Chapter Fifty-One: The Army of the Dead

Tom Riddle had always intended to be a great wizard. The greatest wizard, in fact, of all time. The most powerful, the most admired, the most feared, the most brilliant. He was willing to do anything to be the greatest. Or at least, he thought he had been. Recently, however, he had started to wonder if his definition of greatest had not been a little skewed. Perhaps greatest didn't mean most feared. Of course it still meant most powerful and most admired and brilliant. But perhaps, just perhaps, it also meant most beloved.

He blasted the doors open dramatically. He paused, making eye contact with Hermione. It was a shame he was bloody and bruised. He had intended for this moment, this pinnacle of his newfound desire to do heroics to be perfect, to be repeated forever, to be admired and embellished upon, to be written about in history books. He adjusted his spangled robes, rubbed at the blood trickle. Well. He must make do. He turned dramatically to the students behind him. He paused. Took a deep breath.

"My friends," he said loudly, "let us help our comrades. Let us stop evil. Let us-"

"First one to get a Death Eater wins a shot of firewhiskey!" Potter bellowed, bouncing forward and past Riddle into the fray, "I'm buying!"

Tom turned to Hermione, who shrugged at him. He deflated.

"Good try, my lord," Avery said loyally.

"Oh shut up," he groused, and then he leapt after Potter.

There had been a time when Ginny Weasley was a sheltered, naïve girl. It was true that growing up with 6 brothers made one learn more about certain aspects of life, such as the proper way to prank a sibling, or steal a locked broom, but overall she had been loved, sheltered, fed well, and yes, a little spoiled as the youngest and only girl.

That had come to an abrupt halt at the edge of eleven, when she had starting writing in that blasted diary. It had been obliterated when Lord Voldemort had come to the Burrow after fourth year and kidnapped her when no one was watching. She'd begged and pleaded, tried to appeal to Tom Riddle, who was evil and terrifying but at least had something in him, some tiny kernel that was human, but Tom Riddle was gone. Lord Voldemort was all there was left, an inhuman shell that craved power before anything, and had weakened parts of his body and mind dangerously as a result. She had begged on her knees but it had done no good, and he'd shown her the diary he'd written, the absurd glittery unicorn stickers, and laughed while she wept. He'd let her suffer for a day or two and then had done something worse. He'd turned her into the evil Lady Ginevra, and not her friends, family, classmates or even the Death Eaters knew that she was Ginny, she'd always been Ginny, that she had never been anyone else.

As she stared at Fred and George, two of her only family members left, their wands pointing at her, she didn't welcome death like she had been for months. She couldn't die, not now, not when no one knew, not when she couldn't tell anyone!

"I'm sorry," George said to her, and Ginny tried to scream the truth.

"We're both sorry," Fred said.

The only solace Ginny could find was that Ginevra hadn't managed to kill Harry like she'd wanted to.

"You won't do anything to me!" she heard Ginevra shout, "You can't do anything to any of us, fools!"

"No," Narcissa Malfoy said grimly, "but I can."

A jet of light shot out of her wand.

Hortense turned the stone, and for a moment, nothing happened. They could hear the screams and laughter and shouts and bangs below, but nothing else. The shaggy haired boy looked at her, and the expression was so reminiscent of a boy who'd died in another universe that Hortense gasped.

"Thaddeus?"

"What did you say?" the boy said, frowning. "What did you call me?"

The sound of voices came from around the bend to their backs and Hortense whirled around, expecting to see an army of dead people.

Instead, there was a handsome golden haired man, a teenage boy, and much older versions of Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick.

'Oh, it's you!" The man exclaimed, as Madam Pomfrey attempted to bodily wrest her wand from his grip. "Great Aunt Hortense! I told that boy you're the one who came up with it."

"Miss Lockhart," Flitwick squeaked, clutched at his ribs. "But that can't be you!"

"Why did you say Thaddeus?" the boy demanded.

"We went to school together, son," a man broke in. "Not that I associated with a Half-blood child in Ravenclaw, of course. But everyone knows who a Nott is."

The boy who must be related to Thaddeus Nott spun around, and there behind all of them was an older, stooped man that Hortense could nonetheless see was a much aged version of the recently murdered Thaddeus Nott. The man seemed to be less than solid, but more substantial than a ghost.

"Dad?" the shaggy haired boy gasped, and behind Thaddeus more shapes came forward, solidified through the smoke and lights of battles.

Vincent Crabbe made his way leisurely up the stone corridor outside of the Hufflepuff common room and the kitchens, slowly eating the last of his apple tart. Perhaps when he got back to the dormitory he'd ask Blaise if he was up for a game of gobstones. Blaise hadn't been himself lately, but to be fair, none of them were.

Vince paused for a moment, chewing the last of his tart thoughtfully as he looked at the nearest portrait. The wizard in it leaned against the frame, sneering at him. He didn't have blonde hair, but his features were pointy and his build was tall but slight.

Stuffing your face again, boy?" he sneered.

Vince supposed he should be offended, but all he saw was his dead best friend in the aristocratic looks and disdainful expression. He knew people thought Draco didn't particularly respect him or Greg, and perhaps he didn't, but Draco had patiently sat for hours tutoring them more than once so they could pass their exams. When all twelve of the girls he'd asked to the Yule Ball turned him down with varying degrees of intensity and laughter, he'd hidden in the boy's bathroom on the sixth floor that no one used and cried.

Draco had found him and made him laugh when he'd done a reenactment of Harry Potter getting turned down by Cho Chang for the ball. The story that had been passed around clearly was embellished by a third year Slytherin that had overheard Potter and Chang, and Draco had made it more ludicrous still, but Vince had appreciated the effort all the same.

"Well?" the portrait sneered, and Vince was reminded for the millionth time that Draco was dead, and so was Greg, and Pansy.

"Are you slow, boy?" the portrait said.

If Draco were here, he'd not led this slide, this Vince knew without a doubt.

"You're just mad you can't eat," he grunted, and the man in the painting unexpectedly smiled.

"True," he said, "very true. And some fool decided to hang me near the kitchens. Some stupid Hufflepuff no doubt."

Vince laughed. "More like a Slytherin," he said, "to hang you where you would suffer most. Did anyone want to get revenge on you?"

The man's smile turned sly, and Crabbe felt discomfited.

"I don't have as many enemies as you do, boy."

"What does that mean?" Crabbe asked, but something didn't feel right. Not at all.

"You haven't noticed anything strange, stupid boy?" the portrait said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of his portrait, all the while smiling, smiling. It reminded Crabbe of the times Draco had spotted Potter and had come up with some particularly stinging insults to use on him.

"What d'you mean?" Crabbe said blinking, and the man laughed meanly.

"If I were you, stupid boy, I'd go back and stuff your face, some more. Then at least you'll be safe."

"Safe from what?" Crabbe demanded, but that was when he heard it finally. There was screaming coming from the Great Hall. He looked around. And hanging on the walls…

"Where are the rest of the portraits?" Crabbe demanded.

"Just noticed, have you?" the man said snidely, "I see your reputation is well earned."

Why hadn't he noticed it before? Vince wondered. When were all the portraits ever empty?

"Why are you still here?" he blurted. "Where's everyone else? What's going on?"

"I'm here for you," the man said, and the way he said it roused the hairs on Vince's neck, "I'm here because your father asked me to."

It had taken too long, but now Vince understood.

The door leading to the Great Hall blasted off of its hinges and there, thirty feet away, was his father. He was wearing his mask, but there was no mistaking the boulder that was Vincent Crabbe senior. There was only one thing to do. Vince turned, knocking over a statue to block his father's aim and sprinted far faster than anyone would think he was capable of back to the kitchens, hearing his father swear, the portrait laughing.

"That's it!" the man in the portrait called, "go back and run, stupid boy, that's all you're good for!" Crabbe ran to the painting of the fruit, tickling the pear, and slammed it shut, feeling like a coward.

Brigitte Laroque had always been on the quiet side of things, but she had never been so shy before the last year of her life. She'd had a small group of close friends, girls she traded hair styles and robes and giggled with, girls she'd loved like sisters. But now Margot and Aline were dead, Noelle was missing, and her parents were dead too.

The war had come to France, and the evil Muggle warlord and the evil wizard Grindelwald had destroyed her life. She had fled to her Grandmother's home out of the wreckage of her parent's house, somehow hidden and ducked away in the thick smoke, refusing to remember the way her mother had screamed when she'd been set on fire, refused to remember how her father had begged for Brigitte's life to laughing wizards.

At least, she had refused to remember until her grandmother had sent her to England. Brigitte had cried and cajoled her grandmother to come with her, but she knew her grandmother was sick, had been dying slowly for months, and the trip might kill her. She had refused to leave, and so her grandmother had gathered up the last remaining strength in her, summoned her magic, and confunded Brigitte. She had shoved a long range portkey in her hand, and when she'd arrived at her destination Brigitte had gotten her first glimpse of Diagon Alley. Next to her had been a man, an auburn haired wizard in highly unfashionable spangly purple robes. The man had a nose that had been broken but he also had kind eyes, and Brigitte, who had seen very few kind eyes recently, knew she could trust this man.

"Hello," the man had said in slow and careful French. "I am Professor Dumbledore. I teach Transfiguration at the wizarding school of Hogwarts. I've received an owl from your grandmother, Madam Laroque. I'm here to help you."

Brigitte, who had still been confunded, blinked slowly.

"How do you know Grandmother?" she asked finally.

"Why, I met her many years ago, as a boy," the wizard had said to her, his eyes twinkling, "let me tell you all about it over lunch."

Brigitte, when she had come to and thrown off the Confundus, didn't know if she could forgive Albus Dumbledore or herself for not going back to her Grandmother. She had let him talk her into staying in this cold and strange land. She had heard one month later her grandmother had died, killed by the Muggle dictator as well.

And there she had stayed, alone and quiet, withdrawn and empty, barely able to communicate, not just shy but invisible for the first time in her life, until Hermione Granger had appeared out of nowhere and changed everything.

Then, Brigitte had been alive again. And she very much wanted to stay that way. But even more than that, Brigitte knew, she needed to help destroy an evil wizard who had destroyed a country and killed families like Brigitte's. She had not been able to fight Grindelwald, or the Muggle dictator, and it was the biggest regret of her life. So when Hermione's friend, a boy with arresting green eyes, absurd hair, and an apparent shouting problem handed her a set of robes without explanation, Brigitte put then on, and she felt strong for the first time in a long time.

"So what's the plan My – er, Tom?" Parkinson shouted at Riddle, as Hermione grabbed Harry by the scruff of his robes before he flung himself bodily at Lord Voldemort without a plan of escape.

"Kill the snake," Riddle said brusquely, rubbing at his chin again, "use a basilisk fang on it, not something else. Use any advanced dark magicks we have for attacking Lord…his followers."

Lestrange held up a bottle of skin stinging potion, shook it a little, and grinned. "Let us take care of that serpent man," Riddle said, gesturing at Harry alone, both of them in their absurd robes, and Hermione felt her anger rise.

"Excuse me?" she said icily.

"The rest of you," Riddle said, "should—"

"Rescue the adults," Harry cut him off, pushing his glasses up his nose, "and then get the hell out of here."

They burst into the fray, and the only thing Hermione saw was unbelievable chaos. Spells were flying everywhere, people lay dead or hurt on the ground, Death Eaters were laughing, there were barely any adults left fighting for the right side. She didn't know how it was possible to see it all, yet she did. There was Katie and Oliver and Percy, Morag and Sam and Viktor getting overrun by Death Eaters. There was Millicent and Seamus and Grandmother Longbottom and Sturgis Podmore, all dead. There was Hagrid, sprawled motionless next to the corpse of Buckbeak. There was Remus and Snape getting tackled by Dolohov. There was Professor Trelawney, bleeding profusely, getting wrestled to the ground while screaming dire threats of the future. There was Dumbledore, tripping and falling over Mrs. Norris, who was running to Filch's barely stirring body while Voldemort screaming in triumph. There was Fred and George, shooting spells at Ginny. There was Vernon Dursley, somehow despite all odds still giving Death Eaters the old 1-2. There was Narcissa Malfoy, attempting to stop them. All of this Hermione saw in a fraction of a second.

What she didn't see was the heads of Theodore Nott and Hortense Lockhart peeking over a marble railing, a hand turning a stone.

Next to her, Harry was motionless. Not, Hermione knew because he was afraid, but because he couldn't decide the best option for the most important heroics. There were just too many options. He therefore ended up leaping bodily in the fray with an alarming battle cry that sounded like a hippo getting hugged while tackling two Death Eaters to the ground. Dudley Dursley followed, screaming

"That's right Harry, give them the old one-two!" and he punched a Death Eater so hard the man fell over limp.

"What are we going to do!" screamed Estelle.

It was true that Lord Voldemort had lost many of his followers in the battle of Diagon Alley. It was true he was having trouble recruiting the children of his soldiers to turn into more loyal recruits. But what was not true was the belief of wizards and witches opposed to him that his followers were constricted to the United Kingdom. Sure, people thought he had a few Eastern European wizard and witches following him, but no one on the side of alleged good had any idea that Lord Voldemort and his followers had spent a great deal of time before their attacks on Diagon Alley traveling over the world and recruiting like-minded wizard and witches. It was a plan he'd almost felt foolish that he'd never thought of before. Not that Voldemort was capable of every admitting a mistake.

But they had had success. Oh yes, they had. They'd had success with witches and wizards sick of Muggle's rights, resentful of Muggleborns rising to prominence, or just eager for power and the ability to wield it against others.

He hadn't used his new force to attack. He had used his faithful, mostly English, mostly loyal followers to destroy Diagon Alley, St Mungo's, and the Daily Prophet. He had no intention of revealing the full power of his army. Not until the moment was right, not until that furry beast they'd named Headmaster profaning the sacred halls of Hogwarts and Potter that lucky and stupid child, thought they were safe. When they thought they could defend themselves against Lord Voldemort's dwindling army. Then, he would strike. And win.

Outside the gates, the American and French Ministers and Madame Maxime continued to try every spell they could think of to break through the gates, failing again and again.

"We 'ave to get een," Christoph said urgently, "our freends need us."

Madame Maxime, who most surely did not ever sweat, no indeed, and just because one single drop of perspiration had started beading on her forehead did not mean that she was going to sweat, turned to reassure the young boy next to her.

She got so far as to smile and open her mouth when out of the corner of her eye she saw something in the sky.

"What iz zat?" Philippe shrieked.

Riding in on brooms were hundreds more wizards and witches in black robes. They rounded the castle while the Ministers yelped and kicked the gates in frustration.

"Merde!" Madame Maxime said.

The wizards and witches landed, opened the doors, and walked inside while the contingency of foreign witches and wizards on the right side of things watched helplessly.

Vincent Crabbe Junior ran as fast as he could with an undigested hazelnut filled crepe sloshing around inside of him, made it to the painting of fruit, hearing his father's yells and the portrait that looked like Draco sneering insults, tickled the pear, ducked a curse that blasted the painting where his head had been, yanked the painting open, leapt inside, fell flat on his face, and frantically turned over, kicking the painting shut.

He had half a second of relief before he realized he'd just shown his father how to open the painting after him, and he was going to come in and kill him. It seemed impossible, that his own father wanted him dead. But even though he wasn't great at schooling, Vince knew what was going to happen to him if his father had caught him. He could only hope Millicent had been smart enough to remember what their fathers had tried to do, but he knew Millie hero worshiped her father.

Vince however, had spent most of his childhood hiding from his violent father in wardrobes, his manor's garden, and at Draco's house, where even if Mr. Malfoy was cold and rude, he didn't at least hit.

"Master Vince," Kreegan said, bending down, as loud voices could be heard from the other side of the painting, "is you okay?"

"Is there another way out?" Vince croaked, trying to speak even though the wind had been knocked clear out of his lungs. "Can we get out another way?"

An elf wearing a tower of knitted caps walked over, his big green eyes wide.

"Dob—Dobby?" Vince said, wondering how the Malfoy's house elf had ended up here of all places.

"No other exit, Master Vince," Dobby squeaked sadly, and the painting swung open. His father was there, and Deadra Vosok, his father's longtime mistress, and Fenrir Greyback. Hands grabbed Vince, yanking him upright, and he struggled, but his father had always been bigger, always been stronger.

If they kill me, Crabbe thought, I've killed everyone.

A wand poked into his neck.

Harry was punching a Death Eater next to his cousin Dudley, and that was a sentence Hermione never thought she'd think. For his scrawny physique he was doing surprisingly well, but the Death Eaters had some supernatural abilities on their side and one got away easily from his attackers, shooting a jet of purple light at Harry's back.

"No!" Hermione shouted, her throat strangling with fear.

Riddle tackled Harry to the ground, away from the curse, and the jet caught Dorcas Meadows in the arm. Blood flew in an arc.

"No!" Hermione screamed again uselessly, and the doors to the castle burst off their hinges, one of them knocking into Logan Parkinson, who fell like a puppet with the strings cut.

There was half a second where they all thought they were saved, some reinforcements had arrived from somewhere, when they saw the wizards and witches were wearing Death Eater robes.

"That was my husband!" Estelle Black yelled incoherently, and she tackled one of the wizards who had blasted the doors to the castle open.

Logan lay motionless, a pool of blood spreading from his head.

"Father," the shaggy haired boy said, his face milk white as he saw the chaos below, "are you planning on doing something good for once in your life? Or are you going to keep following your master?"

Hortense saw the older version of Thaddeus Nott, posthumous winner of the Order of Merlin, First Class in her time look at his son, and then at Hortense, then back at where the Dark Lord had cornered Dumbledore. The doors outside burst open, and Hortense saw Logan Parkinson fall.

"Son," Thaddeus said, "I've been waiting fifty years for this."

"Father, father please," Vince heard himself pleading, "I'm your son."

Greyback was sitting on top of him, his arms twisted into the werewolf's grip. Try as he might, Vincent couldn't move at all, certainly not enough to throw off his captor.

"I can make him more sons," Deadra said.

"Quiet, woman," his father snarled, and the wand poked Vince harder. "I'm sorry, boy. But I've only got one shot at immortality. That's worth far more than a son."

"That's not what Harry Potter's parents thought," Vince heard himself saying inanely, tears leaking from his eyes. "They loved him more than their own lives."

"And they were stupid weak fools, weren't they?" Vincent Senior snarled, as he remembered how the goody two shoes Evans, several years below him, had made his life a misery by being beautiful and brave and a tainted Mudblood, all at once. "I won't be making the same mistake."

"I just wanted you to love me," Vince heard himself saying pitifully, as his father withdrew a knife from his robes. A blood sacrifice could only be done with personal violence.

"Look at you," his father said, shaking Vince's arm, which had grown quite a bit larger from the amount of time he'd spent in the kitchen, "how could I?"

The knife bit into Vince's throat.

Vince closed his eyes, thinking of his friends. He'd killed them all.

Deadra screamed.

Albus had tripped over a cat, of all things. He was the greatest dueler of his era, a masterful wizard, a brilliant scholar and a great man. And he'd tripped over a cat during the deadliest duel of his life. A scrawny cat at that. The creature that was his former student in another world screamed in triumph, raised his wand to deliver the killing blow, as Albus's wand spun on the floor and out of reach.

On his left, the current eccentric Headmaster, an alleged werewolf, and the Professor in dire need of basic grooming were in trouble and were not likely to help the scrambling Transfiguration professor.

Killed by a cat, Albus had time to think, how Aberforth will enjoy that. He didn't even know which Aberforth he meant, the older and somehow even more bitter version he'd met an hour ago, or his Aberforth who hadn't spoken a word to him in forty years. Either way, his brother would have a good laugh about this one.

"Now Tom, really," a man said from Albus's left, "is this really the way to treat your old teacher?"

"Ava-" the words stuck in his old student's throat, and Albus looked to his left.

A man with a crooked nose, half-moon spectacles, a particularly lengthy white beard, and a twinkle in his eye smiled at him.

"Oh, you've come back, have you?" Aberforth said from behind them, and Albus found he was touched to see his brother from an alternate universe had come to save him after all.

"Well," the other Albus said, as Voldemort tried to again to cast the killing curse and had it die in his throat, "I couldn't let you have all the glory Aberforth, could I?"

The two Albus Dumbledore's laughed together, and Aberforth scowled.

"I killed you!" Voldemort screamed, "I killed you!"

"My dear Tom," the other Albus said, "that you did. Top marks. I'm afraid I've come back to haunt you."

There was another scream, and a clang, and his father had also been hit by a frying pan, the house elves beating Greyback and Deadra and his father with malicious glee in their giant eyes.

"You will leave Master Vince alone!" Kreegan, who'd Vince had been sure was roughly a hundred years old, was screaming as she beat his father with some vigor.

"He is the nicest boy in this school!" another elf screamed shrilly, "so polite!"
Dobby came over and helped Vince up.

"Is Harry Potter okay?" he asked him, as his father and Deadra and Greyback kept yelping as they were now being pelted with day old cookies and bread.

"I don't know," Vince said, dazed, but then he thought about it as he watched his father disappeared underneath a stack of vindictive elves. "But...I think he's in trouble."

"Then Dobby will help!" the elf said.

"We will all help, Dobby," Kreegan said, walking over, panting.

Vince wasn't trying to be rude, he really wasn't, but he couldn't picture Voldemort dying by flying cookie.

"Help...how?" he asked delicately.

The elves smiled.

It looked dire. There were barely any adult wizard and witches fighting, and one beefy adult Muggle with fists of steel. There were maybe fifty teenaged wizard and witches trying their best to stop fully grown, powerful Death Eaters. Logan, Dorcas, and Marvin Mulcibur were bleeding. Seamus and Millicent were dead. And a hundred foreign Death Eaters had just arrived to kill them.

Riddle looked at Hermione. He was still covered in blood and cuts, a bruise swelling on his jaw. He yanked harry to his feet and adjusted both of their robes.

"Well," he told her, and he glanced at Brigitte, in the identical robe to Hermione's, "it's time for us to see if these work."

"Way ahead of you," Harry said, flourishing his wand. "Yeaaaagh!" he jumped bodily on top of two nearby Death Eaters, casting a curse on the way down. A light shot from the end of the robe's sleeves, into his wand, and out the end, blasting three Death Eaters into submission, instead of just one.

"Merlin's pants!' Hermione shrieked, recoiling.

"Guess they work," Phobos drawled.

"Go get your man," Riddle said to Brigitte, smirking the tiniest bit, gesturing after Harry who had just kicked another Death Eater in the shin, danced a little in place in triumph, and yanked a female Death Eater's ponytail with relish, all while casting more hexes with his other hand.

Brigitte glared at Riddle, but surprised them all when she drew herself up with dignity, walked one step after Harry, and then promptly spun kicked a Death Eater squarely in the face, screaming the vilest of insults in French.

"Merlin's Pants!" Hermione screamed louder, and Brigitte leapt off the ground, drop kicked a Death Eater to the ground, and grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, turning him towards her.

"Oh," Harry said sheepishly, "sorry."

He took her hand, and when they cast their next hex, the combined power blew a hole in the castle wall.

"Well," Riddle said to Hermione, as chaos descended around them, Sergon Avery trying to revive Parkinson, Brock and Marlene trying to help Dorcas, Blaise and Phobos and the other Slytherins fighting a group of foreign Death Eaters, their other friends screaming and running to help Snape and Lupin, Katie and Wood, Krum and Uncle Vernon.

"If those two fools can do that..." he gestured at the hole, "think of what we can do, Miss Granger." He held his hand out to her, and Hermione took it.

Rodolphus sat up, his head pounding, wondering how he could've possibly trusted Narcissa Malfoy when he knew how much that stupid woman was obsessed with her useless son. Nearby, he saw her, surrounded by Weasleys. Served her right, that she would go out killed by Weasleys, just like her fool husband. He squinted as his eyes watered against the pain, looking for his master. How long had he been out for? In fact, why was he awake? Surely, Narcissa could cast a proper stupefy? There was a tiny noise on his left, and Rodolphus turned.

Three teenage boys in Slytherin robes sat on a pillar, two of them not fully there, but not quite ghosts, the solid boy in the middle looking alarmingly familiar. The one on the left sneered.

"No," Rodolphus said weakly, it could have only been because he'd been thinking of Narcissa that he was seeing this sneering boy.

"Yes," Draco Malfoy said, smirking now.

The blurry boy on the right, Edgar Montague's son, grinned as well.

"Hello, son," the solid boy in the middle said. "You are looking wretched. That uppity goblin was right."

"Father?" Rodolphus said faintly, for while his father had been young when he was born, he hadn't exactly looked sixteen when Rodolphus had been alive. Also, there was the fact that his father had died of dragon pox twenty years prior.

"You've been a bad boy," Rutherford Lestrange said, swinging his legs against the fallen pillar. "I'm here to put you in time-out."

Everything went dark again.

Dolohov had stupefied them right before Remus had learned the secret of why Severus Snape had refused to regularly use shampoo for a solid twenty five years or more. Of all the heinous crimes Dolohov had committed, Remus was pretty sure this would go down as his most dastardly. He would make sure of it. Why Dolohov hadn't just killed them when he had the open shot and was instead tying them up like trussed animals in magical robes Remus wasn't sure, but that was Death Eaters for you. Their brains had turned to mush many years before. He twisted, trying to free himself. He was sure that's how he was going to die, side by side with Snivellus Snape, never finding out the great mystery of his life, but now that he was alive and chaos reigned around them, Remus knew it wasn't over.

Dolohov was cackling in their ears like a cliched villain as Snape spat out a lock of shiny bouncy hair from his mouth, ranting about how the Dark Lord wanted them alive to punish them in boiling oil or whatever for being disgraces to Hogwarts something something something, it was hard to pay attention when the man was talking like an action villain from a 1980's movie.

"Just kill us and put us out of our misery," Snape spat, and Remus shuddered, far more frightened then he had been listening to Dolohov's list of villainous cliched threats. Was he actually agreeing with Snape? He really couldn't die, not now, not when his last thought was him agreeing with Snape. James and Sirius would never let him hear the end of it in the afterlife.

He twisted again, loosening a rope. If Dolohov had learned how to do magic instead of taking a course on poorly threatening your enemies, he wouldn't have been able to free himself.

Snape locked eyes with Remus, then his lip curled.

"Your mum has a fat arse," Snape said out of nowhere to Dolohov, who had been describing how he was going to toss them off the Astronomy Tower, and Remus's mouth dropped open as he struggled with the ropes.

Dolohov turned his back fully on Remus.

"And...and you smell of...wildflowers and hot cocoa," Snape invented wildly.

"Do not," Dolohov grunted, affronted, and indeed, Dolohov smelled like unwashed arse and death and blood and it was quite repellent.

"Do too!" Snape said, and Remus saw a shadow of a wink tipped his way, "and...your wife is ugly!"

"That she is," Dolohov nodded, and Snape wilted in disappointment just as Remus freed his left arm.

"Oh...well..um...your acne scars are hideous!"

"I've done a chemical peel," Dolohov informed Snape, fully removing his mask, "see?"

"It does look better," Snape agreed, as Remus freed his right arm, "who did the work? I'm impressed."

"Oh, well Madam Malkin dabbles on the side," Dolohov said, "I can give her your contact information?"

Remus had freed his left foot, but he stopped in disbelief, slapped himself lightly in the fact to keep going, and freed his right as Snape gratefully accepted Dolohov's effort. Remus was about to retrieve his wand from Dolohov's back pocket when he unexpectedly whirled around. Remus raised his fists instead. Well, perhaps that boxing lesson with Vernon Dursley would come in handy instead, and Snape could get away.

"Are you really sacrificing your life for Snivellus, Moony?" a familiar voice said from behind his left shoulder, and if Remus had had any doubt as to who this was it fled when he saw the color drain from Dolohov's pockmark free face and the color rush to Snape's.

He turned. The not quite ghostly forms of James and Sirius grinned at him.

Vince ran outside the kitchens, over a hundred angry and excited elves following him, armed with knives, pots and pans, cookies embedded with spells, and one, with a wand. He'd presented his father's wand to Dobby. He'd tried to give Greyback and Deadra's wands to Kreegan and another elf, but they had refused, so Vince had settled for snapping them in half, picturing his mother's face as he broke Deadra's with satisfaction. They'd rolled up the three knocked out Death Eaters into aprons, hog tied them, and then tied them again to the wooden tables. They wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

They passed the portrait of the evil man who'd taunted Crabbe, and he flipped two fingers at him, laughing with exhilaration, the mad laughter of a boy who'd just seen death and escaped. His laughter stopped abruptly. Against the door were people. But they didn't look right. They didn't look...whole. The biggest figure walked forward, into the nearest torch's light.

"Greg?" Vince said loudly, and Gregory Goyle smiled at him.

"Well," said Albus Dumbledore, twirling his auburn beard a bit as his alternate universe brother and ghostly older version of himself distracted his former student, "I've got to find someone, if you two don't mind handling this."

"Typical," Aberforth growled, but he sounded touched at the same, as if proud his brother trusted him enough to handle a dark lord on his own. Considering the force with which Aberforth had broken his nose all of those years ago, Albus trusted him to take on this snake creature with one hand removed.

His eyes, darting around the room, rested on Brigitte Laroque spinning midair, kicking over a Death Eater while she held hands with a shaggy haired boy.

"Ah," Albus said vaguely, wandering off, as Lord Voldemort shrieked insults at his ghostly older counterpart, seemingly unaware that he could not be harmed by him, "there he is."

Madame Maxime was ready to kick the gate open herself in frustration, but knew Muggle force would be hopeless against magic.

"What are we going to do!" Christoph yelled.

There was a clopping of hooves, and Madame Maxime looked around.

"eez about time," she snarled, and the golden centaur smiled mildly, behind him a mutinous looking herd.

"I thought we might be of assistance," Professor Firenze said, and appearing out of thin air, he pulled out a key and opened the gates.

Katie screamed as they were set upon by Death Eaters, glad at least Yaxley had paid, glad at least she could see Oliver was safe, twenty feet away with Percy and Krum. She tried to cast a curse but her wand was grabbed out of her hand, her body held down by two large male Death Eaters.

"Katie!" she heard Oliver scream as she kicked, Morag struggling near her, Sam biting his Death eater, going full feral.

""Now, now," Desdemona Macnamara, who'd died by strangulation months ago, "you shouldn't touch a lady like that."

"It's quite rude," said Lynn Darson-Hughes, who'd helped Katie fight two Death Eaters before being killed in a blaze of green.

"And Gryffindors like chivalry," Lavender Brown, who'd bled to death in agony said.

"Hufflepuffs," Theseus Moon said, "well, we value fair play. And twelve on three just isn't fair."

"Theseus?" Sam gasped, "Wayne?"

The Death Eaters screamed, as around them twenty dead students grinned like demons come back to life.

"Hey bud," Wayne smiled, "we're here to save you."

As soon as she joined hands with Riddle and cast her first spell, Hermione felt an explosion of power warm in her chest, jolt up her wand arm, and explode from her hand into her wand, blowing two Death Eaters so violently off of their brooms that the brooms exploded into shards worse than Harry's Nimbus 2000 when the Whomping Willow had it.

She heard Riddle laughing next to her, a slightly manic sound, and she glanced over, seeing the way he'd turned the nearest Death Eater into a fluffy bunny with a glittery pink bow round its neck.

She wanted to make fun of him for such an immature way to go about defeating their enemy, but there was a whisper in her head, a woman offering insults, that startled her.

"Did you hear that?" she asked aloud, as Riddle casually blasted another Death Eater backwards.

"Hear what?" he asked her, as around them their classmates attempted to fight the other Death Eaters and failed, their spells doing nothing to harm anyone.

"Don't listen to her," a girl drawled, "Granger's crazy and wants attention. As usual."

Hermione dropped Riddle's hand in shock, turning, seeing behind her Estelle attempting to help Logan, Harry and Brigitte knocking out more Death Eaters with otherworldly fighting moves, Blaise helping Padma to her first after dodging a terrible Death Eater curse.

"You!" Hermione shrieked.

"Me," Pansy Parkinson smirked, tossing back her bobbed hair. Behind her, was Carina Zimmerman.

"Excellent form," Edith Lodgeman said as Chris Jones turned a nearby mop bucket into a pair of pruning shears that flew at the nearest Death Eater's head. She was trying very hard not to think about Millicent's death, but Ernie Macmillan couldn't seem to stop crying next to her, even as he kept up solid attacks on the nearest Death Eaters. Attacks that failed to incapacitate, just like all of their attacks had.

"An 'Acceptable' at best," a woman's voice sniffed from behind them.

"Professor McGonagall?" Byron shouted, and indeed, their tough but fair Transfiguration Professor was standing there, a strange sheen to her. Behind her was roughly forty Slytherins, grinning.

"Hello," Barry Van de Houser said, his twin Leonard next to him, "we've come to kick some Death Eater arse."

"Millicent!" Ernie shouted, and in the back, a tall girl with folded arms and a face like an angry woods troll smiled, just a little.

"Sorry I died like a Hufflepuff," she shrugged to Edith, looking embarrassed.

"Are you joking?" Ernie said, indignant. "That's the only way to go!"

No, Ginny tried to say as she ducked Narcissa Malfoy's wand blast, no, you don't understand! Even as she heard Ginevra scream with laughter and insults.

"Hey that's our sister," Fred said, sounding annoyed.

"Yeah," George added, "only we get to kill her."

"No one is killing anyone," Percy said in his best pompous prefect voice, one shoulder of his robes torn and half off of him, singe marks on his face, his glasses cracked on the left lens.

"Hello brother dearest," Ginevra cackled, as Ginny tried to gain control for the billionth time and failed, "a shame mum and dad didn't really love you, wasn't it?"

No, Ginny tried to say as Percy smiled without humor, no, that's not true Perce...

"Too bad none of us really loved you either," Ginevra said, dodging another spell from Narcissa.

That's not true! Ginny screamed, remembering how Percy, only Percy had noticed during her first year that something was wrong with her.

"And the only ones left are the brothers that hate you," Ginevra continued ruthlessly, "bet they would give anything to have anyone other than you be alive."

"You bet wrong," Fred said ominously, and Ginny knew there was only so long she could dodge spells from four wands.

Percy looked at her, colder than she'd ever seen him.

"You're not my sister," he said.

I am! Ginny screamed.

"My sister is dead."

He raised his wand, alongside Fred and George.

No! Ginny screamed again.

"No!" for a moment, she thought she'd finally gotten through, that she'd said it, when Theodore Nott of all people ran over, a younger girl in a dowdy version of a Ravenclaw uniform and bobby socks on her feet. "No don't! It's not her!"

The dowdy Ravenclaw girl raised her wand as well, and finally Ginevra didn't have time to duck a spell, and she was hit square in the face.

"Libere Loqui!"

"Thanks," The Boy-Who-Lived-and-Lived-and-Bloody-Fucking-Lived as Voldemort had come to calling him said, panting, as Brigitte blasted a Death Eater who was about to attack him off their feet, "er…merci."

"De rien," Brigitte responded with a smile.

Harry turned to the black haired Slytherin next to him, who, to his credit, wasn't pouting at the sight of Hermione and Riddle holding hands and immobilizing Death Eaters and was desperately trying to cover Harry's blind side with spells that still had no effect.

"Blaise, we've got to get that snake," Harry said.

"I can't even stun someone related to Darius Derrick with this," Blaise said in frustration, naming the dim witted Beater of years before, "you know, the useless simpleton of Slytherin?" he shook his wand as if it were a Muggle machine that needed a good kick to work. "It's the blood sharing ritual, Potter," he said, "we've got to keep Crabbe away from this all so they can't complete it and kill us all."

"Dramatic," Ethelinda Higgs drawled.

"Sorry, but who the fuck are you?" Blaise demanded.

"Someone with far more manners then you," Ethelinda sneered, and Brigitte snorted in disbelief next to Harry. "Do you have something to say, you French floozy?" she snapped.

"The manners," Blaise drawled back, "they are blinding me with their intensity."

"Can you two stop with the Slytherin Drawl Off of 1997 and help me defeat evil?" Harry snapped. God. Sometimes he really had to do everything.

"Emposseeble," Brigitte sniffed, "they only eensult, you know this."

Blaise and Ethelinda opened their mouths to protest.

"The snake!" Harry said, trying to drag Brigitte in Voldemort's direction from where Aberforth and the ghostly figure of his Headmaster were distracting him, "Nagini! A little help here! Hermione!" he looked around, saw Hermione pointing a finger in the face of a not totally solid Pansy Parkinson and sighed in exasperation, knowing her to be useless. She'd have to say "cow" at least four times before she could be counted upon to help. That could take a while. Reluctantly, he turned to the strange man who looked a lot like his Headmaster from ages ago. "Professor, do you think you could assist?"

"Don't mind if I do," Albus said generously.

"We need one of those fangs," Harry said, looking over at Riddle and Hermione again, where his friend was now gesticulating wildly at Pansy while Riddle tried to distract her and failed.

"No we don't," Ethelinda said, as she plucked a basilisk fang from her robes.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked, although why he cared about this stupid point he couldn't explain. Why was this girl even here? Why had Hermione come back a week late with thirty increasingly odd students and one alternate universe version of their headmaster?

"I took one," Ethelinda said with a shrug, "off of Riddle. Seemed the thing to do. It destroyed the diary, didn't it?"

"Brilliant!" Harry said, but before he could grab it from his friend Blaise snatched it out of her hand.

"You didn't say all I needed was some fang," he groused.

They turned to Voldemort and Nagini, the chaos around them climaxing to a horrific peak.

"Right," Harry said, desperately trying to ignore all of his close friends, classmates, beloved professors, and oh yeah, Snape in danger around him, they had to kill Voldemort, they had to-

The doors burst open again, and in raced Madam Maxime and the rest of the foreign contingent of wizards on the side of light.

"Finally," Blaise said, "something's going ri-"

The doors to the kitchen corridor explosively banged open, and a swarm of angry and armed house elves appeared.

"Yes," Blaise said, "even better, thank Salaz-"

Vince Crabbe followed the house elves out of the corridor, directly into the eye-line of a group of Death Eaters who recognized him immediately, pointing.

"Fucking hell!" Blaise screamed.

True to Harry's prediction, the word "cow" had burst forth repeatedly from Hermione's mouth more than once on sight, as if she'd consumed a babbling potion.

"Come up with better insults Granger," Pansy said, "that was pathetic."

"Um, Hermione," she heard Riddle say from her left shoulder, "shouldn't we-"

"Your grandmother was smart and beautiful and kind," Hermione said, throwing her hands out, ignoring her slight overstatement of Estelle's kindness, "how did you happen?"

"Who was her grand-"

"Shut up Riddle! Answer me, Parkinson!"

"I'm dead," Pansy said, and when she said it, sense returned to Hermione in one fell swoop, "shouldn't you be asking different questions?"

"Libere Loqui," the girl behind her said, and Hermione knew she'd only attacked Pansy so she wouldn't have to face the teenaged death Eater she'd killed in cold blood.

"What?" Hermione said blankly, vaguely aware that the doors had burst open again.

"Hermione," Riddle said, but she ignored him again.

"It was Libere Loqui," Carina said sadly, "I'm sorry. They got me one week after school let out last June."

Suddenly, Hermione understood almost everything.

"No," she whispered.

"It wasn't your fault," Carina said.

"Hermione," Riddle said more urgently.

"Oh god," Hermione whispered, "all of you?"

"Hermione," Riddle said desperately, "Hermione, your friend Harry is about to be killed by a giant serpent!"

Padma Patil had deliberately sought out her Death Eater traitor of a sister. It didn't seem right that someone else take care of her family problem. It had seemed the right thing to do, all she'd been thinking about since her sister had killed so many of her Gryffindor classmates and disappeared out of her clutches, back into the bosom of here serpent master.

But reality was her sister standing in front of her, her mask half torn off of her face already, what looked like burns on her arms, her robes oddly wet, her eyes blank and her hair lank torture scars evident on all the flesh Padma could see.

"Why?" was all she could bring herself to say, her wand aimed dead at Parvati's heart. She knew it wouldn't work right. None of their wands were. But Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner had snuck up behind her sister while she distracted her. And they had knives.

Her sister smiled suddenly, almost grotesquely, as if she were an animated puppet with her strings being pulled.

"Why?" Parvati said, and laughed. "Because I could."

"I'm sorry," Padma said helplessly, tears springing to her eyes,

"You know you can't do anything, moron," Parvati sneered, "and as soon as we kill that fatarse from Slytherin, you'll all be dead."

"No," Padma said, and Michael sprang forward, grabbing Parvati and pinning her arms to her side, Anthony holding the knife to her throat, "we won't."

Tim Summerby and Zacharias Smith had wrestled Eloise Midgen to the ground, the only surviving Hufflepuffs from seventh year. She laughed madly.

"I'm sorry," Justin Fintch-Fletchely said, pulling out his Muggle weapons that they'd all been told to carry for plan D. "But you killed our friends."

"And I'll kill you!" Eloise screamed and laughed more.

"We've got to," Justin said.

"So do it," Eloise sneered.

The knife rose. It seemed somehow fitting to Justin that she would die the way she'd forced Wayne and Theseus to die.

"Do it!" Eloise yelled.

The blade flashed.

Malcolm Baddock had been cornered by Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom. There had been a strange flash of relief in his eyes that Neville was bothered by, but had dismissed as the boy began taunting them. It seemed wrong to kill a child, even if that child was a killer himself. But then the seventh year Gryffindor boys had found them, and Neville knew the choice was no longer his to make. They remembered what the student Death Eaters had done, and they wanted blood.

"You shouldn't have done it," Neville heard himself saying idiotically as the boy was about to be killed. "You shouldn't have."

The boy looked at him, and laughed. Perhaps the relief had never been there in his eyes at all.

"I'd do it again," he said, "just give me the chance!"

"Never," Geoffrey Hooper said, and Neville closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch.

"Pardon me," Padma heard from over her shoulder, perhaps the last voice she'd ever expected to hear at this moment in her life, "but I'm afraid this girl's been cursed. You really shouldn't kill her."

"Professor Lockhart?" Anthony said.

Padma turned and was blinded by teeth.

"Oh ah. Hello," he said, winking and waving, he twirled a wand, although Parvati had no idea who'd given her addled and incompetent teacher even when he had his memory a wand, "I'll take care of this for you, shall I? Libere Loqui!"

"No!" a voice squeaked from behind them, and Justin turned as Professor Flitwick hobbled over to them, holding his bandages, "boys, don't! Libere Loqui!"

The knife in Hooper's hand was blasted away with a well-placed hex, and this time, Neville was positive when Madam Pomfrey saved Baddock from certain death that the look in his eyes was that of disappointment. She yelled some nonsense spell he'd never heard of, and Baddock burst into tears.

Neville wondered if it had been crueler that they hadn't killed the boy.

It was going to be harder to kill Nagini then Harry realized. His attempts at leading her away with Parseltongue had been met with snake laughter. He hadn't even realized snakes could laugh, and yet here he was being laughed at by a giant killer snake that held a portion of Voldemort's soul.

Blaise had the fang in his pocket. All they needed to do was kill a giant murderous serpent than was part Voldemort and then he had to duel the greatest evil wizard of all time with a wand he'd never used as an under aged student and somehow win. It sounded impossible, but then again, he had had Blaise. Although hang on, it appeared he was running away and screaming Crabbe's name. It would help if Hermione would stop getting into a strop with the ghost of dead Pansy Parkinson, but he had to work with what he had.

"I will give you sweets and liquor," he tried one last time at Nagini, hissing, "if you just-"

Nagini lunged for him, fangs bared.

Rubeus Hagrid sat up from where he'd been lying on the ground, rubbing his sore head. Next to him were a trio of white faced students he hadn't seen in fifty years, who'd clearly been trying to enervate him for some time.

"It's the giants blood," he heard himself telling Wyatt Corsington, Richard Potter, and Brock Miller, "well, half giant, on m'dad's side eh things."

"I knew it!" Wyatt said triumphantly, turning to Miller, color returning to his concerned face, "wait till I tell Tim, he owes me six knuts-"

"You okay, Rubeus?" Richard Potter said gently. He'd always been nice to Hagrid, one of the few who still had after he'd been expelled for the whole business with Aragog. It was one of the reasons he'd always been so partial to James, and even fonder of Harry.

"Yeh," Hagrid said, not bothering to ask why his long dead classmate and two other wizards he'd had on good authority were living abroad were in front of him, looking as they had when he was twelve. He had more important things to do. He stood up, the nearest Death Eater's curse bouncing off of him as always, swallowing a lump in his throat when he saw Beaky on the ground.

"Gotta go and save yer grandson's life, Richard," he said. "Want ter help?"

Thousands of people had died, wizard and Muggle alike. Countless lives had been ruined and destroyed, bodies torn and mangled, minds twisted beyond repair, Imperius and Oblivius Mutus cast left and right. Alternate realities had been gone to, people returned, torture suffered, murder committed, endless plans and plots and schemes, ghosts of the dead had returned, Severus Snape had clean hair, and it all came down to one boy who had a distinct love of eclairs remaining alive.

"Vince!" Blaise was screaming at him, lunging, waving his arms, "Vince, get down! Get down!" But it was too late, and he saw the Death Eaters near him, his father's compatriots, and he tried to drop to the floor, he really did, but—a curse flew right at Vincent Crabbe, junior, spelling his death.

"Nagini! Down! Down!" a new voice hissed from behind Harry, sounding as exasperated as an owner yelling at a yappy little dog who was humping someone's leg.

The fangs grazed his arm so closely Harry actually felt the slightest hint of bone on his arm hair that had stuck up straight from his skin as crazily as the hair on his head when he'd realized he was about to be attacked.

"Sit," Riddle hissed, and Nagini obeyed instantly.

"Stay," Riddle said, and when Nagini curled up docilely at Harry's feet, yellow eyes fixed on him, Riddle tossed a fang from his pocket at Brigitte, who stabbed the snake behind the head.

Blood spurted, and across the room, Voldemort let loose a primal roar of rage.

Riddle smiled.

"You shall not hurt Vincent Crabbe!" Dobby shouted, jumping in front of Vince, woolen hats bobbing, snapping his fingers, blocking the magic without effort.

Vince grabbed his wand, raised it, and saw that he was flanked by a circle of angry house elves defending him, little hands upraised, ready to do terrible magic on his behalf.

"Get him!" a boulder of a man he identified as Greg Goyle's uncle said.

"I don't think so!" Greg, or what seemed like the ghost of Greg said loudly.

Many people who would be thrown by the strange figure of their dead nephew in front of them, but as Grogen Goyle was a rather unimaginative fellow, his brain registered no problem in front of him, and ran forward, shooting spells, ten Death Eaters behind him.

"Kill him!" he screamed, pointing to Vince. "Kill him, and we're immortal!"

There were hundreds of witches and wizards fighting in the Great Hall. Students. Teachers, people of many nationalities. Centaurs and house Elves, ghosts and quasi ghosts and poltergeists. There were people crying everywhere, blood dripping, dead bodies, broken glass and crumbled stones and twisted armor. But in the middle of it all, there was one snake like man and one boy with black hair. No, not that one. This one had well-coiffed hair, and eyes that might've been blue or grey or green, with pale long fingers and an insolent smirk on his face as he stared at the corpse of Nagini.

"One left," Riddle said with some satisfaction as Lord Voldemort shouted, blasting his way through the crowd towards them, injuring some of his Death Eater reinforcements in his rage.

"You!" Voldemort screamed, his eyes on Riddle with pure hatred, and Harry felt strange, like his lunatic ex was cheating on him with another nemesis.

"Me," Riddle said, crossing his arms foolishly, his color high in his cheeks, and that seemed to enrage Voldemort more.

"I removed that!" he bellowed, gesturing at his own cheeks, "you stupid pretty fool!"

"And your sanity and brain," Riddle drawled, still smirking, still not drawing his wand as Voldemort kicked Cassiopeia Warrington's corpse out of the way.

Riddle's plan was risky, to distract and enrage his alternate universe's form so badly that he messed up and was easily defeated, vanquished once and for all, and Tom Riddle became this universe's hero, a man revered by all, Minister of Magic perhaps, King of Magical England, lover to Hermione Granger, a statue perhaps, multiple statues, a chocolate frog card, a song. And he was right. The Dark Lord was foolish enough to attack, to get killed by Potter. But the girl next to him was not that foolish.

"Goodbye, Tom," Belinda Harper said, "Avada Kedavra!"

Author's Note: Hopefully you'll forgive me for the long wait because this chapter is loooong. :) Like I said in my latest update in my Marauder's era fic...I've had to work for a lot of this whole mess going around in the world so I haven't had much free time. I hope you all enjoy! As always I treasure your feedback.