Chapter 21
In Which We Explore the Practical Applications of the Art of War

The first impression Harry got was of cold, grey stone, and a vague sense of familiarity. He'd visited this hall in his dreams a number of times before mastering Occlumency, and Lucius' borrowed memories only increased the sense of deja vu. The room was big, a real throne room, and Voldemort was already rising up from the stone chair at the far end, wand in hand and preparing to strike. Harry raised Draco's wand, gathered up all those threads of shining magic, and shoved them into the first curse that came to mind, "Immobilus!"

He was completely shocked when it worked.

Voldemort froze, ghastly face a mask of contempt and rage, wand half-raised. Harry found himself running towards the throne, completely convinced it wouldn't last, sword already in his hand and Draco's wand shoved down the front of his trousers to rest next to his completely inappropriate erection. The different love magics roiled over his skin like warm silk, keeping a part of his mind ever on his absent lover, and his body in a strange state of excitement, adrenaline and other natural drugs pumping through his system.

Voldemort was like a dark blot in the centre of his amber-limned vision, no halo for him, and Harry realized with a start he'd been seeing, not magic or power or even light, but the love inside each person. He raised the sword high, saw the evil red eyes go infinitesimally wider, and brought it down against his neck with a sickening thud. The sword was blessedly sharp and, of course, enchanted as well. Blood splattered from the gaping wound, and Voldemort began to struggle and scream as Harry aimed again.

This time his hand was in the way, wand and all, and Harry's shoulders jarred as the sword sliced through those two brittle forearm bones to lodge in Voldemort's collarbone. The screaming took on a new tone, and Harry hacked again and again, trying to stop the horribly high-pitched wail. He was brought back to himself a few seconds later by a thread of worry from Draco running through his chest, and he looked down to find he'd removed Voldemort's head, hand, most of one arm and done quite a bit of damage to his shoulders and chest as well.

Harry stabbed the sword through his black heart, then tugged it free and turned to face the room. Everyone else was stunned, and Professor Flitwick looked positively green. A few seconds of silence were punctuated by the steady dripping of blood from Harry's soaked hands, and then the room exploded into chaos. Death Eaters came through every door, and the fight was well and truly engaged.

Flitwick and McGonagall came up to stand with Harry, protecting the body. "I shall have to cast a charm to collect all the... parts," said Professor Flitwick wanly. "Then we may leave."

"Right," said Harry, stepping down to help out Dumbledore, Ron and Moody with the fight. He had a distinct advantage, after all -- nothing touched him, curses were absorbed into the amber-and-silver armour of Draco's love and power, blows landed with no pain at all, and little force. His own curses sometimes went wide, but more and more of the black-clad bodies around him were falling, and not getting back up.

A tingle of something flitted across his brain, a spike of fear so sharp he almost thought it had come from himself before he realized that something back at Hogwarts had just scared Draco shitless. "We've got to get back!" Harry yelled, cursing faster and faster, backing towards the throne with Ron and Moody close behind. Ron was sweating, blood trickling from a cut on the back of his head and matting up the bright orange of his hair.

Moody's limp was more pronounced than ever, and Harry felt a stab of guilt that he was the only one with this protection, despite the fact that he loved them all in his own way. A tingle of strange magic flowed over his skin just as his heel hit the back of the dais, and he stumbled a bit, making someone behind him gasp. He caught himself on a strangely clean hand, and realized that it must have been the spell from Flitwick to gather every last molecule of Voldemort and whisk it away with them.

Another tingle of magic made him think something was happening to Draco, a coldness that crept into his chest and made his heart want to slow, to stop. Everything seemed dim and colourless despite the bright halo surrounding Dumbledore in his vision, and he turned his head left to see a column of Dementors gliding towards them in sudden, eerie silence. The remaining Death Eaters had fled when he wasn't looking, but he barely had the energy to wonder where they'd gone.

Fear spiked through him again, this time from Draco, and that thought brought another hot pulse from the magic still riding his body. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, vaguely aware of Dumbledore doing the same, of Flitwick behind him saying something entirely different in his high-pitched voice. His ears were rushing with the sudden pounding of his heart, and he could feel spidery hands crawling their way across skin that wasn't quite his.

"Draco!" he yelled again, as the huge white stag charged into the waiting Dementors, as the feelings of love and worry rushed back in to replace the dark despair. "We've got to get out of here!"

"Put a hand on this, then!" said Moody, grabbing the hand that still held the shiny sword of Godric Gryffindor and pulling him towards the throne. In it sat the grisly remains of Voldemort, surrounded by a strange bubble of startling crimson mist that Harry realized must be the spilled blood. He'd always expected Voldemort to bleed black, he thought dazedly as the familiar tug of a Portkey took them all away.

The horrible touch was gone from his skin when he reappeared inside the Shack, replaced by a terror so acute he thought both their hearts might just stop right there. Harry didn't even bother to see what everyone else was doing, just set off at a dead run down the passageway towards the castle and his lover. He didn't even bother to try and stop the willow from whomping him, just ran through the raining blows and straining all his nerves for the first sign of pain.

Draco's body-sense got stronger as Harry drew closer, and he could see black-clad bodies littering the lawn. He hoped without much real conviction that none of them were students, and suddenly remembered the broomstick strapped to his back. He hopped on it, and then flew in through doors that hung drunkenly loose on their hinges. He raced, not downwards as he might have expected from Snape, but up and up, over towards the North Tower and the feelings pulling him onwards with an urgency stronger than anything he'd felt.

As he flew through corridors that seemed awfully narrow, he wracked his brains for the spell that would give Draco's magic back, and sent him a wave of love and encouragement. Draco would know he was coming, would know as he drew closer and their bond tightened, just as he could feel Draco's panic recede slightly. The hallways were uncannily silent as he plummeted through them, drawing closer and closer to his lover and whatever danger awaited them.

There were three Death Eaters guarding the silvery ladder, but Harry's wand was fast and their feeble curses proved no match for his newfound invulnerability. He dropped his broom and climbed the ladder as fast as he could, wondering if he'd been let through as a trap after all. With Voldemort undeniably dead, Harry held little fear for his own safety; it was Draco who drew him onwards, with a rush of new confidence followed by a sharp pain in his right shoulder.

Harry vaguely felt blood seeping through his nice new clothes as he leaped over pouffes and chintz chairs towards the back of the room and Trelawney's previously inviolate personal domain. Again he was struck by the lack of guards, the heavy silence blanketing the room much like the incense smoke still lingering sweetly in the air. Then he noticed the forms lying still in the shadows amongst the furniture, flickers of silver and green movement over their black robes drawing his eye.

"Why aren't you helping him?" said Harry, wondering if he spoke Parseltongue or just yelled out his rage in English. "You promised!"

"We are helping," said one of them from his left. Voices from all around the room joined it. "We've left him alone with the last one, just like he asked. Madnesssss, we think, but we are bound to follow orderssss."

Harry had a rush of sick dread, understanding at once who was behind that door with Draco. It was ironic, really, that they'd brought him into the school with their love and thought themselves triumphant, and now here he was, quite possibly their downfall. Harry pushed past beads and heavy, musty curtains into another dim, scarf-draped room. He saw Draco on the floor, hair mussed and tatty, a dagger thrust through his right shoulder and another poised over his left.

It was Lucius, of course, his mad face twisted in pleasure as he whispered sick words to his son, words of possession and pain. Draco's eyes were defiant, and even his fear was melting away as Harry strode into the room. "Immobilus!" cried Harry, just as he felt the point beginning to pierce both their skins.

"Revaleo!" shouted Draco, and Harry shivered as Draco's cool magic slithered away and back to its rightful owner.

He tossed Draco's wand towards him, and pulled out his own. They'd have to touch Lucius to get the knife out, and moving him would break the spell, so Harry kept his guard up. He felt slightly off-balance now, all warm and shining gold, Draco lit up like a beacon, shining around Lucius' darkness. Lucius had a faint a halo of his own, but it was a deeper colour, a red and sickly light that warped the space around it.

Draco gave Lucius a huge shove, and scrambled backwards out of the way, ending up crouching on Trelawney's gaudily-draped bed. "Petrificus Totalus!" they shouted in unison, and Lucius' body snapped rigid, his eyes glaring as he began shouting something that sounded like a spell. "Silencio!" Draco added, and Harry watched in wonder as Lucius' mouth still moved, eyes defiant.

"Your Lord can't help you anymore," said Harry, catching the familiar syllables on Lucius' lips. "He's dead."

Lucius just rolled his eyes and finished his chant, obviously expecting some big flash of rescue or assistance. When nothing happened, he lay still for long, painful moments, blinking in confusion. Then he seemed to fall in on himself, the light of madness leaving his eyes in a rush, the red rage in his aura replacing itself with a feeble grey despair. Rays of it still reached for Draco, some strange form of fatherly love still left to him, and Harry ached to see and feel something in Draco answering that imploring gaze.

"You can't save him, Draco," said Harry softly, kneeling next to his lover. He put a shaking hand on the dagger still imbedded Draco's shoulder and gave a quick tug, wincing as his own shoulder began to hurt sharply and bleed more freely. "He's too far gone."

Draco sat back heavily on his heels, a quiet grief blossoming in amongst the triumph. "So, you really did it?"

"I really did it. They should be disposing of the body any minute now, although I expect there's a bunch of Death Eaters still lurking in the castle." Harry looked down at Lucius' still form, then towards the door, where a mass of green and silver was slithering towards them from under the curtains. "What happened to your honour guard, anyway?"

Draco looked down, eyes sad. "Someone betrayed us at the end. I don't quite know what happened, but they all went rushing out into the other room and seconds later, Lucius stepped in, grinning and saying something about loyalty and trust."

"Well, we'd sodding well better find them alive," said Harry, feeling a familiar weight of grief and guilt in his own chest. If they'd all died, Tonks and Snape, Lupin that was all he had left of his parents, Hermione who'd stayed behind to help them... "Come on, and stay behind me, for fuck's sake."

"Snakes, will you protect me?" asked Draco rather formally. "If I go with him, will you keep us both from harm?"

"We will do our besssst," hissed the writhing mass, a sound formed from many serpent's voices that made Draco's eyes go wide.

"I... was that in English?" asked Draco, fearfully.

Harry shrugged -- it all sounded the same to him, and said, "Come on, we'll ask someone else if we get a chance." Draco bent down and put his hands to the floor, and the snakes writhed up and over until he was once again wearing them as gauntlets. "We'll get someone to fix your shoulder, too. I always was pants at healing spells."

Draco snorted, and followed Harry out into the gloomy Divination classroom. "Er, snakes?" asked Harry, earning a glare from Draco.

"Yesss?" they hissed at him.

"Ok, well, I can't understand you now, so it must've been English before," said Draco grumpily.

"The ones you bit, are they dead?" Harry couldn't hardly tell pouffe from person in this dim light, let alone who was still breathing.

"Ssssssleeping."

The snakes settled back to quiet, and Harry raised his wand and cast, "Lumos!"

Bright white light flooded the room, and Harry looked around again. The air was still a bit thick with stale smoke, and the harsh light revealed the furnishings to be far shabbier than he'd previously thought. The shapes resolved themselves into the forms of nearly a dozen people scattered amongst the chairs, and Harry cried out in wordless alarm as he spotted Hermione's familiar frizz atop one alarmingly motionless figure.

He felt similar panic from Draco, and realized he'd spotted Snape on the other side of the room. As he moved away and the light dimmed slightly, Harry realized with a start that his spell had lit both their wands. He knelt beside Hermione and rolled her over, gratified to see her chest rise and fall, albeit slowly. "Ennervate!" he cast, careful to point his wand only at her.

She took a deep breath and coughed, eyelids fluttering. "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

"Thomas!" she said, eyes flying wide. "He killed Seamus and summoned the Death Eaters... oh god, Harry, it was Dean all along!"

"Fuck," said Harry with definite feeling. "Let's wake the others and get downstairs."

"No, you don't understand. Last year, the Slytherins, it was him! He'll have taken them all if we don't hurry!"

"Fuck!" said Draco from across the room, garnering him a glare from a woozy Snape.

"Right. Well, it's not like we don't know where his stronghold was. Come on, then, get up!" said Harry impatiently, looking around for Tonks' familiar pink hair and spotting Lupin instead.

"Ennervate!" he cast again, just as he heard Draco doing the same. Tonks and Lupin sat up groggily, looking disoriented.

"I'm going to murder that bloody Thomas with my bare hands," said Tonks dangerously, standing up on wobbly legs. Her hair, Harry noted idly, was actually quite long and violently purple today, which accounted for him not spotting her right off.

"Let's find him first. The castle was too quiet, I'm worried he's already spirited people away!" said Harry, making for the ladder. "I'll go in front, the rest of you make sure Draco isn't further injured."

---

Voices drifted towards them as they trudged through empty corridors towards the castle foyer. "And then Professor Snape said to evacuate everyone, and set us to organizing the houses. Since Seamus was already Gryffindor, I volunteered to stay behind and let you know where everyone--"

"Stupefy!" yelled Harry, and Dean's eyes rolled up in his head as he toppled over.

"Harry, what on earth?" said Professor McGonagall, taking in his dishevelled appearance and rather grotty-looking escort. They'd all managed to stagger down the ladder, but none of those he and Draco had revived were looking anything but sickly and wan. Nothing had been waiting for them but the three incapacitated Death Eaters, and a sickening feeling of dread as they found the rest of the castle just as quiet as Harry remembered from his breakneck flight.

"He was a traitor," said Harry dully, stepping back and motioning for Hermione to properly explain. He suddenly felt exhausted, his body aching from Draco's ordeal, and his shoulder wounds throbbing sharp reminders that they'd failed to protect him.

Just as Hermione took a breath to explain, the sound of raised voices drifted through the blasted front doors. "That was brilliant, what you did, Neville!" said a voice he thought might be Colin's.

"Did you see me throwing curses right and left!" said a girl, and they all hurried towards the door. Trudging towards them were most of the student body of Hogwarts, some of them limping and some leaping, a few carried by their fellows or levitated along. When Harry and Draco emerged into the last of the afternoon light, the entire group of them cheered at the tops of their lungs.

"Harry, you should've seen it! One minute we were getting all formed up to go defend the castle, and the next we were in this dungeon with a bunch of Dementors and trolls, but Neville just cast this really brilliant spell and then we fought our way out and caught the Knight Bus!" Colin Creevey gushed enthusiastically as he ran up to the group on the steps. "Professor Snape, you look awful!"

"Tactful as ever, Mr. Creevey," said Snape, with most of his usual vitriol. "I take it there were some casualties?"

"Yeah," said Blaise wearily. "We didn't leave anyone behind, though, but a few..." He looked like Harry had felt that night his fourth year, when he'd seen Cedric die, and Harry's heart ached for him.

"Well, let's get everyone into the Great Hall, and see if we can't find Madame Pomfrey," said McGonagall briskly. Harry noticed with a start that Flitwick and Dumbledore weren't around, but Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking as awful as Snape and the rest, was swaying slightly where he stood next to Ron.

Harry turned, along with Draco, and led everyone through the doors. "Reparo!" he heard from behind him, smiling at the thought that McGonagall couldn't stand to see the doors askew any more than he could. They all headed inside, to face the aftermath of battle and see to living what was left of their lives.