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High above the entrance hall of Hogwarts, the flickering light of candles floating over head shone down on the battle-weary wizards below. The familiar, golden glow made Harry feel safe at once. Hogwarts had always been home and he felt its arms wrap around him the moment he entered.

The entrance hall, however, was anything but inviting. It wasn’t so much what one could see, but rather feel. Harry took a step forward and, sensing the danger, stepped backward. Enchantments? He’d never really had that sort of sensation before. Not like this. He held out his hand. There was definitely an energy here, waiting to be released.

Hundreds had already passed through the front doors, making their way to positions throughout the castle and into the caverns below. There were a few remaining – the leaders of the various covens, each waiting for their final orders from the Headmaster, Sirius Black. Among them were a number of professors, including McGonagall and Flitwick. An apparent whirlwind was weaving its way through the crowd and it took a moment before Harry realized it was Madame Pomfrey, trying to treat the injured as best she could. She was having trouble with a witch suffering from a particularly bad burn to the side of her face and neck. Harry stepped over, drew power from the stone and healed her. Madame Pomfrey looked up in astonishment.

“Harry… Harry Potter? Is that you?” she asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied with a nod.

“My goodness,” she said with a mixture of gratitude and concern. “You… you’re covered in soot. That’ll create a rash if you don’t let me ”

“That will have to wait, Poppy,” a voice called from behind Harry. He turned to see Sirius entering the hall from outside, shutting the doors behind him. “Harry has other things to attend to right now. Please, let’s get the remaining injured to the caverns below as quickly as possible. Mr. Zabini could use some help.” With the assistance of another wizard, Madame Pomfrey escorted Blaise, now able to walk on his own, and a handful of other wizards down to the caverns. He cast one look back at Harry before disappearing behind the crowd.

“Sirius!” snapped Professor McGonagall. “Retreat is madness. They’ll overrun the school in less than an hour. We have to go out and—”

“If Harry is right about the dragons,” interrupted Sirius, “then going out would not be something that I would recommend. Not yet, at least.”

“The enchantments will hold, Minerva,” added Professor Flitwick. “Voldemort’s minions will be lucky to reach the front door.”

“But—”

“Professor!” called Harry, moving quickly toward his godfather until he could hold him by the front of his robes. “Sirius… Neville and Hermione… they’re still out there. Neville might be hurt. We have to—”

“Harry,” said George softly, stepping to his friend’s side, “Neville was right in the centre of the explosion. We felt the blast from here. There’s no way anyone on the ground could have survived. And, even if he did, by now Voldemort’s men have regrouped and have him.”

Harry couldn’t process the possibility. He’d watched as Patrick died and now… now Neville and… and maybe Hermione. Why hadn’t she come to the castle? She and Grawp were first over the outer wall. He clenched his hand, feeling anger ebbing just below the surface – anger he’d not felt since last year.

“We can’t lock the doors!” snapped Harry. “Her… Hermione might still try to get in.”

“The doors are not locked, Harry,” said Sirius calmly. “At least, not locked for those who remain friends of Hogwarts. Hogwarts will always welcome those who come to its aid. Others will find a much different reception.”

Sirius raised his hands and called out interrupting the general murmur of activity. “Attack Covens! Make your way to your respective towers. Healers and assistants, tend to the injured in the caverns. If they do break our defences, we make our stand in the castle tonight! This I promise you – Hogwarts will not fall!”

There was a general cheer and Harry was surprised to see so many smiles. “The air”, he thought. “There’s an energy here that was absent from Hogsmeade. They’re drinking it in like mead.”
Even Harry was feeling the rush of power permeate his being. It was beating back the anger and sorrow he felt about Neville and the fear he felt for Hermione. Sirius was commanding the troops; it was a side of Sirius he’d never seen, but maybe had always known was there. For a moment he could see what had attracted his father to Sirius, why they were best friends.”

“Light the floo,” Sirius said to George, one hand upon his shoulder. “Send word to the Ministry, to your father, that the wall has been breached. Tell him,” he paused, contemplating his next words, casting a glance toward Harry before continuing. “Tell him that the dragons are not our allies. They intend to attack all wizards tonight.”

The groups began to disperse, each going to their appointed locations about the castle. Harry, however, couldn’t pull himself from the front doors. Sirius stood at his side, answering the occasional question as the entrance hall thinned. When it had quieted, Harry placed his hands upon the front doors and turned to Sirius.

“I can’t stay here,” he said. “I have to go to the forest, to Terntalag. I have to find Jamie.”

“Outside, you’ll have no protection against the dragons, assuming they’ll attack.”

“They’ll attack,” Harry quickly responded. “But they’ll be looking for large numbers of wizards.” He turned the black ring upon his finger. “And I won’t be defenceless. I could make my way through the caverns and—”

“Those ways will be watched, Harry.”

“I could—”

“You could fly,” said Sirius. Harry’s eyes widened. Why hadn’t he thought of it? “Sorry, no P2s, but there’s an old Firebolt in my office. Take off from the window there.”

“Will you watch for Neville?” Harry asked, resigned to his friend’s fate. “Maybe George was wrong,” he added, knowing that George was never wrong. He sighed. “The explosion was tremendous.”

“Perhaps too tremendous,” said Sirius stroking his beard. “I don’t see how the Death Eaters could muster the magic. Perhaps the dragons have already started.”

Harry reached down and tried to hold his mind open, listening for Singehorn, or some other sign that might lend insight to what was happening, but all was darkness. The dragon had cut off all communication. “Perhaps… if I can find Dakhil…” Harry muttered to himself. He sighed again. His mind was addled and he couldn’t seem to hold everything together.

“Harry, don’t worry about the school. We’ll be fine. You find your boy; help Cho and Jamie. That’s all you need to worry about. Not the ghosts, not the dragons, not the Centaurs, not Voldemort. Cho and Jamie. Do you understand?” Harry nodded and started to walk toward the Headmaster’s office.

“You’ll be safe?” he asked.

This time Sirius nodded with a smile, albeit grim. “Yes Harry we’ll be—”

There was a tremendous pounding on the front doors to the castle. It startled both Harry and Sirius who simultaneously drew their wands. Again – another pounding, the doors creaking from the force, but holding steady.

“I thought you said it’d be an hour before they got to the doors!” hissed Harry under his breath.

“It could be Hagrid.”

“If it’s Hagrid, why doesn’t he just come in?”

Sirius looked at Harry. “Like I said, it could be Hagrid.” He stepped closer to the door motioning Harry to do the same. “Go ahead. Open it. It’s not the wood protecting us.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident,” said Harry sarcastically, tipping his head toward Sirius’ wand. “And why am I the one that has to open the door? You’re the headmaster!”

There was another sharp bang at the door, followed by what could only be described as the scratching of a claw against the wood. This was followed by a long, low, angry screech that pierced both their ears.

“Sounds like a friend of yours,” said Sirius slyly.

“Riiiiight,” Harry said with a smirk. “I’m not the only one here that has a furry friend with claws, you know.”

Sirius nodded in agreement, but still motioned Harry to the door. Harry shrugged, wrapped his hand about the door’s handle and, wand at the ready, swung it open.

If it had not been for the crumple of dark blue robes dangling from the creature’s enormous mouth, Harry would have struck him down, or at least tried. Standing upon the stone steps of Hogwarts was a massive vampire. It was half again as tall as Harry with shoulders twice as wide. Its hands and feet were clawed and its bat-like wings rose up and over its pointed head with a single talon at the pinnacle of each. His body was covered in bluish-green scales that shimmered in the moonlight. As Harry stepped out, the creature’s eyes narrowed and it growled, its mouth full of blue cloth.

The vampire spit the bundle out of from between its teeth and tossed it like a soiled rag into Harry’s arms. The weight pushed Harry backward into the entrance hall. It was a man… a wizard. Neville?
His face was charred, his body limp, but he was breathing.

“Sirius?” gasped Harry. “It… I think it’s…” He held out his hand to heal his friend, but realized at once that there was very little wrong. He was unconscious, burned slightly, but nothing more. “He’s… fine. Unconscious, but fine.”

“Let me have him, Harry,” said Sirius, taking Neville from his arms. “That…” he pointed at the creature, “one of ours?… A friend of yours and Dakhil’s?”

“Yeah,” answered Harry, not really sure.

“Well, thank him and be on your way. We haven’t much time.” Levitating Neville, Sirius started toward the entrance to the caverns beneath the school. “And… Harry… be careful.”

“Just as careful as you will be; I promise.” Harry watched until his friend and godfather disappeared into Firenze’s classroom, the secret entrance to the caverns, and then turned back to the vampire. The creature growled again, this time bearing two pearly white fangs. He lumbered toward Harry, placing his arms against the doorframe. It looked as if he was flexing his pecs. If he was trying to intimidate Harry, Harry wasn’t having anything to do with it. He rubbed his onyx ring with his thumb and was about to say something when he looked more closely into the vampire’s eyes. They were cold, grey and full of anger… and mischief.

“Draco? Draco, where’s Dakhil?”

“I risk my neck saving that twit of a friend of yours from a half-dozen Chinese Fireballs and that’s the thanks I get? That’s all you can say? Where’s Dakhil?” He growled and slammed his fist against the door frame. The whole wall shuddered. “I should crush you right now and fly you back to Voldemort.”

“You could,” answered Harry, “but he doesn’t want me anymore. Well, I’m not as valuable to his plan as I once was.”

“Are you sure?” snapped Draco, wrapping a massive, clawed hand about Harry’s throat. Harry just glared, taking Draco by the wrist, his own hand barely able to take hold. At the touch, Draco released his grasp and pulled away. Again he growled.

“Dakhil has gone to find the dragons. He thinks you’re wrong.”

“I wish I was, but I’m not.”

“Smug as ever. Would it be so terrible for the famous Harry Potter to make a mistake?”

“I’ve made too many to count. Are you one? Why are you here? Sewing fear into the hearts of all those who would face your true master?”

“Watching, Harry. Just watching. I watched the Inferi plunge through Hogsmeade, killing more to raise their number. I watched them be incinerated by the best wizards the Ministry has to offer, only to see the same wizards smashed by giants and sucked dry by Dementors. I watched you take down that giant and saw those house elves turn him to powder… stupid beast. And then I watched those… those things take Nott under the ground. I should have let Neville die for that. If he hadn’t helped Blaise…”

“Draco,” said Harry, awkwardly placing a hand on Draco’s wing, “Neville wasn’t in his right mind… he… well… war… it’s turned him ugly… cruel. All the stories of gallantry and heroism, how war brings out the best in people.... They don’t tell you the other half. Even if they did, I wonder if it would make a difference.” Harry sighed, patting Draco’s wing. “Thank you for saving him; and you’re right – I am an idiot. I should have thanked you straight away. It was brave of you to risk your neck like that.”

“Merlin, you babble on,” drawled Draco. “I should have snuffed you out when I first saw it was you that opened the door.”

“Good to see you still care, but I told you. It’s not about me anymore, Draco.”

The vampire scowled. It had always been about Harry. He was standing here now, a horrifically powerful vampire, all because of Harry Potter. Nott was being eaten alive because of Harry Potter. Voldemort was about to control the world because of—

“The cloak… where’s the cloak?” demanded Draco suddenly. Here, in the end, was how it all started.

“Destroyed,” answered Harry calmly. “It’s nothing but ashes.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“You smug son-of-a-bitch. The dragons… now this? You don’t think that he could sense its absence?” Draco spun and faced the forest. “He’d know if it wasn’t here. Why do you think he’s moving his army here?” He spun back on Harry. “Where’s the cloak?”

For a moment, Harry hesitated, unsure of the true motives behind the vampire mask.

“I told you, Draco,” said Harry coolly, “It’s destroyed. Voldemort… he doesn’t want the cloak, he wants my son.”

“Don’t you get it, Harry? The air of Hogsmeade is lifeless, yet here… here near the forest there’s power. If you’d open that empty shell of a brain of yours, you’d see; you’d sense… the cloak is near. We had a deal! Now tell me where it is!”

Draco’s words were unsettling. The cloak was destroyed on Singehorn’s mountain. Gabriella said that Talisan had incinerated it. He paused. No. Gabriella said that Talisan had done her best. A cold shiver weaved its way about Harry’s spine. She was oh so much a Slytherin. Believing in his heart she wouldn’t lie to him, he tried to recall her exact words.

“I’ve never seen Talisan’s breath burn brighter.”

“Damn,” Harry cursed. “Damn it to Hades!” He turned toward the vampire. “Tell me, Draco,” he said. “If you’ve been watching, have you seen her? Have you seen Gabriella?” The vampire roared and at the same moment the sky over Hogsmeade burst into a ball of fire. The dragons were attacking the town. Screams filled the air. Refusing to answer Harry’s question, Draco turned to leave. Harry understood why, but had to know something more.

“Draco!” Harry called. “You say we had a deal. That goes both ways! For whom do you fight?”

Without turning Draco looked down at the ground and answered without hesitation. “Tonight? Tonight I fight for Dakhil and, though they still deny me, I fight for the Votary.”

“Then you fight for me,” Harry asserted. Draco turned, his eyes keen, but sad.

“Potter, you’re as dense as Luna Lovegood. I’ve always fought for you.”

Draco unfurled his wings. “Find the cloak, Harry, and destroy it before it’s too late,” he growled. “And keep an eye on Blaise. Make sure he stays safe.” With a tremendous woosh, he leapt into the air and disappeared in the night sky.

Harry watched as Draco disappeared into the stars overhead and then his attention turned toward the castle grounds. So far, they were secure. The fires of Hogsmeade were dying down. Perhaps there was nothing left to burn. If so, then why weren’t the Fireballs attacking the school? He closed the door and headed to the Headmaster’s office. Harry had some flying of his own to do.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 44 – Flight to the Falls

~~~***~~~

Riding high upon Grawp’s left shoulder, Hermione looked up to see a large, green dragon swooping down toward her. Common Welsh, she thought. She and Grawp had just leapt over the wall surrounding Hogwarts and were bounding, much to Hermione’s irritation, toward the Forbidden Forest. She had told Grawp to head home, but what she had meant was Hogwarts Castle. Grawp instead took that to mean Forbidden Forest. She was trying to convince him to turn around when the dragon flew past the full moon, casting a sudden shadow that turned her head upward. Its bat-like wings seemed to fill the sky, its eyes were on fire and its teeth flickered white, curling upward in something that resembled a smile. It had seen them and its sudden arc in the sky suggested that it was here to greet them warmly, very warmly.

She was certain that in few moments both she and Grawp would be consumed in a giant fireball, so she pulled her wand preparing to cast a shield charm and wondering if it would withstand the dragon’s breath. In contrast to Hogsmeade, the air here was charged. Rolling her wand in her fingers, she could sense its power. So much power in fact that she began to dismiss the idea of a shield charm in favour of attack. Yes… she would defeat the beast! But a voice inside said, “Are you crazy! It’d take three wizards at least to take on an adult dragon out in the open!” She shook her head, pulling in a deep breath and coming to her senses.

“Hurry Grawp!” she yelled, not really caring which direction he was headed. Anywhere was better and the forest, at least, would offer some sort of cover. “Run!”

Grawp responded, but so too did the Welsh Green. Closer… closer… she could hear the beating of its wings heavy in the air. The dragon’s mouth began to open. He was about to blow! Hermione focused her attention upward, raising her wand high above her head.

“Proteg—”

She was struck broadside in the chest, her lungs collapsing as the air burst through her lips. The force had ripped her from Grawp’s shoulder and the giant cried out. She was airborne, her legs dangling freely as the ground and dragon fell away, as if she were being pulled by a giant tether high up into the sky. She was surprised; Grawp was surprised; the dragon was surprised. He was about to follow, when he noticed another wizard dressed in blue over by the front gate – easier prey. Hermione tried to call out Neville’s name to warn him, but the air had been knocked out of her and she was far too far away to be heard.

“Hold on!” a voice yelled and she was suddenly turning about in a large arc, unable to see what was becoming of Neville.

“Ron?” she squeaked. “Ron. Neville.” She pointed back over her left shoulder almost in the direction they were now headed.

“Swing your leg over,” Ron yelled again, trying to pull Hermione high enough to climb onto his broom. She was swinging wildly and missing.

With each swing and miss she would say, “We have to… get Neville,” not noticing that they were moving farther into the forest, not toward the gate. Finally, she hooked a heel and swung up onto the broom, grabbing tightly to Ron’s waist; the broom’s gripping charms took hold. Ron shook his freed arm, trying to regain some sensation. Hermione, instinctively, held one hand to her belly and tried to regain her breath.

“For a bit there, I thought I was going to drop you,” he said, nosing down on the broom and forcing it to pick up speed.

“Ron,” Hermione called, “Neville’s at the gate; we have to—” A giant flash filled the night sky followed by an enormous boom. Hermione looked back to see a huge fireball rising upward from where Neville was. “Neville!” she cried. It was clear that the dragon had struck. Nothing could have survived.

“Ron! Why didn’t you go back?” She slapped him on the back.

“The broom wouldn’t hold the three of us,” he said grimly, holding steadfast to his present course.

“We could have fought!”

Ron did not reply, but she felt his shoulders slump. No… no they couldn’t have, not that near the front gate. The magic there was too thin. They would have all been incinerated. She began to cry. “What was he doing there, anyway? He should have been with Harry, headed to the castle.” She paused. “You don’t think… Harry too?”

“That explosion… that was more than dragonfire,” said Ron. “And it wasn’t one of Sirius’ traps.”

“We need to tell the others. We need to see if Harry’s okay. We need to go to the castle and—”

“We need to follow orders,” Ron interrupted. The broom veered slightly to the right, heading deeper toward the heart of the forest. “Our coven is meeting at Terntalag. We need to…” He paused, twisting the shaft of the broom in his hands. “We need to regroup there.”

Somehow, to Hermione, Ron’s words were out of place. Follow orders? It didn’t sound like Ron. Sure, they were with Professor Firenze’s coven, but Harry… hopefully, Harry was with Sirius at the castle.

“But the castle… Harry…” she offered.

“It’s not about Harry!” he snapped. “It’s about… Aahg! Just this once, would you just trust me. I… I know what I’m doing.” His voice trailed off with these final words. They did not instil confidence, leaving Hermione to wonder. Still, she didn’t object. The thought that there might be more dragons back at the castle… she was getting tired of fighting.

They flew for about five minutes before Hermione began to notice the sparkling beneath them on the forest floor. As the canopy would break, shimmers of white and silver shown through. It was as if the ground was covered with twinkling fallen stars. She was trying to figure out just what they were when the broom stopped abruptly, smashing Hermione’s face between Ron’s broad shoulder blades. In the clearing below, Hermione could now see that the flashes of light were ghosts, hundreds of ghosts. She pulled on his sleeve, but Ron’s attention wasn’t focused on the floor beneath. He was looking intently straight ahead into the darkness.

“Do you see anything,” he whispered.

“The ghosts,” answered Hermione.

“Not there. There!” Ron pointed directly in front of them. Hermione squinted, only able to see the moonlit top of the forest canopy and the dark outline of the mountains behind. “I don’t like it,” Ron whispered again. “I can hear them talking.” He pulled out his wand. “Whatever happens,” he said, “don’t let go.” Hermione’s grip tightened.

She knew that Ron’s telepathy was growing stronger again. This time there’d been no outward signs that anything was physically wrong, but as he had reached farther out trying to make it easier to learn such things as enemy plans, particularly near the Slytherin table, it had also been more difficult to shut out the voices. He’d grown jumpy, rash, irritable, and often sought any refuge to keep away from people. It was why, even though the two of them had grown close again, it was difficult to discuss her situation. Now that she thought about it, his need to escape the voices would explain their journey to Terntalag instead of the castle. Now, in the midst of nowhere, she was glad he had such a phenomenal internal radar.

After an eternity of silence, he hissed through his teeth one word, “Vampires.” Hermione drew in a noticeable breath, trying hard not to shudder. Ron closed his eyes and cast his focus forward. “They don’t know we’re here. They’re hiding in the tops of the trees, waiting for something, or someone.”

“The coven?”

“Maybe… maybe, the coven. Yeah, that makes sense. It’s an ambush.”

“How many?” Hermione asked.

“Three,” answered Ron. “Maybe more.” He shifted on his broom. He tried to wet his lips with his tongue, but his mouth was too dry. “We could send a message back and go around.”

“We could,” agreed Hermione, knowing full well they wouldn’t.

“Three…” Ron muttered out loud. “We could take… no. We need to get to Terntalag.” There was a long pause. Hermione was stunned at the words of her fellow Gryffindor. Ron’s excuse made it that much worse. “It’ll be too hard to fly. If you knew how to shift your weight in the air… Maybe next time you’ll take me up on my offer to teach you how to—”

“So now it’s my fault? Don’t blame me for being ambushed and hauled away into the air!” said Hermione. “I was perfectly fine with Grawp! It wasn’t my idea to—”

Suddenly to their left, a Threstral broke above the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. It was only five meters away when it reared back and let out a wild screech. Hermione cried out for only a heartbeat before she realized what it was. The creature beat its wings rhythmically, hovering above the forest, its skeletal black body shimmering in the moonlight. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it dipped back beneath the canopy.

“Well, that’s bad luck,” whispered Ron calmly.

“Oh, Ron,” chided Hermione. “That’s just superstition.”

“Oh, really?” he replied sarcastically. “That’s funny, because here they come. Get out word, just in case.” He pulled in a deep breath and squeezed the broom handle.

Hermione turned and sent a patronus back toward Firenze and the wizards and witches he was leading through the forest to Terntalag. All she had time for was Ambush. The bright white light from the otter erupting from her wand blinded her temporarily as she turned back around and peered over Ron’s shoulder into the darkness. She couldn’t make out the approaching vampires until they were about twenty yards away and closing fast. What appeared out of the darkness was a human face as white as the shining moon and something else with two glowing eyes that looked more bat than human. Almost simultaneously, Ron and Hermione cast stunners at the creatures. The bat-like vampire swerved in midair avoiding the beams of light, but Hermione’s spell struck the other square on. He yelped like a kicked dog and fell from the sky. Ron leaned forward and followed the crumpled mass downward.

“Keep casting!” he called to Hermione. “I’ll do the driving.”

“Why does that not comfort me?” she called. “Reducto!” she cast, but again missed the bat vampire. “Sly devil, that one.”

It was difficult twisting backward and casting spells, but she was beginning to see a pattern in the vampire’s flight. She was about to cast a spell when another creature appeared on their left, so grotesque in appearance, Hermione froze for but a moment. His face was green and skeletal as if someone had poured candle wax over a rotted corpse and the wax had not yet set. His red eyes were piercing, but the look gave Hermione an idea. She held her wand out at the newcomer.

“Incendio!” It wasn’t a true hit, but the tatters of robes the vampire had draped over it caught fire, forcing him to stop in mid-air to attend to the flames.

“Duck!” yelled Ron. Hermione complied, almost sensing the guidance before Ron said it. A tree branch flew past. It struck the bat-like vampire, plunging a broken fork of wood some six inches into its chest. Blood spattered from his mouth and he crumpled to the ground below. She cursed herself for letting him get that close.

Ron flew like a madman, moving fearlessly through the forest trees. Branch after branch whizzed by their heads and more than a few scraped at their robes. She was beginning to think that maybe they had lost their pursuers. Ron may have too, because the sharp turns and zigzags were diminishing. It was then that the vampire with the green head appeared directly in front of them and with him was another bat-like vampire, its fur a golden beige. Ron stopped suddenly, causing Hermione, who was turned backward, to nearly flip off the broom despite its gripping charms.

“I thought you said there were only three!” she cried.

“I said maybe three!” snapped Ron, pulling the broom hard left as Hermione cast another fire spell.

“Well there were more! Oh, Merlin! The new one… it’s a wizard!”

The beige one held a wand in the fingers of his clawed hand, growled, and cast a beam of green light.

“Turn!” Hermione cried, but Ron already was. It was as if he was anticipating their every move. He deftly avoided three more spells without once looking back over his shoulder.

“Hold tight.” Ron pulled up on the broom, breaking through an opening in the forest canopy. All of them shot up in the night sky, the moonlight glistening off the vampires, giving Hermione an easier shot, but also making their position more vulnerable. Ron shot forward in a straight line over the treetops, the vampires in direct pursuit, their huge wings brushing the tops of the trees.

“Incarcerous!” Braids of rope spewed from the tip of Hermione’s wand and, with a little flick of her wrist, a large net flew backwards. It engulfed the skeletal vampire, pulling his wings in and turning him into a large flying rock. She could hear the bones breaking as he crashed into forest canopy.

In return, the wizard vampire cast a stunner that struck the bristles of Ron’s broom, singing Hermione’s robes and burning her left leg. The broom lurched briefly to the right before he got it back under control.

“That was too close,” said Hermione, trying to heal the injury.

“Yep.”

“I like the trees better,” she said, almost immediately regretting the words.

“Me too,” Ron agreed and he nosed down on the broom descending back into the darkness.

Once again, the branches tore at their robes until they finally plunged through the canopy. They were moving as fast as Ron dared, flashes of white streaming by on either side. Ghosts continued to fill the forest.

“He’s still on us!” called Hermione, forced to cast a shield charm in defence of the vampire’s last stunner. “We better do something soon; this isn’t working!”

“I know!”

There was an enormous tree in the distance and Ron willed his broom faster. He would have to time this right and with two it would be difficult. Faster. All thought was on the impending tree when he saw her. In a clearing, just to the right of Ron’s path to mutual assured destruction, was a brilliant white Centaur. Golden hair draped loosely down her shoulders. She was nude from the waist up with only a quiver of arrows hung over her back connected to a leather thong that passed between her two ample breasts.

Faster… Thought of the tree flickered as Ron’s attentions suddenly swung toward the Centaur. He was so enthralled he didn’t even notice her notch the arrow.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, now looking back at her and totally disregarding the tree.

“Ron! Turn!”

He spun around just in time to pull hard left, but it wasn’t enough. The trunk of the tree clipped their already tattered broom bristles sending a shock that shattered the entire broom into a thousand splinters. The pair went tumbling in the air, crashing through bracken to the ground below. Ron bounced like a basketball upon the forest floor till he came to rest under a clump of ferns. His ears ringing, he lifted his head off the ground just in time to see the vampire land on Hermione.

He screamed her name, reaching for his wand, but it had been lost in the fall. Wandless, he jumped to his feet and ran at the creature. “Get off, you fucking—” He threw himself on the vampire’s enormous back, wrapping both arms around its neck and heaving as hard as he could to pull it off her. “I’ll rip your—” Surprisingly, the vampire didn’t resist and he flung it over on its back only to see an arrow plunged deep into its throat.

Breathing hard, a small gash dripping blood down her forehead, Hermione stood unsteadily and took Ron by the arm.

“Are you okay?” he asked. But Hermione stepped past Ron toward the creature on the ground. Together they looked down as it gasped for air like a fish out of water. Its eyes were no longer red, but blue.

“He needs our help,” she said, reaching for the arrow.

“Hermione—”

“That will not be necessary,” said a voice to their side. There was a fzzz-thwup and another arrow pierced the vampire’s chest. Instantly, its laboured breathing stopped. There was a long, slow exhale. The bat-like features faded, replaced by those of a wizard… a wizard Hermione recognized from a shop in Diagon Alley.

With one last effort he reached up and grasped Hermione by the robes. “The boy,” he breathed and then went silent, closing his eyes.

“Harry?” questioned Ron.

“Jamie,” Hermione whispered, looking up into Ron’s eyes.

“The boy of Harry Potter,” said the white Centaur in agreement with Hermione, stepping closer to them.

“You… you…” Ron muttered and then looked away. “You know Harry?”

“I trained with him,” she replied. “I am Felspar.” She slipped her bow back over her shoulder.

“I am Hermione. This is Ron. We’re Harry’s friends.”

Felspar looked closely at Hermione. She reached down and held her bushy hair in her fingers and then looked back to the sky. Hermione couldn’t make out the expression on her face, but it was not a welcoming one.

“We have met, Hermione Granger. Two years ago my uncle nearly killed you for entering these woods. If it had not been for Albus Dumbledore, we would have certainly slayed the witch protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” said Hermione incredulously.

“Umbridge,” whispered Ron.

“You would be wise not to speak such a name in these woods, Ron Weasley.”

“Felspar, Professor Umb… er, that woman was not protecting me. She was wicked and vile.”

“On this we can agree, Hermione Granger.” Felspar stepped over and placed a hoof on the dead wizard’s chest. She reached down and retrieved her arrows, the blood vanishing from them as soon as they were exposed to the air. His corpse sunk into the earth below. “These creatures are rare in our woods,” she said, slipping the arrows in her quiver. “Ronan said the night would be… interesting. He is never wrong.”

Ron, his ears still ringing from the collision with the tree, shook his head, trying to focus on his original plan. “Are you going to Terntalag?” he asked.

“I patrol this portion of the forest,” replied Felspar. “I believe Ronan thought it would be safer here, farther away from the forest edge. So, perhaps, he is not always right… but I wonder.” She looked up to the sky not fully answering the question and frustrating Ron despite her beauty.

“Can you take her? I mean, can you take Hermione to Terntalag?”

“What?” asked Hermione. “You mean take us, right?”

“You can’t be out here, Hermione,” said Ron, holding her by the hands. “Terntalag is safer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked irritably, wiping the drips of blood out of the corner of her eye. “I can fight just as easily as—”

“Your mate is right,” inserted Felspar. “While it is noble to offer, your condition warrants that you not fight.”

“My con—”

“Hermione,” said Ron, grabbing her by the arm, “you nearly died today!”

“Humph!” Hermione exclaimed dismissively. “I’m not the one without a wand!” With a flick of her own wand she summoned Ron’s and handed it to him. “Here,” she said snidely.

“Not here, not up on my broom,” said Ron, bringing her closer. “In the caves, after the explosion with Patrick, I… I thought I’d lost you. You don’t even see it, but you were gone. They said you were going to die. Harry brought you back and nearly died trying and you think you just had a nap.”

“I don’t think—”

“I won’t let that happen again… not again. I can’t.” He caressed her face with his hand. “Please… just go with Felspar.”

Hermione took Ron’s hand in her own and brought it down, holding it over her heart. “Ron, do you think I could live with myself, if something happened to you?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. You need to—”

“We need to,” said Hermione. “Don’t you remember? Forever… together—”

“—till the end.” Ron moved in closer. “Yeah, I remember,” he muttered, looking down at his feet, not wishing to acknowledge his pledge when they were engaged. But at the same time he was suddenly glowing inside. It was the first time since Voldemort had taken control of Ron’s body that she had even acknowledged they were still engaged. She had stopped wearing the ring long ago.

It was also the first time that Ron felt Hermione press in closer. Before, as they would hold hands, or come nearer, he could sense an underlying repulsion as if he wore some hideous mask that disgusted her no matter how hard she tried to see past it. For the first time, she overlooked the scars of his soul and held its true warmth.

“I love you,” he whispered and they kissed. When she pulled back she was glowing, a warm smile spread broadly across her face lighting up the world. Then, for an instant, it faltered, her mind remembering something that she quickly pushed away.

“I love you t—”

Something crashed through the forest on their left. They looked up just in time to see a flash of black pass by. Neither Ron nor Hermione could make out what it was, but Felspar knew at once.

“Shahan,” she muttered. “He was to watch the southern quarter.” Her hoof clawed at the ground.

“Shahan?” asked Hermione. “I’ve heard that name. Harry mentioned it. He trained with you too? He’s a Centaur.”

“My cousin,” answered Felspar. “His foolish ways will kill us all. He was supposed to watch the southern quarter.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” said Ron coolly.

“He can not go to the north. The falls…” Her hoof clawed at the ground again. It was clear she was agitated. She looked to the sky as if searching for answers. Both Ron and Hermione turned their gaze upward as well. It was then they saw them – about two dozen dragons, a mix of Welsh Green and Chinese Fireballs, heading from the north. The beating of their wings in the air was rhythmic and pulsating. Every now and then one of them would breathe fire and the others would cry out in an awful roar.

“Laughter,” muttered Felspar.

“Where are they headed?” asked Hermione.

“Hogwarts,” suggested Ron.

“No,” corrected Felspar. “The creatures fly toward Terntalag. They are drawn to the wizards being guided by Firenze.” She said these last words with contempt. Her gaze then returned to earth, looking north in the direction that Shahan was running. Which way to go? Then her mind began to focus as she recalled one of her lessons.

“In this forest, all living things are connected. When one feels joy, all feel joy, and when one feels pain…” She spun about and, before Ron or Hermione blinked, she launched three arrows at a distant tree. From the darkness, Hermione heard the faint thwump, thwump-thwump as they struck their target.

“The message has been sent,” said Felspar. “I must now go retrieve my cousin before he is lost forever. Good-bye Hermione Granger. Good-bye Ron Weasley.” Felspar bowed respectfully. “It is good to see love such as yours in these times.”

“Wait,” cried Hermione. “Please, take us with you!”

“It’s not safe here,” added Ron. “The falls… you mentioned the falls. Others are retreating there.” Felspar looked curiously at the red head, tilting her head slightly to one side.

“Who in their right mind would suggest such a thing?” she asked. “None save the Chosen could survive their touch.”

“I have,” said Ron quietly.

Felspar reared backward and then, slowly, moved closer, looking intently into Ron’s eyes, trying to discern truth from lie. With a graceful, yet strikingly swift motion, she grabbed a knife hidden along the edge of the leather thong she was wearing. “There are those, even among the Centaur, who blame you for the death Albus Dumbledore.”

“I know,” said Ron, sadly, still holding her gaze. “They would be right; it was my fault.”

“That’s not true!” said Hermione, coming to his side, almost using herself as a shield. “It was Voldemort; he’d taken control. Ron had no way to withstand the power that had overtaken him.”

“Can you be so sure?” asked Felspar. “Even a mouse will take on the Manticore when cornered.”

“But the mouse becomes the meal nonetheless,” countered Hermione.

“Yes,” pressed Felspar, still holding the knife in Ron’s face, “but did this mouse fight? Did this mouse, who claims to have survived the Cleansing, fight still knowing he could not win?”

“Yes,” answered Hermione.

“Can you be so sure he fought, not just for himself, but for the others he loved?” Felspar’s eyes moved from Ron and narrowed on Hermione.

“Yes,” said Hermione instantly as Ron turned to look at her. “Yes, I’m sure.”

As quickly as it had appeared, the knife vanished. Felspar smiled slyly and placed her hands on the top of their heads, patting them as if they were pets. “I see now why your love is so strong.” She looked back up toward the stars and whispered, “An interesting night, Ronan.” She looked back at the couple.

“I think Shahan would say you lie like wizards. I guess we’ll find out.” Felspar then turned north. “Climb on you two. If my dam hears I had a wizard on my back, let alone two… No matter. If the signs hold true, we head to our deaths anyway.”

Ron helped Hermione climb up and then she lent him a hand as he climbed on as well. In a flash they were racing through the forest at amazing speed, Ron clutching on to Hermione’s waist and Hermione clutching onto Felspar.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered.

“What is it?” asked Hermione.

“Nothing,” said Ron ruefully, wondering why he hadn’t climbed on first.

________________________________________
Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 45 – To See Again

~~~***~~~

The halls of Hogwarts were deserted as Harry made his way up to the Headmaster’s office. He’d been down this corridor many times before, after curfew, in the dark, alone, with only the stoic suits of armour and sleeping patrons of the portraits for company. Tonight, however, many of the portraits hung empty. The few who remained in their frames were frightened, huddled behind whatever scenery they could, some consoling the charred victims of portraits from Hogsmeade. The muffled sobs and hushed condolences accompanied Harry as he walked, filling the air with fear and sorrow. So much so, in fact, that even the armour seemed to shiver in anticipation of what was to come. He was halfway down the long corridor when he noticed that they had noticed. A few had recognized him and they, in turn, were telling others.

“It’s him.” “He’s back.” “Who?” “The Potter boy.”

There was a rustling among the portraits as fear began battling with confidence, and sorrow was challenged by hope.

“The Professor’s have retreated.”

“They haven’t retreated; they’re taking up positions about the castle!”

“Ohhh, our doom is at hand.”

“You heard what Dumbledore said. The end is near and it’s not ours; it’s Voldemort’s!”

Then there was a loud, commanding voice that called from the left, “Harry!”
He turned to find Sir Cadogan in a nearby portrait of fruit. He was dressed in sterling armour, a lance, with a skewered pear at its tip, in his right hand. “My boy, are you here to defend the castle? My informants tell me that the enemy has breached the gate. Glory is at hand! Where’s your armour boy?”

“Erm… Sir Cadogan… er… I’ve been sent by the Headmaster to deliver a top secret message. I have to leave for a bit, but…” Harry moved closer to the portrait and lowered his voice. “I need your help.”

“Anything… anything at all!”

“We can’t have people huddled in the corners of their pictures, hiding. All eyes must be open wide and all information must be passed to the Headmaster. This is not a time for fear, sir; it’s a time to show the true colours of Hogwarts!”

“Well, said!” cried Sir Cadogan. “I’ll muster our troops immediately!” And at once he started racing from one portrait to the other, gathering the residents and telling all to remain vigilant in this their hour of need.

Harry smiled as he continued to the Headmaster’s office, sensing the panic being pushed back and wondering if, out of the corner of his eye, he didn’t see the suits of armour stand that much more erect, holding out their chests and gripping their weapons that much more tightly.

He arrived at the circular staircase in surprisingly good spirits and was about to say the password when the whispering began again. “Your love, Harry.” It was like a fly buzzing in his ear and he tried to swat it away. “Tonight, she dies.”
“Stop it!” he cried to the empty air. “Leave me alone!” He muttered the password, flea-collar, and began the ride upward even as his spirit began to sink. He was about to step off when a ghost rose up out of the floor. Hoping it was Peeves, he pulled his wand, but instead saw it was Sir Nicholas wearing an expression of fatherly concern.

“Hello, Harry,” he said solemnly. “Terrible night, eh?”

Harry nodded, tried to muster a smile and said, “It’s good to see you, again.”

“Ever the brave one, aren’t you, Harry?” said Sir Nicholas proudly. “Gryffindor through and through.”

Together they stepped to the Headmaster’s door. “I’ve never really been brave,” said Sir Nicholas pensively. “I was a blubbering cry-baby when they chopped my head off.”

“Nearly, chopped your head off,” corrected Harry.

“Yes. Nearly,” answered Sir Nicholas, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t stop crying until the twentieth chop and I probably would have continued if my windpipe had remained connected.” He sighed. “I never understood why Headmaster Fortescue allowed me to be resident ghost of Gryffindor. For hundreds of years I’ve haunted these halls, wondering why Gryffindor. Tonight I finally understand. It’s because of you, Harry.”

“Me?” asked Harry. “Why me?”

“I’ve spoken with Helena. The path to the other side is at hand and you will be our guide. Some are confused… others are frightful, doubting your true intentions with their souls.”

“Intentions? What—”

“But I know you,” interrupted Sir Nicholas. “I’ve known you for seven years, but more importantly I was there when you first crossed over.” He placed his hand upon Harry’s shoulder. “I watched, tonight, as you brought back Hermione.” Harry could feel the weight and the pressure of Nicholas’ fingers gently squeezing. “It’ll be up to me to lead the others who wouldn’t otherwise take the journey. For the first time I see my true destiny.”

Harry was about to say something when the whispering began again. “Hurry, Harry. Hurry.”
“Hmmph,” grumbled Sir Nicholas as he narrowed his eyes.

“Did you hear that?” asked Harry eagerly. Sir Nicholas scowled.

“Shoo!” he said waiving his hand in the air as if he were coaxing a dog off the front porch. “Go on! Get out of here!” He waved a few more times and then seemingly satisfied wiped his hands on the front of his clothes. “Ghastly things.”

“What… what are they? What did you see?”

“Reapers, Harry.” Sir Nicholas clucked his tongue. “They should know better, talking to the living.”

“Reapers?”

“Harvesters of souls, Harry, and the ghosts wandering the forest are proof enough that they don’t do a very good job!” He raised his voice at the end, as if hoping there might be a reaper or two within earshot. “That one…” Nicholas pointed somewhere behind Harry’s left ear. “That one was supposed to collect you after your run in with Greg Goyle’s broom, only he was flirting with a ghost in Hogsmeade, as if he could ever…” Sir Nicholas crossed his arms and Harry sensed a bit of jealousy. “They’re supposed to watch silently until the moment arrives, but are all too often distracted. If you fail enough times, you get assigned to cat patrol.

“You’re the first botched job that I can recall that’s come back still alive. Tonight makes two. There was reaper waiting for Hermione. If they botch a job and let one slip through their fingers, they tend to hang around… try again. Usually, they follow the spirits of the dead who haven’t chosen to be ghosts. If a soul doesn’t outright turn down an offer to cross over, they always have another opportunity, so reapers try to convince them to get their soul count up. Young spirits are usually the easiest to persuade. You see, if no one tells you you’re dead when you die, sometimes you just keep on going and, when a reaper comes later, you just don’t believe them. Professor Bins’ reaper was assigned to cat patrol in London a century ago.”

“What are young spirits?” asked Harry.

“Young spirits, newly dead. They often have difficulty revealing themselves.” Sir Nicholas looked down and to the side of Harry as if gazing at another student. “Like your friend here. If he’s been following you about, that might explain things. I always liked you, Patrick, but you really must leave Harry alone. The reapers are annoying and he has things to—”

“Patrick!” exclaimed Harry. “Patrick’s here?” A subtle tug on Harry’s arm from an invisible force answered his question. “Are you okay?” Harry asked, holding out his hand to the empty air.

“Of course he’s not okay,” chided Sir Nicholas. “He’s dead and, I might add, he’s made a terrible choice to ignore the reapers.” Nicholas turned to the invisible Patrick. “You need to listen to their offer, boy! If you had any sense at all, you would— No need to get angry!”

The floor began to tremble and, for a moment, Patrick appeared at Harry’s side. He was a shadow of his former self, constructed of nothing more than a faint cloud of white mist. The expression on his face, however, was one of pure exacerbation. He grabbed Harry by the front of his jacket.

“Ron!” he yelled, but it came out in a whisper. “You need Ron. Hurry!”

All at once, Patrick faded and the pressure on the front of Harry’s jacket released. Harry called his name, but there was no answer.

“A bit too much for him, I’m afraid,” said Sir Nicholas. “He’ll need to gather his energy before he can do that again. If you’re smart, Patrick, you’ll muster with the rest of the ghosts when the time comes and leave Harry here alone.”

Harry wasn’t listening. His mind was swirling. Before Patrick had died, one of the last things he said to Ron was that he could defeat Voldemort. But how? Where to start? He didn’t have a clue where Ron might be. And what of Jamie and Cho? Gabriella, at least, was safe in the caverns below. But then Harry’s stomach began to twist into a knot, recalling the reapers words. Perhaps she wasn’t so safe after all.

“Terntalag,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got to get to Terntalag.” He turned and opened the door to the Headmaster’s office only half acknowledging Sir Nicholas with a distracted wave of the hand and saying, “Thank you, Patrick,” to the ether. No sooner had he closed the door than his arm began to burn. He put his left hand over the sensation, knowing what it was, but unwilling to look.

“That took you awhile.”

Sirius was standing at a table with the same magical instrument Dumbledore had used to track his friends and foes. Stars of multi-coloured lights swam about in a great sphere.

“I got distracted,” answered Harry, quickly moving toward the window. There was a broom leaning there and the window was open. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“There’s a lot to be done.” Sirius shrugged and then pointed at Harry’s arm. “Are you injured?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” said Harry, but the sensation was getting worse. He tried to rub it, hoping it would stop, but the burning only intensified.

“They’re calling you, aren’t they?” Sirius said knowingly. “Your friends… the dragons.”

“Friends? They nearly killed Neville,” spat Harry. “They can rot for all I care.”

“And yet they call.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Singehorn can’t really think I would join them in the fight against the castle.”

“He already challenged you to join them,” said Sirius, still examining the sphere. “You should answer it. Let him know your answer.”

“He knows my answer. Besides, it may be a trap to keep me held in the other plane.”

“I doubt it. Time has no meaning there, Harry. They can’t hold you forever.”

Harry recalled Singehorn’s sudden surprise when he was attacked while still in the other plane, saying that the sands of time don’t stay perfectly still. He pulled his sleeve back and looked at his right forearm. The dragon was writhing wildly on his arm and the Viswa Vajra was pulsating. If Harry understood correctly, the dragons were in battle against evil and needed his help. Well, what they believed was evil anyway.

“I won’t help you destroy the Wizarding world,” he muttered to his wrist as if Singehorn was somehow listening on the other side. The dragon on his arm seemed to look up at him and smile in response. Harry yanked his sleeve down and reached for the broom.

“Is Blaise, okay?” he asked.

“He’s walking about, watching the wireless with the others. Whatever Neville gave him has him back on his feet again.”

Satisfied that he had fulfilled Draco’s request Harry nodded and, before he left, he looked back at his godfather to ask one last question, a question he already knew the answer to.

“Sirius, Gabriella is supposed to be in the caverns below the castle too. Is she?”

“No Harry. She’s somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Do you know where?”

“No. The gathering of so many ghosts makes it difficult to see, but for now at least she’s fine.”

“Damn it! I told her…” Harry sighed with resignation. “What about—”

“From what I can see, all the others are fine, and they’re all in the forest, which is where they’re supposed to be. Still, their centres are not quite right. Something tells me that they’re not exactly where they’re supposed to be.”

“I understand,” Harry said with a nod.

“This too. There’s a darkness moving in from the north. It might be Voldemort; it might be something else. Whatever you had hoped the dragons would protect is no longer secure.”

“Terntalag?”

“I’d start there, Harry, but it might be the falls. There are wizards heading to both, but Terntalag is the most vulnerable. First, see if Firenze needs help, then try the falls. In about two hours we should know how the night will end.”

“What do you mean? What happens in two hours?”

“Just be at the falls by then, Harry. I’ll see you there.”

“How—”

“Play it smart, Harry. I’ll see you there.”

Harry was about to press the question, when his arm bit at him again, sending a sharp pain all the way up to his shoulder. His mind turned to the dragons of the northern mountains and then to Terntalag. The urge to fly there was overwhelming. When he looked up, Sirius was gone. Harry climbed onto the broom, took one last look at the office he’d come to love, and flew out the window.

He slipped past the south tower and noticed witches and wizards taking up positions at all the open windows and along the ramparts. Out behind the Quidditch pitch, four giants sat with trees in their hands. Hagrid was talking to one, his arms swung out wide to emphasize whatever point he was making. As Harry swooped around Gryffindor, he looked south. There, marching up from the front gate, was an enormous host. Half a dozen giants led the way with a swarm of Dementors swirling about them. There were a number of Death Eaters dressed in black, marching behind the giants and in the air, yet further back, vampires hovered. Flashes of light filled the night sky as the protections about the castle came to life. One giant was blasted off his feet. Landing backward, he crushed a number of wizards on the ground. Harry pumped his fist, admiring his godfather’s handiwork.

Knowing in his heart that there were none near, Harry still scanned the sky for dragons. Finding only the moon and the comet Ebyrth plummeting toward Mars, he had a strong desire to stay and fight. He wanted deeply to protect Hogwarts his home, but again his arm burned and, almost reflexively, he tilted the nose of the broom, arcing in the sky and heading towards Terntalag. He had a duty to help the Centaurs if he could and his arm was urging him forward. He was refusing to answer the call of the dragon, but knew he was being pulled uncontrollably toward them.

It was exhilarating to be flying again. Harry skimmed close to the forest canopy and could sense the strengthening of the forest’s energy as he drew closer to the source of its power – the falls. It was a healing sensation, strengthening him from within and vanquishing whatever depletion he suffered from healing Hermione. As he flew he cast his patronus randomly about the forest, calling for his friends and hoping they might respond. It wasn’t long before he saw, in the distance, the glint of scales in the moonlight and the flashing of flames above the treetops. Terntalag was on fire; he was too late. Without thinking, Harry tucked and accelerated. In a matter of seconds he found himself in the midst of a dozen dragons; most were Chinese Fireballs. None were faces he recognized, but with the ring he could hear their laughter.

“What are you doing!” he cried out. “Stop!”

“Ahh, look,” growled a greenish Fireball, “The Hungarian lapdog!” The dragon was battle weary, Harry could sense that. Fresh gashes dripped blood from its long neck. They were not the marks made by Wizarding spells.

“Arrows?” he thought to himself.

The dragon stopped its dive on the village below and turned in a large arc toward Harry. Its fellow dragons moved higher into the air as if they were taking seats for a Quidditch match. Harry looked down, searching with his mind for life within the fire, but the flames were too bright.

“Primate,” hissed the dragon as smoke billowed from his nose. He was about to strike. “I’ll show Singehorn what I think of his Votary.”

Harry wasn’t sure that it would work, but something inside told him that it might. For an instant, he thought it too cruel, but hearing the name Singehorn infused Harry with a greater aggression and with the dragon ready to erupt the moment of compassion passed. Harry held out his hand bearing the ring of Pravus in something of a fist, the black stone facing the dragon, and cried, “Stop!” centring his mind on that of the beast before him.

The great head of the beast seemed to stop in mid-air as it cried out in pain unable to resist. With a loud crack, its body swung forward below its neck, sending it into a great cartwheel through the sky until it began to plummet to the earth. When the dragon struck the ground it erupted in a great fireball, razing the nearby trees.

“That went better than I had hoped,” muttered Harry to himself. Suddenly the dragons that had been watching shook the stun of defeat from their minds and attacked in unison. Flame rained down upon him, but it was not concentrated and had no effect. Swinging his broom out from under the onslaught, he again used the ring. He picked the two closest dragons and commanded, “Protect!”

It was as if he was using the Imperious Curse, only now he meant it and he didn’t care what others thought. Harry smiled, feeling the pain and turmoil of the beasts as they unwillingly turned on their own. They threw themselves into the paths of the others, breathing fire and slashing with their claws. Two of their friends were gutted in mid-air, completely unprepared for the attack. The others realized what was happening and killed the two under Harry’s control, but not before one lost a hand to his ally.

“He has the ring,” growled the dragon as he ca