“Harry, I’m sorry!” cried Neville, his face anguished as his legs continued to flounder. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I didn’d bean do—”
“It doesn’t matter!” Harry shouted. “Just try and stand, let’s get out of—”
“Dubbledore!” said Neville, his sweaty face suddenly transported, staring over Harry’s shoulder.
“What?”
“DUBBLEDORE!”
Harry turned to look where Neville was staring. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body—they were saved.
Dumbledore sped down the steps past Neville and Harry, who had no more thoughts of leaving. Dumbledore was already at the foot of the steps when the Death Eaters nearest realised he was there and yelled to the others. One of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite. Dumbledore’s spell pulled him back as easily and effortlessly as though he had hooked him with an invisible line—
Only one pair was still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix’s jet of red light: he was laughing at her.
“Come on, you can do better than that!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.
The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.
The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.
Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned towards the dais.
It seemed to take Sirius an age to falclass="underline" his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.
Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather’s wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place.
Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange’s triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing—Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second…
But Sirius did not reappear.
“SIRIUS!” Harry yelled. “SIRIUS!”
He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out…
But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back.
“There’s nothing you can do, Harry—”
“Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!”
“—it’s too late, Harry.”
“We can still reach him—” Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go…
“There’s nothing you can do, Harry… nothing… he’s gone.”
36. THE ONLY ONE HE EVER FEARED
“He hasn’t gone!” Harry yelled.
He did not believe it; he would not believe it; still he fought Lupin with every bit of strength he had. Lupin did not understand; people hid behind that curtain; Harry had heard them whispering the first time he had entered the room. Sirius was hiding, simply lurking out of sight “SIRIUS!” he bellowed. “SIRIUS!”
“He can’t come back, Harry,” said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. “He can’t come back, because he’s d—”
“HE—IS—NOT—DEAD!” roared Harry. “SIRIUS!”
There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of more spells. To Harry it was meaningless noise, the deflected curses flying past them did not matter, nothing mattered except that Lupin should stop pretending that Sirius—who was standing feet from them behind that old curtain—was not going to emerge at any moment, shaking back his dark hair and eager to re-enter the battle.
Lupin dragged Harry away from the dais. Harry, still staring at the archway, was angry at Sirius now for keeping him waiting—
But some part of him realised, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before… Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him… if Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back… that he really was—
Dumbledore had most of the remaining Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilised by invisible ropes; Mad-Eye Moody had crawled across the room to where Tonks lay, and was attempting to revive her; behind the dais there were still hashes of light, grunts and cries—Kingsley had run forward to continue Sirius’s duel with Bellatrix.
“Harry?”
Neville had slid down the stone benches one by one to the place where Harry stood. Harry was no longer struggling against Lupin, who maintained a precautionary grip on his arm nevertheless.
“Harry… I’b really sorry…” said Neville. His legs were still dancing uncontrollably. “Was dad man—was Sirius Black a—a friend of yours?”
Harry nodded.
“Here,” said Lupin quietly, and pointing his wand at Neville’s legs he said, “Finite.” The spell was lifted: Neville’s legs fell back to the floor and remained still. Lupin’s face was pale. “Let’s—let’s find the others. Where are they all, Neville?”
Lupin turned away from the archway as he spoke. It sounded as though every word was causing him pain.
“Dey’re all back dere,” said Neville. “A brain addacked Ron bud I dink he’s all righd—and Herbione’s unconscious, bud we could feel a bulse—”
There was a loud bang and a yell from behind the dais. Harry saw Kingsley hit the ground yelling in pain: Bellatrix Lestrange turned tail and ran as Dumbledore whipped around. He aimed a spell at her but she deflected it; she was halfway up the steps now—
“Harry—no!” cried Lupin, but Harry had already ripped his arm from Lupin’s slackened grip.
“SHE KILLED SIRIUS!” bellowed Harry. “SHE KILLED HIM—I’LL KILL HER!”
And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches; people were shouting behind him but he did not care. The hem of Bellatrix’s robes whipped out of sight ahead and they were back in the room where the brains were swimming…
She aimed a curse over her shoulder. The tank rose into the air and tipped. Harry was deluged in the foul-smelling potion within: the brains slipped and slid over him and began spinning their long coloured tentacles, but he shouted, “Wingardium Leviosa!” and they flew off him up into the air. Slipping and sliding, he ran on towards the door; he leapt over Luna, who was groaning on the floor, past Ginny, who said, “Harry—what—?”, past Ron, who giggled feebly, and Hermione, who was still unconscious. He wrenched open the door into the circular black hall and saw Bellatrix disappearing through a door on the other side of the room; beyond her was the corridor leading back to the lifts.
He ran, but she had slammed the door behind her and the walls were already rotating. Once more, he was surrounded by streaks of blue light from the whirling candelabra.
“Where’s the exit?” he shouted desperately, as the wall rumbled to a halt again. “Where’s the way out?”
The room seemed to have been waiting for him to ask. The door right behind him flew open and the corridor towards the lifts stretched ahead of him, torch-lit and empty. He ran…
He could hear a lift clattering ahead; he sprinted up the passageway, swung around the corner and slammed his fist on to the button to call a second lift. It jangled and banged lower and lower; the grilles slid open and Harry dashed inside, now hammering the button marked “Atrium.” The doors slid shut and he was rising…