Hogwarts had never felt this cold.
The castle, once alive with warmth and laughter, now stood in eerie, suffocating silence. The wind moaned low across the ramparts, rattling windows and sweeping through the corridors like a ghost that had finally claimed the place. Thick clouds hung overhead, blotting out the moon and stars and casting the grounds in choking shadow. Not even the torches dared to flicker anymore.
Everything felt… wrong, like a nightmare come to life.
I sat on the stone steps outside the castle, knees drawn to my chest, the cold biting straight through my robes. This was the same spot where I'd once laughed with Ron, stolen glances with Ginny, and argued about spells with Hermione. But now, every inch of the grounds felt haunted—by memory, by pain, by something heavier than death.
Each breath came shallow, stiff with dread. The stone beneath me leached the warmth from my skin like it was feeding on what little life I had left. The weight of the night pressed down on me, a thousand invisible hands holding me still. But it was the silence that hurt most—not the quiet of peace, but the aching, unnatural void that comes when something irreplaceable is torn from the world.
When someone was gone.
Ron's voice trembled in the stillness. "He can't be gone… he just can't be." It was barely more than a whisper, but it struck like thunder. I didn't look at him. I couldn't.
Dumbledore's body still lay where it had fallen.
The image was burnt into me. His robes—once so regal—crumpled like discarded parchment. His arms splayed in a pose too unnatural for rest. And his face—still. Empty. Not peaceful, not angry, just… wrong. I'd seen death before, but not like this. Not him.
Just hours ago, we'd been side by side. Another Horcrux. Another gamble. Another near-impossible mission. His hand had blackened and withered, yet his eyes had stayed sharp, determined. He'd told me we were close—that we were doing what had to be done.
And now he was gone. I was alone.
Just like that.
I gripped my wand so tightly it felt like it might splinter in my hand. It was the only thing tethering me to this moment, the last anchor in a world unravelling around me.
First Sirius. Now Dumbledore.
The grief from before hadn't even faded. I hadn't learnt how to carry it. Now it had doubled. Tripled. It crushed me, pressing down until I could barely breathe. I felt like I was drowning in sorrow.
Around me, others wept—students, professors, people who had revered him as much as I had. But I couldn't join them. I couldn't cry. The tears burnt behind my eyes, but they refused to fall. Instead, I stared down at the cracked stone beneath my boots, willing it to distract me from the truth.
From the silence where Dumbledore's voice should have been.
My hands trembled. I stared at them—muddy, scraped, alien. My body didn't feel like my own. Nothing did. I felt like a ghost inside my skin.
"Harry…" a soft voice broke through the fog. Familiar. Gentle. Caring.
I flinched.
Hands touched my shoulders—light, grounding—but I jerked away like I'd been burnt. My pulse spiked. My breath hitched. I pressed my palms to my temples, trying to squeeze the pressure out, but it only sharpened the edges of the pain.
"Harry, please…"
Still, I couldn't speak. Couldn't find the words. They were buried somewhere deep beneath the grief and panic. The emptiness inside me was too loud.
I finally looked up.
Ron and Hermione stood nearby, hollow-eyed and broken. Hermione's tears ran in streaks down her cheeks. Ron looked ashen, his lips barely moving. I wanted to comfort them. To say something brave, something useful.
But I couldn't. My voice was buried under rubble.
Around us, Hogwarts loomed like a stranger. Its towers—once proud—were now just silhouettes against the gloom. The castle didn't feel like home anymore. It felt like a tomb.
I turned my eyes back to Dumbledore. Still. Silent. Wrong.
He should've stood up. Brushed himself off. Chided us for making such a fuss. Smiled that maddening, knowing smile.
Instead—he didn't move.
My throat closed.
"Harry, we… we should go," Ron said quietly. He didn't look at me.
His words hurt more than he knew. Go? Go where? What was left? Nothing.
Then Hagrid knelt beside me, his massive hand resting gently on my shoulder. "Come on, Harry. Let's go before the night gets worse."
Worse.
The word echoed through my skull. I didn't know how the night could possibly get worse—but some part of me knew it would.
"I can't," I whispered. I wasn't even sure anyone heard.
And then—I heard her.
"Harry," Ginny said, barely holding back her own sobs. "We should go."
Something inside me cracked.
I turned toward her slowly. She knelt beside me, eyes red and wet, her face pale and streaked with grief. Her hand reached for mine, trembling.
I wanted to be strong. For her. For all of them. But all I could do was look away.
Nausea hit first. The world tilted. My vision swam. I tried to rise but collapsed with a grunt.
"Harry!" Ginny cried, catching me before I hit the ground. Her arms wrapped around me—solid, steady. I clung to her, my chest heaving.
She held me tightly, my head buried against her shoulder. Her heartbeat pounded in my ear—firm, living. It reminded me I wasn't completely alone.
I breathed in the scent of her—smoke, sweat, something earthy and clean. Familiar. Real.
Together, we moved through the courtyard slowly. Every step felt like a mile. Students stepped aside, their eyes wide with fear and sorrow. They looked at me like I was something fragile. Broken.
And they were right.
Then it hit.
My scar.
It didn't sting—it burnt. White-hot. Violent. I collapsed like I'd been struck, screaming and clutching at my head. It felt like fire had erupted in my skull.
"Harry!" Ginny's voice cracked with panic. She dropped beside me, gripping my shoulders. "What's happening?!"
I couldn't answer.
Pain blurred everything. My breath came in ragged gasps. I thought I might pass out. I wanted to.
"Stay with me! Please!" she begged.
Her hands were the only thing keeping me here. I clung to her grip like a lifeline. The pain didn't stop—but she kept me from falling further.
Something wet dripped down my face.
Warm. Sticky.
Blood.
I pulled my hand away from my scar and stared at my fingers in horror.
Red. So much of it. The lightning bolt was bleeding. Not a scratch. Not a wound. It poured from me in strange, swirling patterns—symbols. Ancient. Wrong. Like something buried had finally clawed its way free.
Hermione fell to her knees beside me. "Harry—look at me!"
I turned my head slightly.
Her face paled. "Merlin… your scar… It's not just hurting. Harry, it's—what's happening?"
"I—I don't know," I gasped. My voice didn't sound like mine. "It feels like… he's closer. Inside me. Like something's breaking."
She didn't flinch, though fear rippled across her features. She pressed her hand gently to my forehead, trying to stanch the bleeding. "We need to get him inside. Now."
Ginny tightened her grip. "We're not leaving him like this."
"I'm fine," I lied.
Neither believed me.
And then—it changed again.
The air itself thickened. The world dimmed. Not like before. This was different. Worse.
Pop.
A sound echoed across the courtyard.
Then another.
And another.
Apparition.
Screams split the air—high, terrified, and suddenly cut off.
I froze.
They were here.
I didn't need anyone to tell me. I felt it. In my scar. In my bones. In the hole inside me that had never healed.
Voldemort had come.
He'd used Dumbledore's death like a key. He had shattered the last piece of safety we had—and now there was nothing keeping him out.
Every eye turned.
And then he stepped from the darkness.
Tall. Inhuman. Robes blacker than shadow. Skin like cold marble. And those eyes—red, gleaming, bottomless.
Voldemort didn't walk. He glided.
And he smiled.
The kind of smile that promised nothing but pain.
My lungs locked. I found myself on the ground. Bleeding. Helpless. My wand was nowhere in sight. I had lost it.
Death Eaters fanned out behind him, stepping from the shadows like reapers. Their masks gleamed in the dim light. Their wands were drawn. They moved in a slow, practised circle around us.
We were trapped.
I saw Ginny rise, wand in hand. Hermione too. They stood in front of me—shaking, but unyielding.
"No," I whispered. "Run. Please."
They didn't.
I tried to rise, but pain knifed through my forehead. I fell back hard, gasping.
"No!" I roared, the word ripping from me like a curse. Fury. Fear. Desperation. "No!"
But it was too late.
The sky groaned. The castle shuddered.
And Voldemort… laughed.
Voldemort's eyes pierced through me, swirling with serpentine fury and cold triumph. In that moment, I felt an eerie pull toward him—a magnetic drag toward darkness itself. He wasn't just a symbol of evil. He was a mirror held up to my soul, reflecting every fearful choice still ahead. Every hesitation. Every shadow I hadn't yet dared to face. He saw straight through me—past the terror, to the fragile resolve I clung to like a lifeline, the only thing keeping me upright.
The night closed in like a shroud, thick and smothering. The air pressed against my skin, heavy with magic and menace. Dread filled my lungs like smoke, suffocating and familiar—but heavier this time. This wasn't just fear. It was something colder. Deeper. A presence that coiled around my ribs and whispered of endings. Of final breaths and silent graves.
Then came his voice. Low. Silken. Poisonous.
"Children wandering the castle grounds at this hour," he purred, the corners of his mouth twisting into something cruel. "What a delightful sight."
Bellatrix's deranged laughter shrieked through the air like a banshee's wail, sharp as shattered glass. The sound cut through the gathered students, a jagged thing that made the bravest among us flinch. Around me, fear rippled like a shockwave—students frozen in place, some whimpering, others too stunned even to blink. I fought to inhale, to keep my knees from buckling under me. But the weight of terror pressed in like an invisible hand.
Then it came.
Pain exploded from my scar again, sudden and blinding—a fire tearing through my skull like a curse of its own. It didn't just burn. It dug, coiling around my thoughts, relentless and alive. Voldemort stepped forward, slow and measured, each movement laced with the quiet authority of a predator. And with every step, my courage faltered.
My wand lay somewhere—but it might as well have been on the moon. Even the thought of looking for it felt foolish. Hopeless.
I gasped, but the air turned to ash in my throat. My scar throbbed with living, malevolent intent, like Devil's Snare wrapping tighter with every heartbeat. My body was a storm of dread and pain. And he was so close now—towering, terrible.
Then he stood before me. A shadow made flesh. His face—pale, snake-like, wrong—loomed inches from mine. Inhuman. When our eyes locked, the world fell away. I was nowhere. I was nothing. Just a trembling soul caught in the storm of his gaze. In those eyes was every nightmare I'd ever known, every horror I'd survived—and worse.
"Ah, Harry Potter," he hissed. His voice cracked like ice underfoot. "Still clinging to hope, I see."
My heart pounded in my chest, too loud in the stillness. Each beat felt borrowed. Stolen.
A ragged scream tore from my throat before I could stop it. My voice was hoarse, raw. Hot tears blurred my vision, and I dug my nails into my palms, desperate to stay tethered to something—anything. But the darkness surged, wrapping around my mind like a tide.
The pain returned—sharper, louder, a roaring fire that ignited my skull and spine. My heartbeat became a drumbeat of terror, echoing in my ears. Voldemort's laughter slithered around me like a cold wind, but all I could feel was the agony—a shattering, suffocating burn that stole everything else away.
Then came his hand.
Cold fingers gripped my hair, wrenching my head back so hard my neck cracked. I cried out, blood running into my eyes, down my cheeks, mixing with sweat and dirt. I twisted, panicked, but I was locked in place—his grip iron. Unbreakable.
With a cruel flick, he tore the glasses from my face and dropped them to the ground. One slow, deliberate motion, and he crushed them beneath his heel. The sound—a quiet crunch—felt louder than thunder. The world blurred into formless horror. Shapes lost definition. Voices lost meaning. Everything became ghosts.
"You understand the meaning of Dumbledore's death, don't you?" he whispered. His breath was hot and foul against my skin, and just the name—Dumbledore—was a blade through my chest. My whole body tensed.
Then, without warning, the curse hit.
No incantation. No warning.
Just pain.
Raw, molten agony ripped through my chest. I convulsed, muscles seizing, blood spilling from my mouth. It tasted like rust. Like death. I couldn't scream. I couldn't breathe. I could only endure.
He stood above me like a god, wand pointed, eyes devoid of mercy or meaning. I searched for anything human in that face, that gaze. There was nothing. No soul. No flicker of doubt. Just a hollow void where humanity should have been.
"I can show you pain beyond your darkest fears," he murmured, almost tenderly.
I hadn't seen him cast the spell. But I felt it. With every breath, pain dragged across my lungs like broken glass. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. But despair wrapped around me like iron chains, dragging me down.
Then—through the haze—Hermione's voice.
"STOP!" she screamed. "What are you doing to him?!"
Her cry cut through the storm like lightning. My eyes fluttered open, barely. Shapes moved. Blurs. But I felt them. Ginny. Ron. Luna. Neville. Hermione. My friends. My family. I wanted to tell them I was still here. Still fighting. Still theirs.
Voldemort sneered. "Can you see, Harry? Your friend wishes to help."
"You're murdering him!" Hermione sobbed.
Her voice cracked on the word. Murder. And for a moment, the thought hit me—maybe this is it.
His laughter rang out, cruel and cold. "Murder? No, no… not yet."
The pain surged again. Shattering. Electric. My body convulsed as blood poured from my lips. I couldn't tell what was real anymore.
Then—Ginny.
"Please, stop!"
Her voice was breaking. Raw. Vulnerable. I wanted to look at her. Reach out. Say her name. But my body betrayed me. The words drowned inside me, never making it past my lips.
Voldemort stepped back slowly, smiling. "They think you're weak, Harry. Are they wrong?"
His voice was oil on water, slick and poisonous. I couldn't answer. My fists clenched. My jaw tightened. I would not break.
He leaned closer, the heat of him unbearable. "Don't worry. I have all the time in the world to break you. This is only the beginning."
Blood ran down my neck. My limbs trembled, nerves screaming. I was slipping, fading—but not gone. Not yet.
Then—red light.
A spell. A curse. A challenge.
Voldemort turned, startled. I hit the ground, gasping. Cool earth beneath my fingers. A breath of reprieve. I turned my head—Neville.
He stood, wand shaking, face pale. But he stood.
Voldemort's wand snapped up. "You dare curse me?"
Neville's voice didn't waver. "Yes, I do. But I'm still learning. Not yet, guys."
Tears stung my eyes. That bravery—no spell Voldemort cast could ever hurt more than seeing Neville step forward. With the DA.
"You command loyalty," Voldemort mused. "Are they slaves?"
"They're friends," Neville said. "Real ones."
A silence followed. Then Voldemort chuckled. "Shall I test their loyalty against mine?"
"No!" I choked, trying to rise. My body screamed. Then—Lucius Malfoy's curse slammed me flat.
"Not so fast," he purred.
I struggled as Voldemort raised his wand again.
Then—Neville's scream.
A sharp sound. A clean wound. The crowd gasped.
"You'd do well to respect your betters," Voldemort murmured.
"Neville!" I cried. "What have you done?!"
"Just a scratch," Voldemort said, almost bored.
Neville trembled. Blood streaked his robes. But he was still standing.
"What do you want?" I rasped. "You don't have to hurt them. Hurt me."
Voldemort circled like a vulture. "Harry," he said softly, "it's not just me. Others deserve a turn. You do understand, don't you?"
My fear burnt away into something hotter. Fury.
"I'm the one you want. Leave them alone."
His smile widened. "Brave. But your friend crossed a line. He had to be shown."
I didn't answer. I just glared. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
Then, suddenly, his hand grabbed my face.
Ice. Pain. Pressure.
My scream tore through the night. "No! Stop!"
"Please," I gasped. "Please…"
He leaned in, eyes shining with sadistic delight. "Begging won't save you, Harry. But it will teach you."
Agony crashed over me—waves of fire and venom. I screamed again, louder this time. The world spun. My vision splintered. Voldemort's laughter echoed, inhuman and exultant, as the darkness surged in to claim me.
And then—
Only black.
I couldn't tell how long I was unconscious, but a low hum echoed in my ears. The kind that comes before thunder. Before collapse.
Somewhere far away, someone was screaming—high, desperate, and raw. It sounded like Hermione. Or maybe Ginny. But I couldn't be sure. The world had become smoke and echoes, nothing solid. Nothing real.
I was floating, or maybe falling. My body was gone, lost to fire and silence. Only the pain remained—etched into every corner of my mind, so deep that even unconsciousness couldn't drown it.
Then—a jolt.
The world yanked me back like a noose around my throat. My eyes flew open.
Cold ground beneath me. Blood in my mouth. My chest rose and fell in short, shuddering gasps. Voldemort's magic still crackled through my nerves like a storm that refused to pass. My whole body trembled.
I heard crying.
Hermione's sobs were uncontrollable, breathless. She was shouting at someone—maybe the Death Eaters, maybe Voldemort himself. "Stop!" she wailed. "You've done enough—he's bleeding—you've done enough!"
Then Ginny.
She wasn't crying. Her voice was steady—shaking only slightly. She stood between me and Voldemort now, wand in her hand. Her arms trembled, but she didn't lower it.
"You want someone to fight?" she snapped. "Fight me. Or are you only brave when your victims are too weak to stand?"
Voldemort turned to her with a curiosity that chilled the room.
"So much fire," he said.
Red light.
A flash of energy struck her in the chest. She flew backward and crashed into the floor with a sharp cry. Hermione shrieked. Ron shouted her name, but Lucius held him fast, wand pressed to his throat. Ron struggled anyway, veins bulging in his neck, fury radiating off him in waves.
"Let me go! LET HER GO!"
"Such bravery," Voldemort mused, walking slowly between them all like a general surveying conquered ruins. "And such waste. You throw yourselves at me like moths to a flame. Knowing it will burn. Knowing it will kill."
He turned back to me.
I tried to lift my head. It felt like a mountain pressing down on my skull.
"You're not finished yet," Voldemort whispered, almost kindly. "There's still so much more you need to lose."
I couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
But my lips moved anyway.
"Do your worst."
He crouched beside me, that pale, corpse-like face too close.
"Oh, I intend to," he breathed. "But slowly. A lesson… for all of you."
He stood.
"Nott", he said coldly. "Your turn."
A thin, cruel-looking boy stepped forward, wand in hand. His smile was eager. My insides twisted.
"Crucio," Nott whispered.
White-hot agony erupted through my spine. I arched off the floor with a scream that tore from deep in my chest. The spell wasn't as strong as Voldemort's—but it didn't have to be. It was enough to make my vision bleed at the edges, to make the world break apart again.
"STOP IT!" Neville shouted.
A curse flew from his wand, wild and desperate. Nott spun, caught off guard—but Bellatrix intercepted it mid-air with a sickening laugh.
"Oh, the little lion cub wants to roar," she sang.
She flicked her wand. Neville collapsed, choking.
Then she walked over and kicked him in the ribs.
I tried to crawl towards him. My fingers dug into the soil. My arms shook like they might tear at the joints. But I moved.
Inches.
Just inches.
"Enough," Voldemort said suddenly.
The curses stopped. The room was thick with panting, sobbing, and the soft drip of blood. For a moment, no one moved.
He looked at me—one final time.
"You still don't understand, Harry," he murmured. "This was never about killing you. Not yet."
He turned away. "It's about breaking you."
He raised his wand.
With a sickening crack of magic, pain exploded behind my eyes—and then everything went black, like the world had been yanked away before I could scream.
The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was Ginny's voice, faint and cracking.
"Harry!"
Then—silence.
Then—nothing.