A New Place to Stay Chapter 38 - Harry Potter

Exams are ending and Harry is waiting for the pattern to repeat, because something terrible always happens at the end of the year. A History of Magic OWL turns into a full vision as he finds himself in the Department of Mysteries watching Voldemort torture Sirius over the prophecy. Shaken but clear headed, Harry pulls Neville into the Room of Requirement, explains the scar connection and the trap, and chooses to spring one of his own instead. With Neville, Luna, Fred, George, and Dobby, he heads straight to the Hall of Prophecies, lays down portable swamps and fireworks, and lets chaos swallow the arriving Death Eaters, complete with Dobby flinging wands and Lucius Malfoy’s hair going up in flames. Just when it looks like they might get out clean, Harry’s scar explodes with pain. Voldemort himself arrives in the room, and the real battle begins.

Transcript

**Chapter 38: The End of Yet Another Year; Harry, Though, For Once Knew He Wasn't Alone**

Harry sat on his bed in Gryffindor Tower, twirling a miniaturized basilisk fang between his fingers. His thoughts weighed heavily on him as he contemplated what Voldemort might have in store for this year's meeting.

It was almost a tradition—something always happened on Halloween and at the end of the year. It was Voldemort's twisted way of getting to him; after all, his parents had died on Halloween.

The end-of-the-year attacks had become a pattern since Voldemort first attempted to return. The only exception had been during Harry’s third year, but even then, he had faced a bloody Death Eater—Pettigrew.

Harry's lip curled in disgust at the thought of that pathetic coward. Whether he was a rat or an Animagus, he had no spine.

The past month had been surprisingly quiet; a tranquility Harry had never truly experienced before. He refused to stress about when Voldemort might strike next.

He had finally taken Hagrid's advice to heart. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

All he could do was confront it head-on when the time came. Severus had shared similar sentiments with him, come to think of it.

But now that exams were approaching, Harry found himself beginning to falter. Old habits were creeping back in.

He couldn't shake the feeling of dread about Voldemort’s plans; there was never a moment's reprieve from that snake-faced monster. Dumbledore had been cured just a few days ago.

Harry's father had given him a potion to counteract the effects of poison ivy. Still, Dumbledore remained in the hospital wing, weak and recovering from the relentless itching he'd endured over the past month.

Harry didn’t even realize what he had unconsciously called Severus; if he had, it would have terrified him, especially since he had no idea how Severus felt about it. “Harry, don’t we have our History of Magic exam today?” Neville burst into the room, looking rattled.

Despite his nerves, he wasn’t out of breath at all. Harry felt a swell of pride as he noticed how much Neville had improved; he was now running almost as well as Harry himself.

The weight Neville had lost was astonishing, but it seemed the attention from the girls was a bit overwhelming for him. He often appeared either red or purple in class these days.

What most didn’t realize was that Neville was already in a happy relationship with Luna, who liked him for who he was, not just for his newfound looks. “Yes,” Harry replied calmly, tucking his fang back under his clothes.

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to keep it a secret, but it was the first true gift that meant a lot to him, apart from Hagrid’s. Hagrid had given him a photo album of his parents, a gift that held immense value—far more than just seeing them in the Mirror of Erised.

“In twenty minutes.”

“Oh,” Neville said, visibly relieved. “Well, that’s all right then.”

“Do you have any sweets left?” Harry asked, curious.

“Um, no. We finished them a week ago,” Neville replied.

“Too bad. I’m starving, and dinner feels like ages away,” Harry sighed.

“You know where the kitchen is; just go ask Dobby,” Neville said, rolling his eyes. Harry had shown him the way two weeks ago, and Neville had been shocked.

Harry knew all sorts of hidden spots in Hogwarts, and Neville had initially thought it was due to Harry’s many adventures. But then he’d seen the map and was blown away by its brilliance.

It was an incredible invention, created by Harry’s dad, Professor Lupin, and Sirius Black. There had been one other creator, but Harry had once shared his bitter feelings about that person, and Neville understood all too well why Harry despised Pettigrew.

He felt the same way about the Lestranges and Crouch Jr. With every fiber of his being, Neville felt a deep-seated anger.

If he ever met those responsible, he’d kill them, plain and simple. With all the new spells he was learning, he knew it was possible.

Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn't befriended Harry earlier; they shared so much in common—mostly tragedy, anger towards those who caused it, and a relentless desire for revenge. "Good idea!" Harry chimed in, though his eyes were slightly shadowed, revealing that his mind was elsewhere.

Over the past year, Neville had learned to read Harry pretty well. "What are you thinking about?" Neville asked.

Normally, Harry didn’t answer these questions, but he held onto the hope that one day he would—that Harry would trust him enough to share his thoughts, to let him help. He wasn't Ron or Hermione; he wouldn't run to Dumbledore.

Not that they did, but they relied on him far too much for just being students. It felt wrong—no student should be that close to Dumbledore, listening to him without question, and following his orders, especially outside of school.

He was just a teacher, the headmaster—so what? If Neville had known what was going on, he would have written to Harry.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t felt comfortable doing that; before this year, they had only spoken a handful of times. They had known each other, but hadn’t truly been friends until Harry’s fallout with Hermione and Ron.

Neville didn’t care about their issues; their loss was his gain. "It’s the end of the year," Harry said, as if that explained everything.

Maybe it did to Harry, but Neville frowned. "What does that mean exactly?

You don’t want to go home? You can come to Longbottom Manor if you’d like.

Gran’s always got something to complain about; you might as well give her a real reason." 

Neville grinned wryly; he had grown up with her, so that was all he knew. "Thanks, Nev, but I don’t think Dumbledore would let me," Harry said, scowling darkly.

Plus, the Dursleys were still missing. Harry wanted to feel bad; he really did.

But in truth, he couldn't care less. Their disappearance had made his year.

Vernon was a bully, and he was relieved that neither he nor his dreaded belt was around. "That wasn't what I meant anyway.

You know something always happens," Harry said. "Oh, right," Neville replied, a look of understanding spreading across his thin face.

Of course, something always happened to Harry Potter at the end of the year. The Philosopher’s Stone, the Chamber of Secrets and Ginny Weasley, then Sirius Black, and, of course, the Goblet of Fire and poor Cedric.

Neville couldn't help but wonder if anything worse could happen. Harry had been devastated by the seventh year's death.

Neville wasn't entirely sure why it affected Harry so deeply, but he guessed it had to do with survivor's guilt. "Yeah," Harry murmured grimly as he and Neville descended the staircase into the common room.

He didn't even glance at Ron, Hermione, or Ginny, who were staring at him with sad, brooding expressions. They had books open in their laps, obviously studying for their exams.

It seemed like Hermione had toned down her usual intensity, trying to keep her last remaining friend close. There were no diaries or timetables to monitor their study habits, as she had done in previous years.

They made their way through the castle until they reached the kitchen entrance and tickled the pear. The pear giggled and granted them access to the enormous kitchen before them.

Inside was the largest collection of house-elves a human could ever see. The house-elves immediately surrounded them, all talking at once.

The ones farther away began bringing forward food, eager to offer them a feast. Harry and Neville took only a few cakes, grinning widely and thanking the elves.

"Where's Dobby?" Harry asked curiously. "Right here, Harry, sir!" Dobby chimed, his small legs racing toward them as he passed his new friends.

"Hey, Dobby, you okay?" Harry grinned, noticing that Dobby looked like a Christmas tree today, adorned in green and red clothes. Harry looked down at the worn pair of old trainers on his feet, unsure of where they had come from.

"I'm fine, Harry, sir," Dobby beamed, his face lighting up with happiness—happier than when he had first arrived at Hogwarts. Nothing could top the joy on Dobby's face when he had been freed, a moment Harry remembered every single day.

He often wondered if he had looked that happy when Sirius offered to take him in, before that blissful moment was shattered by Pettigrew's escape. Of course, that had been his fault; if only he had dealt with Pettigrew instead of trying to be the Gryffindor Golden Boy everyone expected him to be.

"Good," Harry replied, wanting to share in the happiness but feeling a knot of worry in his stomach. "Harry, we have to go," Neville said around a mouthful of food, glancing at his watch just as Harry turned to him.

"Yeah, thanks, guys," Harry said to the elves, grabbing an extra cake as he made his way out. The two friends stuffed their faces as they hurried around the corner, not wanting their classmates to question how they had managed to get food, especially since they'd been too anxious to eat at breakfast or lunch due to the looming exams.

"Let's get them over with," Harry said, relieved that it was their last exam, though the thought of finishing at Hogwarts filled him with dread. Where would Dumbledore send him next?

The thought unsettled him; he could easily imagine being sent to Moody's, or somewhere even worse. He hoped Dumbledore would send him to Severus'.

If only their acting had been convincing enough for the old fool to believe they still despised each other. Dumbledore seemed to have a knack for placing him with people who couldn’t stand him.

At two o'clock, the fifth-years entered the Great Hall and took their seats in front of their face-down examination papers. Harry felt utterly exhausted, despite having a normal amount of sleep.

It was as if someone had slipped him a sleeping potion—though that was impossible, as those worked immediately. “Turn over your papers,” Professor Marchbanks instructed from the front of the Hall, flicking the giant hourglass.

“You may begin.”

Harry stared intently at the first question, but it took several moments for him to realize he hadn’t absorbed a single word. A wasp buzzed distractingly against one of the high windows.

Slowly, he began to write an answer, but he found it incredibly difficult to remember names and kept mixing up dates. He decided to skip question four—“In your opinion, did wand legislation contribute to or lead to better control of goblin riots in the eighteenth century?”—thinking he would return to it if time allowed at the end.

He made a tentative attempt at question five—“How was the Statute of Secrecy breached in 1749, and what measures were introduced to prevent a recurrence?”—but a nagging suspicion crept in that he had missed several important points. He felt certain that vampires were somehow part of the story.

He had studied this; what was happening? Had someone slipped him a potion to dull his concentration?

It certainly felt that way. Sure, he had never enjoyed History of Magic and often napped during that class, but this was an exam.

Frustrated, he rolled his neck from side to side, blinked his eyes, and tried again. Scanning for a question he could answer confidently, his gaze landed on number ten: “Describe the circumstances that led to the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards and explain why the warlocks of Liechtenstein refused to join.” He could visualize a heading in a book: The Formation of the International Confederation of Wizards… He had read that book just that morning.

He began to write, occasionally glancing at the large hourglass on the desk beside Professor Marchbanks. He was seated right behind Parvati Patil, whose long dark hair cascaded below the back of her chair.

“…The first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was Pierre Bonaccord, but his appointment was contested by…”

The wizarding community of Liechtenstein… All around Harry, quills scratched on parchment like scurrying, burrowing rats. The sun beat down on the back of his head.

What had Bonaccord done to offend the wizards of Liechtenstein? He knew it had something to do with trolls, so he began to scribble furiously.

Bonaccord had wanted to stop troll-hunting and grant the trolls rights, but Liechtenstein was struggling with a particularly vicious tribe of mountain trolls. He closed his eyes again, trying to visualize the scene, trying to remember.

The Confederation had met for the first time in France—yes, he had written that down. He thought about what else he hadn’t included.

Goblins had attempted to attend and had been ousted—he had noted that too. And nobody from Liechtenstein had wanted to come.

With his face in his hands, Harry was lost in thought while quills around him continued to scratch out never-ending answers, and the sand trickled through the hourglass at the front of the room. He found himself walking again along the cool, dark corridor to the Department of Mysteries, moving with a firm and purposeful stride, occasionally breaking into a run, determined to reach his destination at last.

The black door swung open for him as usual, and he entered the circular room with its many doors. He crossed the stone floor and headed through the second door, noticing the patches of dancing light on the walls and floor, accompanied by that odd mechanical clicking.

But there was no time to explore; he had to hurry. He jogged the last few feet to the third door, which swung open just like the others.

Once again, he found himself in the cathedral-sized room filled with shelves and glass spheres. His heart raced now.

He was determined to reach his goal. When he reached number ninety-seven, he turned left and hurried along the aisle between two rows.

But there was a shape on the floor at the very end—a black shape moving like a wounded animal. Harry's stomach tightened with a mix of fear and excitement.

Suddenly, a voice emerged from his own mouth, a high, cold voice devoid of any human kindness. “Take it for me, lift it…”

“Down.

Now I cannot touch it, but you can.” The black shape on the floor shifted slightly. Harry saw a long-fingered white hand clutching a wand rise at the end of his own arm, and then he heard the high, cold voice say, “Crucio!” 

The man on the floor let out a scream of pain.

He attempted to stand but fell back, writhing. Harry was laughing.

He raised his wand, and the curse lifted. The figure groaned and became motionless.

“Lord Voldemort is waiting.”

Very slowly, his arms trembling, the man on the ground raised his shoulders a few inches and lifted his head. His face was bloodstained and gaunt, twisted in pain yet rigid with defiance.

“You’ll have to kill me,” Sirius whispered. “Undoubtedly I shall, in the end,” the cold voice replied.

“But you will fetch it for me first, Black. You think you have felt pain thus far?

Think again; we have hours ahead of us, and nobody to hear you scream.”

But then somebody screamed as Voldemort lowered his wand again; somebody yelled and fell sideways off a hot desk onto the cold stone floor. Harry awoke as he hit the ground, still yelling, his scar on fire, as the Great Hall erupted all around him.

“Fuck,” thought Harry, how the hell had he fallen asleep? Fear exploded within him.

Did this mean that Voldemort could tamper with his thoughts, feelings, and emotions? He knew he hadn’t been tired.

His bloody shields had been up! Why hadn’t they stopped this?

His stomach sank; containing the Horcrux was becoming harder to manage. It felt as though it was growing stronger with each passing day.

“I’m not going… I don’t need the hospital wing… I don’t want…” he babbled as he tried to pull away from Professor Tofty, who was looking at him with concern after helping him out into the Entrance Hall, surrounded by students who were all staring. “I’m—I’m fine, sir,” Harry stammered, wiping the sweat from his face.

"Really… I just fell asleep… had a nightmare…" 

"Pressure of examinations!" the old wizard said sympathetically, patting Harry shakily on the shoulder. "It happens, young man, it happens!

Now, a cooling drink of water, and perhaps you'll be ready to return to the Great Hall? The examination is nearly over, but you might be able to wrap up your last answer nicely."

"Yes," Harry replied wildly.

"I mean… no… I've finished it..."

"Very well, very well," the old wizard said gently. "I shall go and collect your examination paper, and I suggest you have a nice lie-down."

"I'll do that," Harry nodded vigorously.

"Thanks very much."

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" 

"What the bloody hell happened?" Ron demanded, grabbing at Harry and staring at him in alarm. Ron could tell something was off this time; he was rubbing viciously at his scar.

It was a dead giveaway. He couldn’t let Harry have an adventure without him.

Maybe if he joined in on one, Harry would remember their friendship, forgive him for what had happened, and things would go back to normal. Then Neville would return to being insignificant, and he… he’d go back to being Harry Potter’s best friend.

"Get your arm off me, Weasley," Harry snarled as another stab of pain shot through him. "Harry, do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?" Neville asked, stepping forward.

"I tried to help you in the hall, but they told us to sit back down."

"It's all right; come on, follow me," Harry said, jerking his head and arm to break free from Ron's grip. "Don't bother following me again, Weasley, or I'll curse you," he warned, his green eyes flashing with anger.

They headed to the Room of Requirement. "So, what is it?" Neville asked.

"Do you know about the connection I have with Voldemort through the scar?" Harry inquired, fully aware that Neville didn’t. Neville gaped at him, shaking his head, completely bewildered.

Harry looked shocked. "Well, I do.

It all started back in my first year. It hurt when Quirrell had his turban near me.

It hurt all year during Defense, and it started getting worse at the end of the year. I somehow knew it had to do with Voldemort.

I didn't see or feel anything until just before the World Cup. I saw Voldemort being fed venom from Nagini by Pettigrew and Crouch." He winced at the deranged look in Neville's eyes at the mention of the man who, by the way, was now dead.

The Dementors had sucked out his soul. "So you just had one?" Neville asked, absorbing this new information.

He wasn't as shocked as he should have been. Did that mean he had unconsciously suspected it?

Or had he gotten so used to Harry’s constant surprises that he just couldn't be surprised anymore? It was probably somewhere between the two.

"Yeah," Harry said, sitting down and nursing his sore forehead. "What did you see?" Neville asked.

Harry knew he had to be careful with his words; Dumbledore wasn't above using Occlumency to get answers. "Do you ever look Dumbledore in the eyes?" Harry asked, seemingly at random.

"No, why?" Neville replied, completely baffled. "Then you shouldn't.

He knows Legilimency; he can read people's minds. If I tell you this and he finds out, then that's it.

I'll never be able to tell you anything else… do you understand?"

"Yeah," Neville said. He'd never been a confident person; he rarely looked anyone in the eye.

"Harry, I'm a pureblood. My gran and uncle made sure I knew Occlumency before Hogwarts.

It's sort of a thing with old lines."

"All right. Voldemort's set up a trap; he wants me to think he has Sirius Black," Harry explained.

"He'll probably send Death Eaters, which means I have a chance at having the Ministry finally realize Voldemort is back and capture some of the Death Eaters."

"Why? I mean, I know..."

“Why would he want to kill you?” Neville asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“He wants me to collect something for him—something only he and I can touch,” Harry revealed. “You just figured that out?” Neville’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly impressed.

“No, not really…” Harry replied, searching for the right words to explain. “So, what?

You want to set a trap instead?” Neville asked, excitement bubbling within him. Was he finally going to go on an adventure with Harry?

Ever since Harry had started at Hogwarts, he, Ron, and Hermione had shared some incredible experiences. Hearing about their adventures had made Neville long for friends of his own.

Would he finally get to boast about his own exploits instead of Ronald Weasley? “Yeah,” Harry nodded, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“How? I doubt he’ll just send one or two… we aren’t good enough to fight three or more Death Eaters, Harry,” Neville said bluntly.

It was the truth; this mission sounded like a recipe for disaster. “Who said we were going alone or unarmed?” Harry chuckled wickedly.

Severus was going to kill him for following Dumbledore and Voldemort's wishes, but he had to do this. He wanted the world to finally recognize what he’d been saying all year: Voldemort was back, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“All right, what do you have in mind?” Neville asked, adrenaline coursing through him. He wanted to prove himself to Harry—that he could be trusted, that he would always have his back, no questions asked.

“We need Fred and George,” Harry said. “Why?” Neville frowned, puzzled.

How could the twins possibly help? “Their products,” Harry explained.

“The Swamp Thing they tested in the girls’ toilets.”

“Okay, let’s go find them then,” Neville agreed. “Let’s hope they aren’t in an exam.”

“The Tower it is,” Harry said, and they both hurried out of the Room of Requirement, racing back toward Gryffindor Tower.

Just as they were nearing their destination, they bumped into Luna, who was about to…

"What's going on?" Luna asked, trying to catch her breath after being pulled along through half the school. "Harry is going to face the Death Eaters and trap them.

He knows where they’re going. We’re going to get there before them and set it up," Neville said, his excitement bubbling over as he almost bounced on his feet.

"You aren't going alone. I'm coming with you; that's what friends are for," she insisted, cutting off any protests he might have had about her safety.

Neville smiled softly at her, then leaned in and kissed her, his cheeks turning red. He gently tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, pondering if love would always feel this intense, or if it would fade.

If it did fade, he couldn’t understand why people ever broke up. "Ready to rock…" Fred said as he burst out of the common room, his arms piled high with supplies.

"…and roll," George chimed in, their identical faces lighting up with excitement. "How are we getting there?

It has to be quick if we want to set a trap," Neville pointed out, highlighting a potential flaw in their plan. "Floo'ing.

Dad does it every day to get to work," Fred replied, his tone serious as George started filling a bag with their products. "But he came in through a door the last time I saw him," Harry interjected.

"He Apparates home if he's been on a job," George explained, closing the bag with a satisfied grin. "Let's do this," Harry said, a determined look on his face.

No one commented on how Slytherin that sounded; right now, they were all focused on supporting one another. "Wait, house-elves can go wherever they like.

Dobby could take us where we need to be in seconds… we wouldn’t need—"

"To Floo and go through the corridors," Harry exclaimed suddenly, smacking his forehead in frustration for not thinking of it sooner. "Dobby?" he called firmly.

"Yes, Harry sir?" Dobby squeaked, his large green eyes filled with adoration as they locked onto Harry. He nodded at Harry, along with the Weasleys and Luna and Neville.

"Can you take us to the Department of Mysteries, to the room of prophecies?" Harry asked, his tone insistent. "Master won't like that, Harry sir," Dobby protested, his eyes wide with uncertainty.

"Who?" Luna asked, a hint of confusion in her voice. She thought Dobby was a free house-elf.

"Dumbledore?" Neville guessed, looking equally puzzled. "Dobby, take us," Harry said more sternly.

"Or we'll just find another way," he warned the conflicted house-elf. "Yes, sir," Dobby replied solemnly.

With a gentle touch, he whisked them away from Hogwarts completely undetected. After a brief, dizzying journey that left them all feeling a bit queasy, they landed exactly where Harry had intended: in the very room where he had seen his vision and where he had been months ago to retrieve the prophecy.

Dobby resolutely remained where he was; he wasn’t about to leave them alone. "Let's get it set up," Harry said, grabbing the bag from George and quickly collecting everything they needed.

"How do you make them come out?" he asked, staring curiously at the joke product. "Smash it," Fred shrugged.

"What if they don't Apparate into this room?" Neville asked nervously, glancing around. "They will," Harry replied confidently.

"Okay, when they get here, what do we do?" Neville asked, his face lighting up with anticipation. "Remove their wands; they'll be stuck in the swamp until others arrive," Harry explained.

"So he can just get them out of Azkaban again?" Neville asked, disgust creeping into his voice. "Here," Harry said, tossing everyone a portable swamp and then a firework.

That would draw the workers right down there. "It's completely empty here," Neville remarked.

Worried, Harry peered out the door once more, keeping an eye on everything around them. "Yeah, that's why we’re using the fireworks," he said.

"If it doesn't work, then we’re screwed." 

"How long do you think they’ll be?" Fred asked, curiously scanning the rows of prophecies and reading the unfamiliar names. "Well, how long do you think it would take if we hadn't Floo'ed or Apparated like we did?" Harry replied, waiting patiently while Dobby stood solemnly in the corner.

"Well, I would have suggested Thestrals. I'd say it would take about an hour on them," Luna said, her expression thoughtful.

"Why do you assume he wouldn't think you'd use the Floo?" Neville asked, glancing around nervously. "Good question; I didn't," Harry admitted.

"They might be here any second, Fred. How do you get rid of that stuff?

I mean, just from your own feet, because we’re going to get covered in it too." 

"Just use a spell on your shoes; it's what we did," George said smugly. "All right, do it to all of us," Harry instructed, looking around cautiously.

Fred and George sprang into action, starting with each other's feet. Then, George took care of Harry's and Luna's, while Fred handled Neville's and Dobby's.

Nodding in satisfaction, they waited impatiently for their targets to arrive. They didn’t have to wait long.

The first pop they heard sent Neville, Luna, Fred, George, and Harry all throwing the portable swamps. They smashed violently against the marble floor, and the surprise on the Death Eaters' faces would have been amusing under different circumstances.

The swamps rose well past their calves, and within seconds, spells were flying back and forth. The most astonishing sight of all was Dobby, the house-elf, snapping his fingers and sending the Death Eaters' wands flying from their grips.

They were unable to defend themselves against the magic that followed. The chaos in the room was overwhelming.

Shouts and shrieks echoed all around, and if that commotion didn’t bring anyone down, the fireworks certainly wouldn’t. Regardless, Fred and George ignited their Dragon firework.

As they dashed out of the room to avoid the chaos, the sight before them made them burst into laughter. Lucius Malfoy's hair was ablaze, a firework having caught him off guard.

He shrieked in horror as his white hair burned away before their eyes, leaving him bald and singed in moments. Three of the Death Eaters tried to escape but ended up face-first in the swamp, their wands buried deep and beyond recovery.

They dashed out of the room and down the corridor when suddenly, Harry's scar felt like it was on fire. He skidded to a halt, his expression grave.

He hadn’t expected Voldemort to show up here, of all places. "He’s here," he said, his voice filled with an apologetic tone as he glanced at his friends.

Fred and George exchanged nervous looks, drawing their wands and stepping forward. Luna, however, moved with calm confidence, as if she were heading to a party rather than facing Lord Voldemort.

“Where’s Dobby?” Neville asked, suddenly realizing the house-elf was missing. Harry's heart sank; he knew exactly where Dobby was—he was with Severus.

The poor elf was in so much trouble. Harry had hoped no one would discover he was behind this chaos, but that was apparently too much to wish for.

“Back at Hogwarts,” Harry replied, swallowing nervously. Honestly, he’d rather face a dragon than Severus when he was angry.

Then they saw him—Voldemort in all his terrifying glory, glaring at them with his grotesque, disfigured snake-like face. And just like that, the real battle began.