"It's started?"
"It's started!"
In another hidden chamber deep within the cavern, a group of witches and wizards stood in a tight circle, wands drawn, eyes darting between one another with a mixture of nerves and exhilaration. Mad-Eye Moody clunked forward on his wooden leg and growled, "Quiet, the lot of you! The moment we step out, we move exactly to plan—remember that!" His magical eye whirled frantically while the real one fixed them all with its usual glare. "We are not here to fight their battle. Our only job is to make sure Voldemort does not escape. The trap he set himself will become his grave. Now—go!"
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
More than a dozen figures burst from cover. The moment the elite members of the Order of the Phoenix appeared, every eye was dragged toward the furious duel raging on the island at the lake's center.
"Now!" Moody roared.
In the same heartbeat, more than a dozen spells shot skyward, weaving together in mid-air. The blinding weave of magic was almost painful to look at.
Voldemort, who until that instant had been flinging curses with abandon, felt the shift and whipped around. Several scarlet jets were already leaping from his wand when he saw it: a towering wall of magic now sealed the cave's only exit, blazing with multicolored light.
"Don't stop!" Moody's gravelly voice thundered.
Led by Moody, Kingsley, and McGonagall—Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, and Hestia Jones right behind them—they leveled their wands and spoke the same incantation in perfect unison.
One voice after another, the words rose and resonated. The sand and loose stone beneath their feet softened into something like thick mud, flowing upward to merge with the glowing wall. What had been pure spellwork now gained physical substance. Then came a rapid patter of new charms.
"Protegos all around—Protego Totalum—Protego Totalum—"
"Wait, wait!" A high, excited voice piped up from the back. "Let me harmonize the charms!"
"Out of the way!" Moody bellowed. The circle parted, and tiny Professor Flitwick hopped forward, wand moving like a conductor's baton, tapping and flicking the air. Runes seemed to burn themselves into the surface of the wall.
"There, you may—"
"Carry on!" Moody roared again. Poor Flitwick was shoved backward so hard his hair ended up even more disheveled than usual. He looked up to find Moody's magical eye still spinning, fixed on the distant battle.
"How is it inside, Alastor? The children—are they safe?" Flitwick asked.
"They're fine," Moody grunted, the scars on his face twitching. "The little elf turned up."
"Brilliant!" Flitwick beamed—barely taller than a house-elf himself.
"He really came? Alone?"
"What, were you hoping Voldemort would shout his Horcrux secrets up and down Diagon Alley?"
Behind the shimmering magical curtain, Ron and Hermione jumped at every explosion of light. They could see only fragments of the fight—nothing like the perfect view Moody's eye gave him—but when phoenix fire suddenly lit the cavern, they noticed all the same.
"Kreacher," Hodge Blackthorn said quietly.
With a soft crack, the house-elf who had spent the last weeks guarding Mr. and Mrs. Blackthorn appeared. Kreacher wore a grubby pillowcase; around his bony neck hung a thin chain with a distinct lump beneath the fabric—the fake locket.
"Tell Professor Snape he may begin," Hodge instructed. "After that, stay at Madam Bones's side unless something goes wrong on their end or I summon you."
Kreacher bowed low and vanished with another crack.
Malfoy Manor.
The gathered Death Eaters were skittering like ants on a hot pan. The news little Barty had brought was terrifying.
"…I would gladly die if it meant you would be killed by a worthy opponent."
In theory, countless people wanted Voldemort dead. Yet he had become You-Know-Who, the name too terrifying to speak. Then he had achieved the impossible—returned from death itself, broken his followers out of Azkaban. They ought to have been overflowing with confidence, without a shred of doubt… and yet…
"Snape, what do you say?" Bellatrix demanded abruptly.
"What exactly would you like me to say?" Snape replied in his usual slow drawl. "I still have no idea what has happened. Yaxley burst in, announced the Dark Lord required my presence, and when I arrived the Dark Lord was nowhere to be found. I was simply told to wait—endlessly."
"What are you implying?" Bellatrix's swollen eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you questioning the great—"
"I am praying," Snape cut in coldly, "that the Order of the Phoenix does not assign me any duties tonight."
"You—"
But Snape had already turned and swept from the room. "I'm going for a walk. Don't worry—just in the garden."
He passed a furious, proud-faced woman on his way out.
A few seconds later, an outraged shriek echoed behind him.
"How dare you—Bella! You've locked my husband up—in my own house!"
"Silence! It is the Dark Lord's command. Your husband must pay for his weakness and his cunning!"
"And you? Don't think I don't know—you came back from the vault empty-handed—"
The shouting faded as Snape stepped into the cool night air of the dark garden. He breathed deeply and tilted his head to the moon, memories of the last decades flickering past: childhood, school, becoming a Death Eater, becoming a spy, teaching at Hogwarts… truly nothing worth clinging to.
Yet after tonight, perhaps everything would finally be settled.
A stray thought made him grimace: if the plan succeeded, he would still have to endure Harry Potter for five more years. The boy was growing more like his father every day—except for the eyes.
The prospect suddenly seemed less appealing.
His expression shifted; he slipped silently forward until he stood beside the tall hedge.
"Professor Snape," came a familiar creaky voice from the shadows, "Young Master Hodge says you may proceed."
Snape glanced at the small, bald head poking from the leaves, then turned and strode away. As he walked, he drew his wand from the billowing sleeve of his robe.
The snake inside the manor was his target tonight.
With a soft rustle, the hedge stilled. Both voice and bald dome vanished as though blown away by the wind.
Farther off, Amelia Bones watched the manor, raised her arm—and dozens, perhaps hundreds of figures fanned out in every direction.
She was waiting for Snape's signal.
That signal would mark the beginning of the full assault.
BOOM!
Back in the cavern, the battle had reached its fiercest peak.
"Dumbledore—you will never kill me!" Voldemort roared.