Chapters 211-220

A Time to Die

A sound like a guitar riff cut through the silence of the Asphodel Meadows. Harry turned and stared.

At last he managed a choked whisper. ‘Severus, do you see what I’m seeing?’

‘I…’ Severus trailed off.

Death strummed the opening chords of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ and smirked. ‘You did suggest that I get a guitar, remember?’

Harry shrank back against Severus. Styled like a musician of the genre commonly known as ‘Heavy Metal’ among Muggles—complete with black leather trousers, black leather jacket, black t-shirt and wild black hair—Death didn’t look one whit less terrifying than at their first meeting.

When Harry tried to make out Death’s face, he had to close his eyes. A horrible weakness made him sway on his feet. There might have been a hint of something that looked like white and black stage make-up depicting a skull under the hood of Death’s jacket. But when Harry tried to concentrate on his features, he found himself looking into a fathomless abyss of darkness…and that darkness was reaching out for him…

‘So we meet again, Harry Potter and Severus Snape. And I see you still fancy yourself to be stronger than Death. Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?’ Death said silkily. Then he slung the guitar over his back and bent down to pick something up. When he faced them again, Death flipped the repaired Resurrection Stone over in his fingers as negligently as if it was just a penny. ‘And now if you would,’ Death asked, ‘hand over my wand and my cloak.’

‘Give me the cloak and the wand, Harry,’ Severus ordered. ‘Then get behind me and stay there.’

Without hesitation Harry thrust the wand into Severus’ hand. Then fumbled clumsily at the clasp of the Invisibility Cloak. At last he had the garment off and shoved it under Severus’ arm. Harry stumbled backwards and hid behind the Necromancer’s body.

I certainly don’t fancy myself stronger than Death, he thought. He tried not to lean against Severus, putting his left hand over his left knee to steady himself. The Peverells must have been fucking crazy to gamble with that guy. I just hope he’ll let us go. How does he decide whom to keep and whom to take anyway? Are there rules for that?

‘Yes, of course there are what you would call ‘rules’ for that, Harry Potter.’ Death seemed to smile. ‘To every thing there is a season,’ Death quoted. ‘And a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die.’ Then he smirked. ‘Since you’re so fond of train stations: You could compare me to an engine driver. I don’t make the schedule. I just implement it. And Necromancers—’ He gave Severus a bow. ‘Were intended to help me. Conductors on the train of life.’ He seemed to enjoy his metaphors and similes.

‘Does that mean you will let us go?’ Severus asked.

Suddenly Death stilled.

‘Ah…’ he sighed. ‘I had fully intended to,’ he whispered. ‘But it seems the schedule has changed.’ He pointed at Severus’ bandolier. ‘Or in other words,’ Death quipped, ‘Houston, we have a problem.’

oooOooo

Suddenly shots rang out, thundering explosions in the night. Screams and muffled thumps surrounded them. Hermione jumped up, staring around wildly. But she couldn‘t see much—only the dark form of a motionless body a few feet away from her.

‘Ron,’ Madame Dubois shouted. ‘Alina and Lois—get them away. NOW!’

Hermione spun around. Ron had his arm around Lois and was grabbing for Alina, when another shot shattered the silence. She watched in horror how Ron was thrown against the girl. Then they were gone, Dis-apparated.

On the white stone where they’d been standing just a split-second before, Ron’s left arm lay bleeding and twitching, a mess of blood and torn flesh, Splinched and shot.

Before Hermione could react, Madame Dubois was in front of her. ‘Go,’ she ordered, ‘Quickly!’

‘But I can’t!’ Hermione cried. ‘The spell!’

Wand drawn, Madame Dubois faced the darkness. ‘Think of a holy place, any holy place and Apparate there. If you stay here, you’re dead. All of you!’ she whispered urgently. Out loud the French witch shouted, ‘Show yourselves, you bastards! You won’t get ‘er! Only over my dead body!’

‘Naturally,’ a voice replied that Hermione recognised, but couldn’t place.

‘Protego!’ Hermione shouted. But the bullet was quicker. Another shot, and Madame Dubois lay dead at her feet.

‘Don’t kill her,’ the voice ordered. ‘At least not yet.’ To Hermione: ‘Hand over your wands, girl, and you’ll live.’

‘Never,’ Hermione shrieked and pointed her wands in the direction of the voice. ‘Sectumsempra!’ she shouted. But there was no reaction. She must have missed. A holy place, a holy place to Apparate to, she thought frantically. Where, where, where can I go? The only place that came to mind was Chartres, but she’d never done cross-channel Apparition on her own, and—

‘Break your wands,’ a voice whispered in her mind.

NO! Hermione thought wildly and resisted the command. ‘You dare to cast an Unforgivable?’ she screamed. ‘You fucking bast–’

‘Break your wands,’ a second voice joined the first.

Hermione couldn’t speak anymore. She needed all her strength to fight the Imperius.

‘Break your wands,’ the voices insisted.

Hermione stared at her hands. They were holding her wands as if the wands were branches that had to be broken to stoke up a fire. No, she thought. Severus! Harry! Her knuckles stood out whitely. Her arms were shaking uncontrollably. Her muscles twitched with contradictory impulses.

‘BREAK YOUR WANDS!!’ At least five voices roared, crashing the last barriers of her mind.

Hermione watched how her hands broke her wands.

As if from far away, as if in slow motion. A sphinx feather burst coppery bright from its casing of yew. Red and golden, dragon heartstring recoiled and burnt her palms painfully. Sharp splinters of vine and yew pierced her skin.

Then everything went black.