Avalon - Chapter 61 - The Battle For Hogwarts

The Battle for Hogwarts

He stood in front of the still-smouldering remains of the Hog’s Head, revelling in the thick scent of fear in the air. Those who had sequestered themselves in the castle knew he was coming, and the Dark Lord saw no reason to hide it.

They were like rats shuddering in their nest, and he was the snake, waiting to slither amongst them to feast until he was content.

It was the sound of distant howling emanating from the forest that pulled him from his thoughts, and Lord Voldemort smirked to himself.

“Now, my lord?”

“Patience, Bellatrix,” he urged. “The longer we wait, the sweeter our victory will taste. When the night is done, our broken enemies will be on their knees before us.”

The woman all but trembled in anticipation, and looked towards the castle, her eyes wide with the excitement flowing through her.

The Dark Lord shared the sentiment, and as the baying and howling from the werewolves continued, he could barely contain his own eagerness, though he curbed the urge to press ahead to early.

No, he needed to wait until the pivotal moment to unleash the lurking Dementors, and the giants, who were already squabbling amongst themselves in anticipation of the blood they would shed.

Closing his eyes, he pictured the victory.

He imagined the various professors of Hogwarts answering only to him, how it would feel to sit in the old fool’s chair behind the headmaster’s desk, and how all would change when the students returned in the coming days.

They would return.

When he seized control of both Hogwarts and the Ministry, he would make attendance compulsory for all magicals within Britain who were of school age.

Those he did not comply would be encouraged to do so, and the Dark Lord smiled once more at the thought.

Yaxley would be the Minister of Magic, and he’d even appoint a headmaster of Hogwarts, only in name.

It would be the Dark Lord in charge of wizarding Britain.

The Wizengamot would continue to exist, but with all his enemies dead or neutralised, they would obey only him and his wishes.

“Now, my lord?” Bellatrix pressed.

The Dark Lord listened to the ongoing sounds coming from the forest, and he nodded as he realised the werewolves had gotten much closer to the grounds.

“Give the command, Bellatrix,” he replied, and even chuckled as the woman all but sprinted forward to do so.

The Dark Lord, however, remained where he was, content to watch the chaos unfold around him before he would enter the school for himself.

By the time he did so, those within would already be broken and beg for his mercy.

(Break)

The last time he’d been atop one of the towers in the school, Sirius had just escaped being given the Dementor’s kiss, thanks to his godson and Hermione, who had come for him in his moment of need.

As things were unfolding now, however, Sirius couldn’t say the same.

From his vantage point, Harry appeared to be little more than a speck on the ground below, waiting for the Death Eaters and giants to inevitably break through the gates currently keeping the at bay.

Harry was so alone down there, and Sirius had to fight every instinct to protect the young man to stay where he was.

His godson had a plan.

It sounded almost painfully humorous in his mind to repeat the words to himself, but thus far, Harry’s plans had worked well enough.

Still, soon enough, he would find himself attacked on all sides by Voldemort’s forces, and Sirius could see no way how this would end well for Harry.

No, he needed to have faith in him.

Although it seemed utterly ridiculous to put himself in such a position, Harry was neither foolish, negligent, or had a death wish.

As difficult as it was to remain in relative safety, he would stick to the plan Harry had concocted and be ready to spring into action when he was called upon.

“It may not seem like it, but he knows what he is doing.”

Sirius nodded.

“Still itching to lock me up again, Bones?”

The redhead narrowed her eyes at him.

“No, but that could change, Black,” she warned. “As things are, we need all the help we can get. Don’t make me change my mind.”

Sirius snorted as the woman moved along the ranks of Aurors, exchanging a few words here and there.

They knew what was coming and were arranged in a way that each of them could be of use the moment the Death Eaters and giants crossed the threshold into the grounds, a considerable problem themselves, let alone the marauding werewolves in the forest that would emerge soon enough.

Sirius’s gaze shifted towards the treeline, and he frowned.

With the commotion steadily growing louder, he’d expected to see the werewolves breaking through and spilling into the grounds.

What he did see, much to his confusion, was spiders, hundreds of them, and they immediately charged towards the waiting Harry.

“Bloody hell, we have to do something!”

“Potter told us to focus only on what comes through those gates,” Bones reminded him, “and that is what we will do.”

Sirius could only nod in response.

Harry had been firm in that part of his plan, but how he could fend off so many Acromantula, Sirius didn’t know.

Still, somehow, he managed to continue to curb the urge to help his godson and waited for his moment.

The giants and Death Eaters had still yet to make their way through the gates, but that would change soon enough.

“What the hell was that?” Tonks asked as a frightening explosion sounded from not so far away.

All that could be seen of it was an enormous plume of smoke climbing into the sky, but it echoed around the entire castle.

“It seems as though they attempted to enter the castle via the bridge,” Minerva sighed. “I had hoped they wouldn’t. It will take considerable effort to repair.”

Despite her tone, a ghost of a smirk tugged at her lips.

“You blew it up!” Sirius accused.

“I suppose I am responsible for setting the trap,” the woman admitted. “The Dark Lord’s followers triggered it.”

Sirius could only shake his head in response, though any humour he had felt in that moment faded quickly as the spiders drew ever nearer to Harry whilst the giants and Death Eaters continued their barrage against the gate.

“It won’t hold much longer,” he said gravely.

“It will not,” Minerva agreed.

(Break)

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes as the remnants of the bridge at the rear of the castle burned in the distance. He should’ve expected such treachery, but much to his chagrin, had not anticipated it.

“My Lord?” Barty asked.

Lord Voldemort shook his head.

“We proceed,” he instructed.

There was no telling how many of his followers he’d lost in the explosion, but he knew he needed to press on.

Now was the only opportunity he would be granted to claim the castle, if Potter’s plan indeed worked as the young man planned.

“Of course, my lord,” Barty responded.

He still held the numbers advantage, and he still did not doubt tha those within the castle would crumble.

The moment the giants and his followers breeched to join the werewolves; they would see they had no hope of victory. They would be overwhelmed, broken, and defeated they saw the Dark Lord himself enter through the gates.

“The Dementors,” he murmured to himself, and smirked once more as he saw the shrouded creatures descend upon his enemies from above.

(Break)

Harry was not surprised to see the Acromantula emerging from the forest. With Aragog dead, there was nothing to prevent them doing so, not that he had faith that even if the gargantuan beast still lived he would’ve stopped them.

He remembered vividly how willing Hagrid’s friend had sacrificed him and Ron to his children, and only the damned car they’d stolen from Arthur Weasley had saved them from being eaten.

Now, however, Harry was not a helpless twelve-year-old that would flee from such creatures.

In truth, the Acromantula seemed to be little more than a nuisance in comparison to what he had faced, and as they scuttled towards him, clicking their pincers menacingly, he brought his wand to bear, enveloping himself in a vortex of fire.

Upon doing so, he manipulated the flames so that tendrils of fire reached out to snag any that dared get too close to him, and drawing the Elder Wand into his other hand, he even began summoning groups of the spiders.

They screeched in protest as they were pulled into the fire, and the smell of the singed hairs and burnt flesh wafted across the length nd breadth of the grounds.

Despite their best efforts, the Acromantula were not the most threatening of things bearing down on him, and as the coldness of the Dementors grew, Harry shifted his attention to them, ignoring the smoking, twitching husks of the spiders, who had quickly chosen to flee back into the forest when faced with such a fate as he’d given many.

No, the Dementors were the more pressing problem.

Harry despised the creatures perhaps more than any other, and as they swarmed towards him, the grounds were suddenly illuminated in a warm, white glow.

Evidently, Bones and the Aurors above had been as eager to be rid of them as him, and those that were able had cast their patronuses.

Harry did not blame them.

At best, the coldness they brought was deeply disconcerting, and from his own experience, those sensitive to it could barely function in their right mind from fear.

Even so, the Dementors did not flee entirely, but chose to once more lurk just on the periphery of the grounds, waiting for the inevitable destruction of the protections.

When that happened, they would swarm again, less hindered, and as voracious as ever.

That very moment came shortly after Harry finished the observation, and chaos ensued as the school gates were flung open.

The several giants stomped into the grounds, each wielding a crude weapon with a seemingly endless stream of Death Eaters amongst them avoiding being trampled.

As Harry expected, the Dementors immediately swarmed the castle once again, but his attention was firmly on the giants.

They were the most immediate threat and could not be left unchecked.

With a nod to himself, Harry emptied his pockets of all he’d retrieved from the potions cupboard.

Fortunately, Snape had kept his stores full, and what he’d sought had been there in abundance.

He’d hurriedly placed it into vials, along with a few other ingredients to give it an extra boost.

Taking aim with the first of many projectiles he’d created, Harry guided it towards its target, before hitting the vial with a blasting curse.

The giant that fell victim to the blast roared in a mixture of fury and agony, dropping its stone club in favour nursing its eyes, which were already bleeding terribly from the mixture of glass, bubotuber pus, and doxy eggs, that were highly poisonous.

The giant stomped frantically in protest, disrupting the charge of the Death Eaters and his brethren, though not enough to prevent them advancing entirely.

What did halt them in their steps, however, was the sudden barrage of spells that rained down upon them, but only for a moment.

Soon enough, the Death Eaters mustered their defences and pushed on once more, closing in on Harry, who chanced another glance towards the treeline where he quirked an eyebrow at the sight that greeted him.

He could only shake his head in a mixture of concern and curiosity, but he didn’t doubt his wife knew what she was doing, even if the werewolves surrounding her were as confused as they were feral.

Still, Harry’s problems did not revolve around them any longer.

Above him, the Dementors were barely being kept at bay by those atop the battlements, and the giants and Death Eaters continued gaining ground, with only Harry standing so brazenly before them.

Releasing a deep breath to prepare himself for what was to come, even if it was for a moment or so, he banished the rest of his vials towards the giants before raising both of his wands, flicking them to unleash a long, fiery whip from each.

(Break)

The screams of the battle ensuing outside could be heard within the Hospital Wing, and Aberforth continued to watch his slumbering brother, and yet, Albus did not move even an inch.

Feeling considerably better himself, and as restless as he felt useless being here, he took a moment to peer out of the window into the grounds below and swallowed deeply.

He never thought he would live to see the day that Hogwarts became the scene of such horror and violence. Were it not happening before his very eyes, he wouldn’t.

“If there was ever a time you were needed, you bloody swine, it’s now,” Aberforth huffed, his gaze shifting briefly back towards his brother. “Come on, wake up!”

Albus remained unmoving, and Aberforth shook his head.

“Wake up, Albus,” he murmured. “The school needs you.”

(Break)

She patted the wolf on the neck, eliciting a pathetic wine from the creature.

Morgana expected it appeared rather strange to those looking upon her riding a werewolf as though it was her loyal mount, but no stranger than the rest of the pack sitting obediently on their haunches, waiting for her to give the command.

She was eager to, and would do so shortly, but Harry was in his element, wielding two long whips of fire with expert precision.

She watched as he cracked them against the rampaging giants as the gathered Aurors above rained down spells upon the invading forces of the Dark Lord.

From here, Morgana could not see how many Death Eaters there were, but she did not doubt that they numbered in the hundreds.

Soon enough, the aerial attack would not be so effective, and Harry would inevitably be overrun.

With that in mind, she seized a handful of Greyback’s fur and tapped the collar she’d placed around his neck with her wand.

“Come along, Fenrir, it’s time for you and the rest of your pack to eat,” she declared.

Firing a powerful stinging hex at the werewolf’s rump, Greyback howled and lunged forward, followed by the rest of the pack, and they barrelled towards the Death Eaters, with both Hagrid and Grawp in tow, along with the centaurs who fired a volley of arrows into the fray.

They too charged, their hooves thudding across the grounds of the castle as they drew their swords.

Morgana expected it made for quite the sight, but her sole focus was on her enemies; the men trying to take Hogwarts for themselves and murder her husband in the process.

Flaring her nostrils, she raised her wand and took aim at one of the giants.

The rupturing curse she fired entered the creature’s ear, and it bellowed loudly before swinging it’s crude blade, wiping out a dozen of the Death Eaters just as the werewolves set themselves upon them.

Still, with the Dementors above, and more of the Dark Lord’s followers waiting to enter the school, it might not be enough to turn the tide in their favour, but at the very least, Riddle would not take Hogwarts without having to fight for every inch of the castle.

(Break)

“Bloody hell, she’s riding Greyback like he’s a horse,” Sirius scoffed in disbelief as he watched the werewolf bounding across the grounds with Morgana on his back.

Those assembled at the top of the battlements looked on with their mouths agape, not quite believing what they were seeing.

Sirius had to look several times to even register what was unfolding before him, and he could only shake his head in response.

It was utterly ridiculous that such a thing was transpiring, and even more so that Greyback seemed to be following her every command.

If those watching from above were taken aback, it was nothing compared to the reaction of the Death Eaters, who had been set upon by the entire pack they’d been relying on as allies.

“Unbelievable,” Amelia whispered. “How…?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius murmured as he watched the spectacle, grimacing as Morgana removed the head from the shoulders of a Death Eater with a vicious spell. “I don’t know.”

He continued to watch, marvelling at how Harry and Morgana fought their enemies, the former still wielding his whips, using them to block incoming curses, or twirling out of their path.

It was almost like watching an orchestra ballad play out before him, and his godson was the conductor.

“That’s our signal!” Amelia gasped as Harry fired sparks into the air.

Without hesitation, and despite his shock, Sirius wasted no time in hurling himself over the edge of the parapet and slow his descent with his wand.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he charged towards the fighting, he stomach turning at the sights, sounds, and smells that reached him.

The grounds were already slick with blood, and more would follow in the coming moments.

Of that, he had no doubt.

“Expecto Patronum!”

His large shaggy dog chased away another group of Dementors trying their luck, and Sirius darted to his left to avoid a blow from one of the giants.

Even from high above, they had looked enormous, but being in front of one of the behemoths was something he had not been prepared for.

Even so, he raised his wand and took aim at its eyes.

Unleashing a barrage of spells he’d learned from his family library, Sirius grimaced as one of the organs exploded outwards, showering him in gore.

Still, the giant fought on, swinging a tree trunk at anything that moved below him, striking several Death Eaters in the process.

“Bloody hell, do they not give up?” Sirius groaned as another wave of deep coldness that would haunt him until his dying day washed over him.

The Dementors were back in force, and once more swooped from above to satiate their hunger.

The fighting was far from over, despite the early success Harry and Morgana had created.

The Dark Lord himself had yet to arrive, and when he did so, he would bring his very best with him.

Already, the Aurors and the members of the Order that had arrived had their hands full, and they would only become more so much sooner than they would be ready for.

Sirius had been in such situations before during the first war, and knew what they were faced with now was but the first phase of Voldemort’s plans, which had not gone as well as the man would’ve hoped thus far.

(Break)

Enjoying the screams, he listened to the sounds of battle, his hand twitching towards his wand in anticipation.

No, now was not the time for him to enter the school.

He needed his entrance to be grand, to be noticed by his enemies, and for them to feel the full weight of his presence weigh down on them as they took notice of him.

There was nothing that compared to seeing the eyes of his enemies fill with terror, and it was him they were terrified of.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “Barty is approaching.”

The Dark Lord frowned as a dishevelled hurried towards them, a look of concern marring his features.

“What is it, Barty?”

“My Lord, the werewolves, they’ve…”

He broke off, seemingly uncertain what to say.

“The werewolves?” Voldemort pressed. “What of them?”

“Well, my lord, they’ve joined Potter. I mean to say that the woman with Potter is, well, she’s riding Greyback as though he is a dammed pony, and his pack are attacking us!”

For a moment, the Dark Lord believed Barty had taken leave of his senses, that his many years under the Imperius Curse had finally caught up to him, but he seemed lucid enough, and he’d never seen the man display such concern, not even when he’d learned he would be posing as Alastor Moody under Dumbledore’s nose.

“No, you must be mistaken…”

“My Lord, I am not mistaken!” Barty protested. “You must see for yourself!”

The Dark Lord frowned.

Were it any other of his followers making such a fantastical claim, he would think it to be a trick, but Barty had never led him astray. With that in mind, he followed the man, gesturing for the rest of his assembled followers to fall into line with him.

If what Barty had said was true, it would only be baffling as to how the blasted woman had managed such a feat.

Werewolves were nothing but feral beasts, slaves to their own feral nature.

There was no cure for their ailment, and not even the Imperius Curse was effective against them.

Their inner wolf saw to that, and yet, if what Barty had revealed proved to be the truth, Potter’s woman had somehow done something to change the very nature of Fenrir Greyback.

The Dark Lord readied his wand as they approached the remnants of the gates.

Already, eight of the giants had been slain, and his followers were being pressed by the Aurors and various members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Amongst them, he could see Potter, fighting with a wand in each hand, and a short distance from him, a woman sitting triumphantly atop a werewolf.

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes dangerously, and as expected, his presence was noticed immediately.

“IT’S HIM!” a voice shouted. “IT’S HIM!”

He wasted no time in sending a flurry of curses towards the woman sitting atop Greyback, but she had the alertness to move out of the path of the spells, and the Dark Lord found himself quickly under fire from several directions.

Still, the efforts were pathetic, and he defended himself with ease, though the same could not be said when the barrage that followed crashed into his shield.

He was sent a few back from the force of the magic, and he caught sight of Potter stalking towards him.

The young man was covered in blood that the Dark Lord suspected was not his own, and his eyes seemed to burn with the hatred coursing through him.

For his part, Lord Voldemort only smiled in response, and beckoned Potter forward to meet his fate.

The battle may not have gone according to plan, but the prophecy could certainly still be settled before the night was done.

(Break)

Even after spending an inordinate amount of time within his own mind, Albus could not say that the memories he’d spent much of his life fleeing from had become any easier to endure.

If anything, they only highlighted the many errors he’d made over the years and made him ponder how he could’ve done things differently.

If he had done so, however, he would not have become the man he was now, and perhaps he would not be here, being haunted by his misdeeds of the past.

Still, he was grateful he’d been left alone for some time now to wallow in his misery.

Tom had seemingly given up attempting to breech his defences, or he could sense Albus’s suffering.

Regardless, the Dark Lord was not here to torment him, though his presence was closer than Albus was comfortable with.

‘Come on, you bloody git, they need you!’

‘Aberforth?” Albus whispered as the distant voice sounded.

He’d not heard it for many years, and though it had grown gruffer, he’d recognise the tones of his brother anywhere.

‘Albus, if you can hear me, you need to wake up!’

‘I can’t,” Albus whispered. ‘If I do, he can get me.’

‘For the love of Merlin, wake up!’

It was odd how he suddenly felt less alone, less vulnerable, and less fearful of where he found himself.

His brother despised him, but his voice brought Albus some much-needed comfort in his darkest of moments, and as Aberforth’s words only became louder, Albus’s did too.

‘Aberforth! I’m stuck here!’

‘GET UP, YOU STUPID BASTARD! DO IT FOR HER!’

It was as though his brother was screaming in his ear, cursing him out yet pleading with him also, and Albus could feel a sense of freedom washing over him, as though he was a bird taking flight from a predator that had pounced hungrily towards him.

The burdens he’d carried for so long remained heavy, but Albus felt as though he could carry them, and as he continued to fly, he was able to let go of the darkness that had gripped him for what seemed to be an eternity.

(Break)

The two of them were given a wide birth as they circled one another, prodding and poking at the defences and movements each had.

Harry was certainly lighter on his feet.

He was used to wielding a sword and wearing armour, and Tom was more calculated and purpose with his steps, and more so with his wand.

He’d fallen victim to Harry more than enough times to know he could make no mistake, and Harry had found himself on the wrong end of both Salazar and Godric enough times to not let his guard down.

Any mistake on his part would mean he would meet the same end as his parents and many others before them.

The fighting around them did continue, but it was more of a token effort than the violence that had been exhibited before Voldemort nd his inner circle had arrived.

Both sides knew that the battle and perhaps the war itself hinged on the outcome of this confrontation.

Voldemort, however, fought only for control, and perhaps revenge as a secondary motivation, whereas Harry was fighting for everything; revenge, his life, Hogwarts, and Morgana, who looked on whilst she still sat atop the werewolf with more than a little concern in her eyes.

Not that she would intervene.

She understood and respected that this was Harry’s fight.

Even when Riddle unleashed a flurry of curses as black as the night sky above, she stayed her hand whilst Harry defended himself from them before returning fire with his own offering.

His magic crackled loudly against Riddle’s shield, and Harry did not miss the brief glimpse of concern that slipped the Dark Lord’s mask.

He would never admit such, but he was nervous and would only be so more if he realised that he was not truly as immortal as he believed.

Although he was yet to discover how many Horcruxes had been created, or even where they were, Harry knew of them, and for now, that was enough.

“You’ll have to do better than…”

Another onslaught of cutting curses from Harry silenced Riddle as he stepped out of the path of some and shield the rest before scowling unhappily.

He did not like being interrupted, and Harry smirked at the petulant look he wore.

Instead of offering a verbal response, Harry continued with his attack, using the Elder Wand in his left hand as a whip, and his own in his right to continue firing spells.

It took a moment for Riddle to adjust to the tactic, but much to his credit, he did so, expertly avoiding the flailing length of fire whilst he defended himself against the various, unpleasant wave of magic sent his way.

He even managed to send a few in return, but nothing so troublesome for Harry.

Still, he knew he could not become complacent.

Only a fool would do so when facing a man of Tom Riddle’s calibre.

Despite his hatred of the man, Harry would not deny his brilliance and prowess with magic.

Most would never even come close to comparing to him, and Harry did not doubt that he had more than a few tricks up his sleeve he was yet to see.

One came only a moment later.

Voldemort smirked as he raised his wand and fired a ball of purple energy into the air, only to hit it with another spell, sending dozens of small needle-like fragments towards him.

Unable to dodge the all at once, Harry conjured a silvery shield, and each fragment exploded against it, pushing him backwards, and buckle his arm under the strain of maintaining the barrier.

“Did you feel that, Potter?” the Dark Lord goaded. “That is power, true power that you cannot hope to comprehend.”

Harry snorted as he mirrored the feat, and it was Riddle’s turn to defend himself from another onslaught.

He did so well enough, but he flared his nostrils in irritation, likely because Harry had managed to learn that very spell from the same source as Voldemort.

Slytherin had been proud of that particular spell and would’ve undoubtedly written it down in one of the many journals he’d kept.

Tom had undoubtedly discovered such things within the Chamber of Secrets, but there was little if anything he could’ve discovered from Salazar that Harry didn’t already know from personal experience.

If Riddle had doubted Harry when he’d revealed he’d met his ancestor, he would question his own doubt now.

Salazar was not one to share his knowledge outside of those he trusted, or with those that shared his blood.

Such a circle had been small indeed when he’d been alive, and Harry had been fortunate enough to count himself amongst that select few.

Still, he would not boast nor rattle Riddle more than he already had.

He preferred to keep the man questioning all he’d learned and use it to his advantage where he could.

Nonetheless, he did not fight the smirk that tugged at his lips, and as expected, the Dark lord did not take the expression kindly. He sent yet another barrage of spells towards Harry, doing his utmost to kill him and unleash the rage that had consumed him.

It made Voldemort clumsy, though no less dangerous, but it gave Harry an insight into how he fought when his emotions got the better of him.

That was with reckless abandon.

Harry expected that when the man had fought in such a manner previously, he’d quickly overwhelmed many of his foes before they’d been able to offer a rebuttal, but Harry was different.

He’d been trained by Godric to handle opponents who reacted in such a way, and he bided his time, defending what was hurled at him, and avoiding everything else he was unsure of.

Even his defence irked Voldemort, but Harry pressed on, taking note of any openings the man showed.

Although they were few, far between, and brief, they existed, which meant that the man was not as unbeatable as most believed.

Still, knowing of the openings and taking advantage of them were two different matters entirely, and as he raised his wand to do so, he found a barrier springing up to separate them.

“Shit!” he cursed irritably, turning in the direction that everyone else had suddenly averted their gazes to.

Standing atop the steps to the entrance of the school was a pale, yet wide awake Albus Dumbledore.

His expression was thunderous, and his eyes were fixed on the Dark Lord and his followers.

Briefly, he surveyed the scene before him, and he shook his head sadly at the sight of the bodies of men, women, and creatures alike littering the grounds of the sacred castle.

“Enough!” he whispered. “Enough blood has been shed this night. You have failed, Tom. Leave whilst you still can. Hogwarts does not take kindly to trespassers.”

The Dark Lord glowered at the headmaster, but he knew his efforts to take the castle had indeed failed.

He’d lost his werewolves, many of his followers, and the presence of the Aurors and members of the Order had ensured the Dementors had been ineffective.

Not that there’d not been any successes for him.

Several Aurors had been killed during the fighting, and Harry suspected there would be others amongst them.

Nonetheless, it had undoubtedly been a victory for him, and the Dark Lord knew it.

Before he could let the temper get the better of him however, Dumbledore clapped his hands firmly, and Riddle and his followers vanished as they were dispelled from within the protections of the school.

Harry waited several moments before lowering his wand, and when he did so, it was only because Morgana had placed a hand on his wrist.

“It’s over,” she murmured.

“Only for now,” Harry sighed as he returned the wands up his sleeves.

Already, the clean up around him was beginning, and the dead and injured were being tended to by the Aurors, and Madam Pomfrey.

Dumbledore remained where he was at the top of the stairs, exhausted from his efforts, and evidently suffering from the effects of all he’d endured during his state of unconsciousness.

“Why did you put an end to it?” Harry asked the man. “I could’ve killed him here and now.”

“And he might’ve killed you, Harry,” Albus replied tiredly, “and Hogwarts may have fallen to him. The castle is my priority, and I would not see it become a battleground if I can help it. Had I been awake, I would’ve ensured they did not enter the grounds at all. Do not lose heart, Harry. You did all you could tonight, and I cannot praise you enough for doing so in my absence, but too much was at stake here. If Hogwarts is lost to him, it would be detrimental to the entirety of Britain.”

Although he was frustrated, Harry nodded his understanding.

Dumbledore could see his irritation, and he gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Would you kindly help me to my bed?” he requested. “I’m afraid I’m still rather unwell.”

“Of course,” Harry complied, taking the man by the arm.

As he guided the headmaster through the corridors of the castle, he could feel just how frail he was, how the years had taken their toll on his body, and just how tired Albus had become.

“I apologise for intervening Harry. I did not do so as a disservice to you, but…”

“Hogwarts is your priority,” Harry broke in. “Believe it or not, it is mine too. I have come to understand just how special this place is, how it became what it is now from its humble beginnings. I know what the castle means to those who built, but more than that, the values they instilled into every stone, and every lesson taught here. I would not risk it falling into his hands. It would be an insult to those I care for.”

Albus offered him a weak smile.

“Then you understand what it is that Hogwarts represents,” he said proudly. “There are so few who come to see it in such a way, and those that do, truly cherish the magnificence of this place.”

“Tom wouldn’t. He doesn’t see it for what it is, but only as something he has a claim to because his ancestor helped build it. Hogwarts belongs to none, but to all who come to learn the art of magic.”

“I could not agree more,” Albus replied. “Now, my actions this evening has left much unresolved, and it cannot be so. Firstly, I understand it was the work of your wife that saw me freed from what had befallen me. I would give her my thanks, Harry, when I am rested.”

“She will be as receptive of it as you would.”

Albus chuckled in response.

“I would give it, nonetheless,” he insisted. “What we must discuss, however…”

“Is what comes next,” Harry deduced. “We need to know, Professor. We need to be certain what it is we are facing and what must be done so that we may be rid of him.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

“We are,” Harry murmured. “Where do you think we might find Slughorn? I expect you will have need of him beyond information about Tom.”

Albus frowned and Harry released a deep breath.

“Snape was killed,” Harry explained gently. “I found him left outside the gates of the school. Tom believed him to be a traitor.”

Dumbledore swallowed deeply before he nodded.

“I thank you for telling me, Harry,” he said hoarsely. “If you will excuse me, but we can continue this conversation tomorrow, if that works for you.”

He did not wait for a reply and murmured the password to the gargoyle before ascending the steps a deflated man.

Harry felt for him.

He did not know the reasons he’d put so much faith in Severus Snape, but he’d come to learn that the headmaster never did anything without cause.

Nonetheless, the man was as secretive as any other he’d met, and Harry doubted he’d be enlightened.

For now, at least, the headmaster’s motivations would remain known only to him, and Harry neither had the time nor energy to ponder such a trivial thing, not when there were other matters that required his attention.

The first of those was Horace Slughorn, and what the man could tell him of the Dark Lord he intended to see the back of sooner rather than later.