He forced his way back through the tide of students， finally reaching the bottom  of the stairs， where Nearly Headless Nick， ghost of Gryffindor Tower， stood waiting for  him.        
"Harry! My dear boy!"        
Nick made to grasp Harry’s hａｎｄs with both of his own; Harry felt as though they  had been thrust into icy water.        
"Nick， you’ve got to help me. Who’s the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?"        
Nearly Headless Nick looked surprised ａｎｄ a little offended.        
"The Gray Lady， of course; but if it is ghostly services you require -?"        
"It’s got to be her - d’you know where she is?"        
"Let’s see..."        
Nick’s head wobbled a little on his ruff as he turned hither ａｎｄ thither， peering  over the heads of the swarming students.        
"That’s her over there， Harry， the young woman with the long hair."        
Harry looked in the direction of Nick’s transparent， pointing finger ａｎｄ saw a tall  ghost who caught sight of Harry looking at her， raised her eyebrows， ａｎｄ drifted away  through a solid wall.        
Harry ran after her. Once through the door of the corridor into which she had  disappeared， he saw her at the very end of the passage， still gliding smoothly away from  him.        
"hey - wait - come back!"        
She consented to pause， floating a few inches from the ground. Harry supposed  that she was beautiful， with her waist-length hair ａｎｄ floor-length cloak， but she also     looked haughty ａｎｄ proud. Close in， he recognized her as a ghost he had passed several  times in the corridor， but to whom he had never spoken.        
"You’re the Gray Lady?"        
She nodded but did not speak.        
"The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?"        
"That is correct."        
Her tone was not encouraging.        
"Please， I need some help. I need to know anything you can tell me about the lost  diadem."        
A cold smile curved her lips.        
"I am afraid，" she said， turning to leave， "that I cannot help you."        
"WAIT!"        
He had not meant to shout， but anger ａｎｄ panic were threatening to overwhelm  him. He glanced at his watch as she hovered in front of him. It was a quarter to midnight.        
"This is urgent." he said fiercely. "If that diadem’s at Hogwarts， I’ve got to find it，  fast."        
"You are hardly the first student to covet the diadem." she said disdainfully.  "Generations of students have badgered me -"        
"This isn’t about trying to get better marks!" Harry shouted at her， "It’s about  Voldemort - defeating Voldemort - or aren’t you interested in that?"        
She could not blush， but her transparent cheeks became more opaque， ａｎｄ her  voice was heated as she replied， "Of course I - how dare you suggest -?"        
"Well， help me then!"        
Her composure was slipping.        
"It - it is not a question of -" she stammered. My mother’s diadem -"        
"Your mother’s?"        
She looked angry with herself.          
"When I lived，" she said stiffly， "I was Helena Ravenclaw."        
"You’re her daughter? But then， you must know what happed to it."              
"While the diadem bestows wisdom，" she said with an obvious effort to pull  herself together， "I doubt that it would greatly increase you chances of defeating the  wizard who calls himself Lord -"        
Haven’t I told you， I’m not interested in wearing it!" Harry said fiercely. "There’s  no time to explain - but if you care about Hogwarts， if you want to see Voldemort  finished， you’ve got to tell me anything you know about the diadem!"        
She remained quite still， floating in midair， staring down at him， ａｎｄ a sense of  hopelessness engulfed Harry. Of course， if she had known anything， she would have told  Flitwick of Dumbledore， who had surely asked her the same question. He had shaken his  head ａｎｄ made to turn away when she spoke in a low voice.        
"I stole the diadem from my mother."        
"You - you did what?"        
"I stole the diadem." repeated Helena Ravenclaw in a whisper. "I sought to make  myself cleverer， more important than my mother. I ran away with it."        
He did not know how he had managed to gain her confidence ａｎｄ did not ask， he  simply listened， hard， as she went on.        
"My mother， they say， never admitted that the diadem was gone， but pretended  that she had it still. She concealed her loss， my dreadful betrayal， even from the other  founders of Hogwarts.        
"Then my mother fell ill - fatally ill. In spite of my perfidy， she was desperate to  see me one more time. She sent a man who had long loved me， though I spurned his  advances， to find me. She knew that he would not rest until he had done so."        
Harry waited. She drew a deep breath ａｎｄ threw back her head.        
"He tracked me to the forest where I was hiding. When I refused to return with  him， he became violent. The baron was always a hot-tempered man. Furious at my  refusal， jealous of my freedom， he stabbed me."        
"The Baron? You mean -?"         
"he Bloody Baron， yes，" said the Gray Lady， ａｎｄ she lifted aside the cloak she  wore to reveal a single dark wound in her white chest. When he saw what he had done，  he was overcome with remorse. He took the weapon that had claimed my life， ａｎｄ used  it to kill himself. All these centuries later， he wears his chains as an act of penitence ... as  he should." she added bitterly.        
"And - ａｎｄ the diadem?"        
"It remained where I had hidden it when I heard the Baron blundering through the  forest toward me. Concealed inside a hollow tree."        
"A hollow tree?" repeated Harry. "What tree? Where was this?"        
"A forest in Albania. A lonely place I thought was far beyond my mother’s  reach."        
"Albania，" repeated Harry. Sense was emerging miraculously from confusion，  ａｎｄ now he understood why she was telling him what she had denied Dumbledore ａｎｄ  Flitwick. "You’ve already told someone this story， haven’t you? Another student?"        
She closed her eyes ａｎｄ nodded.        
"I had... no idea... He was flattering. He seemed to... understａｎｄ... to  sympathize..."        
Yes， Harry thought. Tom Riddle would certainly have understood Helena  Ravenclaw’s desire to possess fabulous objects to which she had little right.        
"Well， you weren’t the first person Riddle wormed things out of." Harry muttered.  "He could be charming when he wanted..."        
So， Voldemort had managed to wheedle the location of the lost diadem out of the  Gray Lady. He had traveled to that far-flung forest ａｎｄ retrieved the diadem from its  hiding place， perhaps as soon as he left Hogwarts， before he even started work at Borgin  ａｎｄ Burkes.        
And wouldn’t those secluded Albanian woods have seemed an excellent refuge  when， so much later， Voldemort ａｎｄ needed a place to lie low， undisturbed， for ten long  years?        
But the diadem， once it became his precious Horcrux， had not been left in that  lowly tree. . . . No， the diadem had been returned secretly to its true home， ａｎｄ Voldemort  must have put it there –    
“—the night he asked for a job!” said Harry， finishing his thought.    
“I beg your pardon?”    
“He hid the diadem in the castle， the night he asked Dumbledore to let him  teach!” said Harry. Saying it out loud enabled him to make sense of it all. “He must’ve  hidden the diadem on his way up to， or down from， Dumbledore’s office! But it was well  worth trying to get the job – then he might’ve got the chance to nick Gryffindor’s sword  as well – thank you， thanks!”    
Harry left her floating there， looking utterly bewildered. As he rounded the corner  back into the entrance hall， he checked his watch. It was five minutes until midnight， ａｎｄ  though he now knew what the last Horcrux was， he was no closer to discovering where it  was. . .    
Generations of students had failed to find the diadem; that suggested that it was  not in Ravenclaw Tower – but if not there， where? What hiding place had Tom Riddle  discovered inside Hogwarts Castle， that he believed would remain secret forever?    
Lost in desperate speculation， Harry turned a corner， but he had taken only a few  steps down the new corridor when the window to his left broke open with a deafening，  shattering crash. As he leapt aside， a gigantic body flew in through the window ａｎｄ hit  the opposite wall.    Something large ａｎｄ furry detached itself， whimpering， from the new arrival ａｎｄ flung  itself at Harry.    
“Hagrid!” Harry bellowed， fighting off Fang the boarhound’s attentions as the  enormous bearded figure clambered to his feet “What the --?”    
“Harry， yer here! Yer here!”    
Hagrid stooped down， bestowed upon Harry a cursory ａｎｄ rib-cracking hug， then  ran back to the shattered window.    
“Good boy， Grawpy!” he bellowed through the hole in the window. “I’ll se yer in  a moment， there’s a good lad!”    
Beyond Hagrid， out in the dark night， Harry saw bursts of light in the distance ａｎｄ  heard a weird， keening scream. He looked down at his watch: It was midnight. The battle  had begun.    
“Blimey， Harry，” panted Hagrid， “this is it， eh? Time ter fight?”    
“Hagrid， where have you come from?”    
“Heard You-Know-Who from up in our cave，” said Hagrid grimly. “Voice carried，  didn’t it? ‘Yet got till midnight ter gimme Potter.’ Knew yeh mus’ be here， knew that  mus’ be happenin’. Get down， Fang. So we come ter join in， me an’ Grawpy an’ Fang.  Smashed our way through the boundary by the forest， Grawpy was carryin’ us， Fang an’  me. Told him ter let me down at the castle， so he shoved me through the window， bless  him. Not exactly what I meant， bu’ – where’s Ron an’ Hermione?”    
“That，” said Harry， “is a really good question. Come on.”    
They hurried together along the corridor， Fang lolloping beside them. Harry could  hear movement through the corridors all around: running footsteps， shouts; through the  windows， he could see more flashes of light in the dark grounds.    
“Where’re we goin’?” puffed Hagrid， pounding along at Harry’s heels， making  the floorboards quake.    
“I dunno exactly，” said Harry， making another rａｎｄom turn， “but Ron ａｎｄ  Hermione must be around here somewhere. . . .”    
The first casualties of the battle were already strewn across the passage ahead:  The two stone gargoyles that usually guarded the entrance to the staffroom had been     smashed apart by a jinx that had sailed through another broken window. Their remains  stirred feebly on the floor， ａｎｄ as Harry leapt over one of their disembodied heads， it  moaned faintly. “Oh， don’t mind me . . . I’ll just be here ａｎｄ crumble. . . .”    
Its ugly stone face made Harry think suddenly of the marble bust of Rowena  Ravenclaw at Xenophilius’s house， wearing that mad headdress – ａｎｄ then of the statue  in Ravenclaw Tower， with the stone diadem upon her white curls. . . .    
And as he reached the end of the passage， the memory of a third stone effigy  came back to him: that of an ugly old warlock， onto whose head Harry himself had  placed a wig ａｎｄ a battered old hat. The shock shot through Harry with the heat of  firewhisky， ａｎｄ he nearly stumbled.    
He knew， at least， where the Horcrux sat waiting for him. . . .    
Tom Riddle， who confided in no one ａｎｄ operated alone， might have been  arrogant enough to assume that he， ａｎｄ only he， had penetrated the deepest mysteries of  Hogwarts Castle. Of course， Dumbledore ａｎｄ Flitwick， those model pupils， had never set  foot in that particular place， but he， Harry， had strayed off the beaten track in his time at  school – here at least was a secret area he ａｎｄ Voldemort knew， that Dumbledore had  never discovered –    
He was roused by Professor Sprout， who was thundering past followed by Neville  ａｎｄ half a dozen others， all of them wearing earmuffs ａｎｄ carrying what appeared to be  large potted plants.    
“Mａｎｄrakes!” Neville bellowed at Harry over his shoulder as he ran. “Going to  lob them over the walls – they won’t like this!”    
Harry knew now where to go. He sped off， with Hagrid ａｎｄ Fang galloping  behind him. They passed portrait after portrait， ａｎｄ the painted figures raced alongside  them， wizards ａｎｄ witches in ruffs ａｎｄ breeches， in armor ａｎｄ cloaks， cramming  themselves into each others’ canvases， screaming news from other parts of the castle. As  they reached the end of this corridor， the whole castle shook， ａｎｄ Harry knew， as a  gigantic vase blew off its plinth with explosive force， that it was in the grip of  enchantments more sinister than those of the teachers ａｎｄ the Order.    
“It’s all righ’， Fang – it’s all righ’!” yelled Hagrid， but the great boarhound had  taken flight as slivers of china flew like shrapnel through the air， ａｎｄ Hagrid pounded off  after the terrified dog， leaving Harry alone.    
He forged on through the trembling passages， his wａｎｄ at the ready， ａｎｄ for the  length of one corridor the little painted knight， Sir Cadrigan， rushed from painting to  painting beside him， clanking along in his armor， screaming encouragement， his fat little  pony cantering behind him.    
“Braggarts ａｎｄ rogues， dogs ａｎｄ scoundrels， drive them out， Harry Potter， see  them off!”    
Harry hurtled around a corner ａｎｄ found Fred ａｎｄ a small knot of students，  including Lee Jordan ａｎｄ Hannah Abbott， stａｎｄing beside another empty plinth， whose  statue had concealed a secret passageway. Their wａｎｄs were drawn ａｎｄ they were  listening at the concealed hole.    
“Nice night for it!” Fred shouted as the castle quaked again， ａｎｄ Harry sprinted by，  elated ａｎｄ terrified in equal measure. Along yet another corridor he dashed， ａｎｄ then  there were owls everywhere， ａｎｄ Mrs. Norris was hissing ａｎｄ trying to bat them with her  paws， no doubt to return them to their proper place. . . .    
“Potter!”    
Aberforth Dumbledore stood blocking the corridor ahead， his wａｎｄ held ready.    
“I’ve had hundreds of kids thundering through my pub， Potter!”  “I know， we’re evacuating，” Harry said， “Voldemort’s –“    
“– attacking because they haven’t hａｎｄed you over， yeah，” said Aberforth. “I’m  not deaf， the whole of Hogsmeade heard him. And it never occurred to any of you to keep  a few Slytherins hostage? There are kids of Death Eaters you’ve just sent to safety.  Wouldn’t it have been a bit smarter to keep ‘em here?”  “It wouldn’t stop Voldemort，” said Harry， “ａｎｄ your brother would never have  done it.”  Aberforth grunted ａｎｄ tore away in the opposite direction.    
Your brother would never have done it. . . . Well， it was the truth， Harry thought  as he ran on again: Dumbledore， who had defended Snape for so long， would never have  held students ransom. . . .    
And then he skidded around a final corner ａｎｄ with a yell of mingled relief ａｎｄ  fury he saw them: Ron ａｎｄ Hermione; both with their arms full of large， curved， dirty  yellow objects， Ron with a broomstick under his arms.    
“Where the hell have you been?” Harry shouted.    
“Chamber of Secrets，” said Ron.    
“Chamber – what?” said Harry， coming to an unsteady halt before them.    
“It was Ron， all Ron’s idea!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Wasn’t it absolutely  brilliant? There we were， after we left， ａｎｄ I said to Ron， even if we find the other one，  how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn’t got rid of the cup! And then he thought  of it! The basilisk!”    
“What the – ?”    
“Something to get rid of Horcruxes，” said Ron simply.    
Harry’s eyes dropped to the objects clutched in Ron ａｎｄ Hermione’s arms: great  curved fangs; torn， he now realized， from the skull of a dead basilisk.    
“But how did you get in there?” he asked， staring from the fangs to Ron. “You  need to speak Parseltongue!”  “He did!” whispered Hermione. “Show him， Ron!”  Ron made a horrible strangled hissing noise.    
“It’s what you did to open the locket，” he told Harry apologetically. “I had to have  a few goes to get it right， but，” he shrugged modestly， “we got there in the end.”  “He was amazing!” said Hermione. “Amazing!”    
“So . . .” Harry was struggling to keep up. “So . . .”    
“So we’re another Horcrux down，” said Ron， ａｎｄ from under his jacket he pulled  the mangled remains of Hufflepuff’s cup. “Hermione stabbed it. Thought she should. She  hasn’t had the pleasure yet.”  “Genius!” yelled Harry.    
“It was nothing，” said Ron， though he looked delighted with himself. “So what’s  new with you?”    
As he said it， there was an explosion from overhead: All three of them looked up  as dust fell from the ceiling ａｎｄ they heard a distant scream.    
“I know what the diadem looks like， ａｎｄ I know where it is，” said Harry， talking  fast. “He hid it exactly where I had my old Potions book， where everyone’s been hiding     stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on.”  As the walls trembled again， he led the other two back through the concealed  entrance ａｎｄ down the staircase into the Room of Requirement. It was empty except for  three women: Ginny， Tonks ａｎｄ an elderly witch wearing a moth-eaten hat， whom Harry  recognized immediately as Neville’s grａｎｄmother.    
“Ah， Potter，” she said crisply as if she had been waiting for him. “You can tell us  what’s going on.”  “Is everyone okay?” said Ginny ａｎｄ Tonks together.    
“’S far as we know，” said Harry. “Are there still people in the passage to the  Hog’s Head?”    
He knew that the room would not be able to transform while there were still users  inside it.    
“I was the last to come through，” said Mrs. Longbottom. “I sealed it， I think it  unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grａｎｄson?”    
“He’s fighting，” said Harry.    
“Naturally，” said the old lady proudly. “Excuse me， I must go ａｎｄ assist him.”  With surprising speed she trotted off toward the stone steps.    
Harry looked at Tonks.    
“I thought you were supposed to be with Teddy at your mother’s?”  “I couldn’t stａｎｄ not knowing –“ Tonks looked anguished. “She’ll look after him  – have you seen Remus?”  “He was planning to lead a group of fighters into the grounds –“    
Without another word， Tonks sped off.    
“Ginny，” said Harry， “I’m sorry， but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then  you can come back in.”    
Ginny looked simply delighted to leave her sanctuary.    
“And then you can come back in!” he shouted after her as she ran up the steps  after Tonks. “You’ve got to come back in!”    
“Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!”  “Who?” asked Hermione.    
“The house-elves， they’ll all be down in the kitchen， won’t they?”  “You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry.    
“No，” said Ron seriously， “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want  anymore Dobbies， do we? We can’t order them to die for us –“    
There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms.  Running at Ron， she flung them around his neck ａｎｄ kissed him full on the mouth. Ron  threw away the fangs ａｎｄ broomstick he was holding ａｎｄ responded with such  enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.    
“Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly， ａｎｄ when nothing happened except  that Ron ａｎｄ Hermione gripped each other still more firmly ａｎｄ swayed on the spot， he  raised his voice. “Oi! There’s a war going on here!”  Ron ａｎｄ Hermione broke apart， their arms still around each other.    
“I know， mate，” said Ron， who looked as though he had recently been hit on the  back of the head with a Bludger， “so it’s now or never， isn’t it?”    
“Never mind that， what about the Horcrux?” Harry shouted. “D’you think you  could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem?”    
“Yeah – right – sorry –“ said Ron， ａｎｄ he ａｎｄ Hermione set about gathering up  fangs， both pink in the face.    
It was clear， as the three of them stepped back into the corridor upstairs， that in  the minutes that they had spent in the Room of Requirement the situation within the  castle had deteriorated severely: The walls ａｎｄ ceiling were shaking worse than ever;  dust filled the air， ａｎｄ through the nearest window， Harry saw bursts of green ａｎｄ red  light so close to the foot of the castle that he knew the Death Eaters must be very near to  entering the place. Looking down， Harry saw Grawp the giant meａｎｄering past， swinging  what looked like a stone gargoyle torn from the roof ａｎｄ roaring his displeasure.    
“Let’s hope he steps on some of them!” said Ron as more screams echoed from  close by.    
“As long as it’s not any of our lot!” said a voice: Harry turned ａｎｄ saw Ginny ａｎｄ  Tonks， both with their wａｎｄs drawn at the next window， which was missing several  panes. Even as he watched， Ginny sent a well-aimed jinx into a crowd of fighters below.    
“Good girl!” roared a figure running through the dust toward them， ａｎｄ Harry saw  Aberforth again， his gray hair flying as he led a small group of students past. “They look  like they might be breaching the north battlements， they’ve brought giants of their own.”    
“Have you seen Remus?” Tonks called after him.    
“He was dueling Dolohov，” shouted Aberforth， “haven’t seen him since!”  “Tonks，” said Ginny， “Tonks， I’m sure he’s okay –“    
But Tonks had run off into the dust after Aberforth.    
Ginny turned， helpless， to Harry， Ron， ａｎｄ Hermione.    
“They’ll be all right，” said Harry， though he knew they were empty words.  “Ginny， we’ll be back in a moment， just keep out of the way， keep safe – come on!” he  said to Ron ａｎｄ Hermione， ａｎｄ they ran back to the stretch of wall beyond which the  Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant.    
I need the place where everything is hidden. Harry begged of it inside his head，  ａｎｄ the door materialized on their third run past.    
The furor of the battle died the moment they crossed the threshold ａｎｄ closed the  door behind them: All was silent. They were in a place the size of a cathedral with the  appearance of a city， its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousａｎｄs of long-gone  students.    
“And he never realized anyone could get in?” said Ron， his voice echoing in the  silence.    
“He thought he was the only one，” said Harry. “Too bad for him I’ve had to hide  stuff in my time . . . this way，” he added. “I think it’s down here. . . .”  They sped off up adjacent aisles; Harry could hear the others’ footsteps echoing  through the towering piles of junk， of bottles， hats， crates， chairs， books， weapons，  broomsticks， bats. . . .    
“Somewhere near here，” Harry muttered to himself. “Somewhere . . .  somewhere . . .”    
Deeper ａｎｄ deeper into the labyrinth he went， looking for objects he recognized  from his one previous trip into the room. His breath was loud in his ears， ａｎｄ then his  very soul seemed to shiver. There it was， right ahead， the blistered old cupboard in which  he had hidden his old Potions book， ａｎｄ on top of it， the pockmarked stone warlock  wearing a dusty old wig ａｎｄ what looked like an ancient discolored tiara.    
He had already stretched out his hａｎｄ， though he remained few feet away， when a  voice behind him said， “Hold it， Potter.”    
He skidded to a halt ａｎｄ turned around. Crabbe ａｎｄ Goyle were stａｎｄing behind  him， shoulder to shoulder， wａｎｄs pointing right at Harry. Through the small space  between their jeering faces he saw Draco Malfoy.    
“That’s my wａｎｄ you’re holding， Potter，” said Malfoy， pointing his own through  the gap between Crabbe ａｎｄ Goyle.    
“Not anymore，” panted Harry， tightening his grip on the hawthorn wａｎｄ.  “Winners， keepers， Malfoy. Who’s lent you theirs?”    
“My mother，” said Draco.    
Harry laughed， though there was nothing very humorous about the situation. He  could not hear Ron or Hermione anymore. They seemed to have run out of earshot，  searching for the diadem.    
“So how come you three aren’t with Voldemort?” asked Harry.    
“We’re gonna be rewarded，” said Crabbe. His voice was surprisingly soft for such  an enormous person: Harry had hardly ever heard him speak before. Crabbe was speaking  like a small child promised a large bag of sweets. “We ‘ung back， Potter. We decided not  to go. Decided to bring you to ‘im.”    
“Good plan，” said Harry in mock admiration. He could not believe that he was  this close， ａｎｄ was going to be thwarted by Malfoy， Crabbe， ａｎｄ Goyle. He began edging  slowly backward toward the place where the Horcrux sat lopsided upon the bust. If he  could just get his hａｎｄs on it before the fight broke out . . .    
“So how did you get in here?” he asked， trying to distract them.    “I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year，” said Malfoy， his  voice brittle. “I know how to get in.”    “We was hiding in the corridor outside，” grunted Goyle. “We can do Diss-lusion  Charms now! And then，” his face split into a gormless grin， “you turned up right in front  of us ａｎｄ said you was looking for a die-dum! What’s a die-dum?”    “Harry?” Ron’s voice echoed suddenly from the other side of the wall to Harry’s  right. “Are you talking to someone?”    With a whiplike movement， Crabbe pointed his wａｎｄ at the fifty foot mountain of  old furniture， of broken trunks， of old books ａｎｄ robes ａｎｄ unidentifiable junk， ａｎｄ  shouted， “Descendo!”    The wall began to totter， then the top third crumbled into the aisle next door  where Ron stood.    “Ron!” Harry bellowed， as somewhere out of sight Hermione screamed， ａｎｄ  Harry heard innumerable objects crashing to the floor on the other side of the destabilized  wall: He pointed his wａｎｄ at the rampart， cried， “Finite!” ａｎｄ it steadied.    “No!” shouted Malfoy， staying Crabbe’s arm as the latter made to repeat his spell.  “If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!”    “What’s that matter?” said Crabbe， tugging himself free. “It’s Potter the Dark  Lord wants， who cares about a die-dum?”    “Potter came in here to get it，” said Malfoy with ill-disguised impatience at the  slow-wittedness of his colleagues. “so that must mean –“    “’Must mean’?” Crabbe turned on Malfoy with undisguised ferocity. “Who cares  what you think? I don’t take your orders no more， Draco. You an’ your dad are finished.”     “Harry?” shouted Ron again， from the other side of the junk wad. “What’s going  on?”    “Harry?” mimicked Crabbe. “What’s going on – no， Potter! Crucio!”    Harry had lunged for the tiara; Crabbe’s curse missed him but hit the stone bust，  which flew into the air; the diadem soared upward ａｎｄ then dropped out of sight in the  mass of objects on which the bust had rested.    “STOP!” Malfoy shouted at Crabbe， his voice echoing through the enormous  room. “The Dark Lord wants him alive –“    “So? I’m not killing him， am I?” yelled Crabbe， throwing off Malfoy’s restraining  arm. “But if I can， I will， the Dark Lord wants him dead anyway， what’s the diff – ?”    A jet of scarlet light shot past Harry by inches: Hermione had run around the  corner behind him ａｎｄ sent a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe’s head. It only missed  because Malfoy pulled him out of the way.    “It’s that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!”    Harry saw Hermione dive aside， ａｎｄ his fury that Crabbe had aimed to kill wiped  all else from his mind. He shot a Stunning Spell at Crabbe， who lurched out of the way，  knocking Malfoy’s wａｎｄ out of his hａｎｄ; it rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of  broken furniture ａｎｄ bones.    “Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!” Malfoy yelled at Crabbe ａｎｄ Goyle， who  were both aiming at Harry: Their split second’s hesitation was all Harry needed.    “Expelliarmus!”    Goyle’s wａｎｄ flew out of his hａｎｄ ａｎｄ disappeared into the bulwark of objects  beside him; Goyle leapt foolishly on the spot， trying to retrieve it; Malfoy jumped out of  range of Hermione’s second Stunning Spell， ａｎｄ Ron， appearing suddenly at the end of  the aisle， shot a full Body-Bind Curse at Crabbe， which narrowly missed.    Crabbe wheeled around ａｎｄ screamed， “Avada Kedavra!” again. Ron leapt out of  sight to avoid the jet of green light. The wａｎｄ-less Malfoy cowered behind a three-legged  wardrobe as Hermione charged toward them， hitting Goyle with a Stunning Spell as she  came.    “It’s somewhere here!” Harry yelled at her， pointing at the pile of junk into which  the old tiara had fallen. “Look for it while I go ａｎｄ help R –“    “HARRY!” she screamed.    A roaring， billowing noise behind him gave him a moment’s warning. He turned  ａｎｄ saw both Ron ａｎｄ Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle toward them.    “Like it hot， scum?” roared Crabbe as he ran.    But he seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size  were pursuing them， licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks， which were crumbling to  soot at their touch.    “Aguamenti!” Harry bawled， but the jet of water that soared from the tip of his  wａｎｄ evaporated in the air.    “RUN!”    Malfoy grabbed the Stunned Goyle ａｎｄ dragged him along; Crabbe outstripped all  of them， now looking terrified; Harry， Ron， ａｎｄ Hermione pelted along in his wake， ａｎｄ  the fire pursued them. It was not normal fire; Crabbe had used a curse of which Harry had  no knowledge. As they turned a corner the flames chased them as though they were alive，  sentient， intent upon killing them. Now the fire was mutating， forming a gigantic pack of     fiery beasts: Flaming serpents， chimaeras， ａｎｄ dragons rose ａｎｄ fell ａｎｄ rose again， ａｎｄ  the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up into the air into their  fanged mouths， tossed high on clawed feet， before being consumed by the inferno.    Malfoy， Crabbe， ａｎｄ Goyle had vanished from view: Harry， Ron ａｎｄ Hermione  stopped dead; the fiery monsters were circling them， drawing closer ａｎｄ closer， claws ａｎｄ  horns ａｎｄ tails lashed， ａｎｄ the heat was solid as a wall around them.    “What can we do?” Hermione screamed over the deafening roars of the fire.  “What can we do?”    “Here!”    Harry seized a pair of heavy-looking broomsticks from the nearest pile of junk  ａｎｄ threw one to Ron， who pulled Hermione onto it behind him. Harry swung his leg  over the second broom ａｎｄ， with hard kicks to the ground， they soared up in the air，  missing by feet the horned beak of a flaming raptor that snapped its jaws at them. The  smoke ａｎｄ heat were becoming overwhelming: Below them the cursed fire was  consuming the contrabａｎｄ of generations of hunted students， the guilty outcomes of a  thousａｎｄ banned experiments， the secrets of the countless souls who had sought refuge in  the room. Harry couldnot see a trace of Malfoy， Crabbe， or Goyle anywhere. He swooped  as low as he dare over the marauding monsters of flame to try to find them， but there was  nothing but fire: What a terrible way to die. . . . He had never wanted this. . . .    “Harry， let’s get out， let’s get out!” bellowed Ron， though it was impossible to see  where the door was through the black smoke.    And then Harry heard a thin， piteous human scream from amidst the terrible  commotion， the thunder of devouring flame.    “It’s – too – dangerous – !” Ron yelled， but Harry wheeled in the air. His glasses  giving his eyes some small protection from the smoke， he raked the firestorm below，  seeking a sign of life， a limb or a face that was not yet charred like wood. . . .    And he saw them: Malfoy with his arms around the unconscious Goyle， the pair  of them perched on a fragile tower of charred desks， ａｎｄ Harry dived. Malfoy saw him  coming ａｎｄ raised one arm， but even as Harry grasped it he knew at once that it was no  good. Goyle was too heavy ａｎｄ Malfoy’s hａｎｄ， covered in sweat， slid instantly out of  Harry’s –    “IF WE DIE FOR THEM， I’LL KILL YOU， HARRY!” roared Ron’s voice， ａｎｄ，  as a great flaming chimaera bore down upon them， he ａｎｄ Hermione dragged Goyle onto  their broom ａｎｄ rose， rolling ａｎｄ pitching， into the air once more as Malfoy clambered up  behind Harry.    “The door， get to the door， the door!” screamed Malfoy in Harry’s ear， ａｎｄ Harry  sped up， following Ron， Hermione， ａｎｄ Goyle through the billowing black smoke， hardly  able to breathe: ａｎｄ all around them the last few objects unburned by the devouring  flames were flung into the air， as the creatures of the cursed fire cast them high in  celebration: cups ａｎｄ shields， a sparkling necklace， ａｎｄ an old， discolored tiara –    “What are you doing， what are you doing， the door’s that way!” screamed Malfoy，  but Harry made a hairpin swerve ａｎｄ dived. The diadem seemed to fall in slow motion，  turning ａｎｄ glittering as it dropped toward the maw of a yawning serpent， ａｎｄ then he  had it， caught it around his wrist –    Harry swerved again as the serpent lunged at him; he soared upward ａｎｄ straight  toward the place where， he prayed， the door stood open; Ron， Hermione ａｎｄ Goyle had     vanished; Malfoy was screaming ａｎｄ holding Harry so tightly it hurt. Then， through the  smoke， Harry saw a rectangular patch on the wall ａｎｄ steered the broom at it， ａｎｄ  moments later clean air filled his lungs ａｎｄ they collided with the wall in the corridor  beyond.    Malfoy fell off the broom ａｎｄ lay facedown， gasping， coughing， ａｎｄ retching.  Harry rolled over ａｎｄ sat up: The door to the Room of Requirement had vanished， ａｎｄ  Ron ａｎｄ Hermione sat panting on the floor beside Goyle， who was still unconscious.    “C-Crabbe，” choked Malfoy as soon as he could speak. “C-Crabbe . . .”    “He’s dead，” said Ron harshly.    There was silence， apart from panting ａｎｄ coughing. Then a number of huge  bangs shook the castle， ａｎｄ a great cavalcade of transparent figures galloped past on  horses， their heads screaming with bloodlust under their arms. Harry staggered to his feet  when the Headless Hunt had passed ａｎｄ looked around: The battle was still going on all  around him. He could hear more scream than those of the retreating ghosts. Panic flared  within him.    “Where’s Ginny?” he said sharply. “She was here. She was supposed to be going  back into the Room of Requirement.”    “Blimey， d’you reckon it’ll still work after that fire?” asked Ron， but he too got to  his feet， rubbing his chest ａｎｄ looking left ａｎｄ right. “Shall we split up ａｎｄ look – ?”    “No，” said Hermione， getting to her feet too. Malfoy ａｎｄ Goyle remained  slumped hopelessly on the corridor floor; neither of them had wａｎｄs. “Let’s stick  together. I say we go – Harry， what’s that on your arm?”    “What? Oh yeah –“    He pulled the diadem from his wrist ａｎｄ held it up. It was still hot， blackened with  soot， but as he looked at it closely he was just able to make out the tiny words etched  upon it; WIT BEYOND MEASURE IS MAN’S GREATEST TREASURE.    A bloodlike substance， dark ａｎｄ tarry， seemed to be leaking from the diadem.  Suddenly Harry felt the thing vibrate violently， then break apart in his hａｎｄs， ａｎｄ as it did  so， he thought he heard the faintest， most distant scream of pain， echoing not from the  grounds or the castle， but from the thing that had just fragmented in his fingers.    “It must have been Fiendfyre!” whimpered Hermione， her eyes on the broken  piece.    “Sorry?”    “Fiendfyre – cursed fire – it’s one of the substances that destroy Horcruxes， but I  would never， ever have dared use it， it’s so dangerous – how did Crabbe know how to –  ?”    “Must’ve learned from the Carrows，” said Harry grimly.    “Shame he wasn’t concentrating when they mentioned how to stop it， really，” said  Ron， whose hair， like Hermione’s， was singed， ａｎｄ whose face was blackened. “If he  hadn’t tried to kill us all， I’d be quite sorry he was dead.”    “But don’t you realize?” whispered Hermione. “This means， if we can just get the  snake –“    But she broke off as yells ａｎｄ shouts ａｎｄ the unmistakable noises of dueling filled  the corridor. Harry looked around ａｎｄ his heart seemed to fail: Death Eaters had  penetrated Hogwarts. Fred ａｎｄ Percy had just backed into view， both of them dueling  masked ａｎｄ hooded men.     Harry， Ron， ａｎｄ Hermione ran forward to help: Jets of light flew in every  direction ａｎｄ the man dueling Percy backed off， fast: Then his hood slipped ａｎｄ they saw  a high forehead ａｎｄ streaked hair –    “Hello， Minister!” bellowed Percy， sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse， who  dropped his wａｎｄ ａｎｄ clawed at the front of his robes， apparently in awful discomfort.  “Did I mention I’m resigning?”    “You’re joking， Perce!” shouted Fred as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed  under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground  with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea  urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.    “You actually are joking， Perce. . . . I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you  were –“    The air exploded. They had been grouped together， Harry， Ron， Hermione， Fred，  ａｎｄ Percy， the two Death Eaters at their feet， one Stunned， the other Transfigured; ａｎｄ in  that fragment of a moment， when danger seemed temporarily at bay， the world was rent  apart， Harry felt himself flying through the air， ａｎｄ all he could do was hold as tightly as  possible to that thin stick of wood that was his one ａｎｄ only weapon， ａｎｄ shield his head  in his arms: He heard the screams ａｎｄ yells of his companions without a hope of knowing  what had happened to them –    And then the world resolved itself into pain ａｎｄ semidarkness: He was half buried  in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack. Cold air told  him that the side of the castle had been blown away， ａｎｄ hot stickiness on his cheek told  him that he was bleeding copiously. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides，  that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause， ａｎｄ he stood up，  swaying， more frightened than he had been that day， more frightened， perhaps， than he  had been in his life. . . .    And Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage， ａｎｄ three redheaded  men were grouped on the ground where the wall had blasted apart. Harry grabbed  Hermione’s hａｎｄ as they staggered ａｎｄ stumbled over stone ａｎｄ wood.    “No – no – no!” someone was shouting. “No! Fred! No!”    And Percy was shaking his brother， ａｎｄ Ron was kneeling beside them， ａｎｄ Fred’s eyes  stared without seeing， the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.                Chapter Thirty-Two    The Elder Wａｎｄ       The world had ended， so why had the battle not ceased， the castle  fallen silent in horror， ａｎｄ every combatant laid down their arms?  Harry’s mind was in free fall， spinning out of control， unable to  grasp the impossibility， because Fred Weasley could not be dead，  the evidence of all his senses must be lying--  And then a body fell past the hole blown into the side of the     school ａｎｄ curses flew in at them from the darkness， hitting the  wall behind their heads.  "Get down!" Harry shouted， as more curses flew through the night:  He ａｎｄ Ron had both grabbed Hermione ａｎｄ pulled her to the floor，  but Percy lay across Fred’s body， shielding it from further harrm，  ａｎｄ when Harry shouted "Percy， come on， we’ve got to move!" he  shook his head.  "Percy!" Harry saw tear tracks streaking the grime coating ron’s  face as he sezied his elder brother’s shoulders ａｎｄ pulled， but  Percy would not budge. "Percy， you can’t do anything for him! We’re  going to--"  Hermione screamed， ａｎｄ Harry， turning， did not need to ask why. A  monstrous spider the size of a small car was trying to climb  through the huge hole in the wall. one of Aragog’s descendants had  joined the fight.  Ron ａｎｄ Harry shouted together; their spells collided ａｎｄ the  monster was blown backward， its legs jerking horribly， ａｎｄ vanished  into the darkness.  "It brought friends!" Harry called to the others， glancing over the  edge of the castle through the hole in the wall the curses had  blasted. More giant spiders were climbing the side of the building，  liberated from the Forbidden Forest， into which the Death Eaters  must have penetrated. Harry fired Stunning Spells down upon them，  knocking the lead monster into its fellows， so that they rolled  back down the building ａｎｄ out of sight. Then more curses came  soaring over Harry’s head， so close he felt the force of them blow  his hair.  "Let’s move， NOW!"  Pushing Hermione ahead of him with ron， Harry stooped to seize  Fred’s body under the armpit. Percy， realizing what Harry was  trying to do， stopped clinging to the body ａｎｄ helped: together，  crouching low to avoid the curses flying at them from the grounds，  they hauled Fred out of the way.  "Here，" said Harry， ａｎｄ they placed him in a niche where a suit of  armor had stood earlier. He could not bear to look at Fred a second  longer than he had to， ａｎｄ after making sure that the body was well-  hidden， he took off after ron ａｎｄ Hermione. Malfoy ａｎｄ Goyle had  vanished but at the end of the corridor， which was now full of dust  ａｎｄ falling masonry， glass long gone from windows， he saw many  people running backward ａｎｄ forward， whether friends or foes he  could not tell. Rounding the corner， Percy let out a bull-like  roar: "ROOKWOOD!" ａｎｄ sprinted off in the direction of a tall man，  who was pursuing a couple of students.  "Harry， in here!" Hermione screamed.  She had pulled Ron behind a tapestry. They seemed to be wrestling  together， ａｎｄ for one mad second Harry thought that they were     embracing again; then hhe saw that Hermione was trying to restrain  Ron， to stop him running after Percy.  "Listen to me--LISTEN RON!"  "I wanna help--I wanna kill Death Eaters--"  His face was contorted， smeared with dust ａｎｄ smoke， ａｎｄ he was  shaking with rage ａｎｄ grief.  "ron， we’re the only ones who can end it! Please--ron--we need the  snake， we’ve got to kill the snake!" said Hermione.  But Harry knew how Ron felt: Pursuing another Horcrux could not  bring the satisfaction of revenge; he too wanted to fight， to  punish them， the people who had killed Fred， ａｎｄ he wanted to find  the other Weasleys， ａｎｄ above all make sure， make quite sure， that  Ginny was not--but he could not permit that idea to form in his  mind--  "We will fight!" Hermione said. "We’ll have to， to reach the snake!  But let’s not lose sight now of what we’re supposed to be d-doing!  We’re the only ones who can end it!"  She was crying too， ａｎｄ she wiped her face on her torn ａｎｄ singed  sleeve as she spoke， but she took great heaving breaths to calm  herself as， still keeping a tight hold on ron， she turned to Harry.  "You need to find out where Voldemort is， because he’ll have the  snake with him， won’t he? Do it， Harry--look inside him!"  Why was it so easy? Because his scar had been burning for hours，  yearning to show him Voldemort’s thoughts? He closed his eyes on  her commａｎｄ， ａｎｄ at once， the screams ａｎｄ bangs ａｎｄ all the  discordant sounds of the battle were drowned until they became  distant， as though he stood far， far away from them...  He was stａｎｄing in the middle of a desolate but strangely familiar  room， with peeling paper on the walls ａｎｄ all the windows boarded  up except for one. The sounds of the assault on the castle were  muffled ａｎｄ distant. The single unblocked window revealed distant  bursts of light where the castle stood， but inside the room was  dark except for a solitary oil lamp.  He was rolling his wａｎｄ between his figners， watching it， his  thoughts on the room in the castle， the secret room only he had  ever found， the room， like the chamber， that you had to be clever  ａｎｄ cunning ａｎｄ inquisitive to discover...He was confident that the  boy would not find the diadem...although Dumbledore’s puppet had  come much farther than he ever expected...too far...  "My Lord，" said a voice， desperate ａｎｄ cracked. He turned: there  was Lucius Malfoy sitting in the darkest corner， ragged ａｎｄ still  bearing the marks of the punishment he had received after the boy’s  last escape. One of his eyes remained closed ａｎｄ puffy. "My  Lord...please...my son..."  "If your son is dead， Lucius， it is not my fault. He did not come  ａｎｄ join me， like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he has     decided to befriend Harry Potter?"  "No--never，" whispered Malfoy.  "You must hope not."  "Aren’t--aren’t you afraid， my Lord that Potter might die at  another hａｎｄ but yours?" asked Malfoy， his voice shaking. "Wouldn’t  it be...forgive me...more prudent to call off this battle， enter  the castle， ａｎｄ seek him y-yourself?"  "Do not pretend Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you  can discover what has happened to your son. And i do not need to  seek Potter. Before the night is out， Potter will have come to find  me."  Voldemort dropped his gaze once more to the wａｎｄ in his fingers. It  troubled him...ａｎｄ those things that troubled Lord Voldemort needed  to be rearranged...  "Go ａｎｄ fetch Snape."  "Snape， m-my Lord?"  "Snape. Now. I need him. There is a --service--I require from him.  Go."  Frightened， stumbling a little through the gloom， Lucius left the  room. Vodlemort continued to stａｎｄ there， twirling the wａｎｄ between  his fingers， staring at it.  "It is the only way， Nagini，" he whispered， ａｎｄ he looked around，  ａｎｄ there was the great thick snake， now suspended in midair，  twisting gracefully within the enchanted， protected space he had  made for her， a starry， transparent sphere somewhere between a  glittering cage ａｎｄ a tank.  With a gasp， Harry pulled back ａｎｄ opened his yees at the same  moment his ears were assaulted with the screeches ａｎｄ cries， the  smashes ａｎｄ bangs of battle.  "He’s in the Shrieking Shack. The snake’s with him， it’s got some  sort of magical protection around it. He’s just sent Lucius Malfoy  to find Snape."  "voldemort’s sitting in the shrieking Shack?" said Hermione，  outraged. "He’s not--he’s not even FIGHTING?"  "He doesn’t think he needs to fight，" said Harry. "He thinks I’m  going to go to him."  "But why?"  "He knows I’m after Horcruxes--he’s keeping Nagini close beside him-  -obviously I’m going to have to go to him to get near the thing--"  "Right，" said Ron， squaring his shoulders. "So you can’t go， that’s  what he wants， what he’s expecting. You stay here ａｎｄ look after  Hermione， ａｎｄ I’ll go ａｎｄ get it--"  Harry cut across Ron.  "You two stay here， I’ll go under the Cloak ａｎｄ I’ll be back as  soon as I--"  "No，" said Hermione，， "it makes much more sense if I take the Cloak     ａｎｄ--"  "Don’t even think about it，" Ron snarled at her.  before Hermione could get farther than "Ron， I’m just as capable --  " the tapestry at the top of the staircase on which they stood was  ripped open.  "POTTER!"  Two masked Death Eaters stood there， but even before their wａｎｄs  were fully raised， Hermione shouted "Glisseo!"  The stairs beneath their feet flatteneed into a chute ａｎｄ she，  Harry， ａｎｄ Ron hurtled down it， unable to control their speed but  so fast that the Death Eaters’ Stunning Spells flew far over their  heads. They shot through the concealing tapestry at the bottom ａｎｄ  spun onto the floor， hitting the opposite wall.  "Duro!" cried Hermione， pointing her wａｎｄ at the tapestry， ａｎｄ  there were two loud， sickening crunches as the tapestry turned to  stone ａｎｄ the Death Eaters pursuing them crumpled against it.  "Get back!" shouted Ron， ａｎｄ he， Harry， ａｎｄ Hermione hurled  themselves against a door as a herd of galloping desks thundered  past， shepherdd by a sprinting Professor McGonagall. She appeared  not to notice them. Her hair had come down ａｎｄ there was a gash on  her cheek. As she turned the corner， they heard her scream，  "CHARGE!"  "Harry， you get the Cloak on，" said Hermione. "Never mind us--"  But he threw it over all three of them; large though they were he  doubted anyone would see their disembodied feet through the dust  that clogged the air， the falling stone， the shimmer of spells.  they ran down the next staircase ａｎｄ found themselves in a corridor  full of duelers. The portraits on either side of the fighters were  crammed with figures screaming advice ａｎｄ encouragement， while  Death Eaters， both masked ａｎｄ unmasked， dueled students ａｎｄ  teachers. Dean had won himself a wａｎｄ， for he was face-to-face with  Dolohov， Parvati with Travers. Harry， ron ａｎｄ Hermione raised their  wａｎｄs at once， ready to strike， but the duelers were weaving ａｎｄ  darting so much that there was a strong likelihood of hurting on of  their own side if they cast curses. Even as they stood braced，  looking for the opportunity to act， there came a great "Wheeeeee!"  ａｎｄ looking up， Harry saw Peeves zoomign over them， dropping  Snargaluff pods down onto the Death Eaters， whose heads were  suddenly engulfed in wriggling green tubers like fat worms.  "ARGH!"  A fistful of tubers had hit the Cloak over Ron’s head; the damp  green roots were suspended improbably in midair as Ron tried to  shake them loose.  "Someone’s invisible there!" shouted a masked Death Eater， pointing.  Dean made the most of the Death Eater’s momentary distraction，  knocking him out with a stunning Spell; Dolohov attempted to     retaliate， ａｎｄ Parvati shot a Body Bind Curse at him.  "LET’S GO!" Harry yelled， ａｎｄ he， Ron， ａｎｄ Hermione gathered the  Cloak tightly around themselves ａｎｄ pelted， heads down， through the  midst of the fighters， slipping a little in pools of Snargaluff  juice， toward the top of the marble staircase into the entrance  hall.  "I’m Draco Malfoy， I’m Draco， I’m on your side!"  Draco was on the upper lａｎｄing， pleading with anoter masked Death  Eater. Harry Stunned the Death Eater as they passed. Malfoy looked  around， beaming， for his savior， ａｎｄ Ron punched him from under the  Cloak. Malfoy fell backward on top of the Death Eater， his mouth  bleeding， utterly bemused.  "And that’s the second time we’ve saved your life tonight， you two-  faced bastard!" Ron yelled.  There were more duelers all over the stairs ａｎｄ in the hall. Death  Eaters everywhere Harry looked: Yaxley， close to the front doors，  in combat with Flitwick， a masked Death Eater dueling Kingsley  right beside them. Students ran in every direction; some carrying  or dragging injured friends. Harry directed a Stunnning Spell  toward the masked Death Eater; it missed but nearly hit Neville，  who had emerged from nowhere brａｎｄishing armfuls of Venomous  Tentacula， which looped itself happily around the nearest Death  Eater ａｎｄ began reeling him in.  Harry， Ron， ａｎｄ Hermione sped won the marble staircase: glass  shattered on the left， ａｎｄ the Slytherin hourglass that had  recorded House points spilled its emeralds everywhere， so that  people slipped ａｎｄ staggered as they ran. Two bodies fell from the  balcony overhead as they reached the ground a gray blur that Harry  took for an animal sped four-legged across the hall to sink its  teeth into one of the fallen.  "NO!" shrieked Hermione， ａｎｄ with a deafening blast from her wａｎｄ，  Fenrir Greyback was thrown backward from the feebly struggling body  of Lavender Brown. He hit the marble banisters ａｎｄ struggled to  return to his feet. Then， with a bright white flash ａｎｄ a crack， a  crystal ball fell on top of his head， ａｎｄ he crumpled to the ground  ａｎｄ did not move.  "I have more!" shrieked Professor Trelawney from over the  banisters. "More for any who want them! Here--"  And with a move likea tennis serve， she heaved another enormous  crystal sphere from her bag， waved her wａｎｄ through the air， ａｎｄ  caused the ball to speed across the hall ａｎｄ smash through a  window. At the same moment， the heavy wooden front doors burst  open， ａｎｄ more of the gigantic spiders forced their way into the  front hall.  Screams of terror rent the air: the fighters scattered， Death  Eaters ａｎｄ Hogwartians alike， ａｎｄ red ａｎｄ green jets of light flew     into the midst of the oncoming monsters， which shuddered ａｎｄ  reared， more terrifying than ever.  "How do we get out?" yelled ron over all the screaming， but before  either Harry or Hermione could answer they were bowled aside;  Hagrid had come thundering down the stairs， brａｎｄishing his flowery  pink umbrella.  "Don’t hurt ’em， don’t hurt ’em!" he yelled.  "HAGRID， NO!"  Harry forgot everything else: he sprinted out from under the cloak，  running bent double to avoid the curses illuminating the whole hall.  "HAGRID， COME BACK!"  But he was not even halfway to Hagrid when he saw it happen: Hagrid  vanished amongst the spiders， ａｎｄ with a great scurrying， a foul  swarming movement， they retreated under the onslaught of spells，  Hagrid buried in their midst.  "HAGRID!" Harry heard someone calling his own name， whether friend  or foe he did not care: He was springint down the front steps into  the dark grounds， ａｎｄ the spiders were swarming away with their  prey， ａｎｄ he could see nothing of Hagrid at all.  "HAGRID!"  He thought he could make out an enormous arm waving from the mdist  of the spider swarm， but as he made to chase after them， his way  was impeded by a monumental foot， which swung down out of the  darkness ａｎｄ made the ground on which he stood shudder. He looked  up: A giant stood before him， twenty feet high， its head ihidden in  shadow， nothing but its treelike， hairy shins illuminated by light  from the castle doors. With one brutal， fluid movement， it smashed  a massive fist through an upper window， ａｎｄ glass rained down upon  Harryk， forcing him back under the shelter of the doorway.  "Oh my--!" shrieked Hermione， as she ａｎｄ ron caught up with Harry  ａｎｄ gazed upward at the giant now trying to seize people through  the window above.  "DON’T!" ron yelled， grabbing Hermione’s hａｎｄ as she raised her  wａｎｄ. "Stun him ａｎｄ he’ll crush half the castle--"  "HAGGER?"  Grawp came lurching around the corner of the castle; only dnow did  Harry realzie that Grawp was， indeed， an undersized giant. The  gargantuan monster trying to crush people on the upper floors  turned around ａｎｄ let out a rorar. The stone steps tremebled as he  stomped toward his smaller kin， ａｎｄ Grawp’s lopsided mouth fell  open， showing yellow， half brick-sized teeth; ａｎｄ then they  launched themselves at each other with the savagery of lions.  "RUN!" Harry roared; the ngiht was full of hideous yells ａｎｄ blows  as the giants wrestled， ａｎｄ he seized Hermione’s hａｎｄ ａｎｄ tore down  the steps into the grounds， Ron bringing up the rear. Harry had not  lost hope of finding ａｎｄ saving Hagrid; he ran so fast that they     were halfway toward the forest before they were brought up short  again.  The air around them had frozen: Harry’s breath caught ａｎｄ  solidified in his chest. Shapes moved out in the darkness， swirling  figures of concentrated blackness， moving in a great wave towards  the castles， their faces hooded ａｎｄ their breath rattling...  ron ａｎｄ Hermione closed in beside him as the sounds of fighting  behind them grew suddenly muted， deadened， because a silence only  dementors could bring was falling thickly through the night， ａｎｄ  Fred was gone， ａｎｄ Hagrid was suurely dying or already dead...  "come on， Harry!" said Hermione’s voice from a very long way away.  "Patronuses， Harry， come on!"  he raised his wａｎｄ， but a dull hopelessness was spreading  throughout him: How many more lay dead that he did not yet know  about? He felt as though his soul had already half left his body....  "HARRY， COME ON!" screamed Hermione.  A hundred dementors were advancing， gliding toward them， sucking  their way closer to Harry’s despair， which was like a promise of a  feast...  He saw Ron’s silver terrier burst into the air， flicker feebly， ａｎｄ  expire; he saw Hermione’s otter twist in midair ａｎｄ fade， ａｎｄ his  own wａｎｄ trembled in his hａｎｄ， ａｎｄ he almost welcomed the oncoming  oblivion， the promise of nothing， of no feeling...  And then a silver hare， a boar， ａｎｄ fox soared past Harry， Ron， ａｎｄ  Hermione’s heads: the dementors fell back before the creatures’  approach. Three more people had arrived out of the darkness to  stａｎｄ beside them， their wａｎｄs outstretched， continuing to cast  Patronuses: Luna， Ernie， ａｎｄ Seamus.  "That’s right，" said Luna encouragingly， as if they were back in  the Room of Requirement ａｎｄ this was simply spell practice for the  D.A.， "That’s right， Harry...come on think of something happy..."  ’something happy?" he said， his voice cracked.  "We’re all still here，" she whispered， "we;re still fighting. Come  on， now...."  There was a silver spark， then a wavering light， ａｎｄ then， with the  greatest effort it had ever cost him the stag burst from the end of  Harry’s wａｎｄ. It cantered forward， ａｎｄ now the dementors scattered  in earnest， ａｎｄ immediately the night was mild again， but the  sounds of the surrounding battle were loud in his ears.  "Can’t thank you enough，" said ron shakily， turning to Luna， Ernie，  ａｎｄ Seamus "you just saved--"  With a roar ａｎｄ an earth-quaking tremor， another giant came  lurching out of the darkness from the direction of the forest，  brａｎｄishing a club taller than any of them.  "RUN!" Harry shouted again， but the others needed no telling; They  all scattered， ａｎｄ not a second too soon， for the next moment the     creature’s vast foot had fallen exactly where they had been  stａｎｄing. Harry looked round: ron ａｎｄ Hermione were following him，  but the other three had vanished back into the battle.  "Let’s get out of range!" yelled Ron as the giant swung its club  again ａｎｄ its bellows echoed through the night， across the grounds  wehere bursts of red ａｎｄ green light continued to illuminate the  darkness.  "The Whomping willow，" said Harry， "go!"  Somehow he walled it all up in his mind， crammed it into a small  space into which he could not look now: thoughts of Fred ａｎｄ  Hagrid， ａｎｄ his terror for all the people he loved， scattered in  ａｎｄ outside the castle， must all wait， because they had to run， had  to reach the snake ａｎｄ Voldemort， because that was， as Hermione  said， the only way to end it--  He sprinted， half-believing he could outdistance death itself，  ignoring the jets of light flying in the darkness all around him，  ａｎｄ the sound of hte lake crashing like the sea， ａｎｄ the creaking  of the Forbidden Forest though the night was windless; through  grounds that seemed themselves to have risen in rebellion， he ran  faster than he had ever moved in his life， ａｎｄ it was he who saw  the great tree first， the Willow that protected the secret at its  roots with whiplike， slashing branches.  Panting ａｎｄ gasping， Harry slowed down， skirting the willow’s  swiping branches， peering through the darkness toward its tick  trunk， trying to see the single knot in the bark of the old tree  that would paralyze it. Ron ａｎｄ Hermione caught up， Hermione so out  of breath that she could not speak.  "How--how’re we going to get in?" panted ron. "I can--see the palce-  -if we jsut had--Crookshanks again--"  "Crookshanks?" wheezed Hermione， bent double， clutching her chest.  "Are you a wizard， or what?"  "Oh--right--yeah--"  Ron looked around， then directed his wａｎｄ at a twig on the ground  ａｎｄ said "Winguardium Leviosa!" The twig flew up from the gruond，  spun through the air as if caught by a gust of wind， then zoomed  directly at the trunk through the Willow’s ominously swaying  branches. It jabbed at a place near the roots， ａｎｄ at once， the  writhing tree became still.  "Perfect!" panted Hermione.  "Wait."  For one teetering second， while the crashes ａｎｄ booms of the battle  filled the air， Harry hesitated. Voldemort wanted him to do this，  wanted him to come...Was he leading Ron ａｎｄ Hermione into a trap?  But the reality seemed to close upon him， cruel ａｎｄ plain: the only  way forward was to kill the snake， ａｎｄ the snake was where  Voldemort was， ａｎｄ voldemort was at the end of this tunnel...     "Harry， we’re coming， just get in there!" said Ron， pushing him  forward.  Harry wriggled into the earthy passage hidden in the tree’s roots.  It was a much tighter squeeze than it had been the last time they  had entered it. The tunnel was low-ceilinged: they had had to  double up to move throuhgh it nearly four years previously; now  there was nothing for it but to crawl. Harry went first， his wａｎｄ  illuminated， expecting at any moment to meet barriers， but none  came. They moved in silence， Harry’s gaze fixed upon the swinging  beam of the wａｎｄ held in his fist. At last， the tunnel began to  slope upward ａｎｄ Harry saw a sliver of light ahead. Hermione tugged  at his ankle.  "The Cloak!" she whispered. "Put the Cloak on!"  He groped behind him ａｎｄ she forced the bundle of slippery cloth  into his free hａｎｄ. With difficulty he dragged it over himself，  murmered， "Nox，" extinguishing his wａｎｄlight， ａｎｄ continued on his  hａｎｄs ａｎｄ knees， as silently as possible， all his senses straining，  expecting every second to be discovered， to hear a cold clear  voice， see a flash of green light.  ａｎｄ then he heard voices coming from the room directly ahead of  them， only slightly muffled by the fact that the opening at the  endo fht etuunnel had been blocked up by what looked like an old  crate. Hardly daring to breathe， Harry edged right up tot he  opening ａｎｄ peered through a tiny gap left between crate ａｎｄ wall.  The room beyond was dimly lit， but he could see Nagini， swirlign  ａｎｄ coiling like a serpent underwater， safe in her enchanted，  starry sphere， which floated unsupported in midair. He could see  the edge of a table， ａｎｄ a long-fingered white hａｎｄ toying with a  wａｎｄ.  Then Snape spoke， ａｎｄ Harry’s heart lurched: Snape was inches away  from where he crouched， hidden.  "...my Lord， their resistance is crumbling--"  "--ａｎｄ it is doing so without your help，" said Voldemort in his  high， clear voice. "Skilled wizard though you are， Severus， I do  not think you will make much difference now. We are almost  there...almost."  "Let me find the boy. Let me bring you Potter. I know I can find  him， my Lord. Please."  Snape strode past the gap， ａｎｄ Harry drew back a little， keeping  his eyes fixed upon Nagini， wondering whether there was any spell  that might penetrate the protection surrounding her， but he could  not think of anything. One failed attempt， ａｎｄ he would give away  his position...  Voldemort stood up. Harry could see him now， see the red eyes， the  flattened， serpentine face， the pallor of him gleaming slightly in  the semidarkness.     "I have a problem， Severus，" said Voldemort softly.  "My Lord?" said Snape.  Voldemort raised the Elder Wａｎｄ， holding it as delicately ａｎｄ  precisely as a conductor’s baton.  "Why doesn’t it work for me， Severus?"  In the silence Harry imagined he could hear the snake hissing  slightly as it coiled ａｎｄ uncoiled--or was it Voldemort’s sibilant  sigh lingering on the air?  "My--my lord?" said Snape blankly. "I do not understａｎｄ. You--you  have performed extraordinary magic with that wａｎｄ."  "No，" said Voldemort. "I have performed my usual magic. I am  extraordinary， but this wａｎｄ...no. It has not revealed the wonders  it has promised. I feel no difference between this wａｎｄ ａｎｄ the one  I procured from Ollivａｎｄer all those years ago."  Voldemort’s tone was musing， calm， but Harry’s scar had begun to  throb ａｎｄ pulse: Pain was building in his forehead， ａｎｄ he could  feel that controlled sense of fury building inside Voldemort.  "No difference，" said Voldemort again.  Snape did not speak. Harry could not see his face. He wondered  whether Snape sensed danger， was trying to find the right words to  reassure his master.  Voldemort started to move around the room: Harry lost sight of him  for seconds as he prowled， speaking in that same measured voice，  while the pain ａｎｄ fury mounted in Harry.  "I have thought long ａｎｄ hard， Severus...do you know why I have  called you back from battle?"  And for a moment Harry saw Snape’s profile. His eyes were fixed  upon the coiling snake in its enchanted cage.  "No， my Lord， but I beg you will let me return. Let me find Potter."  "You sound like Lucius. Neither of you understａｎｄs Potter as I do.  He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I knew his  weakness you see， his one great flaw. He will hate watching the  others struck down around him， knwoing that it is for him that it  happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come."  "But my Lord， he might be killed accidentally by someone other than  yourself--"\  "My instructions to the Death Eaters have been perfectly clear.  Capture Potter. Kill his friends--the more， the better--but do not  kill him.  "But it is of you that I wished to speak， Severus， not Harry  Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable."  "My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But--let me go ａｎｄ find  the boy， my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can--"  "I have told you， no!" said Voldemort， ａｎｄ Harry caught the lgint  of red in his eyes as he turned again， ａｎｄ the swishing of his  cloak was like the slithering of a snake， ａｎｄ he felt Voldemort’s     impatience in his burning scar. "My concern at the moment， Severus，  is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!"  "My Lord， there can be no question， surely--?"  "--but there is a question， Severus. There is."  Voldemort halted， ａｎｄ Harry could see him plainly again as he slid  the Elder Wａｎｄ through his white fingers， staring at Snape.  "Why did both the wａｎｄs I have used fail when directed at Harry  Potter?"  "I--I cannot answer that， my Lord."  "Can’t you?"  The stab of rage felt like a spike driven through Harry’s head: he  forced his own fist into his mouth to stop himself from crying out  in pain. He closed his eyes， ａｎｄ suddenly he was Voldemort， looking  into Snape’s pale face.  "My wａｎｄ of yew did everything of which I asked it， Severus， except  to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivａｎｄer told me under  torture of the twin cores， told me to take another’s wａｎｄ. I did  so， but Lucius’s wａｎｄ shattered upon meeting Potter’s."  "I--I have no explanation， my Lord."  Snape was not looking at Voldemort now. His dark eyes were still  fixed upon the coiling serpent in its protective sphere.  "I sought a third wａｎｄ， Severus. the Elder Wａｎｄ， the Wａｎｄ of  Destiny， the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took  it from the grfave of Albus Dumbledore."  And now Snape looked at Voldemort， ａｎｄ Snape’s face was like a  death mask. it was marble white ａｎｄ so still that when he spoke， it  was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.  "My Lord--let me go to the boy--"  "all this long night when I am on the brink of victory， I have sat  here，" said Voldemort， his voice barely louder than a whisper，  "wondering， wondering， why the Elder Wａｎｄ refuses to be what it  ought to be， refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for  its rightful owner...ａｎｄ I think I have the answer."  Snape did not speak.  "Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man， after all，  Severus. You have been a good ａｎｄ faithful servant， ａｎｄ I regret  what must happen."  "My Lord--"  "The Elder Wａｎｄ cannot serve me properly， Severus， because I am not  its true master. The Elder Wａｎｄ belongs to the wizard who killed  its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live，  Severus， the Elder Wａｎｄ cannot truly be mine."  "My Lord!" Snape protested， raising his wａｎｄ.  "It cannot be any other way，" said Voldemort. "I must master the  wａｎｄ， Severus. Master the wａｎｄ， ａｎｄ I master Potter at last."  And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wａｎｄ. It did nothing to     Sanpe， who for a split second seemed to think he had been  reprieved: but then Voldemort’s intention became clear. The snake’s  cage was rolling through the air， ａｎｄ before Snape could do  anything more than yell， it had encased him， head ａｎｄ shoulders，  ａｎｄ Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.  "Kill."  There was a terrible scream. Harry saw Snape’s face losing the  little color it had left; it whitened as his black eyes widened， as  the snake’s fangs pierced his neck， as he failed to push the  enchanted cage off himself， as his knees gave way ａｎｄ he fell to  the floor.  "I regret it，" said Voldemort coldly.  He turned away; there was no sadness in him， no remorse. It was  time to leave this shack ａｎｄ take charge， with a wａｎｄ that would  now do his full bidding. He pointed it at the starry cage holding  the snake， which drifted upward， off snape， who fell sideways onto  the floor， blood gushing from the wounds in his neck. Voldemort  swept from the room without a backward glance， ａｎｄ the great  serpent floated after him in its huge protective sphere.  Back in the tunnel ａｎｄ his own mind， Harry opened his eyes; He had  drawn blood biting down on his knuckles in an effort not to shout  out. Now he was looking through the tiny crack between crate ａｎｄ  wall， watching a foot in a black boot trembling on the floor.  "Harry!" breathed Hermione behind him， but he had already pointed  his wａｎｄ at the crate blocking his view. It lifted an inch into the  air ａｎｄ drifted sideways silently. As quietly as he could， he  pulled himself up into the room.  He did not know why he was doing it， why he was approaching the  dying man: he did not know what he felt as he saw Snape’s white  face， adn the fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his  neck. Harry took off the invisibility cloak ａｎｄ looked down upon  the man he hated， whose widening black eyes found Harry as he cried  to speak. Harry bent over him， ａｎｄ Snape seized the front of his  robes ａｎｄ pulled him close.  A terrible rasping， gurgling noise issued from Snape’s throat.  "Take...it...Take...it..."  Something more than blood was leaking from Snape. Silvery blue，  neither gas nor liquid， it gushed form his mouth ａｎｄ his ears ａｎｄ  his eyes， ａｎｄ Harry knew what it was， but did not know what to do--  A flask， conjured from thin air， was thrust into his shaking hａｎｄ  by Hermione. Harry lfited the silvery substance into it with his  wａｎｄ. When the falsk was full to the brim， ａｎｄ Snape looked as  though there was no blood left in him， his grip on Harry’s robes  slackened.  "Look...at....me..." he whispered.  The green eyes found the black， but after a second， something in     the depths of the dark pari seemed to vanish， leaving them fixed，  blank， ａｎｄ empty. The hａｎｄ holding Harry thudded to the floor， ａｎｄ  Snape moved no more.         Chapter Thirty-Three    The Prince’s Tale         Harry remained kneeling at Snape’s side， simply staring down at him， until quite  suddenly a high， cold voice spoke so close to them that Harry jumped on his feet， the  flask gripped tightly in his hａｎｄs， thinking that Voldemort had reentered the room.    
Voldemort’s voice reverberated from the walls ａｎｄ floor， ａｎｄ Harry realized that  he was talking to Hogwarts ａｎｄ to all the surrounding area， that the residents of  Hogsmeade ａｎｄ all those still fighting in the castle would hear him as clearly as if he  stood beside them， his breath on the back of their necks， a deathblow away.    
“You have fought，” said the high， cold voice， “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows  how to value bravery.    
“Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me， you will all  die， one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a  loss ａｎｄ a waste.    
“Lord Voldemort is merciful. I commａｎｄ my forces to retreat immediately.    
“You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.    
“I speak now， Harry Potter， directly to you. You have permitted your friends to  die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest.  If， at the end of that hour， you have not come to me， have not given yourself up， then  battle recommences. This time， I shall enter the fray myself， Harry Potter， ａｎｄ I shall find  you， ａｎｄ I shall punish every last man， woman， ａｎｄ child who has tried to conceal you  from me. One hour.”    
Both Ron ａｎｄ Hermione shook their heads frantically， looking at Harry.    
“Don’t listen to him，” said Ron.    
“It’ll be all right，” said Hermione wildly. “Let’s – let’s get back to the castle， if  he’s gone to the forest we’ll need to think of a new plan – ”    
She glanced at Snape’s body， then hurried back to the tunnel entrance. Ron  followed her. Harry gathered up the Invisibility Cloak， then looked down at Snape. He  did not know what to feel， except shock at the way Snape had been killed， ａｎｄ the reason  for which it had been done…    
They crawled back through the tunnel， none of them talking， ａｎｄ Harry wondered  whether Ron ａｎｄ Hermione could still hear Voldemort ringing in their heads as he could.    
You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I  shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest…One hour…    
Small bundles seemed to litter the lawn at the front of the castle (?). It could only  be an hour or so from dawn， yet it was pitch-black. The three of them hurried toward the  stone steps. A lone dog， the size of a small boat， lay abａｎｄoned in front of them. There  was no other sign of Grawp or of his attacker.    
The castle was unnaturally silent. There were no flashes of light now， no bangs or  screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted entrance hall were stained with blood.  Emeralds were still scattered all over the floor， along with pieces of marble ａｎｄ splintered  wood. Part of the banisters had been blown away.    
“Where is everyone?” whispered Hermione.    
Ron led the way to the Great Hall. Harry stopped in the doorway.    
The House tables were gone ａｎｄ the room was crowded. The survivors stood in  groups， their arms around each other’s necks. The injured were being treated upon the  raised platform by Madam Pomfrey ａｎｄ a group of helpers. Firenze was amongst the  injured; his flank poured blood ａｎｄ he shook where he lay， unable to stａｎｄ.    
The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Harry could not see Fred’s body，  because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley was  lying across Fred’s chest， her body shaking. Mr. Weasley stroking her hair while tears  cascaded down his cheeks.    
Without a word to Harry， Ron ａｎｄ Hermione walked away. Harry saw Hermione  approach Ginny， whose face was swollen ａｎｄ blotchy， ａｎｄ hug her. Ron joined Bill， Fleur，  ａｎｄ Percy， who flung an arm around Ron’s shoulders. As Ginny ａｎｄ Hermione moved  closer to the rest of the family， Harry had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred.  Remus ａｎｄ Tonks， pale ａｎｄ still ａｎｄ peaceful-looking， apparently asleep beneath the dark，  enchanted ceiling.    
The Great Hall seemed to fly away， become smaller， shrink， as Harry reeled  backward from the doorway. He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any  of the other bodies， to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the  Weasleys， could not look into their eyes， when if he had given himself up in the first  place， Fred might never have died…    
He turned away ａｎｄ ran up the marble staircase. Lupin， Tonks… He yearned not  to feel… He wished he could rip out his heart， his innards， everything that was screaming  inside him…    
The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass  mourning in the Great Hall. Harry ran without stopping， clutching the crystal flask of  Snape’s last thoughts， ａｎｄ he did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle  guarding the headmaster’s office.    
“Password?”    
“Dumbledore!” said Harry without thinking， because it was he whom he yearned  to see， ａｎｄ to his surprise the gargoyle slid aside revealing the spiral staircase behind.    
But when Harry burst into the circular office he found a change. The portraits that  hung all around the walls were empty. Not a single headmaster or headmistress remained  to see him; all， it seemed， had flitted away， charging through the paintings that lined the  castle so that they could have a clear view of what was going on.    
Harry glanced hopelessly at Dumbledore’s deserted frame， which hung directly  behind the headmaster’s chair， then turned his back on it. The stone Pensieve lay in the  cabinet where it had always been. Harry heaved it onto the desk ａｎｄ poured Snape’s  memories into the wide basin with its runic markings around the edge. To escape into  someone else’s head would be a blessed relief… Nothing that even Snape had left him  could be worse than his own thoughts. The memories swirled， silver white ａｎｄ strange，     ａｎｄ without hesitating， with a feeling of reckless abａｎｄonment， as though this would  assuage his torturing grief， Harry dived.    
He fell headlong into sunlight， ａｎｄ his feet found warm ground. When he  straightened up， he saw that he was in a nearly deserted playground. A single huge  chimney dominated the distant skyline. Two girls were swinging backward ａｎｄ forward，  ａｎｄ a skinny boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes. His black hair was  overlong ａｎｄ his clothes were so mismatched that it looked deliberate: too short jeans， a  shabby， overlarge coat that might have belonged to a grown man， an odd smocklike shirt.    
Harry moved closer to the boy. Snape looked no more than nine or ten years old，  sallow， small， stringy. There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the  younger of the two girls swinging higher ａｎｄ higher than her sister.    
“Lily， don’t do it!” shrieked the elder of the two.    
But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc ａｎｄ flown into the  air， quite literally flown， launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter， ａｎｄ  instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt， she soared like a trapeze artist through  the air， staying up far too long， lａｎｄing far too lightly.    
“Mummy told you not to!”    
Petunia stopped her swing by dragging the heels of her sａｎｄals on the ground，  making a crunching， grinding sound， then leapt up， hａｎｄs on hips.    
“Mummy said you weren’t allowed， Lily!”    
“But I’m fine，” said Lily， still giggling. “Tuney， look at this. Watch what I can  do.”    
Petunia glanced around. The playground was deserted apart from themselves ａｎｄ，  though the girls did not know it， Snape. Lily had picked up a fallen flower from the bush  behind which Snape lurked. Petunia advanced， evidently torn between curiosity ａｎｄ  disapproval. Lily waited until Petunia was near enough to have a clear view， then held  out her palm. The flower sat there， opening ａｎｄ closing its petals， like some bizarre，  many-lipped oyster.    
“Stop it!” shrieked Petunia.    
“It’s not hurting you，” said Lily， but she closed her hａｎｄ on the blossom ａｎｄ  threw it back to the ground.    
“It’s not right，” said Petunia， but her eyes had followed the flower’s flight to the  ground ａｎｄ lingered upon it. “How do you do it?” she added， ａｎｄ there was definite  longing in her voice.    
“It’s obvious， isn’t it?” Snape could no longer contain himself， but had jumped  out from behind the bushes. Petunia shrieked ａｎｄ ran backward toward the swings， but  Lily， though clearly startled， remained where she was. Snape seemed to regret his  appearance. A dull flush of color mounted the sallow cheeks as he looked at Lily.    
“What’s obvious?” asked Lily.    
Snape had an air of nervous excitement. With a glance at the distant Petunia， now  hovering beside the swings， he lowered his voice ａｎｄ said， “I know what you are.”    
“What do you mean?”    
“You’re…you’re a witch，” whispered Snape.    
She looked affronted.    
“That’s not a very nice thing to say to somebody!”    
She turned， nose in the air， ａｎｄ marched off toward her sister.    
“No!” said Snape. He was highly colored now， ａｎｄ Harry wondered why he did  not take off the ridiculously large coat， unless it was because he did not want to reveal the  smock beneath it. He flapped after the girls， looking ludicrously batlike， like his older self.    
The sisters considered him， united in disapproval， both holding on to one of the  swing poles， as though it was the safe place in tag.    
“You are，” said Snape to Lily. “You are a witch. I’ve been watching you for a  while. But there’s nothing wrong with that. My mum’s one， ａｎｄ I’m a wizard.”    
Petunia’s laugh was like cold water.    
“Wizard!” she shrieked， her courage returned now that she had recovered from  the shock of his unexpected appearance. “I know who you are. You’re that Snape boy!  They live down Spinner’s End by the river，” she told Lily， ａｎｄ it was evident from her  tone that she considered the address a poor recommendation. “Why have you been spying  on us?”    
“Haven’t been spying，” said Snape， hot ａｎｄ uncomfortable ａｎｄ dirty-haired in the  bright sunlight. “Wouldn’t spy on you， anyway，” he added spitefully， “you’re a Muggle.”    
Though Petunia evidently did not understａｎｄ the word， she could hardly mistake  the tone.    
“Lily， come on， we’re leaving!” she said shrilly. Lily obeyed her sister at once，  glaring at Snape as she left. He stood watching them as they marched through the  playground gate， ａｎｄ Harry， the only one left to observe him， recognized Snape’s bitter  disappointment， ａｎｄ understood that Snape had been planning this moment for a while，  ａｎｄ that it had all gone wrong…    
The scene dissolved， ａｎｄ before Harry knew it， re-formed around him. He was  now in a small thicket of trees. He could see a sunlit river glittering through their trunks.  The shadows cast by the trees made a basin of cool green shade. Two children sat facing  each other， cross-legged on the ground. Snape had removed his coat now; his odd smock  looked less pecular in the half light.    
“…ａｎｄ the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school， you get  letters.”    
“But I have done magic outside school!”    
“We’re all right. We haven’t got wａｎｄs yet. They let you off when you’re a kid  ａｎｄ you can’t help it. But once you’re eleven，” he nodded importantly， “ａｎｄ they start  training you， then you’ve got to go careful.”    
There was a little silence. Lily had picked up a fallen twig ａｎｄ twirled it in the air，  ａｎｄ Harry knew that she was imagining sparks trailing from it. Then she dropped the twig，  leaned in toward the boy， ａｎｄ said， “It is real， isn’t it? It’s not a joke? Petunia says you’re  lying to me. Petunia says there isn’t a Hogwarts. It is real， isn’t it?”    
“It’s real for us，” said Snape. “Not for her. But we’ll get the letter， you ａｎｄ me.”    
“Really?” whispered Lily.    
“Definitely，” said Snape， ａｎｄ even with his poorly cut hair ａｎｄ his odd clothes， he  struck an oddly impressive figure sprawled in front of her， brimful of confidence in his  destiny.    
“And will it really come by owl?” Lily whispered.    
“Normally，” said Snape. “But you’re Muggle-born， so someone from the school  will have to come ａｎｄ explain to your parents.”    
“Does it make a difference， being Muggle-born?”    
Snape hesitated. His black eyes， eager in the greenish gloom， moved over the pale  face， the dark red hair.    
“No，” he said. “It doesn’t make any difference.”    
“Good，” said Lily， relaxing. It was clear that she had been worrying.    
“You’ve got loads of magic，” said Snape. “I saw that. All the time I was watching  you…”    
His voice trailed away; she was not listening， but had stretched out on the leafy  ground ａｎｄ was looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead. He watched her as greedily  as he had watched her in the playground.    
“How are things at your house?” Lily asked.    
A little crease appeared between his eyes.    
“Fine，” he said.    
“They’re not arguing anymore?”    
“Oh yes， they’re arguing，” said Snape. He picked up a fistful of leaves ａｎｄ began  tearing them apart， apparently unaware of what he was doing. “But it won’t be that long  ａｎｄ I’ll be gone.”    
“Doesn’t your dad like magic?”    
“He doesn’t like anything， much，” said Snape.    
“Severus?”    
A little smile twisted Snape’s mouth when she said his name.    
“Yeah?”    
“Tell me about the dementors again.”    
“What d’you want to know about them for?”    
“If I use magic outside school – ”    
“They wouldn’t give you to the dementors for that! Dementors are for people who  do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison， Azkaban. You’re not going to end up  in Azkaban， you’re too – ”    
He turned red again ａｎｄ shredded more leaves. Then a small rustling noise behind  Harry made him turn: Petunia， hiding behind a tree， had lost her footing.    
“Tuney!” said Lily， surprise ａｎｄ welcome in her voice， but Snape had jumped to  his feet.    
“Who’s spying now?” he shouted. “What d’you want?”    
Petunia was breathless， alarmed at being caught. Harry could see her struggling  for something hurtful to say.    
“What is that you’re wearing， anyway?” she said， pointing at Snape’s chest.  “Your mum’s blouse?”    
There was a crack. A branch over Petunia’s head had fallen. Lily screamed. The  branch caught Petunia on the shoulder， ａｎｄ she staggered backward ａｎｄ burst into tears.    
“Tuney!”    
But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape.    
“Did you make that happen?”    
“No.” He looked both defiant ａｎｄ scared.    
“You did!” She was backing away from him. “You did! You hurt her!”    
“No – no， I didn’t!”    
But the lie did not convince Lily. After one last burning look， she ran from the  little thicket， off after her sister， ａｎｄ Snape looked miserable ａｎｄ confused…    
And the scene re-formed. Harry looked around. He was on platform nine ａｎｄ  three quarters， ａｎｄ Snape stood beside him， slightly hunched， next to a thin， sallow-faced，  sour-looking woman who greatly resembled him. Snape was staring at a family of four a  short distance away. The two girls stood a little apart from their parents. Lily seemed to  be pleading with her sister. Harry moved closer to listen.    
“…I’m sorry， Tuney， I’m sorry! Listen – ” She caught her sister’s hａｎｄ ａｎｄ held  tight to it， even though Petunia tried to pull it away. “Maybe once I’m there – no， listen，  Tuney! Maybe once I’m there， I’ll be able to go to Professor Dumbledore ａｎｄ persuade  him to change his mind!”    
“I don’t – want – to – go!” said Petunia， ａｎｄ she dragged her hａｎｄ back out of her  sister’s grasp. “You think I want to go to some stupid castle ａｎｄ learn to be a – a…”    
Her pale eyes roved over the platform， over the cats mewling in their owners’  arms， over the owls， fluttering ａｎｄ hooting at each other in cages， over the students， some  already in their long black robes， loading trunks onto the scarlet steam engine or else  greeting one another with glad cries after a summer apart.    
“ – you think I want to be a – a freak?”    
Lily’s eyes filled with tears as Petunia succeeded in tugging her hａｎｄ away.    
“I’m not a freak，” said Lily. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”    
“That’s where you’re going，” said Petunia with relish. “A special school for  freaks. You ａｎｄ that Snape boy…weirdos， that’s what you two are. It’s good you’re  being separated from normal people. It’s for our safety.”    
Lily glanced toward her parents， who were looking around the platform with an  air of wholehearted enjoyment， drinking in the scene. Then she looked back at her sister，  ａｎｄ her voice was low ａｎｄ fierce.    
“You didn’t think it was such a freak’s school when you wrote to the headmaster  ａｎｄ begged him to take you.”    
Petunia turned scarlet.    
“Beg? I didn’t beg!”    
“I saw his reply. It was very kind.”    
“You shouldn’t have read – ” whispered Petunia， “that was my private – how  could you – ?”    
Lily gave herself away by half-glancing toward where Snape stood nearby.  Petunia gasped.    
“That boy found it! You ａｎｄ that boy have been sneaking in my room!”    
“No – not sneaking – ” Now Lily was on the defensive. “Severus saw the  envelope， ａｎｄ he couldn’t believe a Muggle could have contacted Hogwarts， that’s all!  He says there must be wizards working undercover in the postal service who take care of  – ”    
“Apparently wizards poke their noses in everywhere!” said Petunia， now as pale  as she had been flushed. “Freak!” she spat at her sister， ａｎｄ she flounced off to where her  parents stood…    
The scene dissolved again. Snape was hurrying along the corridor of the  Hogwarts Express as it clattered through the countryside. He had already changed into his  school robes， had perhaps taken the first opportunity to take off his dreadful Muggle  clothes. At last he stopped， outside a compartment in which a group of rowdy boys were     talking. Hunched in a corner seat beside the window was Lily， her face pressed against  the windowpane.    
Snape slid open the compartment door ａｎｄ sat down opposite Lily. She glanced at  him ａｎｄ then looked back out of the window. She had been crying.    
“I don’t want to talk to you，” she said in a constricted voice.    
“Why not?”    
“Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore.”    
“So what?”    
She threw him a look of deep dislike.    
“So she’s my sister!”    
“She’s only a – ” He caught himself quickly; Lily， too busy trying to wipe her  eyes without being noticed， did not hear him.    
“But we’re going!” he said， unable to suppress the exhilaration in his voice. “This  is it! We’re off to Hogwarts!”    
She nodded， mopping her eyes， but in spite of herself， she half smiled.    
“You’d better be in Slytherin，” said Snape， encouraged that she had brightened a  little.    
“Slytherin?”    
One of the boys sharing the compartment， who had shown no interest at all in Lily  or Snape until that point， looked around at the word， ａｎｄ Harry， whose attention had been  focused entirely on the two beside the window， saw his father: slight， black-haired like  Snape， but with that indefinable air of having been well-cared-for， even adored， that  Snape so conspicuously lacked.    
“Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave， wouldn’t you?” James asked the  boy lounging on the seats opposite him， ａｎｄ with a jolt， Harry realized that it was Sirius.  Sirius did not smile.    
“My whole family have been in Slytherin，” he said.    
“Blimey，” said James， “ａｎｄ I thought you seemed all right!”    
Sirius grinned.    
“Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading， if you’ve got the choice?”    
James lifted an invisible sword.    
“‘Gryffindor， where dwell the brave at heart!’ Like my dad.”    
Snape made a small， disparaging noise. James turned on him.    
“Got a problem with that?”    
“No，” said Snape， though his slight sneer said otherwise. “If you’d rather be  brawny than brainy – ”    
“Where’re you hoping to go， seeing as you’re neither?” interjected Sirius.    
James roared with laughter. Lily sat up， rather flushed， ａｎｄ looked from James to  Sirius in dislike.    
“Come on， Severus， let’s find another compartment.”    
“Oooooo…”    
James ａｎｄ Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.    
“See ya， Snivellus!” a voice called， as the compartment door slammed…    
And the scene dissolved once more…    
Harry was stａｎｄing right behind Snape as they faced the cａｎｄlelit House tables，  lined with rapt faces. Then Professor McGonagall said， “Evans， Lily!”    
He watched his mother walk forward on trembling legs ａｎｄ sit down upon the  rickety stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head， ａｎｄ barely a  second after it had touched the dark red hair， the hat cried， “Gryffindor!”    
Harry heard Snape let out a tiny groan. Lily took off the hat， hａｎｄed it back to  Professor McGonagall， then hurried toward the cheering Gryffindors， but as she went she  glanced back at Snape， ａｎｄ there was a sad little smile on her face. Harry saw Sirius  move up the bench to make room for her. She took one look at him， seemed to recognize  him from the train， folded her arms， ａｎｄ firmly turned her back on him.    
The roll call continued. Harry watched Lupin， Pettigrew， ａｎｄ his father join Lily  ａｎｄ Sirius at the Gryffindor table. At last， when only a dozen students remained to be  sorted， Professor McGonagall called Snape.    
Harry walked with him to the stool， watched him place the hat upon his head.  “Slytherin!” cried the Sorting Hat.    
And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall， away from Lily， to  where the Slytherins were cheering him， to where Lucius Malfoy， a prefect badge  gleaming upon his chest， patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him…    
And the scene changed…    
Lily ａｎｄ Snape were walking across the castle courtyard， evidently arguing. Harry  hurried to catch up with them， to listen in. As he reached them， he realized how much  taller they both were. A few years seemed to have passed since their Sorting.    
“…thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying， “Best friends?”    
“We are， Sev， but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m  sorry， but I detest Avery ａｎｄ Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him， Sev， he’s  creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?”    
Lily had reached a pillar ａｎｄ leaned against it， looking up into the thin， sallow  face.    
“That was nothing，” said Snape. “It was a laugh， that’s all – ”    
“It was Dark Magic， ａｎｄ if you think that’s funny – ”    
“What about the stuff Potter ａｎｄ his mates get up to?” demａｎｄed Snape. His color  rose again as he said it， unable， it seemed， to hold in his resentment.    
“What’s Potter got to do with anything?” said Lily.    
“They sneak out at night. There’s something weird about that Lupin. Where does  he keep going?”    
“He’s ill，” said Lily. “They say he’s ill – ”    
“Every month at the full moon?” said Snape.    
“I know your theory，” said Lily， ａｎｄ she sounded cold. “Why are you so obsessed  with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?”    
“I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think  they are.”    
The intensity of his gaze made her blush.    
“They don’t use Dark Magic， though.” She dropped her voice. “And you’re being  really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that  tunnel by the Whomping Willow， ａｎｄ James Potter saved you from whatever’s down  there – ”    
Snape’s whole face contorted ａｎｄ he spluttered， “Saved? Saved? You think he  was playing the hero? He was saving his neck ａｎｄ his friends’ too! You’re not going to –  I won’t let you – ”    
“Let me? Let me?”    
Lily’s bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once.    
“I didn’t m ean – I just don’t want to see you made a fool of – He fancies you，  James Potter fancies you!” The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. “And  he’s not…everyone thinks…big Quidditch hero – ” Snape’s bitterness ａｎｄ dislike were  rendering him incoherent， ａｎｄ Lily’s eyebrows were traveling farther ａｎｄ farther up her  forehead.    
“I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag，” she said， cutting across Snape. “I  don’t need you to tell me that. But Mulciber’s ａｎｄ Avery’s idea of humor is just evil. Evil，  Sev. I don’t understａｎｄ how you can be friends with them.”    
Harry doubted that Snape had even heard her strictures on Mulciber ａｎｄ Avery.  The moment she had insulted James Potter， his whole body had relaxed， ａｎｄ as they  walked away there was a new spring in Snape’s step…    
And the scene dissolved…    
Harry watched again as Snape left the Great Hall after sitting his O.W.L. in  Defense Against the Dark Arts， watched as he wａｎｄered away from the castle ａｎｄ strayed  inadvertently close to the place beneath the beech tree where James， Sirius， Lupin， ａｎｄ  Pettigrew sat together. But Harry kept his distance this time， because he knew what  happened after James had hoisted Severus into the air ａｎｄ taunted him; he knew what had  been done ａｎｄ said， ａｎｄ it gave him no pleasure to hear it again… He watched as Lily  joined the group ａｎｄ went to Snape’s defense. Distantly he heard Snape shout at her in  his humiliation ａｎｄ his fury， the unforgivable word: “Mudblood.”    
The scene changed…    
“I’m sorry.”    
“I’m not interested.”    
“I’m sorry!”    
“Save your breath”    
It was nighttime. Lily， who was wearing a dressing gown， stood with her arms  folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady， at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.    
“I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.”    
“I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood， it just – ”    
“Slipped out?” There was no pity in Lily’s voice. “It’s too late. I’ve made excuses  for you for years. None of my friends can understａｎｄ why I even talk to you. You ａｎｄ  your precious little Death Eater friends – you see， you don’t even deny it! You don’t even  deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join You-Know-Who， can  you?”    
He opened his mouth， but closed it without speaking.    
“I can’t pretend anymore. You’ve chosen your way， I’ve chosen mine.”    
“No – listen， I didn’t mean – ”    
“ – to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood， Severus.  Why should I be any different?”    
He struggled on the verge of speech， but with a contemptuous look she turned ａｎｄ  climbed back through the portrait hole…    
The corridor dissolved， ａｎｄ the scene took a little longer to reform: Harry seemed  to fly through shifting shapes ａｎｄ colors until his surroundings solidified again ａｎｄ he  stood on a hilltop， forlorn ａｎｄ cold in the darkness， the wind whistling through the  branches of a few leafless trees. The adult Snape was panting， turning on the spot， his  wａｎｄ gripped tightly in his hａｎｄ， waiting for something or for someone… His fear  infected Harry too， even though he knew that he could not be harmed， ａｎｄ he looked over  his shoulder， wondering what it was that Snape was waiting for –    
Then a blinding， jagged jet of white light flew through the air. Harry thought of  lightning， but Snape had dropped to his knees ａｎｄ his wａｎｄ had flown out of his hａｎｄ.    
“Don’t kill me!”    
“That was not my intention.”    
Any sound of Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned by the sound of the  wind in the branches. He stood before Snape with his robes whipping around him， ａｎｄ his  face was illuminated from below in the light cast by his wａｎｄ.    
“Well， Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?”    
“No – no message – I’m here on my own account!”    
Snape was wringing his hａｎｄs. He looked a little mad， with his straggling black  hair flying around him.    
“I – I come with a warning – no， a request – please – ”    
Dumbledore flicked his wａｎｄ. Though leaves ａｎｄ branches still flew through the  night air around them， silence fell on the spot where he ａｎｄ Snape faced each other.    
“What request could a Death Eater make of me?”    
“The – the prophecy…the prediction…Trelawney…”    
“Ah， yes，” said Dumbledore. “How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”    
“Everything – everything I heard!” said Snape. “That is why – it is for that reason  – he thinks it means Lily Evans!”    
“The prophecy did not refer to a woman，” said Dumbledore. “It spoke of a boy  born at the end of July – ”    
“You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son， he is going to hunt her down  – kill them all – ”    
“If she means so much to you，” said Dumbledore， “surely Lord Voldemort will  spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother， in exchange for the son?”    
“I have – I have asked him – ”    
“You disgust me，” said Dumbledore， ａｎｄ Harry had never heard so much  contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little， “You do not care， then， about the  deaths of her husbａｎｄ ａｎｄ child? They can die， as long as you have what you want?”    
Snape said nothing， but merely looked up at Dumbledore.    
“Hide them all， then，” he croaked. “Keep her – them – safe. Please.”    
“And what will you give me in return， Severus?”    
“In – in return?” Snape gaped at Dumbledore， ａｎｄ Harry expected him to protest，  but after a long moment he said， “Anything.”    
The hilltop faded， ａｎｄ Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office， ａｎｄ something was  making a terrible sound， like a wounded animal. Snape was slumped forward in a chair  ａｎｄ Dumbledore was stａｎｄing over him， looking grim. After a moment or two， Snape  raised his face， ａｎｄ he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since  leaving the wild hilltop.    
“I thought…you were going…to keep her…safe…”    
“She ａｎｄ James put their faith in the wrong person，” said Dumbledore. “Rather  like you， Severus. Weren’t you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?”    
Snape’s breathing was shallow.    
“Her boy survives，” said Dumbledore.    
With a tiny jerk of the head， Snape seemed to flick off an irksome fly.    
“Her son lives. He has her eyes， precisely her eyes. You remember the shape ａｎｄ  color of Lily Evans’s eyes， I am sure?”    
“DON’T!” bellowed Snape. “Gone…dead…”    
“Is this remorse， Severus?”    
“I wish…I wish I were dead…”    
“And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly. “If you loved  Lily Evans， if you truly loved her， then your way forward is clear.”    
Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain， ａｎｄ Dumbledore’s words appeared  to take a long time to reach him.    
“What – what do you mean?”    
“You know how ａｎｄ why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect  Lily’s son.”    
“He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone – ”    
“The Dark Lord will return， ａｎｄ Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he  does.”    
There was a long pause， ａｎｄ slowly Snape regained control of himself， mastered  his own breathing. At last he said， “Very well. Very well. But never – never tell，  Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear…especially Potter’s  son…I want your word!”    
“My word， Severus， that I shall never reveal the best of you?” Dumbledore sighed，  looking down into Snape’s ferocious， anguished face. “If you insist…”    
The office dissolved but re-formed instantly. Snape was pacing up ａｎｄ down in  front of Dumbledore.    
“ – mediocre， arrogant as his father， a determined rule-breaker， delighted to find  himself famous， attention-seeking ａｎｄ impertinent – ”    
“You see what you expect to see， Severus，” said Dumbledore， without raising his  eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today. “Other teachers report that the boy is modest，  likable， ａｎｄ reasonably talented. Personally， I find him an engaging child.”    
Dumbledore turned a page， ａｎｄ said， without looking up， “Keep an eye on  Quirrell， won’t you?”    
A whirl of color， ａｎｄ now everything darkened， ａｎｄ Snape ａｎｄ Dumbledore stood  a little apart in the entrance hall， while the last stragglers from the Yule Ball passed them  on their way to bed.    
“Well?” murmured Dumbledore.    
“Karkaroff’s Mark is becoming darker too. He is panicking， he fears retribution;  you know how much help he gave the Ministry after the Dark Lord fell.” Snape looked  sideways at Dumbledore’s crooked-nosed profile. “Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark  burns.”    
“Does he?” said Dumbledore softly， as Fleur Delacour ａｎｄ Roger Davies came  giggling in from the grounds. “And are you tempted to join him?”    
“No，” said Snape， his black eyes on Fleur’s ａｎｄ Roger’s retreating figures. “I am  not such a coward.”    
“No，” agreed Dumbledore. “You are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff.  You know， I sometimes think we Sort too soon…”    
He walked away， leaving Snape looking stricken…    
And now Harry stood in the headmaster’s office yet again. It was nighttime， ａｎｄ  Dumbledore sagged sideways in the thronelike chair behind the desk， apparently  semiconscious. His right hａｎｄ dangled over the side， blackened ａｎｄ burned. Snape was  muttering incantations， pointing his wａｎｄ at the wrist of the hａｎｄ， while with his left  hａｎｄ he tipped a goblet full of thick golden potion down Dumbledore’s throat. After a  moment or two， Dumbledore’s eyelids fluttered ａｎｄ opened.    
“Why，” said Snape， without preamble， “why did you put on that ring? It carries a  curse， surely you realized that. Why even touch it?”    
Marvolo Gaunt’s ring lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the  sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.    
Dumbledore grimaced.    
“I…was a fool. Sorely tempted…”    
“Tempted by what?”    
Dumbledore did not answer.    
“It is a miracle you managed to return here!” Snape sounded furious. “That ring  carried a curse of extraordinary power， to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped  the curse in one hａｎｄ for the time being – ”    
Dumbledore raised his blackened， useless hａｎｄ， ａｎｄ examined it with the  expression of one being shown an interesting curio.    
“You have done very well， Severus. How long do you think I have?”    
Dumbledore’s tone was conversational; he might have been asking for a weather  forecast. Snape hesitated， ａｎｄ then said， “I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting  such a spell forever. It will spread eventually， it is the sort of curse that strengthens over  time.”    
Dumbledore smiled. The news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter  of little or no concern to him.    
“I am fortunate， extremely fortunate， that I have you， Severus.”    
“If you had only summoned me a little earlier， I might have been able to do more，  buy you more time!” said Snape furiously. He looked down at the broken ring ａｎｄ the  sword. “Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?”    
“Something like that…I was delirious， no doubt…” said Dumbledore. With an  effort he straightened himself in his chair. “Well， really， this makes matters much more  straightforward.”    
Snape looked utterly perplexed. Dumbledore smiled.    
“I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the  poor Malfoy boy murder me.”    
Snape sat down in the chair Harry had so often occupied， across the desk from  Dumbledore. Harry could tell that he wanted to say more on the subject of Dumbledore’s  cursed hａｎｄ， but the other held it up in polite refusal to discuss the matter further.  Scowling， Snape said， “The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely     punishment for Lucius’s recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents， while they  watch him fail ａｎｄ pay the price.”    
“In short， the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I  have，” said Dumbledore. “Now， I should have thought the natural successor to the job，  once Draco fails， is yourself?”    
There was a short pause.    
“That， I think， is the Dark Lord’s plan.”    
“Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a  spy at Hogwarts?”    
“He believes the school will soon be in his grasp， yes.”    
“And if it does fall into his grasp，” said Dumbledore， almost， it seemed， as an  aside， “I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students at  Hogwarts?”    
Snape gave a stiff nod.    
“Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. A  frightened teenage boy is a danger to others as well as to himself. Offer him help ａｎｄ  guidance， he ought to accept， he likes you – ”    
“ – much less since his father has lost favor. Draco blames me， he thinks I have  usurped Lucius’s position.”    
“All the same， try. I am concerned less for myself than for accidental victims of  whatever schemes might occur to the boy. Ultimately，