On the eighth floor, the door to the Room of Requirent stood open. Nearby was an Auror — the sa one who had approached us on the way here — and through the door wizards were filing steadily out, dressed in varied but uniformly black robes. I focused and brought in the sound.
"I did everything as the Dark Lord required," the Auror was saying. "Dumbledore is barely alive, in the hospital wing."
"Excellent work," said a familiar female voice, with a familiar figure and a familiar way of moving — though I had never seen this particular gesture with the wand pressed to the temple before. "Do not doubt it — the Dark Lord is pleased."
"And my reward?"
"Well, naturally—" the witch almost sang it, in a low, throaty voice, as the crowd of varied wizards behind her continued to grow. "I nearly forgot…"
Her slightly curved black wand beca, in an instant, a very familiar shape — the whip I knew and, professionally speaking, admired — which coiled around the Auror's neck. She pulled sharply toward herself, and the Auror was wrenched off his feet. A sharp pivot, a blade flashing in the left hand, and she drove it into the Auror's eye socket, eting his montum with the counter-strike, hard enough that the man — a solid, grown man — flipped over entirely. She looked entirely unaffected. Sothing magical had happened there.
"A traitor has only one reward," she said, spitting on the body with contempt, Accioing the blade back to her hand and beginning to wipe the edge with a cloth that appeared in her fingers.
"He didn't even betray us," remarked one of the wizards behind her.
"What does it matter? A traitor is a traitor. Betray once, betray twice. The Dark Lord has no use for such people — we have plenty of our own to deal with."
The witch removed the hood of her robes, looked around with a predator's assessnt, and smiled with all thirty-two of her much-suffering teeth. She looked, precisely, like the nightmare of a novice dentist — and a goldmine for an experienced one.
"You all know what to do," she said, with relish. "Werewolves — seek out the Aurors, draw their attention. The rest — follow ."
In total there were perhaps fifteen wizards, ten of whom produced small vials and drained them simultaneously. One mont, and it was obvious — the partial-transformation potion, the effect of which I had already encountered in Knockturn Alley. One of them half-turned to those remaining and snarled:
"And if we co across anything… tasty? Any little children?"
"Leave the Slytherins alone. Or you'll regret not dying here."
The werewolves scattered into the empty corridors — I was fairly certain the students were all in their common rooms — and the wizards followed, moving faster than a walk but still running, heading toward the Astronomy Tower. At this rate, they would be here shortly.
I pulled most of my attention back from the spider feed and looked at Dumbledore and the others.
"Congratulations. Death Eaters in the castle."
"What?!" McGonagall said it simultaneously with Potter and Hermione.
Dumbledore straightened. He got off the bed with a single act of will, dismissing Madam Pomfrey with nothing more than a look.
"Ten werewolves on the partial-transformation potion," I began running through the situation at speed. "Moving in different directions to draw off the Aurors. Five wizards — among them the entire Lestrange trio, and two I don't recognise, but definitely not from the old guard — too young. They are coming here. The Auror outside gave them everything, and he's the one who planted the explosive in the Headmaster's office."
Dumbledore moved to leave the hospital wing, but McGonagall stopped him.
"Headmaster. You are not in a condition to face… anyone at all, frankly."
"I must agree," said Madam Pomfrey.
In my head, the gears were turning at full speed and then so. First: even though I was fairly confident all students were in their common rooms, I couldn't be certain — so the werewolf problem needed addressing imdiately. Second: I'd already worked through a few dozen possible solutions that didn't require my direct involvent in the fighting. And one idea in particular…
"Headmaster," I caught Dumbledore's attention. "How would you feel about appearing to be temporarily dead — in the eyes of the public?"
"Elaborate."
I turned to one side, pointed my wand at one of the beds, and stripped the curtain away with a magnetic pull, letting it fall to the floor at my feet. I concentrated fully — selecting a pair of Transfiguration formulas appropriate to the complexity and minimising the cognitive load — visualised the result thoroughly, along with a pair of runic chains, and raised my wand in a sequence of precise movents.
The curtain at my feet beca a convincing replica of Dumbledore, rendered in wax and a mixture of other materials designed to simulate near-perfect physical identity. Robes, everything — battered in precisely the right way. The golem bore etched runic complexes derived from Moody's formulas, a sequence for voice simulation, remote control — in short, the full body of my personal work in this area. Without pausing, I Transfigured a control ring from the air — it forcibly redirects ntal resources to the process, leaving only a narrow band available for one's actual surroundings. I activated the whole assembly, walked to the Headmaster, and placed it in his hand.
"Put it on and operate your copy. I believe you can manage a convincing death when they provoke the Killing Curse."
"Magnificent Transfiguration, Mr Granger," the Headmaster smiled. "And I am very taken with the idea. I confess I had not thought that broadly."
"Hide yourself — and Potter as well, as a precaution," I said to the others.
Dumbledore cut off any possible objections from those present. Madam Pomfrey quickly ushered everyone away, and a mont later the golem made of salvage stirred to life.
"Oh — that is unexpected and thoroughly strange," Dumbledore did not even need to feign feeling unwell — the unfamiliarity of remote control was genuine. "I take it you managed to persuade Alastor to share so knowledge regarding that remarkable eye of his?"
"They will be here in two minutes," I interrupted the Headmaster's reflections. "I have things to attend to myself."
Retreating to the far end of the hospital wing and concealing myself with magic, I activated my triangle bracelet and imdiately brought the throwing-triangles under control, directing them out of the hospital wing — toward where the werewolf chaos was already beginning. I knew where to steer them: I tracked everything through the spiders and through my own sensitivity, which extended a small distance from each triangle. I hadn't known this was possible — I'd never tried sending the triangles far from my body. A purely magical faculty, then, linked to magic and consciousness.
One of the triangles caught a werewolf and, at its full maximum speed, connected with the creature's skull and tore it apart. A second triangle picked up a skirmish — a fast, agile werewolf had driven an Auror deep into defence. A mont, and the werewolf t the sa end.
While I managed the artefact, pushing my mind to its absolute limit and beyond — feeling sothing wet trickling down my face — five wizards burst into the hospital wing, wands drawn. But there was nothing here except the false Dumbledore, standing in the light of the near-full moon. And , in the far dark corner, hidden under magic.
"Hm—" the copy of Dumbledore sighed. "Madam Lestrange. What a pleasant surprise."
Even up close, examined carefully, no deception would have been apparent — remote control transmits every detail, every micro-expression, every gesture, and the copy itself was precise and mobile in all the fine points.
"Ha! Old man—" the woman said, toying with her wand and grinning savagely.
The other Death Eaters permitted themselves no such looseness, spreading out around the copy of Dumbledore and keeping him covered.
"No one left to help you, is there?" Bellatrix continued smiling. "The phoenix is dead, your pets have all scattered."
"You have co such a long and difficult way simply to mock an old and helpless wizard. How noble of you. Perhaps we might now co to the point—"
The copy of Dumbledore slowly raised the hand holding the false wand. The Death Eaters' faces tensed, and even Bellatrix beca instantly serious, wand snapping up to point directly at the copy.
"Avada Kedavra!" she scread, with rage.
The hospital wing blazed green. The beam of the curse struck the copy of Dumbledore squarely, and the golem I had made crumpled to the floor like a sack. Silence. Nobody seed to breathe.
"I killed Dumbledore…" Bellatrix said softly, as though she didn't believe what she had done. "I killed Dumbledore! Ha-ha-ha!"
The magic detonated off her with such force that every window blew out. Laughing wildly, she ran to one of the fras and seed to reach through it with her wand, stretching up toward the sky.
"Morsmordre! A-ha-ha-ha!!!"
The other Death Eaters looked pleased, astonished, elated — but restrained by comparison. Bellatrix spun on her heel and practically bounded out of the hospital wing, still laughing, the others streaming after her.
"I killed Albus Dumbledore! Ha-ha-ha!" Her laughter receded down the corridor.
You probably didn't need to be to feel the castle's wards beginning to dissolve, layer by layer. It seed the Headmaster had anticipated even this. Through the spiders I watched the Death Eaters descend the Astronomy Tower, make for the exit, watched Bellatrix in her frenzy obliterate a pair of suits of armour in a wall niche — nothing personal, they simply happened to be there. The Aurors were not in any state to pursue anyone — I had not arrived with help quickly enough, in the end. The Death Eaters walked out through the front entrance, bold as you please.
I got up from the floor and wiped the blood away — a good deal of it — from my face and chin. I had overextended myself. I steadied against a sway and went to the window. Clouds had gathered in the sky, and from them the Dark Mark was forming, glowing with an otherworldly green light. Powerful magic, that was clear enough. The Dark Lord had put real craft into that spell — in all its scope and variety.
The others erged from wherever they'd been sheltering — Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, McGonagall.
"The werewolves are no longer a threat," I said, without turning from the Dark Mark in the sky. "The Death Eaters are leaving Hogwarts grounds."
"I believe I understand," Dumbledore said, coming to stand nearby, "how you organised your surveillance network, Mr Granger. It is very clever — making use of Moody's work."
I looked around at the assembled group — at the battered figures of Potter, an extraordinarily grim-faced Neville, the two Weasleys, and Dumbledore himself — and turned back to the Mark in the sky.
"Beautiful magic."
"It is," the Headmaster agreed, looking up. "A pity that sothing so beautiful and so complex is used as a symbol of suffering and ruin. Well then… It is ti to consider what advantages the present situation affords us."
"What happens now?" Hermione ca to stand beside . Pale, troubled, and clearly frightened.
A good question. I myself was rather more interested in how to keep everyone safe — and in whether all the players in this particular ga of people's lives had shown their hands.
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