly; he needed to get away form the press of people in the room. "He's still angry, I can still see it all somewhat. He's still trying to hit Dumbledore. ... His followers are running away, though. ..." Harry shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the images.

Petunia stood and touched his shoulder again, but he jerked away. "Don't touch me!" he snapped.

Hermione and Ron rose quickly to their feet, alarmed.

"Harry ..." Petunia reached for him again.

He spun to face her. "I SAID DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The next thing his companions knew, they were thrown back by some unseen force, Hermione tumbling right over the bed and Fae knocking her head against the wall. The Glass fell to the floor and shattered.

Harry ran out of the room as if Fluffy himself were on his heels. He knew Voldemort had killed his Uncle Vernon. There may not have been any love lost between Harry and his uncle, and there may have been a few times when, in anger, Harry had half wished the man dead, but that hadn't made the man's demise any less horrible. And now Petunia had lost her husband because of a vendetta the Dark Wizard had against Harry. The Boy Who Lived was not about to let anyone else suffer because of him. He needed to get to Robert's Grove, somehow, and put and end to it all.

* * *

Voldemort screamed in frustration when his curse missed Dumbledore. And beyond where Dumbledore had been standing, and a bit to the side, he spotted a few things that didn't help his mood any. The first was that he'd inadvertently killed one of the Muggles, consequently losing a bargaining chip against Potter. The second was that one of the other important Muggles was apparently missing from the battlefield entirely -- probably escaped. The third was that a great many of his minions were either captured, dead, or had Apparated away. And the fourth was that his last two bargaining chips, Potter's Metamorphamagus friend and her lover, were now back in the hands of Dumbledore's Order. Well, he could do something about that. He raised his wand towards the black Auror. "Avada Kedavr--!"

But something wrapped around his leg and pulled him to the ground. Furious, he looked towards his feet, and saw tendrils from Dumbledore's wand slipping about him. He used his wand to burn them off, then tried hitting Dumbledore with the deadly curse again. The old wizard dodged it, and Voldemort used the moment to regain his feet. He was hit in the shoulder from behind by a Stunning Spell; Dumbledore would hit him with a spell too, but ended up having to duck the Killing Curse from a Death Eater, then fend off several more. Voldemort used to moment to see if his bait was still on the battlefield, and cursed when he found that they were gone. He spent the next few moments fending off the attacks of others, before he was able to turn his attention to Dumbledore. The young redhead who'd saved the old wizard before was still fighting at the man's side, as were several other redheaded wizards who could only be related to Dumbledore's savior. Voldemort decided to take a page out of Wormtail's book, and use a spell that could kill a dozen people at once.

* * *

Hedwig, having heard the commotion inside the Leaky Cauldron through an upper window (and perhaps, some might argue, having a psychic bond to her human), began circling in the air above Snape, hooting frantically. Snape had already gotten to his feet; he'd felt the Dark Lord's anger through the Dark Mark, and thought The Boy might be in pain as well. But in case it wasn't just Harry's curse scar that had the owl in a tizzy, he drew his wand and kicked open the inn door. After scanning the crowd, he rushed to the back of the inn, up the stairs. He followed the hall on the second floor to its end, to where the stair to the third floor waited, and saw Harry at the top.

The Boy had been running, but when he'd reached the stair, he cried out, grasping his skull in pain. Momentum carried him forward, and his forearm connected with a stair with a sickening crack. Snape raised his wand and called out, "Arresto Momentum!" Ignoring the searing pain of the Dark Mark, he caught Harry and gently eased him down the steps, until he was cradling The Boy at the foot of the stair.

Harry was convulsing, as though having a seizure, his eyes rolling in his head. Snape thought he had struck his head on a step, at first. Then he realised that the blood on Harry's forehead was coming from The Boy's curse scar, which was glowing faintly. Finally, his thrashing subsided, his body going limp and his head lolling.

[Snape holding Harry. ...]

Snape gathered Harry up in his arms and stood, shunting aside all his animosity for the child, concerned only with getting him to the best healer he knew: Madam Pomfrey, who, according to Dumbledore's orders, would be at Grimmauld Place at that moment. Snape was debating whether to take Harry up or downstairs when Ronald Weasley stopped short at the top step on the third floor. His mouth worked noiselessly; he seemed too stunned at encountering Snape to say anything. Doubtless he had thought for a moment or three that his teacher had attacked his best friend.

"Where's Dagdha?" Snape demanded.

"U-up here," Ron managed, gesturing with his thumb behind him. "I'll show you."

Snape followed, carrying Harry as best he could in a fireman's hold up the narrow stair. Having noted how pale Harry had grown, and how the blood was cascading like a sheet from his scar down his face, he prayed that The Boy Who Lived would not become The Boy Who Died that night.