Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows hp-7

by J. K. Rowling

  “Hogwarts is threatened!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!”

  Clattering and yelling, the horde of moving statues stampeded past Harry, some of them smaller, others larger than life. There were animals too, and the clanking suits of armor brandished swords and spiked balls on chains.

  “Now, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, “you and Miss Lovegood had better return to your friends and bring them to the Great Hall—I shall rouse the other Gryffindors.”

  They parted at the top of the next staircase, Harry and Luna turning back toward the concealed entrance to the Room of Requirement. As they ran, they met crowds of students, most wearing traveling cloaks over their pajamas, being shepherded down to the Great Hall by teachers and prefects.

  “That was Potter!”

  “Harry Potter!”

  “It was him, I swear, I just saw him!”

  But Harry did not look back, and at last they reached the entrance to the Room of Requirement, Harry leaned against the enchanted wall, which opened to admit them, and he and Luna sped back down the steep staircase.

  “Wh—?”

  As the room came into view, Harry slipped down a few stairs in shock. It was packed, far more crowded than when he had last been in there. Kingsley and Lupin were looking up at him, as were Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, Bill and Fleur, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

  “Harry, what’s happening?” said Lupin, meeting him at the foot of the stairs.

  “Voldemort’s on his way, they’re barricading he school—Snape’s run for it—What are you doing here? How did you know?

  “We sent messages to the rest of Dumbledore’s Army,” Fred explained. “You couldn’t expect everyone to miss the fun, Harry, and the D.A. let the Order of the Phoenix know, and it all kind of snowballed.”

  “What first, Harry?” called George. “What’s going on?”

  “They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organized,” Harry said. “We’re fighting.”

  There was a great roar and a surge toward the stairs, he was pressed back against he wall as they ran past him, the mingled members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army, and Harry’s old Quidditch team, all with their wands drawn, heading up into the main castle.

  “Come on, Luna,” Dean called as he passed, holding out his free hand, she took it and followed him back up the stairs.

  The crowd was thinning. Only a little knot of people remained below in the Room of Requirement, and Harry joined them. Mrs. Weasley was struggling with Ginny. Around them stood Lupin, Fred, George, Bill and Fleur.

  “You’re underage!” Mrs. Weasley shouted at her daughter as Harry approached. “I won’t permit it! The boys, yes, but you, you’ve got to go home!”

  “I won’t!”

  Ginny’s hair flew as she pulled her arm out of her mother’s grip.

  “I’m in Dumbledore’s Army—”

  “A teenagers’ gang!”

  “A teenagers’ gang that’s about to take him on, which no one else has dared to do!” said Fred.

  “She’s sixteen!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “She’s not old enough! What you two were thinking, bringing her with you—”

  Fred and George looked slightly ashamed of themselves.

  “Mom’s right, Ginny,” said Bill gently. “You can’t do this. Everyone underage will have to leave, it’s only right.”

  “I can’t go home!” Ginny shouted, angry tears sparkling in her eyes. “My whole family’s here, I can’t stand waiting there alone and not knowing and—”

  Her eyes met Harry’s for the first time. She looked at him beseechingly, but he shook his head and she turned away bitterly.

  “Fine,” she said, staring at the entrance to the tunnel back to the Hog’s Head. “I’ll say good-bye now, then, and—”

  There was a scuffling and a great thump. Someone else had clambered out of the tunnel, overbalanced slightly, and fallen. He pulled himself up no the nearest chair, looked around through lopsided horn-rimmed glasses, and said, “Am I too late? Has it started? I only just found out, so I—I—”

  Percy spluttered into silence. Evidently he had not expected to run into most of his family. There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Fleur turning to Lupin and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension. “So—’ow eez leetle Teddy?”

  Lupin blinked at her, startled. The silence between the Weasleys seemed to be solidifying, like ice.

  “I—oh yes—he’s fine!” Lupin said loudly. “Yes, Tonks is with him—at her mother’s—”

  Percy and the other Weasleys were still staring at one another, frozen.

  “Here, I’ve got a picture!” Lupin shouted, pulling a photograph from inside his jacket and showing it to Fleur and Harry, who saw a tiny baby with a tuft of bright turquoise hair, waving fat fists at the camera.

  “I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Lupin nearly dropped his photograph. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a—a—”

  “Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron,” said Fred.

  Percy swallowed.

  “Yes, I was!”

  “Well, you can’t say fairer than that,” said Fred, holding his hand out to Percy.

  Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Percy said.

  Mr. Weasley blinked rather rapidly, then he too hurried to hug his son.

  “What made you see sense, Perce?” inquired George.

  “It’s been coming on for a while,” said Percy, mopping his eyes under his glasses with a corner of his traveling cloak. “But I had to find a way out and it’s not so easy at the Ministry, they’re imprisoning traitors all the time. I managed to make contact with Aberforth and he tipped me off ten minutes ago that Hogwarts was going to make a fight of it, so here I am.”

  “Well, we do look to our prefects to take a lead at times such as these,” said George in a good imitation of Percy’s most pompous manner. “Now let’s get upstairs and fight, or all the good Death Eaters’ll be taken.”

  “So, you’re my sister in-law now?” said Percy, shaking hands with Fleur as they hurried off toward the staircase with Bill, Fred, and George.

  “Ginny!” barked Mrs. Weasley.

  Ginny had been attempting, under cover of the reconciliation, to sneak upstairs too.

  “Molly, how about this,” said Lupin. “Why doesn’t Ginny stay here, then at least she’ll be on the scene and know what’s going on, but she won’t be in the middle of the fighting?”

  “I—”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Mr. Weasley firmly, “Ginny, you stay in this room, you hear me?”

  Ginny did not seem to like the idea much, but under her father’s unusually stern gaze, she nodded. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Lupin headed off to the stairs as well.

  “Where’s Ron?” asked Harry, “Where’s Hermione?”

  “They must have gone up the Great Hall already,” Mr. Weasley called over his shoulder.

  “I didn’t see them pass me,” said Harry.

  “They said something about a bathroom,” said Ginny, “not long after you left.”

  “A bathroom?”

  Harry strode across the room to an open door leading off the Room of Requirement and checked the bathroom beyond. It was empty.

  “You’re sure they said bath—?”

  But then his scar seared and the Room of Requirement vanished. He was looking through the high wrought-iron gates with winged boats on pillars at either side, looking through the dark grounds toward the castle, which was ablaze with lights. Nagini lay draped over his shoulders. He was possessed of that cold, cruel sense of purpose that preceded murder.

  31. THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS

  The enchanted ceiling
of the Great Hall was dark and scattered with stars, and below it the four long House tables were lined with disheveled students, some in traveling cloaks, others in dressing gowns. Here and there shone the pearly white figures of the school ghosts. Every eye, living and dead, was fixed upon Professor McGonagall, who was speaking from the raised platform at the top of the Hall. Behind her stood the remaining teaches, including the palomino centaur, Firenze, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had arrived to fight.

  “…evacuation will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madame Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organize your House and take your charges in orderly fashion to the evacuation point.

  Many of the students looked petrified. However, as Harry skirted the walls, scanning the Gryffindor table for Ron and Hermione, Ernie Macmillan stood up at the Hufflepuff table and shouted; “And what if we want to stay and fight?”

  There was a smattering of applause.

  “If you are of age, you may stay,” said Professor McGonagall.

  “What about our things?” called a girl at the Ravenclaw table. “Our trunks, our owls?”

  “We have no time to collect possessions,” said Professor McGonagall. “The important thing is to get you out of here safely.”

  “Where’s Professor Snape?” shouted a girl from the Slytherin table.

  “He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk,” replied Professor McGonagall and a great cheer erupted from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws.

  Harry moved up the Hall alongside the Gryffindor table, still looking for Ron and Hermione. As he passed, faces turned in his direction, and a great deal of whispering broke out in his wake.

  “We have already placed protection around the castle,” Professor McGonagall was saying, “but it is unlikely to hold for very long unless we reinforce it. I must ask you, therefore, to move quickly and calmly, and do as your prefects—”

  But her final words were drowned as a different voice echoed throughout the Hall. It was high, cold, and clear. There was no telling from where it came. It seemed to issue from the walls themselves. Like the monster it had once commanded, it might have lain dormant there for centuries.

  “I know that you are preparing to fight.” There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.”

  There was silence in the Hall now, the kind of silence that presses against the eardrums, that seems too huge to be contained by walls.

  “Give me Harry Potter,” said Voldemort’s voice, “and none shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded.

  “You have until midnight.”

  The silence swallowed them all again. Every head turned, every eye in the place seemed to have found Harry, to hold him forever in the glare of thousands of invisible beams. Then a figure rose from the Slytherin table and he recognized Pansy Parkinson as she raised a shaking arm and screamed, “But he’s there! Potter’s there. Someone grab him!”

  Before Harry could speak, there was a massive movement. The Gryffindors in front of him had risen and stood facing, not Harry, but the Slytherins. Then the Hufflepuffs stood, and almost at the same moment, the Ravenclaws, all of them with their backs to Harry, all of them looking toward Pansy instead, and Harry, awestruck and overwhelmed, saw wands emerging everywhere, pulled from beneath cloaks and from under sleeves.

  “Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. “You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow.”

  Harry heard the grinding of the benches and then the sound of the Slytherins trooping out on the other side of the Hall.

  “Ravenclaws, follow on!” cried Professor McGonagall.

  Slowly the four tables emptied. The Slytherin table was completely deserted, but a number of older Ravenclaws remained seated while their fellows filed out; even more Hufflepuffs stayed behind, and half of Gryffindor remained in their seats, necessitating Professor McGonagall’s descent from the teachers’ platform to chivvy the underage on their way.

  “Absolutely not, Creevey, go! And you, Peakes!”

  Harry hurried over to the Weasleys, all sitting together at the Gryffindor table.

  “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

  “Haven’t you found—?” began Mr. Weasley, looking worried.

  But he broke off as Kingsley had stepped forward on the raised platform to address those who had remained behind.

  “We’ve only got half an hour until midnight, so we need to act fast. A battle plan has been agreed between the teachers of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Professors Flitwick, Sprout and McGonagall are going to take groups of fighters up to the three highest towers—Ravenclaw, Astronomy, and Gryffindor—where they’ll have good overview, excellent positions from which to work spells. Meanwhile Remus”—he indicated Lupin—“Arthur”—he pointed toward Mr. Weasley, sitting at the Gryffindor table—“and I will take groups into the grounds. We’ll need somebody to organize defense of the entrances or the passageways into the school—”

  “Sounds like a job for us,” called Fred, indicating himself and George, and Kingsley nodded his approval.

  “All right, leaders up here and we’ll divide up the troops!”

  “Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, hurrying up to him, as students flooded the platform, jostling for position, receiving instructions, “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for something?”

  “What? Oh,” said Harry, “oh yeah!”

  He had almost forgotten about the Horcrux, almost forgotten that the battle was being fought so that he could search for it: The inexplicable absence of Ron and Hermione had momentarily driven every other thought from his mind.

  “Then go, Potter, go!”

  “Right—yeah—”

  He sensed eyes following him as he ran out of the Great Hall again, into the entrance hall still crowded with evacuating students. He allowed himself to be swept up the marble staircase with them, but at the top he hurried off along a deserted corridor. Fear and panic were clouding his thought processes. He tried to calm himself, to concentrate on finding the Horcrux, but his thoughts buzzed as frantically and fruitlessly as wasps trapped beneath a glass. Without Ron and Hermione to help him he could not seem to marshal his ideas. He slowed down, coming to a halt halfway along a passage, where he sat down on the plinth of a departed statue and pulled the Marauder’s Map out of the pouch around his neck. He could not see Ron’s or Hermione’s names anywhere on it, though the density of the crowd of dots now making its way to the Room of Requirement might, he thought, be concealing them. He put the map away, pressed his hands over his face, and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.

  Voldemort thought I’d go to Ravenclaw Tower.

  There it was, a solid fact, the place to start. Voldemort had stationed Alecto Carrow in the Ravenclaw common room, and there could be only one explanation; Voldemort feared that Harry already knew his Horcrux was connected to that House.

  But the only object anyone seemed to associate with Ravenclaw was the lost diadem… and how could the Horcrux be the diadem? How was it possible that Voldemort, the Slytherin, had found the diadem that had eluded generations of Ravenclaws? Who could have told him where to look, when nobody had seen the diadem in living memory?

  In living memory…

  Beneath his fingers, Harry’s eyes flew open again. He leapt up from the plinth and tore back the way he had come, now in pursuit of his one last hope. The sound of hundreds of people marching toward the Room of Requirement grew louder and louder as he returned to the marble stairs. Prefects were shouting instructions, trying to keep track of the students in their own houses, there was much pushing and shouting; Harry saw Zacharias Smith bowling over fir
st years to get to the front of the queue, here and there younger students were in tears, while older ones called desperately for friends or siblings.

  Harry caught sight of a pearly white figure drifting across the entrance hall below and yelled as loudly as he could over the clamor.

  “Nick! NICK! I need to talk to you!”

  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.