Year 6-19: Zugzwang

A/N: We have reached another pivotal point in the story, one that I've been building towards from the very beginning. I have a sinking feeling that the direction the story goes from here will upset a lot of readers, and I just have to make peace with that. I set out to tell a specific story, and I'm going to see my vision through to the end one way or another.

P.S. – Some chess fans may recognize what this chapter title means, but if you don't know, perhaps the chapter itself will enlighten you!

Harry stood frozen on the grounds for a long moment, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Just sixteen hours ago he had left the Great Hall, where all was normal; now fire towered up towards the enchanted ceiling, dancing menacingly through the high windows. It defied comprehension.

Then, a window shattered from the heat, spraying glass out onto the grounds and spurring Harry into action. He sprinted up the path to the Entrance Hall, swiping his wand as he bounded up the steps. The great oak doors, which seemed to have been repaired since his exit, were blasted open again – this time, Harry doubted anyone would mind. He skidded around the corner to the Great Hall and surveyed the scene.

Fire seemed to be radiating upwards from the floor, where the four House tables normally sat – if they hadn't been reduced to charred splinters. Harry summoned a wave of water, sending it shooting across the Hall like a rippling blanket to cover the space. The fire momentarily ceased, but quickly ignited again, as though the source was coming from somewhere lower – below the floor.

The kitchens, Harry realized. He took off again, sprinting for the stairwell that led down to the kitchen and the Hufflepuff common room beyond. He flew through the halls at lightning speed, finally skidding to a halt before the painting of a bowl of fruit. He forced his hand to steady long enough to tickle the pear, causing the painting to swing forward, and he entered the kitchens.

Harry gasped at the horrific sight inside. Several dozen house-elves were standing in rows, atop the four tables that mirrored the House tables directly above in the Great Hall. Each of them held their hands upwards, fire spewing from their fingertips directly upwards, traveling through the enchanted layer between the two floors to consume the Hall above.

"What are you doing?" Harry shouted. "Stop this at once!"

He reached out for the nearest house-elf, grabbing its tiny arm and wrenching it away. The elf turned and stared blankly at Harry for a moment, its bulbous eyes gray and featureless. The elf snapped its fingers, and Harry was sent flying backwards, crashing into a pillar as the elf resumed its fiery summoning.

These elves have been bewitched, Harry thought as he picked himself up off the floor, wincing. That could not be a good sign. He plunged his hand into his robes, withdrawing one of the potion toolkits he'd prepared for his trip to Nurmengard and thankfully kept with him. He located the compartment he'd expected to use the least and opened it, twirling his wand to summon the liquid within into a thin wall of viscous liquid. He jabbed forward, sending the wall of liquid forward.

The Thief's Downfall passed over every house-elf as it flew across the room. One by one they lowered their hands, blinking and coming back to their senses, the Imperius Curses lifted. The fire ceased as each of them realized what had happened.

"What has we done?" one of the elves wailed. "We has been hoodwinked!"

"What happened to you all?" Harry demanded. "Who did this to you?"

"W-we is told to be helpful to all students!" wailed another elf, wringing her hands together miserably. "We never imagined one would give us such terrible instructions...would use us to do such terrible things—"

"Who?" Harry pressed. "Which student?"

"D-Draco Malfoy!" the elf wailed. "He summoned us to bring those...awful people into the castle, and they cursed us, forced us to destroy the beautiful Great Hall…"

Harry froze. Draco was here? He'd come back to the castle? And brought people with him? "What awful people are you talking about?" he demanded. "Who did he bring with him?"

The elf seemed to not want to say. "T-they all wore those terrible masks," she trembled. "And had those black marks on their arms…"

Death Eaters, Harry realized. Of all the days he'd chosen to leave the school, of course it would be tonight, when Draco sprung his trap! How dare he bring Death Eaters into the school? Didn't he realize the danger they would put the students in? His blood boiled with anger, but he could not focus on Draco right now. He had to remain calm and figure out a course of action.

"Go to Dumbledore," Harry instructed the nearest elf. "He'll know what to do."

"B-but the Headmaster is not here!" the elf wailed. "He is not answering our calls for help!"

This was getting worse by the minute. With Dumbledore gone, the castle was undefended, leaving the students to the whims of the Death Eaters who had broken in. And what if Voldemort was with them…?

No, Harry told himself. Don't assume the worst. He needed to do what he could to help protect the students, and panicking wouldn't help him do that.

"Round up any students out in the castle and bring them to the common rooms," Harry instructed the elves. "Protect them and tell them to stay where they are."

"We will!" one of the elves piped up, sounding relieved to have a viable order to follow. The elves began to disappear with soft pops as Harry turned to exit the kitchen.

As soon as he did so, he ran into a group of Hufflepuffs, led by Ron Weasley. "Potter?" said Ron, surprised. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell are you doing, out of your common room?" Harry demanded. A dozen students stood behind Ron, seemingly taking after his lead. "Are you mental?! There are Death Eaters in the castle."

The group gasped and muttered nervously at this news. But Ron looked unfazed. "Tell us what to do," he said resolutely. "We'll help you fight."

"You'll do no such thing," said Harry firmly. "Go back to your common room. You want no part in this fight."

"But this is what we've been training for!" Ron insisted, and several others nodded vigorously in agreement. "To fight those bastards!"

"It wasn't a suggestion," said Harry. He saw Damian among the crowd of eager students, as well as others who were underage, and he wanted them nowhere near the Death Eaters. "Go back to the common room, Ron, and stay put until it's safe."

"Not happening, mate," said Ron, shaking his head. "We've been 'staying put' all year. If those dark bastards want to bring the fight to us, we'll happily give them one."

Harry huffed in frustration; he was wasting time here. He drew his wand and swiped it furiously; the students were pushed forcefully back, sliding harmlessly down the corridor back towards their common room. For good measure, Harry summoned a heavy steel cage, blocking their exit.

"Do not leave again," he ordered, before turning and running back towards the Entrance Hall. The last thing he needed was to worry about his underage family members rushing into the fray, looking for trouble. He had no idea what kind of danger the school faced, but if Draco went to all this trouble, it was likely a lethal endeavor.

For the second time that day, Harry cursed himself for not grabbing the Marauder's Map before leaving the school. He didn't think he'd need it for his excursion from the castle, but now he felt blind without it. A simple Summoning Charm would do no good – he had warded his school trunk against such magical disruptions. He was faced with a dilemma: should he head straight to Ravenclaw Tower to find the Map, wasting valuable time, or try to find a teacher first and address the threat head-on?

His question was answered for him when he heard an explosion somewhere above him, in the eastern wing of the castle. He took off in that direction, deciding the immediate threat was more important. He was terrified by the thought of Dahlia or Lily being hunted down, but had to trust that they would know to keep themselves safe. He had to do what he could to keep anyone else out of the firing line, if possible.

Harry leapt up two flights of stairs in seconds and wheeled around a corner. He encountered a corridor that looked like it had withstood a colossal explosion – stone debris littered the ground, and the walls were charred black. At the center of the blast site lay an unmoving body, which Harry swiftly moved towards. To his dismay, the figure wore Auror robes, and when he turned the man over, he groaned at the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt, kind eyes staring blankly to the sky, devoid of all life.

"Ennervate," Harry whispered, tapping his wand to Kingsley's chest. But nothing happened – there was no coming back from his grievous wounds. He was dead.

Anger coursed through Harry as he gently lay Kingsley back on the ground. Whoever had done this had serious blood on their hands now. This was no mere assassination attempt on somebody in the castle – it was an act of terror against the wizarding world itself. This could not stand. He had to avenge this loss somehow.

Approaching footsteps caught Harry's attention; he wheeled around, wand poised to strike, only to find Minerva McGonagall's wand pointed right back at him. They lowered their wands at the same time.

"Potter?" McGonagall frowned. "What are you—?" And she took in a sharp intake of breath at the sight of Kingsley, lying lifeless beside Harry. "What has happened to Auror Shacklebolt?"

"He's dead," Harry said bitterly. "Professor, where is the Headmaster?"

"I—I don't know," McGonagall muttered, still staring in shock at Kingsley's body. "He put me in charge temporarily while he was away...but he didn't not say when he would return...I never thought this would happen in his absence…"

"Who is watching the Gryffindors in your place?" Harry implored her. "Is there somebody keeping them safe?"

"I...I deputized your mother as temporary Head of House," said McGonagall. "She said she would take them to Gryffindor Tower."

That was good news, Harry thought – if one of the Potter women was again the target of this plot, at least they would be in a semi-secured location, with others around to help defend them. Could the combined efforts of one house keep an unknown number of Death Eaters out of Gryffindor Tower? Harry wasn't sure, but it was better than knowing Dahlia was somewhere else in the castle, exposed and alone.

Harry and McGonagall were interrupted by a loud crash somewhere above them. Harry turned towards the source, then back to his professor.

"Go to the Gryffindors," he told her. "Help keep them safe. Do not let any students involve themselves in the fight."

"But where are you—?" McGonagall stammered, before Harry took off down the hall again. Now that he felt more secure about his family members being safe, he wanted to end this quickly before anyone else could get hurt – or worse. He took the stairs four at a time, following the distant sounds of crashing until he located the source.

Except, it was not what he expected it to be at all. Peeves was zooming along the ceiling on the fifth floor, cackling and unscrewing chandeliers, causing them to fall and shatter one by one upon the stone floor.

"The Headmaster is away, and Peeves is out to play!" the poltergeist giggled as he let loose another chandelier. But Harry caught it with his wand and returned it to its fixture.

"Peeves!" Harry barked. "Stop this at once! You are making matters worse!"

Peeves stuck out his raspberry tongue at Harry. "Peeves doesn't take orders from ickle studentses!" he taunted. "No matter who their daddy is!"

"There are killers loose in the castle, Peeves," Harry said sternly. "The students are in grave danger. Do you think that is a laughing matter?"

That sobered up Peeves somewhat. He was a troublemaker and a prankster, but still beholden to student safety and well-being. "Peeves was unaware," he said solemnly.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and slow the killers down?" Harry suggested. "Find them and start dropping chandeliers on their heads or something."

Peeves grinned mischievously at the destructive suggestion. "An excellent idea!" Peeves beamed. And he zoomed off through a nearby wall, hopefully to cause some productive chaos for once.

The castle wing fell silent in Peeves' absence, and Harry paused, unsure of where to go next. He felt blind without the Marauder's Map, unable to distinguish friend from foe, danger from distraction. Ravenclaw Tower was not far from here, maybe two or three minutes if he ran. That was valuable time lost, with plenty of room for mayhem in the meantime, but retrieving the Map would allow him to zero in on the threat much more quickly and effectively.

So he took off for the tower, praying that his school trunk was still in his dorm as he had left it that morning. Surely it would be, if he was still enrolled until the official end of the school year. The gate at the ward boundary had opened for him, which was an encouraging sign – it meant the magic of the school itself still recognized him as a student.

He arrived at the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room two minutes later, huffing and puffing from the effort. "What can be swallowed, but also swallow you in return?" asked the bronze eagle statue standing guard above the door.

Harry considered the riddle. "Pride," he eventually panted.

"Well-reasoned," said the eagle, as the door swung open to grant him entrance. Harry ran through and clambered up the stairway into the common room.

But as soon as he did so, he sensed danger as roughly a dozen curses were sent his way. He hastily erected a Shield Charm, which buckled and nearly cracked under the force. Harry retreated to the stairs for safety as a familiar voice shouted: "Who goes there?!"

"Peace, you dolts!" Harry shouted back. "It's Harry Potter!"

"Potter?" the voice said in a softer tone. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry crept forward to peer over the top step into the common room. The gathered tables and bookshelves around the room had been overturned and stacked up in a barrier structure, as dozens of students huddled behind it for safety. Harry saw Terry Boot standing guard near the front, wand aimed at the stairs, looking stunned by Harry's appearance.

"What d'you mean, what am I doing here?" Harry demanded. "It's my bloody common room, isn't it?"

"We thought you left the school this morning!" piped up Michael Corner. "Which means you wouldn't be a Ravenclaw anymore, doesn't it?"

"Well, I'm back now," Harry said hotly. "And I'd like to go to my dorm, if you don't mind." He strode up the steps again, only to be forced back by more spells sent his way.

"Flitwick told us not to let anyone in, no matter what," said Anthony Goldstein.

"I doubt he meant fellow students!" Harry retorted. "Quit being idiots and let me through!"

The Ravenclaws muttered amongst themselves, debating what to do. "I don't like it," Terry Boot muttered. "He could have let those Death Eaters in, for all we know."

"Are you mental?!" Harry scoffed. "Why would I do such a thing?"

"Where the hell did you go this morning, then?" demanded Michael Corner. "Awfully convenient that the school is attacked hours after you blew up at the Headmaster."

Harry was in disbelief. Sure, he had a bit of a shady reputation, but surely his classmates didn't believe he'd gone that dark, did they? He would never endanger his fellow students by introducing serial murderers into the school! He peeked over the top step again, spotting Hermione Granger among the second row of students, eyeing him nervously.

"Talk sense into them, will you, 'Mione?" Harry implored her. "Tell them they're being daft and let me through!"

Hermione looked conflicted, biting her lip nervously. "P-Professor Flitwick did tell us not to let anyone through," she muttered. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't think it's wise."

"Not you too!" Harry groaned. "C'mon, Hermione, I'm not a dark wizard! You don't buy the shite the Prophet is saying, do you?"

"N-no, of course not!" Hermione stammered. "It's just...Professor Flitwick said—"

"We're running out of time here!" Harry huffed. Off in the distance, he heard another crash, and had no way of knowing if it came from Peeves, or the Death Eaters, or both. "Move aside, everyone – I need to get into my dorm and collect my things, now!"

"Not gonna happen, Potter," growled Terry Boot, planting himself firmly behind the barricade, wand at the ready. "Gotta protect our own."

Our own, Harry chuckled humorlessly to himself. The implication was clear: Harry was not one of them, not anymore. The school might recognize him as a student, but his classmates clearly did not. The ripple effects of his outburst that morning were still being felt, even though the moment felt like a lifetime ago by now.

Another boom in the distance told Harry he was wasting too much time. He had to make a decision: retreat now, or fight his way through half of Ravenclaw to retrieve the Marauder's Map. He could make his apologies later once the true threat was dispatched. But was it worth the effort? Would he waste valuable time (and magical stamina) obtaining the Map? Or should he simply continue searching for the threat in the castle, flying blind?

Suddenly, someone gasped and rushed to the nearby window. "What is that?!" Padma Patil demanded shakily. A few other students followed her, gasping and whimpering at whatever they saw outside.

Harry retreated halfway down the stairwell, where a single window granted him a westward view where the others were looking. His heart dropped into his stomach when he saw what they had seen: a ghastly, green apparition of smoke and stars, twinkling above the Astronomy Tower. The Dark Mark.

Has someone else been killed? Harry thought in horror. Who could it be? And who had dealt the killing blow?

"Stay here!" Harry barked up at the Ravenclaws, before retreating down the stairwell and sprinting off. He knew now where to go. Where the enemy was. And he was itching for action.

Unfortunately, the Astronomy Tower was on the opposite end of the castle as Ravenclaw Tower, meaning he had quite the trek to get there. Even with his enhanced stamina and reflexes, he was running on pure adrenaline, aching all over from his long trek across the Swiss Alps mere hours before. But he would not slow down, would not run out of energy, not when the lives of others were on the line.

Harry skidded around a corner into the western wing of the castle, pausing when he heard moaning coming from nearby. Holding his wand aloft, he followed the sound to a small alcove slightly away from the main corridor. He was horrified by the sight of Mark Davis, bleeding profusely from the neck, as Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis desperately tried to console him.

"It's okay, M-Mark!" Tracey sniffed as she tried in vain to stem her cousin's bleeding. "You're going to be j-just fine!"

"What happened?" Harry demanded as he entered the alcove. The two girls jumped at the sight of him.

"Harry?" breathed Tracey in shock. "How did you get here?"

Harry didn't respond, kneeling beside Mark to assess the damage. Blood was oozing out of two puncture wounds directly over his carotid artery. Harry twirled his wand to repair the damage, but as soon as the skin reformed itself, it bubbled and re-opened again, continuing to gush blood.

"This is a cursed wound," he muttered. "What was it that got you, Mark?"

"Dunno," Mark grunted, his face white as a sheet. "Some bloke just jumped on top of me and bit me."

A werewolf? Harry wondered. It wasn't a full moon, and he hadn't seen a false one hanging above the castle. Could Mark be turned by an un-transformed werewolf? The thought of a werewolf attacking someone while still in human form was disturbing enough.

Harry conjured a handkerchief and pressed it firmly against the wound to staunch the bleeding. He also procured his potion toolkit, uncorking the Blood Replenisher and pouring it down Mark's throat.

"Have any of you seen Neville tonight?" Harry asked the trio. He was the one other possible attack target Harry had yet to see tonight.

"N-not since dinner," Mark panted. "S-said he had to meet with Dumbledore. Haven't seen him since."

Had Neville left the castle with Dumbledore earlier that evening? What were they doing? And when did they plan on returning? Harry had a million more questions, but now wasn't the time to ask them. "I need a house-elf!" he called out.

An elf appeared before them with a small pop, gasping at the sight of Mark bleeding on the ground. "A student has been injured!" it wailed. "Shall Mipsy take him to the Hospital Wing?"

"Take him to St. Mungo's," said Harry. "Tell them it was likely a werewolf bite. And bring these two with you – they'll be safer there."

"What about you?" Daphne asked worriedly. "Won't you come with us?"

"No," Harry muttered, getting back to his feet. "I'm going to kill that sonuvabitch." He had a strong suspicion who had attacked Mark...there were only so many werewolves left in Britain after the potion cure became mandatory, and if they were among Voldemort's most faithful, it could only be one of a handful of people. And Harry now had a strong inkling of where they might be lurking.

"Mipsy will take you three now," said the elf, extending its hand towards Daphne, Tracey and Mark.

"Wait!" said Daphne before accepting the hand, looking up at Harry pleadingly. "Will you tell Ron I love him?"

Harry sighed; that was far from his top priority at the moment. "If I can," he said. "Now go."

Daphne nodded forlornly and took Mipsy's hand. The elf disappeared with another pop, taking Mark and the two girls with him, leaving only a pool of dark red blood behind.

Harry couldn't stay and ponder things for long. He took off again for the Astronomy Tower, hoping he was not yet too late to catch the culprit. Someone had set off the Dark Mark, and historically, it was only done after someone had been killed. He had to hurry if he was going to catch the killer.

He finally reached the tower and began the long trek up the winding steps, heart racing all the while. What would he find at the top? One of his family members, injured or worse, with Draco's mission complete? Perhaps Neville in mortal danger of some kind? Voldemort himself, waiting to spring a trap? He couldn't do anything about it if the latter was true, and if it was one of the former, he couldn't bear to do nothing, so he pressed onward.

He slowed his pace as he reached the top level, the moonlight peeking in over the ramparts. It was eerily quiet – if anyone was indeed there, they were being quite careful not to be seen or heard. Harry ascended the final steps, arriving at the top of the tower, wand raised for anything. Shadows were cast all over the place, making it difficult to tell if anyone was lurking just out of sight.

"Show yourself," Harry announced clearly, his voice ringing across the grounds. "No sudden moves."

There came no response. Harry frowned...surely there had to be a mistake. The Dark Mark was still glittering high overhead...it had to have been cast from here. But why? And by whom? Something was fishy, and Harry didn't like it one bit. He stepped forward into the center of the tower, out of the shadows, lowering his wand in confusion—

Then Harry's arm snapped upwards, his Shield Charm erecting just in time to save him from a flurry of spells erupting from a darkened corner. The spells were powerful, causing his Shield to ripple and flare wildly. This was no ordinary wizard or witch he was dealing with.

Harry did not remain idle. He dropped his Shield and fired a salvo of his own, before rolling away to the right, into a more shadowy spot. He saw a Shield appear to absorb his spells, before the mysterious intruder threw more spells at the spot Harry had just vacated. Harry felt the power radiating off the errant spells, even as they harmlessly sailed over the parapets into the night.

I need to end this quickly, Harry realized. He was in no state for a prolonged battle with a skilled opponent – he was running on fumes, exhausted from the day's events. Adrenaline was all he had on his side, and he had to convert it to a quick victory, or he would soon be overwhelmed.

So he turned up the pressure, doubling his rate of spell-casting in an attempt to overpower the enemy through brute force. It would leave him exposed to a potential counter-attack if the enemy adapted well, but Harry had to take that chance – it was all or nothing.

The unseen opponent parried each of Harry's quick casts, but stumbled, proving that Harry had him on the back foot. He pressed onward, keeping up the pressure, pushing through the fatigue in a furious effort to end the fight here and now.

The opponent's defensive work grew sloppier as Harry's relentless assault bore down upon him. With one great final effort, Harry shattered the man's Shield Charm with a Blasting Curse, sending him flying backwards into the balustrade of the tower. He heard the man's wand clatter to the stone floor; with a flick of his wand, Harry Summoned it to his hand, effectively ending the fight.

"Bloody hell," Harry panted, doubling over from the extreme effort the fight had required. He heard his opponent groan in discomfort, sliding to the ground in defeat. Harry strode forward, lighting his wand tip so that he could secure the man properly. When he finally saw who it was, he nearly dropped his wand in shock.

"Professor Dumbledore?!" he gasped.

"Harry!" said Dumbledore, a look of despair in his eyes as he lay at Harry's feet. "What have you done? Why are you doing this?"

"I didn't know it was you!" Harry protested. "I came to check what happened up here—"

"You summoned the Dark Mark!" Dumbledore said weakly. "You allowed Death Eaters into the castle!"

"I...what are you talking about?" Harry frowned. "Sir, you aren't making any sense."

"I knew this day would come," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I have failed you, my boy. I knew you were turning Dark, and didn't do enough to save you."

Something was very wrong with this picture. Dumbledore looked delirious, eyes glossy and struggling to focus on Harry's face, as sweat poured down his weathered face in rivulets. He was favoring his left side, hunched over and clutching his right arm. Harry lowered his lit wand tip and was horrified to see that the arm was blackened and shriveled-looking.

"Sir…" said Harry slowly. "Is that a Rotting Curse?"

Surely it couldn't be...had Dumbledore been to Little Hangleton this evening? Had he located the ring horcrux and attempted to retrieve it, only to fall to Bill's Rotting Curse that had been left behind on the fake replacement? How could a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber be fooled by such a crude, obvious trap?

Dumbledore did not answer Harry's question. He continued to ramble semi-coherently, looking up at Harry in horror. "You had so much potential," he lamented. "So much to live for...only to throw it all away…"

"Will you shut up?" Harry groaned, looking around the tower for answers. How had Dumbledore gotten up here? There were two broomsticks leaning up against the far wall, which Harry was sure didn't belong there. Had someone else arrived earlier? Harry hadn't passed anyone on the way up...where could they have gone? Were they responsible for casting the Dark Mark?

Just as Harry was contemplating how to get Dumbledore help, he heard rapid footsteps approaching from down below. He whipped around to see Severus Snape emerge from the stairs; the two stood across the tower from one another, wands pointed suspiciously at each other.

Before either could act, Dumbledore spotted Snape and began to speak again. "Severus," he said weakly. "Harry has betrayed us...please, you must stop him, before it's too late…"

"Potter?" said Snape, looking confused. "What is going on here?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but once again Dumbledore spoke up in his place. "I have warned you repeatedly, Severus!" Dumbledore pleaded. "The boy is tempted by the dark and is not to be trusted! He must be dealt with!"

"What did you do, Potter?" Snape growled at him, eyes searching Harry's for answers.

"He attacked me!" Harry protested. "And he's clearly delusional! Look at his arm—"

"Harry will jeopardize everything I have planned!" Dumbledore insisted. "Severus, you must stop him! The outcome of the war depends on it—"

"What the bleedin' hell is goin' on up here?" another voice demanded. Both Harry and Snape wheeled around; a new group of witches and wizards had appeared atop the tower, hurrying up the steps. Among them was a terrified-looking Draco Malfoy; the others Harry recognized as Death Eaters, including Amycus and Alecto Carrow, Barty Crouch Jr., Ivan Mulciber Sr., Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and most chillingly, Fenrir Greyback. The latter had dried blood caking his mouth and neck, confirming to Harry who had attacked Mark Davis earlier.

The Death Eaters froze when they spotted Harry. All raised their wands at once to fight, before Snape stood in between them.

"Peace, you idiots!" Snape snarled. "You came here for a single mission. We mustn't get side-tracked."

"That's the damned Minister's son!" shouted Amycus Carrow. "The Potter boy!"

"Whom the Dark Lord has explicitly forbidden you to harm," Snape pointed out. "He is not to be engaged with."

"Like hell he isn't," snarled Rodolphus Lestrange, eyeing Harry with pure hatred. "That bastard murdered my wife."

"Out of self-preservation of his own family," Snape reminded him. "Lower your wand, Rodolphus, lest you do something that displeases your master." Rodolphus did not look happy with this scenario, but he acquiesced, lowering his wand but continuing to give Harry a spiteful death glare.

"What the hell is he doin' here, then?" demanded Alecto Carrow. "He's gonna bugger up our mission!"

"If you had two brain cells to rub together, you'd notice that the mission is nearly complete," Snape sneered. The Death Eaters looked around for the first time to see Dumbledore collapsed on the ground, eyes going wide at the sight.

"Feckin' hell, that's Dumbledore!" shouted Amycus excitedly. "Good show, Severus, you got 'im!"

"I got here only moments before you did," said Snape. "It was Potter who defeated him."

"Impossible," frowned Mulciber. "Potter's no dark wizard. Why would he turn against Dumbledore?"

"You have clearly not taken me seriously in my recent briefings to the Dark Lord—" Snape huffed.

"Oh, this conspiracy nonsense again!" Barty Crouch groaned. "I don't buy it! A Potter, going rogue? With his father being who he is? No chance."

"Who are you to assume Potter is just like his father?" Snape retorted. "You, of all people, Bartemius?"

The Death Eaters continued to bicker amongst themselves as Harry stood off to one side, stunned. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. It appeared that Snape was defending him, was buying him time by playing into the narrative that Harry was some kind of budding dark wizard. The other Death Eaters seemed not to buy it, eyeing Harry with extreme wariness and suspicion.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore continued to ramble on from his prone position, sounding weaker and weaker by the moment. "What would James think if he saw what was happening here?" the old man croaked. "If he saw how I failed his family? How I let his son fall into the hands of Voldemort?"

"What's the old geezer whinin' about?" demanded Alecto Carrow, pointing at Dumbledore.

"Clearly he has been subjected to a severe Rotting Curse, courtesy of Mr. Potter," Snape sneered. "By the looks of it, he has perhaps an hour or two left to live. So I recommend we quit arguing and figure out our next moves."

"Well, Draco, it's your lucky day," said Alecto, giving the uncomfortable boy a kiss on the cheek. "The old man is weakened and ready for you. Time to restore your family honor and complete your mission."

"Hang on," frowned Barty Crouch, eyes still narrowed in suspicion. "We should bring Dumbledore to the Dark Lord. Lockhart is with him – he can figure out what he knows before he dies."

"But the mission was to make sure the old man croaks it!" protested Amycus. "We have 'im here, dead to rights – why spare 'im now?"

"Think of all we could gather from his mind!" said Crouch, eyes alight with excitement. "Information about his precious Order...secrets from inside the Ministry...it's an opportunity we cannot pass up on!"

Harry's stomach churned at the thought. He was all but certain now that Dumbledore had been hunting horcruxes this evening before returning to the castle. If Voldemort discovered that fact, all his efforts would be lost.

And Dumbledore did not appear to be in any state to resist Lockhart's Mind-Reaving efforts, still muttering helplessly to himself. "The ring was a fake…" the Headmaster mumbled, eyes closed in discomfort. "I was a fool not to see it before...to touch it without checking for traps first…"

I should Stun him, Harry thought worriedly. He's saying too much...he might reveal the secret before I can stop him… But what good would a Stunner do? Lockhart would be able to revive him and tear apart his mind with ease. Harry could attempt to Obliviate him, but how could he, with so many witnesses watching, and without knowing precisely what Dumbledore knew?

The other option was to try and fight his way out of this. But there were over half a dozen trained and dangerous Death Eaters standing in his way, all with their wands at the ready – if he made any move, they would strike. He was in no state to fight them all at once, fatigued from his long journey and the effort it took to overpower Dumbledore, who remained a powerful foe even in his weakened state.

Meanwhile, the Death Eaters had turned to Draco. "Do it now, Draco," Amycus was imploring the boy. "And we can go home as heroes. The Dark Lord will reward us for taking down 'is biggest foe."

"We should take him with us!" Barty Crouch insisted. "The Dark Lord will understand leaving Dumbledore alive if we can bring him to Lockhart. The opportunity is too valuable to pass up."

"Do you wish to be the one to deliver the news that we failed to complete the mission?" Snape asked pointedly. "His orders were quite clear, and Draco must be the one to—"

"Look at the poor kid!" Barty insisted, shoving Draco forward. "Does he look like he's in a state to kill? He can barely stand up straight!"

Indeed, Draco looked pale and deathly afraid of every single person on the tower with him. His eyes flitted from Dumbledore, to Harry, to Snape, to the cadre of Death Eaters behind him, clearly finding no comfort in any of them.

"Draco, the time is now," said Snape. "You must finish the task the Dark Lord has given you."

Snape grabbed him by the collar and thrust him forward towards Dumbledore, who was deliriously muttering to himself on the ground. If ever there was a time to strike the Headmaster down, it would be now.

Draco pointed his wand at Dumbledore, hand visibly shaking. Every eye was upon him now, watching, waiting with bated breath. Even Harry found himself wondering what would happen, what he should do. Should I stop him? he wondered. Is it safer to let this play out? Does Dumbledore know too much to be left alive? He felt sick for even thinking this way, but he knew the fate of the war hung in the balance, depending on what happened to Dumbledore in the next hour.

But Draco didn't seem able to go through with it. In fact, he looked like he was going to be sick. His wand arm slowly lowered to the floor, as tears filled his eyes and he looked down at the ground in shame. "I can't," he shuddered. "I can't do it."

"See? The boy is too weak," Barty sneered, stepping forward to take Draco's place. "We'll take him back to the manor, summon Lockhart to see what he knows. That way we'll still have positive news to report."

Snape looked uncomfortable by this prospect, glancing surreptitiously at Harry. "Dumbledore is dangerous to keep alive, even in his current state," he remarked. "You realize the risk we're taking?"

"We'll Stun and bind him," Barty sneered. "And he's got no wand. Besides, he'll be dead in an hour either way, won't he?"

"I say we put it to a vote," said Mulciber. "All those in favor of killing him now?"

Both Carrows raised their hands, along with Fenrir Greyback, who was looking hungrily down upon the Headmaster as though he wished to bite into him then and there. Snape also raised his, glaring at Draco to do the same, but the blonde boy stared fixedly at his feet, unable to do so.

"And those in favor of taking him to Lockhart alive?"

Crouch's hand shot up into the air, as did both Lestrange brothers. Mulciber begrudgingly joined them, and after a few steadying breaths, Draco raised his, relieving him of his burden.

"That's five to four," said Crouch, turning to Snape. "Shall we bind him up and go, then?"

Snape hesitated. "Our orders were very clear," he said in a strained voice. "We kill him and leave. Nothing else."

"But if we can deliver him alive, that's even better!" Mulciber pointed out. "He'll surely forgive us for bringing him such a gift."

"And if the transport goes wrong?" Snape pointed out. "If more Aurors show up to stop us?"

"Like who, Shacklebolt?" Rabastan Lestrange guffawed. "The Aurors are a shadow of what they once were. They can't stop us, not anymore."

Harry could tell that Snape did not want to go through with this plan. He, like Harry, was put in a difficult position here, forced to choose between his allegiances and determine the outcome of the war. Perhaps he feared Voldemort learning what side Snape was truly on once Dumbledore's knowledge came to light. And Harry alone knew that was the least of their concerns.

"Oh, enough wasting time," Crouch huffed, shoving Snape off to the side. "Move aside, Severus. I'll restrain him myself, then we'll go."

"No."

Harry stepped forward from the shadows, wand at the ready. The Death Eaters glared at him, brandishing their wands at him; but to their surprise, he turned his back on them, facing Dumbledore.

The Headmaster stared up at him in dismay. "It's not too late, Harry," Dumbledore pleaded. "You can change. You can reform. Don't throw your life away for a bit of power...it's not worth it."

"Stop talking like you know me!" Harry growled. "You haven't the slightest idea who I really am!" It was hard enough doing what he needed to do next. Dumbledore was only making it worse by twisting the knife with his incorrect assumptions, his false judgment.

"You have doomed the wizarding world, Harry," said Dumbledore, a single tear running down his cheek. "Just as I always knew you would."

A new emotion bubbled up within Harry now: hatred. He hated that the Headmaster had put him in this position. Hated that he continued to assume the worst in his pupil. Hated that he was so easily hoodwinked by Grindelwald. Hated that the man's secrets and lies had driven a wedge between them, forming a rift that would never be repaired.

Harry hadn't been sure he could muster the strength to do it before. To perform the act of cruel mercy that would protect the secret of the horcruxes from Voldemort. But now, he had all the fuel he needed. He looked down upon his former Headmaster with anger and resentment, raising his wand and saying the dreaded two words:

"Avada Kedavra."

A current of what felt like hot electricity ran down Harry's arm and exploded from his wand in a burst of green light. The Killing Curse struck Dumbledore directly in the chest, and the man jerked violently before falling still, the last vestiges of life leaving his tear-filled eyes for the last time.